#this has been sitting in my wips for more than a year | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

serendipitydang · 1 day ago

Text

My favourite scene in my autistic soap and ghost WIP so far

Soap’s eyes wandered around the kitchen as he carefully inspected the groceries Ghost had brought home. At first glance, the sheer quantity of some of the items was enough to make him blink in disbelief. There were apples. So many apples. It was like Ghost had raided the entire produce section. Soap had no idea what someone needed with that many apples. Did Ghost have a secret apple addiction? Was he planning on making cider? Maybe he was going to bake an entire orchard’s worth of pies. Soap had no clue, but whatever the reason, the sight of the apples was almost comical.

He moved past the fruit and his eyes landed on the pasta. The pasta. There was a mountain of it. Every kind of shape you could imagine—spaghetti, fusilli, penne. Soap could’ve sworn Ghost was trying to single-handedly boost Italy’s economy by buying every pasta packet in sight. It was almost impressive in its own way, how much pasta one person could stockpile. Soap couldn't imagine ever needing that much pasta unless Ghost was secretly preparing for the end of the world and intended to live off carbs for eternity.

Then there were the tea bags. Two hundred of them, neatly stacked and taking up half a shelf. Two hundred. Soap stared at them for a moment, eyebrows raising. That was an absurd amount of tea. He leaned closer to the pile, inspecting the labels. Yep. Ghost wasn’t messing around. That was a serious commitment to tea-drinking. Was this how he survived his days? Had he been hoarding tea for years, preparing for a world where tea was a scarce resource?

Soap let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Bloody hell, mate,” he muttered, still fixated on the massive stockpile of tea. “Two hundred. Are you trying to brew your way through the next decade or something?”

He snorted under his breath, the thought making him smile to himself. I mean, I can’t really judge, can I?

He paused, glancing over at his own habits. His cupboards were, to be fair, not much better. He might not have the tea situation figured out, but Soap had fifty—yes, fifty—packets of mac and cheese stuffed away in his kitchen, all neatly stacked in a corner like a shrine to convenience. He didn’t even remember how they got there, but one day he’d been hungry, saw them on sale, and well—one packet turned into fifty. What was he supposed to do? Let the deal slip through his fingers? Hell no, Soap wasn’t that stupid. But still, fifty packets of mac and cheese? That was more than a reasonable person could ever need.

But then again, Soap mused, running a hand through his hair, Ghost has his own thing going on. His pantry wasn’t filled with instant meals or emergency snacks. Instead, there were actual staples: bread, cheese, spreads. The kind of foods that suggested Ghost was an adult with, at the very least, some semblance of a balanced diet.

Except, then there were the lemons. So many lemons. They were stacked in a precarious little pyramid, sitting there like some sort of citrus army, waiting to invade the kitchen. Soap narrowed his eyes at the pile, leaning in a bit closer. What exactly does one do with that many lemons?

He had his suspicions—Ghost had a reputation for being a bit of a mystery, and maybe he liked to keep a few tricks up his sleeve. But Soap couldn’t help himself; the sight of those lemons was just too ridiculous to ignore. He chuckled under his breath, giving the lemons a side-eye. “Lemons,” he muttered, half to himself. “You planning on making a bloody lemon grove, Ghost?”

The more Soap thought about it, the more it made sense, in a weird, unexplainable way. Ghost didn’t exactly seem like the type to go out for a takeaway meal or rely on ready-to-eat meals. No, Ghost probably preferred simple, wholesome ingredients. And hell, Soap couldn’t fault him for that. It wasn’t like he was about to judge someone for having healthy, nutritious food when his own cupboard was stocked to the brim with artificial cheese powder. At least Ghost wasn’t buying frozen pizzas or stacks of instant ramen. No, he had real food—if you counted lemons and two hundred bags of tea as “real” food.

Soap gave a small shrug, trying not to be too critical. Ghost’s pantry might be... well, a little eccentric, but who was he to talk? He wasn’t exactly the poster child for healthy eating either. Besides, this was Ghost. If there was one thing Soap had learned about the man, it was that his quirks were a part of the whole package. And Soap wasn’t about to start criticizing now—especially when Ghost was letting him snoop around and see just how strange the man’s grocery habits were.

With another glance at the lemons, Soap let out a breath and gave up. Maybe someday he’ll explain all this—but for now, Soap just had to accept it. The guy might live off apples, pasta, tea, and lemons, but it worked for him. And if it worked for Ghost, then Soap wasn’t about to say a word. Not when his own food habits were probably just as ridiculous.

Soap leaned back against the counter, his gaze lingering on the pile of lemons for a moment longer than necessary. He couldn’t help it. The sight of them, all stacked up like little yellow soldiers, was too much. He glanced over at Ghost, who was now rifling through a bag, probably pulling out more of the strange assortment of groceries he’d bought.

Soap cleared his throat, the words bubbling up before he could stop them.

“Oi,” he began, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. “What’s with the lemons, then?”

Ghost paused, turning his head slowly to look at him, the silence hanging between them for a long beat.

Soap’s eyes widened as Ghost stared at him for a long, uncomfortable minute. There was something about the intensity of the gaze that made him feel a little too exposed. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, but Soap didn’t break eye contact. He couldn’t. Ghost was making him wait for something—some kind of answer or reaction—but Soap had no idea what.

Then, without a word, Ghost reached for one of the lemons, grabbed it with a steady hand, and before Soap could even process what was happening, he saw Ghost roll his mask up just enough to expose his mouth. And then, without hesitation, he took a bite out of the lemon.

The whole thing. Skin, pith, juice—it was all in there. Ghost chewed slowly, still holding Soap’s gaze, and Soap swore his brain short-circuited for a second. The sourness had to be overwhelming, yet Ghost looked completely unfazed, like it was nothing. The kind of calm, casual confidence that only Ghost could pull off.

Soap couldn’t help it. His mouth dropped open slightly, eyes flicking between the lemon in Ghost’s hand and his unblinking stare.

“Wait. What. The—” Soap’s voice cracked for a split second as he stared at Ghost, who, to his absolute horror, was chewing the lemon as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

He blinked rapidly, mouth agape. Ghost’s eyes didn’t leave his for even a second, and Soap felt his heart rate pick up as the sourness of the situation seemed to seep into his very bones. “You’re... eating it?” Soap's voice was higher-pitched than usual, an involuntary mix of confusion and utter disbelief.

Ghost’s slow, deliberate chewing didn’t slow down for a second. The only thing he did was lift an eyebrow ever so slightly, still holding Soap’s gaze, as if daring him to say something.

Soap’s brain couldn’t keep up. “That’s... that’s not normal!” He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. "Who the hell eats a lemon like that?!"

Ghost chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed, still unfazed. He simply shrugged and, in his typical deadpan tone, said, “Lemons are useful.”

Soap's hands twitched, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure whether to run away or just melt into the floor. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” he muttered to himself, though he knew he was talking to Ghost—probably still waiting for an explanation that was never coming.

And then, to make it worse, Ghost just stared at him, his gaze cool, composed, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. And took another fucking bite. Soap’s chest tightened, and his entire body froze for a moment, his mind completely blank. He watched in horror as Ghost chewed through the sour fruit like it was a snack, unfazed, completely casual about the whole thing.

Soap could feel his pulse in his ears, his hand instinctively reaching out for something to grip, though nothing seemed sturdy enough to hold his sanity together at that moment. His mind was short-circuiting, desperately trying to process what he was witnessing. He had seen some odd things in his time—hell, he’d done some odd things himself—but this? This was beyond any reasonable explanation.

“Fucking Brits,” Soap muttered under his breath, his voice a mixture of exasperation and genuine panic, though his lips still curled into an incredulous grin. It was the only way he could react. If he didn’t laugh, he might lose his mind. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he managed, staring wide-eyed at Ghost, hoping for some sort of answer.

Ghost didn’t flinch. He didn’t even break his gaze. He just kept chewing, slow and deliberate, as if the lemon was the most natural thing in the world.

Soap rubbed a hand over his face, trying to calm himself down, but all he could do was watch as Ghost took another bite. Another bite. Soap wasn’t sure whether to be amazed or absolutely terrified at the sheer audacity of it. His mind kept coming back to one terrifying question: What’s next? Would Ghost dip the lemon in salt? Maybe add a little hot sauce? Or, god forbid, pour himself a drink of straight vinegar?

He felt like he was losing his grip on reality, trapped in some bizarre fever dream where logic had taken a back seat. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to make sense of it, but the words just wouldn’t come out. There was nothing that could explain this insanity. Not even a "You’re a madman." Nothing could do it justice.

So, instead, he just sighed loudly, muttering another baffled “Fucking Brits,” as if that was the answer to the madness unfolding before him.

Ghost shrugged, nonchalantly finishing his bite of lemon, his cool demeanor never wavering. It was as if he couldn’t understand the chaos that was clearly unfolding in Soap’s mind. Maybe that’s why he was so calm about it. Maybe he knew something Soap didn’t, like how to embrace the chaos without getting swallowed by it.

Soap, on the other hand, couldn’t take it anymore. He flopped back onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh, throwing his arm across his face in mock defeat. "You’re fucking impossible," he muttered, turning his head to glance at Ghost one last time.

Without warning, Soap shot him a middle finger, the gesture a mix of frustration and disbelief. Ghost didn’t react. He just kept munching on his lemon like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Soap, utterly drained from trying to make sense of everything, just let his head hit the back of the couch. “I can’t even,” he groaned, sinking deeper into the cushions. Ghost had truly taken "living life on his own terms" to a new level, and Soap had no idea if he should be impressed or horrified.

Ghost didn’t respond, of course. He just kept on with whatever weird ritual he was engaged in, and Soap, knowing there was no reasoning with him, just shut his eyes, hoping for a few moments of peace before his brain had to process whatever bizarre thing Ghost would do next.

#ghost x soap #soapghost #ghostsoap #john soap mactavish #ghost cod #ao3 fanfic #when life gives you lemons #You eat them #autism

25 notes · View notes

teamhangaround · 8 months ago

Text

Wanted to try a more cartoony style

#this has been sitting in my wips for more than a year #i still don't like it #but maybe some you do :D #sw #star wars fanart #clone wars #clone wars fanart #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #my art #my sw art

2K notes · View notes

swordmaid · 2 years ago

Photo

It was more a picture than a proper coat of arms, and the sight of it took her back through the long years, to the cool dark of her father’s armory. She remembered how she’d run her fingertips across the cracked and fading paint, over the green leaves of the tree, and along the path of the falling star. - AFFC Brienne II.

#brienne of tarth #asoiaf #mine.#valyrianscrolls #finally finished this wip!!! this one has been sitting in my drafts for more than a year now lol #but also the - run her fingertips across the cracked and fading paint / along the path of the falling star #feels like she'd take the shield off the display to get a good look of it properly #so now im imagining young brienne hiding in the armory looking at dunk's shield in detail 😭😭😭#this one is more of a practice run bc i havent been doing full illustrations in a while and i wanted to get that groove back again #but i like how this one turned out!!!

2K notes · View notes

meercacchi · 6 months ago

Text

Summary:

Kise doesn’t know when it all begins. He doesn’t know when the blinding camera flashes start to give him earthworms instead of butterflies, crawling around in his stomach. He doesn’t know when his manager berating him about his diet becomes the focus of every phone call, even when he’s trying and has nearly passed out twice in the past week. He doesn’t know when the glitz and glamour peel away like the gold sticker with his name affixed to the dressing room door, fake and gaudy and easily replaced.

Diamonds don't always form under pressure. Kise snaps, but Kasamatsu and the Miracles help put him back together - and with Kasamatsu, build something new.

#kikasa #kise ryouta #kasamatsu yukio #kuroko no basuke #kuroko no basket #kuroko's basketball #knb #knb fics?? in the year 2024?? more likely than you think #this has been sitting in my WIP since 2018 yall #drabble

9 notes · View notes

joeloverture · 11 months ago

Text

a lesson in condom sense | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist pairing: dbf!joel miller x sex shop employee!reader summary: [no outbreak] the last customer you expect to be waltzing into your secret day job is your dad's best friend. you can only fight the tension between you two for so long before giving in. warnings: (18+ mdni) what it says on the can: reader works at an adult store, many sex toys referenced (& used!), age gap (mid 20s/early 50s) brief mention of sex work, don't follow reader's example, joel buys a fleshlight, joel fantasizes about you, brief mention of bondage, mostly pwp, reader humps a chair + gets caught doing it, mild exhibitionism, 'just the tip' that leads into unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f!receiving), vaginal fingering, joel uses a vibrator on reader, degradation, praise, soft dom!joel, pet names, aftercare [no use of y/n] word count: 6.5k a/n: condom sense is, in fact, a real sex shop that exists and serves the DFW metro area, so not exactly austin, but the name was too perfect not to pretend. unlike these two, please favor condom sense and wrap it up. dbf sex shop joel won the poll for my next wip, but expect coach!joel pt. 2 to be right around the corner.

Admittedly, working at a sex shop isn’t the highest point in your life, but it certainly isn’t the lowest, either. The 40% off employee discount does soften the blow of lying through your teeth at cookouts. Saying you’re working at Walmart while trying to navigate a competitive job market goes over better than saying you work at Condom Sense.

All things considered, it’s not the worst place you’ve worked. Your manager, a 60-year-old stuck in the 70s named Sally, is much more lenient than your past bosses. You get to recommend toys to the girls that come through, and you also get the satisfaction of them coming back to sing your praises. Condom Sense never would’ve been your first choice of work right out of college, but now you almost mourn the day you’ll have to leave.

Thumbing through an old issue of Cosmopolitan, your bubblegum is beginning to lose its flavor. The tinny noise of Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” purrs out of the ancient radio sitting alongside tentacle dildos. It’s still a little weird to have a constant audience of whips, handcuffs, vibrators, fleshlights, and everything in between, but since your bedside drawer has gotten fuller with every shift you take, you really can’t judge anything stocked here.

The later shifts are normally slower, especially this close to 11:00. Sometimes there’s a gaggle of sex workers outside of the door, dressed skimpily no matter how biting the rare Texas cold is, but that isn’t the case tonight – you’re the only one here, feet kicked up on a pink stool.

As if the world has it out for you, the rust-eaten bell lets out a metallic jingle, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the thought of having to put your Cosmopolitan away. Who the hell comes into a sex shop twenty minutes before close? Someone whose vibrator gave out on them, someone who needs lube, or both.

“Welcome to Condom Sense,” you put on your customer service voice, reluctantly bouncing off of the stool. You flip your magazine shut and toss it onto the counter, breaking into a crouch to finally make yourself useful by restocking the condom display. “Let me know if you need anything.”

A small grunt comes in response, and then some heavy footsteps carry through the store. Great, even better, you think to yourself, it’s a man.

The crowd that’s attracted to Condom Sense is mostly college-aged or middle-aged women, not with too much wiggle room in between. It’s Texas, after all, where ownership of more than six dildos is “prohibited”. Sometimes there’s a stray overeager boyfriend or creep with a receding hairline, but normally Sally is right around the corner to tell anyone out of line to scram, waving around a broom as if trying to fend off a stray dog. That’s not the case tonight.

You hold your breath and keep putting boxes of Trojans into the glass display case. Whoever’s in here is quiet, at least, not the type to ask for help or make too much of a ruckus with knocking shelving units over. Hopefully you can get him checked out quickly so you can close up and head home.

You stay like that for five minutes, sorting through boxes and marking stock until a throat clears in front of the counter.

Jolting up, you smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes, fiddling with your nametag. “Hi, yes, you all seeeee-”

Who the hell comes into a sex shop twenty minutes before close? Apparently Joel Miller does. You know, your dad’s best friend.

Maybe it’s because you’re surrounded by phallic dildos, maybe it’s because you’re goddamn stupid, but Mr. Miller, who seems to be fresh off of a worksite, looks good. Even though there’s an unmistakable surprise stricken across his brown eyes and a splotch of dirt on the slice of neck above his flannel collar, his hair is mussed perfectly, his scruff tamed along his jawline. Your eyes flash down to what he’s holding: a fleshlight.

You hate how quickly your mouth goes dry at the thought of Joel himself thrusting desperately into the dumb toy, and worse is the thought of him using your cunt to get off instead. You’re quick to remind yourself. Off. Limits. First of all, you don’t fuck customers. And you definitely don’t fuck customers that are your dad’s best friend.

Joel’s fist tightens around the box as if trying to obscure what you already know. His face is redder than you’ve ever seen it, cheeks like apples. In the end, it’s him who speaks first. “This ain’t a Walmart, hun.”

Your face heats up, and you shrug. “Pays well.”

“Can’t blame ya there,” he nods along. “‘S been a while. You alright?”

“I mean, I work at a store called Condom Sense. What do you figure?”

“C’mon now, can’t be that bad,” Joel grins at you.

“It isn’t,” you concede. You look him up and down again, trying really hard not to spend too much time on the toy in his hand. “Long day… contracting?”

Joel lets out a long, winded sigh through his teeth. “Yeah… my guys fucked up our concrete job. Had us there two hours longer than we were s’posed to be. Probably gonna be another long one tomorrow.” He runs a hand back through his already disheveled hair, his nose flaring. “Not your problem though, sweetness.” His eyes flick over you, over the counter and the neon signs behind you. “Your daddy know you work here?”

You freeze, eyes widening. “He’d have a cow, Joel. And if you think you’re about to hold this over my head or somethin-”

“Woah, woah, now when did I ever say any ‘a that? That’s none of my business, hun. You’re an adult, as long as you're gettin’ paid and you’re comfortable? I don’t see the issue.”

You nod, heart slowing to a steadier pace, or at least as steady of a pace as it can manage with Joel standing on the other side of the counter holding a fleshlight. “So, uh, relaxing night in or…?” You swallow hard. Professionalism, you remind yourself.

Joel laughs, an almost nervous sound as he rubs the back of his neck. “Just… a bit dry lately, I guess.”

“First time buying?” you ask with a raised brow.

“That obvious?” He slowly slides the box across the counter to you, and you inspect it under the fluorescents.

You hum under your breath, tilting the box away from you to get a better look. “Not a bad first choice. I’ve heard good things. Since it’s your first time, are you more of a spit-in-your-hand kind of guy, or do you have some massage oil or lube?”

Joel stares at you, almost sputtering as his lips try to form words. “What?”

You shake your head, veins suddenly iced over. “Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t be asking-”

“No, no, not a problem, sweetheart. It’s your job. Just… don’t expect to be hearin’... that from you.” He chuckles, but it sounds strangled. “I… normally spit. ‘S faster.”

Joel, desperately shucking off his belt and pants, pulling his hardened cock out, spitting into his hand so he can wrap his fist around himself. That first groan of pleasure he lets out, hand moving up, down, up, down. He treasures his alone time so much that he has to be the type to savor it– but you can’t think that far. Your tongue darts out to swipe along your lower lip, and you swear Joel tracks the movement. Your chest is tied up in knots.

“Well, you’re gonna want a heating massage oil. Moves it along easier, feels realer, y’know?” You reach across the counter and pluck a blue bottle from the display. “This is our bestseller.” Mustering up the most casual smile you can give him without wincing, you tap your fingers along the countertop.

Joel looks between you and the bottle, gnawing nervously at the inside of his cheek. “Thanks, hun. That’ll be it, then.”

You ring him up, sinking the fleshlight, the oil, and a complimentary toy cleaner deep into a bag that says THANK YOU four times along the side. The printer buzzes as it spits out his receipt, and you hand it all to him. He gives you a nod, casual, simple. You could keep it that way, a tiny interaction isolated to the four walls of Condom Sense, but you feel the words knocking at the backs of your teeth.

You’re saying them before you can second guess them: “Enjoy yourself, Joel.”

He makes eye contact for what must be the first time that night, eyes murky with something that, if you were more gullible, could come across as want. “I will, sweetheart.” Joel nods, wrapping a large hand around the bag. You don’t watch him leave, but you do hear the ring of the doorbell as the door knocks shut. It’s not enough to distract yourself from thinking of what his moans sound like.

Joel sweats like a whore in church the next time your dad calls him. He practically is one when he thinks about what it’d be like to be inside of the divinity of your body, a rosary of sweat collecting on his neck. He’d say every prayer if it meant he got to keep thinking of you like that – feels realer, a spit-in-your-hand kind of guy, enjoy yourself. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy yourself.

It’s shameful, the way he thinks of you, the daughter of the man he considers his best friend. But he can’t make himself stop. Every time he pulls the fleshlight out of his drawer, you appear in his head. Sometimes you’re bent over the counter, whining as he rolls his hips into yours. Sometimes he rucks up those fucking skirts you wear to shove his face between your thighs, lets you soak his face as you pull his hair. Sometimes you’re riding him, moving how he shifts the fleshlight over his leaking cock.

Every time, regardless of what he imagines, he shakes himself loose in post-orgasm bliss, guilt chewing at his stomach. Every time he passes Condom Sense on the way to a job, he wonders if you’re working. What’s a respectable amount of time to stop in for a second sex toy purchase? Joel wouldn't know, and he doesn’t want to be selfish. Money doesn’t grow on trees, unlike his arousal. The fleshlight is already miles better than his own hand, and he worries what he might say if he sees you bouncing around, say, restocking dildos.

He manages to keep his self control. He doesn’t get on his knees and confess his sins to your dad on the phone, or when they run into each other at home depot. By some miracle, he doesn’t get any further than flicking his turn signal before immediately turning it off when he passes Condom Sense.

And then he has the dream.

It’s his day off, a Sunday, and he wakes up to his dick softening and his cum drying on his abdomen and all of the hair spattered there. There’s traces of the dream in reach, tugging on the harness he’d tied around your body to pull you back on his cock.

This time, he can’t shake himself loose.

He’s standing in Condom Sense by ten in the morning, running his hands down his sides and feeling oddly exposed, as if every camera or wandering employee can see the shame painted on his skin much like his cum had been. He hopes you’re not here; he’s not sure he can handle it, but he is sure of the arousal that would brim in his lower belly at the mere sight of you. It’s bad news – everything about this is bad news.

You’re bad for Joel, and you have been ever since he saw you for the first time after your college graduation, partying in your old man’s living room. Four shots deep and a feather boa around your neck, wearing a low-cut top as you scream-sung Dolly Parton into the busted karaoke machine from your childhood. That was the first time he ever saw you as anything more than your dad’s little girl. It should’ve been the last, too.

Joel takes a relieved breath when there’s no immediate sign of you in the store, but you very well could be squatting behind the counter like last time. There's a woman in a pink polo shirt with bangle bracelets standing over by the wall of ropes, reorganizing and sucking on her teeth.

He doesn’t even know what he’s here for – he’s chasing something he can’t have, or at least a semblance of it. The obvious choice is the restraints from his dream, but he has nobody to put them on, no skin to feather with kisses as he pulls them secure. Another fleshlight would be greedy.

And then he hears it. The unmistakable sound of your voice, a shockwave to his chest. He slips behind a display, almost ready to make a beeline for the door when you say, “We restocked the wands.” Joel glimpses you through the grid of butt plugs he’s hiding behind, where you’re waving around a rectangular white box. “You were asking for recommendations, right? Well, this one’s a trooper.”

“That so?” your co-worker clicks. “Might be too intense for me. You’re known to be an overachiever.”

“No shame in a little overstimulation,” you shrug.

Joel slams a fist on his chest to stop himself from hacking out a surprised cough. His thighs go hot, a warmth that spreads between them and tightens his pants as he thinks about you with a wand to your glossy clit, hips squirming for more and less all the same.

“Yeah, for you. I’d be bawlin’ into my pillow in two minutes.”

“It’s my favorite! Only just gave out on me yesterday… had her for years, though. My old faithful. Have to say, it’s a little rough waiting for my next paycheck. Nothing else does it for me. Feels fucking incredible.”

Joel walks out. Not because he wants to, but because if he doesn’t, he won’t be able to stop himself from spending almost a hundred dollars on that wand and handing it to you in broad daylight. It occurs to him on the uncomfortable drive home, hard and throbbing between his legs, that he wants to be the source of your pleasure, to make you feel good.

It’s a damning thought for a man like him, but not damning enough.

Pent up is one way to describe the way you’re feeling.

After the unfortunate passing of your trustworthy wand, your fingers nor the rest of your collection of comparably wimpy toys, have been able to do the trick for you. And the worst part of it all? Your paycheck is still three days away.

You’d like to say not getting off in four days is the source of all of your arousal, but you’re not a liar. At least, not to yourself, because you wouldn’t stand at the podium and confess your nastiest Joel-centered fantasies to his face. It’d been bearable when it was only him fucking the fleshlight taped to the backs of your eyelids. You blame it on the pervy part of yourself that’s always rubbed her thighs together from watching a man get himself off. It’s no longer bearable when you start envisioning him moaning your name while he rocks his hips into the toy, chasing his release.

No, it’s not bearable at all.

Sitting behind the same counter you’d checked him out at makes it worse, roughly the same hour of the night that he’d popped in the other day. You keep thinking of how he looked at you, first caught like a deer in headlights, then almost shy, a word you’d never once use to describe the man you’d come to know as your dad’s best friend.

An even more pervy part of yourself, the same one that hopes he thinks of fucking you when he fucks his recent purchase, slowly rolls her hips into the stool. It’s imperceptible, not something that has a chance of being picked up by the camera. You grind your clothed, needy pussy onto the pink vinyl cover, smothering a whimper into your fist. The seam of your shorts catches on your clit, snuggled between your folds. Your arousal clings to the gusset of your drenched panties. Pleasure spools in your stomach, winding around your cunt and spine.

You curl in on yourself, burying your head into your folded arms and panting as you grind on the stool. You let yourself pretend it’s Joel’s lap; the mound-like shape of the foam beneath isn’t at all close to what Joel’s bulge must feel like, but with every press of your hips, it matters less and less.

The taboo of it all, knowing you’ll have to go into the security system and delete the footage once you’re done soaking the vinyl, being in view of the unlocked door, is doing just as much for you as your vibrator back home would. So much so that with your head tipped low, your eyes squeezed shut, and your hips canting back and forth, you don’t even notice the rusted rasp of the bell above the door.

You don’t notice a damn thing until a strangled sound comes from the front of the store.

Your head snaps up so fast that you go toppling off of the back of the chair, just barely able to catch and prop yourself up on a shelf behind the counter. An embarrassed cough knocks its way out of your gut. Too taboo. You’re still panting when you’re stricken by a passing thought: you’re definitely going to lose your job, the last one this part of Austin seemed to have to offer. Shit.

Your dignity on the other hand is long gone, somewhere in the smear of arousal you left on the stool. “Sorry – fuck! I’m sorry,” you blurt out in a last-ditch effort to keep your job, fingers crossed that it’s someone who understands or at least doesn’t care.

When you look up, you get none of that. For the second time this week, you get Joel Miller. Joel Miller with his messed up hair and work-worn hands, slack jaw and rapid blinking.

You must be matching his expression now, mouth opening and closing with your eyes widened in the ultimate form of disbelief. Your head bows and your chin meets your chest. Apparently it wasn’t enough for your dad’s best friend to buy a fleshlight from you. He also had to find you getting off in public.

“Joel, shit, I’m so sorry,” you start, planting the heels of your palms on your temples. Your legs feel weak, a death sentence with your sluggish, blistering heartbeat. Joel’s silence bears down on you, an inescapable weight, and you’re talking before you can stop yourself. “I– I’ve just been so pent up…” Cheeks burning from the inside out, you scrub your hands from your forehead to your chin.

“Shut up,” Joel says stiffly. A wince cleaves its way out of your body.

Another apology sits on your tongue. “I’m s-”

He cuts in, “Knock it off,” and that’s when your eyes drift lower. Below his belt buckle, but not much further. How could you look any lower when his cock is rock fucking hard in his jeans, fighting against the denim? You whimper, unable to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together. “Jesus, are you in fuckin’ heat?” Joel snaps.

It doesn’t achieve the desired effect – you just let out another whimper, your arousal still clinging to your thighs. “Joel, please.”

Joel pinches his nose bridge. He shakes his head, dissolving into a muttered swear under his breath. “No, hun. Not gonna end up balls deep in my buddy’s little girl, even if you beg real pretty for me.”

“Why not,” you practically whine, pushing off of the shelf and walking closer to him. He only folds his arms over his broad chest as if to keep you away.

His voice is strained. “Baby–” Your heart flutters. “Can’t do that to your dad. You’re just houndin’ after a poundin’, ain’t ya?”

“I am,” you huff, brain clouded by the arousal that’s currently casting a shadow through all of your being. “Please, I haven’t come in days.”

Joel hisses at that like he’s in pain. He shakes his head again, much faster. There’s a line of remorse pressed between his brows, but it’s far overpowered by the pressure of his cock pulling his jeans taut. “Your little ‘massager’ quit on you, sweetheart?”

You bite your lip. Right on the money. “How’d you know?”

“Came in for… somethin’... the other day. Heard you fussin’ about it to your co-worker.” He shrugs.

You’re burning up, a match struck against the gritty concrete of Joel’s voice. It doesn’t matter that he’s a customer, doesn’t even matter that he’s buddies with your dad. You just want him to replace your aimlessly working fingers at night. You want release, and you want it with him. Begging won’t get you there with Joel, you’re realizing, even if all you want is to get on your knees and cry for his cock. You need to rile him up until he breaks. “Needed another pocket pussy to put your dick in?” you tease.

“Watch yourself,” Joel says. “You really that cock starved, darlin’, that you’d beg your daddy’s friend to stick it to ya?”

“You’re one to talk,” you smirk. “What is it you said? A bit dry lately, right?”

“I clearly got more self control than you, hun.”

You say, “Nah.” Your smirk widens, and you take another dangerous step towards him. “You’re hard as a rock, Joel Miller. Bet you were thinking about sticking it to me all along. That’s why you came back, huh? Get another glimpse of me for your spank ban-”

Joel seals the distance between you two, fist going to curl up around your jaw and squeezing. Your mouth pops open, a choked whimper dislodging from your lips. “You got batteries behind that register?” He asks, voice stern. His eyes are all pupil, plunged into black. You struggle to nod in his grasp. “Grab ‘em.”

He leaves you standing in front of the door, buzzing with nervous energy as he walks towards the vibrator section. Your stomach does what feels like ten cartwheels in a row. You lean over to the door, flipping the sign to closed and drawing the curtain shut before practically jogging to the batteries.

You grab the type your beloved wand takes, not even concerned with cashing him out before he’s in front of you again, slicing into the box with his truck keys. You slide the batteries over, and he’s peeling apart the plastic to expose your favorite pink wand, armed with six different settings that never fail to make you come. You only notice you’re rubbing your thighs together again when he gives you a sharp look while he’s popping the batteries into the proper compartment.

He pats the counter. “Up.” You hop up, maybe too eager, your eyes big and needy. Joel grabs you by the shoulder and leans you back, starting to work on the button of your jeans. “This is how this is gonna go,” he says, voice hardened with an order. “You want me to stop, say so. I’m gonna put this wand on your achy little clit, gonna make you feel better, because you ain’t slutty enough to be humpin’ a chair.” You nod so fast that you’re surprised your head doesn’t fall off. “Not gonna give you my cock, got it?”

“G-got it,” you get out shakily. He taps your hip, and you arch off of the counter so that he can yank your jeans and panties down, leaving you spread out and exposed.

Joel spreads you with his pointer and middle finger. “Shoot, baby, you poor thing.” He runs a thumb through your seam, thumb coming up sticky with your wetness. “Drippin’ like a faucet.” He brings his thumb up to the corner of your lips, and you greedily take it into your mouth, tasting your musk off of his callouses.

“That’s it, suck it like a good slut,” he coaxes as you run your tongue along his skin. He pulls away with a pop and weighs the wand in his hand. Flicking one of the buttons with his freshly-sucked thumb, the toy whirrs to life and thrums in his large hand.

You squirm below him and his intense gaze, gripping the edge of the counter for any semblance of purchase you can get. Without warning, he places the toy down onto your clit. Your vision crackles black at the edges as you cry out. You writhe underneath him, hips helplessly bucking. Joel laughs, the bastard that he is, and rolls it along your sensitive nub. It moves freely with the help of your wetness, and even on the lowest setting, it’s more than you thought it would be.

It helps that Joel’s the one using it on you, knowing just went to add extra pressure and lift up, and it also helps that you’ve been untouched by even yourself for the majority of the last week. You push your palms down on the counter and desperately grind your hips against the wand’s head. Your head lolls back, the neon signs on the wall behind you shining on your sweat-slick skin.

Joel flicks between two of the settings, a constant push and pull between low and a little higher, the sort of sensation that has your stomach stirring. “That feel good, hun? Better than rubbin’ this needy pussy on that stool, I bet.” You let out a pitchy sound of half-disagreement, half-pleasure in response, managing to push yourself up on shaking elbows to get a good look at him. He’s still hard, if not more than he’d already been, rolling the wand in easy motions against you. “Shh, it’s okay, baby. Not a bad thing that you only think with your cunt. ‘S cute,” he coos at you. His words make you gush.

“M-more,” you rasp, hips stuttering. You crave more, more of him, even though he’s already denied you that much. There’s a supernova of need flaring inside of you, enough to crack your lips into a ragged moan. Your cunt tightens, squeezing out more of your arousal. You crave him inside of you, buried deep and rolling his hips into you. “Joel, I need – need your cock.”

He turns it up, notches it to a faster pace that engraves pleasure onto your swollen clit. “No you fuckin’ don’t. Quit your mealy mouthin’ and take what I give you. You were ‘bout to spray your whore cum all over that chair, this should be more than enough.” Joel punctuates his sentences with hard jabs of the wand against you, drawing pathetic moans from your chest.

“J-J-Joel! Fuck!”

“J-J-Joel,” he mocks above you, shaking his head. His dark hair flops around with the movements and his tongue sneaks out to lick his lips while he watches you quiver below. “Yeah, you’re in heat alright.” Joel’s hand goes to the hem of your shirt and yanks it up, and your trembling hands help him lower the cups of your bra so he can grab and knead your tits.

His thumb circles your nipple when he turns it up to the highest setting, the one that makes your clit go numb and your back arch. You hardly have time to choke out, “Cl-close!” before Joel rubs the wand just right.

As your orgasm soars through you, you can hear him saying Attagirl, give it to me, so pretty when you come through the veil of your hearing’s fuzziness. You whimper, still rolling your hips as your fingers clamp around his over your tit, and he rubs circles into your palm while you ride it out. “That’s it,” he says when you come down fully, starting to shiver away from the pressure of the vibrator. He lowers it until it stalls in his hand and sets it down on the packaging.

“Good?” he asks, reaching up to stroke your cheek.

“Good,” you nod with a tiny little sigh.

You manage to haul yourself up fully onto your elbows, thighs still trembling. When you look him up and down, you notice two things: there’s the tiny etching of guilt in his eyes, but his cock is definitely still hard. Joel breathes out your name when you reach for him, cupping his sizable bulge through his pants. He hisses. “Can’t be doin’ that, baby.”

“Why?” you ask, lips contorted into a pout. “Because you’re scared you’ll bend me over and fuck me?” You feel his cock twitch under your hand. His resolve is breaking, and you’re loving it. “Just the tip, Joel.”

He winces from your words, but he looks at you, right down to your still-dripping cunt where your release trickles down your inner thighs and your seam. When you spread yourself out for him like he had done and run your finger tip along your opening, that seems to be the last straw. Joel curses under his breath and g0es to make quick work of undoing his belt with one hand, his other still holding yours. “Ju– just the tip,” he reiterates, voice stony.

Joel pulls himself free, groaning when his cock springs up. A noise of surprise catches in your throat when you see him in full. He’s even bigger than he looked in his jeans – which you had no idea was possible. “Don’t worry, darlin’. Just gonna give you the tip, remember?”

“Yeah,” you exhale on a shaky breath.

Despite his insistence, he still reaches out for the condom display next to you, already popping a box open. You grab his wrist urgently, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. Want – want you like this.”

“We shouldn’t,” he says, still holding the box. “I mean, hun, this joint is literally called Condom Sense. Oughta have some, shouldn’t we?”

“Don’t care.” You gather some of your cum on your fingertips, wrapping them around his head so you can brush over his slit. His hips jump, a dead giveaway to what his answer will be.

He grunts, tossing the box somewhere off to the side. “You protected? Clean?” You nod, victorious. “Alright,” Joel sighs. Apparently coming all over his fleshlight isn’t enough, because Joel bends over the counter and dips his head to press his lips against your clit, kissing before he sucks gently on it. You yelp, but quickly feel that heat returning and sparking in your core. He licks at your entrance, swirling his tongue around. “Taste fuckin’ delicious, baby.” You have a feeling he isn’t prepping you for the tip anymore, even more so when he pulls back to feed your cunt two of his fingers.

You whine, desperately rolling your hips down against his thick fingers, fucking yourself down on him as he opens you up properly. He curls his fingers, rubbing that spongy spot inside of you. Your stomach twitches. “That it?”

“Mhm,” you whine, and he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you, always sure to brush your g-spot. The heel of his palm slaps against your clit and you whine, looking at where his fingers fuck into you. It’s an obscene view, his knuckles drenched in your juices while you clench down around him.

“Good girl,” he sighs when he finally pulls his fingers from you. He gets a good grip on his cock, rubbing the head through your slippery, sensitive folds. He coats it in your arousal before notching it at your opening. When he pushes in, he stays true to his word so far, but the tip is enough to make the room spin all over again. You squeeze down on him and he groans a rough, “Fuck. So goddamn tight.”

His words make you clench again, and his head tips to meet your shoulder blade, body poised at an awkward angle while he fights to stay at least partially outside of you. “Didn’t expect you to feel this fuckin’ good, sweetheart. So fuckin’... good.” He gives you shallow thrusts with the tip, just barely enough to slip in and out of you. His teeth sink into your shoulder as if trying to keep himself quiet, trying to steel himself into remembering who he’s on top of and who he just made come.

“Joel,” you whine, carding a hand through his hair and tugging lightly until he brings his eyes on you. “Fuck me.”

For once that night, it’s enough. With his eyes on you, he eases into you, groaning with every inch he gives you until he’s bottomed out in your cunt. With all of Joel’s prepping, there’s no pain, only the fullness of what it’s like to throb around him, to leak down his cock. Your fist tightens in his hair when he pulls out of you only to slam back into you. You look down where his body almost covers yours, and through your silhouettes, you can see the stretch of your arousal sticking to his happy trail, stretching between your skin. The room does spin, now, a blur of pink and pleasure.

Joel says, nipping at your ear, “This what you wanted? Wanted me to stretch you out, make you take my cock like the whore you are?” He rolls his hips into yours and effortlessly finds your g-spot like before. Your legs scramble for purchase, wrapping around his waist and pulling him flush against you. His happy trail, spattered with your arousal, rubs against your clit. You grind your hips down, dig your nails into his biceps, desperate to meet his thrusts. When you don’t respond, he pinches your nipple, and your legs wind even tighter around him in surprise.

“Yes! Wanted it – wanted it when you first walked in, fuck,” you whine.

Joel smirks into the place between your shoulder and neck, kissing up the expanse of your skin. “Horny little girl. Bet you went home so excited to put that wand on your pretty clit, only to find out it quit on ya.” You can only moan, boneless and foggy underneath him as he rocks his hips into you. “Fucked my fleshlight thinkin’ of you, but I bet you already knew that, didn’t you? Wanted to bounce you on my cock so bad. Fuckin’ choking me like I knew you would.”

“Fuck me like you fucked it, then,” you say in a rush, your whimpers still poking through your sentences. “H-hard, Joel, want it rough.”

Joel grunts, twitching inside of you from your request. “Shit, can’t say no to ya. Gotta have… gotta have a goddamn death wish or somethin’, baby.” With that, he finds a punishing, ravenous pace, the filthy noises of his body slapping against yours filling the store from wall to wall. He grins. “But you like it, dirty girl. Can feel ya gettin’ close. C’mon, gimme another, baby.”

You come with a cry, soaking his cock, eyes watering from relief while you grip him. Warmth seeps into your bones and turns your brain to mush, electric from dopamine. You go limp on the ledge while he continues fucking into you, voice filling your ears, “That’s it, that’s my girl, fuuuuck, way better than that fleshlight. Shoulda bent you over the counter and fucked you that first night.” You moan at the thought, pussy still clenching his cock.

You’re too busy coming to notice him reaching to the side, retrieving the long-forgotten wand. You could scream when he touches it to your clit again on the medium setting, and then your thighs are shaking around him even stronger and you’re coming for the third time that night, launched from one orgasm straight into another with Joel hovering over you, still fucking into you. “Fuck, again?” he asks, voice layered with disbelief. “Such a messy pussy, baby. Drippin’ down my thighs. Gonna make it even messier, pump you full ‘a my cum, sweet girl.”

Your vision whites, palms slapping on the counter before he wraps his hand back in yours like before to ground you. You squeeze his hand and moan in response. He turns the vibrator back to low and keeps rolling his hips into you. “Close, baby, gonna shoot this load up your pretty pussy.” Joel’s forehead drops to the counter, still mouthing at your neck when you feel him jerk inside of you. You feel the warmth of his cum spill into you while you still flutter around him, his debauched moans filling your ear as he empties himself into your cunt.

Both of you are breathing heavily by the time he pulls away from you, you laying down on the counter and staring at the ceiling tiles. They’re unfocused and blurry in your post-orgasmic bliss. You blink yourself back to reality, giving him a look with your hooded, tired eyes. His chest rises and falls, mouth and softening cock smeared with your cum. He’s looking at you with the same eyes you’re giving him, something crossed between incredulity and shamelessness.

Joel fishes around in his back pocket before finding a red flannel handkerchief, which he’s careful to dab at your inner legs. You’re both silent until he separates from you with a peck to your forehead. “Did good for me. You’re, uh… really somethin’, sweetheart.”

You grin at him. “That mean this is gonna happen again?” You ask as he tucks himself away and buckles his belt. You stuff your tits back in your bra, pulling down your shirt and securing your pants and shoes from where they’d long fallen into piles on the floor.

“Don’t jump the gun, baby.” He rubs the back of his neck and licks his lips. “But I ain’t rulin’ it out.”

A cocky smirk tugs at your lips, and you hop fully off of the counter, tugging your jeans up your waist. Joel taps the vibrator box when you’re all done. “Cash me out?” he asks, stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket and grabbing his wallet instead.

You nod, scanning the damaged vibrator box and batteries and reading off his total. You bag up the soaked vibrator, the on-the-house toy cleaner, and the rest of the batteries he’d bought. “Here you go,” you say, holding it out for him.

“Nah, hun. That’s for you. What use am I gonna get out of a vibrator unless it’s makin’ you come?” He pats the back of your hand and slides the bag across to you again.

You stare at him, fighting not to let your jaw loosen. “Joel… that’s a lot of money.”

“And you deserve to come as much as you want, got it, pretty girl?” He smiles at you with a shrug as if he hadn’t just wrung three out of you within an hour. “Besides, you have my number. You know who to ask if you ever need someone to talk you through it.”

You choke, nodding dumbly at his proposition. So definitely not ruled out.

“Thank you,” you say, bringing yourself to match his smile.

He gives your hand a squeeze and says, “See you later, sweetheart,” before heading out.

And sure, this entire thing is a tornado that could toss up your life like a trailer park, but for Joel? You’d let it happen.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller/f! reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic

3K notes · View notes

aperrywilliams · 4 months ago

Text

That Green Monster (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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

Author Masterlist

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

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Summary: Your relationship with Spencer is fresh new, and some of his insecurities arise when someone new joins the team, making him react in a wrong way to you.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Fluff and Angst. And then fluff at the end (I don't even understand myself). Spencer lashes out. Spencer is insecure. Reader is mad. Both are so madly in love, though.

A/N: This one has been sitting as a WIP for way too long, so I decided to finish it today!

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

A shot in the neck.

That's what it took for you and Spencer to - finally - get together. To confess you loved each other.

Everything happened while working a case in Texas. You had cornered a suspect who was hiding in a restaurant. You wanted to open a communication line with him, but out of nowhere, shots got fired. And one of them ended in your neck.

What happened next was a blur to everyone, especially to Spencer. He barely remembers Morgan pulling him back so that the paramedics could check on you.

The ambulance ride to the hospital and the hours of waiting for news were excruciating.

In Spencer's brain, only the thought that he might lose you forever without coming clean about his feelings for you.

You have been in a similar situation before, but this time, he thought you wouldn't make it.

It would be the loss of a friend and the loss of the love of his life.

If Spencer has to be honest, he realized he loved you after your first month working at the BAU. And with every passing day, the feeling only got stronger. But he was scared of saying anything, afraid of changing - or losing - the strong bond you guys already had.

So, he kept it to himself for years. For six years, to be exact.

But what he didn't know was you had fallen for him, too.

And how could you not? You both went through so many things over the years: Spencer's kidnapping, his Dilaudid problem, your family issues, the injuries, bad cases, unsubs attacks, hospital visits, and so on. With every bump in the way, you both were each other rock. Always together, no matter what.

The team affectionately called you Mulder and Scully, but in reverse roles, of course.

But even if, at some point, both of you realized what you had was much more than a friendship, neither of you did something about it.

Until you got shot in the neck.

In that uncomfortable waiting room chair, Spencer prayed, to whatever or whoever could listen, for a chance to make things right.

So when you woke up in your hospital bed hours later, the first thing you saw was Spencer's face.

He was by your side as always. But this time, he had something to tell you. Spencer didn't have the chance, though, because before he could say anything, three words blurted out from your lips: 'I love you.'

Between happy tears, you both spent hours talking and coming to the conclusion you were both idiots in love.

You didn't say anything to the team, but you all knew they knew, so it became unspoken knowledge after you were released from the hospital.

-------

With you home due to your neck injury and JJ on maternity leave, Hotch decided that some help would be better than putting more pressure on the remaining team members.

That's why he borrowed an agent from Sex Crimes.

Spencer had already told you that there was a new agent, but he hadn't developed this information in detail.

You knew him on your first day back, a month after you got shot.

Once you exited the elevator on the sixth, you headed through the bullpen glass doors. When you pushed them open, you didn't realize that someone was going in the opposite direction, and you almost hit the guy in the face with one of the doors.

"Oh, my God. I'm sorry!" you exclaimed when you realized what almost happened.

The man shook his head in dismissal. "No, no. Don't be. Nothing happened."

"But I almost hit you with a glass door," you pointed. The guy didn't seem phased by it, though.

"I'm okay, really," he insisted, flashing you a smile. You hadn't picked much of his appearance, to be honest, but the guy was easy on the eyes. Another thing that caught your attention was you had never seen him before.

"Do I know you?" You asked with curiosity.

"I don't think so. I'm Agent Dodds. Jake Dodds," he introduced himself, extending his hand. You've heard that last name before. You told him yours, shaking his hand.

"Really? You are a BAU member, right? I'm the backup agent Hotchner brought to the team," he explained, and then it clicked. He was the new guy.

Jake Dodds was young, fresh and motivated. After his first year in Sex Crimes, he already has a lot of accomplishments to show off. And, of course, he was doing his best to impress Hotch and the team.

Coming to the office bright and early and being the last to leave gave Dodds a chance to engage with the cases and the team members - you included. Due to your neck injury, you were mostly on desk duty, so you had enough time to help Jake with paperwork and all the questions he might have about past cases. And Dodds had many.

In the weeks that followed, he has spent a lot of time by your side, working with you when the team wasn't out of town.

It was part of your nature to be forthcoming and willing to teach others. And having worked at the BAU for almost six years, you felt like you could teach one thing or two.

Spencer loves that from you; it's one of the many things that made him fall in love with you. But for some reason, Jake's closeness to you started to bother him.

Spencer knew it was irrational and without foundation. Still, in the past weeks since Dodds joined, with each laugh from you when Jake cracked a joke, every time you sat together at the office a little too close, or every day you decided to have lunch with Jake rather than him, Spencer's jealousy only got stronger. It didn't help the team's comments about you and Jake.

'Dodds looks hooked by her'; 'The newbie definitely is flirting with her'; 'Really handsome view she has over there.'

Spencer could only bite his tongue. He could easily assume that the team was only messing with the situation, but the green monster growing inside didn't let him think clearly.

Spencer knew you, and you would never do something to hurt him, so why did he feel that uneasiness inside of him?

Maybe the fact you were in the early stages of your relationship made Spencer insecure. It was all new and fresh; he was happy with you, but although you both have known each other for years, he was inexperienced in the love department. Being friends was one thing, but being a couple was different.

So instead of talking to you—which he knew was the right thing to do—Spencer did what he usually does when he feels overwhelmed: he shuts people out.

And you did notice, of course.

Something was troubling him, you knew that, but every time you brought up the topic, he dodged it. You didn't look much into it at first because you knew Spencer would talk to you eventually when he felt ready. Or you assumed he would.

But the days went by, and Spencer still hadn't told you why he had been so distant, so you decided to confront him.

You both were watching a movie at your place, but you noticed Spencer wasn't paying attention to the TV. After an internal debate about whether it was a good idea to bring this up, you tested the waters.

"Spencer, are you okay?" you asked him, genuine concern lacing your voice.

The question hung in the air enough to make you think he might not hear you.

"Spencer?" you tried again, swearing you heard him huff even if he tried to be subtle.

"I'm okay, just tired," he hastened to dismiss, not looking at you.

So he heard you, but you had to call his name again to get an answer. Something is definitely wrong.

Contemplating your options, you chose to end the 'patiently wait until he comes to you' strategy. You were his girlfriend now. Why he couldn't trust you enough to tell you what's going on?

"Okay. This bullshit needs to stop now. You have been weird for too many days to tell me now you are okay and just tired. I know something happened and need you to tell me what it is," you demanded.

Shifting uncomfortably in his spot, Spencer had an inner debate about coming clean to you. He didn't want to admit how much Jake's closeness to you was bothering him. Spencer didn't want you to think about him as the possessive and clingy boyfriend who can't see his girlfriend near other guys.

He wasn't like that, right?

"You are imagining things. I'm perfectly fine," Spencer deadpanned, eyes returning to the TV.

Your mouth went slack. Were you imagining things? Was he thinking you were stupid?

"So I'm imagining things, uh? It's not you being defensive right now, isn't it?"

"No." He gave you a curt answer that meant precisely the opposite of what he was implying.

You wanted to give him a chance to open with you, but Spencer wasn't engaging.

It seemed easier to talk about what was happening to each other when you were only friends. Why is it so hard now you are a couple? You couldn't understand, and your patience was running short.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" you called him out in frustration. "Who do you think I am? A random person who hasn't known you for fucking six years?"

Spencer internally flinched. He saw the confusion and anger mixed in your eyes, and he felt the urge to hug you tight, telling you he was being an irrational jealous asshole. But Spencer didn't bring himself to do it, and instead, he tried to play cool and detached.

"I already told you. Everything is wonderful, at least for me. Not for you?" Spencer asked casually.

You narrowed your eyes at him. He looked calm and collected, but you could feel he was anything but.

"Okay. I'll bite the bullet. So the distance between us in the past weeks doesn't bother you as it bothers me," you concluded.

Spencer let out a bitter chuckle.

"Funny you're bothered by that. You have seemed very busy in the past weeks," Spencer mumbled.

A slip that didn't go unnoticed by you.

"Very busy?" you echoed his words. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Spencer shrugged, unamused.

"Exactly what it is. You have been very busy at the BAU lately. I only have been giving you space."

You squinted your eyes, raking your brain to understand Spencer's meaning. For your mandatory desk duty, you have spent more time in the office than in the field, but besides that, what has been different?

And then it clicked on you. Jake Dodds.

Sure, you've been very willing to teach him things and help him with his work, but that only explains Spencer's annoyance if there is another reason.

"Is this about Dodds? Are you jealous of Jake?" you questioned in disbelief.

Spencer's face paled. You had caught him.

After your deduction, he should have told the truth, but Spencer is stubborn enough not to give in, especially if that meant recognizing something he felt embarrassed of.

"W- what?! No! Where did you get that? I'm not jealous or remotely close to that," Spencer rebutted defensively.

Oh, he was definitively jealous. At the realization, you let out a giggle, eyes softening at your boyfriend. For you, there is no guy he should be worried about- not for Jake or any other person. Your heart is his, and you know there is nobody in this world you want to be with more than Spencer.

But Spencer's face deflated. You were laughing at him, and he felt even worse.

"Spencer, there is no reason for you to be -"

You couldn't even finish your sentence when Spencer cut you off, standing from the couch.

"I already told you! Am I not speaking English to you?"

His face was red, but not by embarrassment anymore. Now, it was a kind of contained rage.

Stunned by his reaction, it took you a few seconds to say anything.

"I - I'm just trying to understand what's going on. Don't be rude," you chimed.

Spencer let out a humorless chuckle.

"Rude, did you say? Am I rude because I disagree with you? Is that? Or am I rude because this doesn't have to do with you?"

"Excuse me? When did this turn into a problem related to me?"

You stood to mirror his stature so as not to look vulnerable.

"I don't know, you tell me. Are you disappointed because not everything or anyone in this world is revolving around you?"

Spencer's voice was cold and sarcastic, something you had seen in him before but never directed toward you. He was outrightly saying you were self-centered.

"Spencer -" you tried to warn him to back off, but Spencer didn't stop.

"No. I get it. You like the attention. But, I'm sorry, I'm not in the mood to indulge your childish self. Maybe the young and funny Agent Dodds could help you with that. But not me."

A dead silence settled in the room. If a needle had fallen on the floor, it would have made a noticeable noise.

You couldn't believe that man was your boyfriend—the man who was telling you such hurtful words.

Spencer saw how your features morphed from confused to hurt and then to offense, and with a twist in his guts, he knew he had fucked up.

"Are you done?"

Your tone was flat and collected, even if, on the inside, there was a storm of feelings. Spencer was deflated and looking for the right words to apologize.

"Hey, look, I'm -"

"I asked if you were done." You questioned harshly this time, and Spencer only gave you a shy nod.

"Okay, now get out!"

Your command was only followed by your actions as you walked to your entrance to open the door.

With horror, Spencer tried to sputter words to change your mind.

"I'm sorry. I - I didn't - Please, don't do this."

"I said, get out! I don't want you here!"

You emphasized your words, gesturing to the open door.

"Baby, I wasn't - I didn't mean what-" Spencer tried again, but you had made up your mind and didn't want to hear him.

"I don't fucking care! You had your time to explain yourself, and I don't want to hear anything else from you."

Spencer knew that nothing he could say at that moment would help his cause, so like a dog with the tail between his legs, he slowly made the walk of shame towards your door, but not before looking at you and begging for forgiveness with his eyes. It was a useless thing because you didn't even look at him back. Once he was out of your sight, you slammed the door shut, and your facade crumbled.

Tears started to fall freely, in a combination of pain and frustration.

It's needless to say, you couldn't sleep that night.

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

Spencer looked distracted and visibly sad.

Morgan knew something had happened to him, even if the man had denied the fact for the past two days. And Morgan was sure it was something related to you. It looked like Spencer would combust from guilt whenever his eyes landed on you. Morgan's suspicion turned to be right the moment you caught Spencer's gaze, and you purposely averted it.

"Okay, pretty boy, what did you do?" Morgan questioned Spencer when he caught him pouring coffee in the kitchenette.

"What? Me? Nothing!" Spencer defended himself, but the crack in his voice did nothing to help his cause.

"So she's not talking to you just because?"

Spencer shrugged, leaving the pot over the counter.

Was he being so obvious? If Spencer wanted to maintain the facade that 'nothing is wrong here,' he was failing miserably.

Morgan scoffed, grabbing a mug to pour some coffee for himself.

"Come on, Reid. There must be something. Since yesterday morning, you look like a kicked puppy, and she seems visibly upset, and you're both always attached to the hip."

Dangerous territory, Spencer thought. But at this point, his regret was more powerful than keeping your relationship private.

"She is mad at me," the man recognized. It was a 'vague' recognition, but it was something.

Morgan seemed not surprised, though.

"No shit, Sherlock. The question is why, pretty boy," Derek prodded.

Spencer sighed deeply. How could he express what really happened without telling the whole truth?

Morgan saw the struggle in Spencer's eyes.

"I know you are both hurting by whatever happened. Maybe talking would help you clear your head and think about how to fix it."

Spencer took in Morgan's words. Some advice could help, he decided.

"We fought. I mean, we argued two nights ago, and she kicked me out. And now she is not talking to me, and I don't- I want to apologize, but I don't know how."

Spencer winced, just remembering your fight.

Derek looked at him incredulously.

"She kicked you out? What in the world did you do so she reacted like that?"

The actual question was 'what he said' because, strictly speaking, he didn't do anything besides let his mouth run on its own accord.

He regretted every word he said to you the second they left his mouth, but the damage was done, and you were fed up enough to listen to his apologies, so you yelled at him to let you alone. He didn't blame you. But he was feeling miserable, and it showed.

Spencer told Morgan exactly what happened—word by word.

"Jesus, Reid. I didn't peg you like the jealous type," Morgan acknowledged. Spencer shook his head.

"It's not like that. I mean, I know she loves me..."

"But?"

Spencer sighed. "What if - what if she realizes there are better men than me? That I am not enough for a romantic relationship?"

Morgan's eyebrows knit together. Spencer's face was pure panic, only thinking about the possibility.

"And Dodds would be better than you? You know he's like a kid, right?" Morgan pointed.

"Yeah. A young man with a lot of confidence that makes her smile and has her undivided attention. He's smart and qualified for this job like any of us. I'm not better than him. And I can perfectly be disposable in comparison."

That was the thing. Spencer felt insecure about you finding someone better than him.

Morgan looked at him empathetically.

"Man, I think you are looking too much into it. I don't think you should feel threatened in your relationship with her. And I guess she thinks the same and feels hurt for you thinking that."

Spencer nodded. "That's why I know I fucked up. I hurt her for my insecurities. It's all my fault," he lamented.

"You need to talk to her," Morgan advised, and Spencer whined.

"How? She hasn't spared me a glance in two days!"

"You're a genius, Spencer. And above all, how long have you known her? Five years? Think of something."

"Five years, eleven months, three weeks, and four days," Spencer corrected without hesitation.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. You'll figure it out."

Spencer sighed deeply as Morgan patted his shoulder before leaving the kitchenette. Derek was right; they should talk. Spencer just had to figure out how to make that happen.

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

That night you were sulking at your apartment, laying on the couch and watching some crap on the TV, when three knocks alerted you.

You weren't expecting anyone, and you didn't think Spencer could be outside your door. You were clear in telling him you didn't want to talk to him when he cornered you in the breaking room this afternoon.

But if you knew something about Spencer Reid, it was that he could be stubborn as fuck. So when you looked by the peephole and saw him standing there, you only closed your eyes and sighed.

Spencer knocked again. "I know you are there. And I know you don't want to talk to me. But please, let me do the talk. Please, at least listen to the things I need to say."

"You already said enough," you spat from your spot on the other side of the door. Spencer gulped hard. He said enough hurtful things to you to kick his ass, but he was determined to gain your forgiveness somehow.

"I can't stress enough how sorry I am for that. But I need you to know that I didn't mean any of it." Spencer paused, and when he didn't hear you say anything, he continued. "I'm an asshole, and I would understand if you want to break up and never see me again. I mean, well - it - it would be kind of difficult not to see each other because we work together, but you know what I mean. Or maybe not, I don't know. Jesus, what the fuck am I saying?" Spencer chastised himself, trying to control his nerves.

You could hear him struggling, so you decided to spare him a panic attack in the middle of the hallway. You opened your door and saw him still trying to sputter what he wanted to say.

"If this is your way to apologize, you are doing a terrible job." Your voice was not angry but tired. Because if he had had two tortuous days of you not talking to him, you haven't done it any better, overthinking about your fight over and over again.

Spencer's glassy, pleading eyes found yours.

"I know. It seems it's another thing I suck at," he admitted fidgeting with his hands. "Would you, uh. Would you let me try again? Apologize. That is."

It's true you were still mad with him, but you really wanted to understand why he reacted the way he did that night and said all the things he said. You know him too well to ignore that something else beyond mere jealousy clearly triggered his outburst.

Without saying a word, you gestured for him to get into the apartment. Spencer was quick to comply before you changed your mind.

You both took seats on opposite sides of the couch, eyes overly interested in your living room rug. After some minutes of silence and knowing he needed to say something, Spencer cleared his throat.

"I guess I'm going to start with the beginning," he prefaced, keeping his hands in his lap as you turned to contemplate him in silence. "Uh - you know it took me time to come clean with my feelings for you. A lot of time, almost six years," he chuckled nervously. You nodded, not wanting to interrupt him, fearing to get him more anxious.

"The thing is- I have been in love with you for so long and creating scenarios of us in my mind that - that now I know it is real, I don't - It's still difficult to grasp the idea we are together, you know?"

As Spencer raked his hair, collecting his thoughts, you couldn't help but remember all the things you both went through until you decided to tell the truth to each other. Six years is a long time. But you wanted to believe it has been worth it.

"I'm not used to a life where I get to be happy; when I think I am, things crush down, and I lose everything. It's a rule: good things don't last in my life."

You know how difficult it has been for Spencer to accept that he is not cursed or anything like that—a very difficult task, knowing the things he has been through.

"So my mind began to be haunted by the idea that it was a matter of time before you realized you could do better than me, and I'm only worth it as a friend."

His words made you recall the times you both discussed your love life in the past and all the doubts weighing on Spencer's shoulders. After those conversations, you always swore to make him feel loved and appreciated.

"And then you came back to work, and Dodds was there. I created this whole scenario, telling myself that you would be better with someone like him."

Spencer paused to gauge your reaction. You were openly listening to him, taking in every word.

"I know it's unfair to you. I - I betrayed your trust by mulling those ideas and saying all those hurtful things I truly don't believe. I'm so sorry; I don't have a defense other than my incompetence in dealing with my insecurities," Spencer concluded, letting a deep sigh escape from his lips and averting your gaze. He looked embarrassed and vulnerable, and it hurts you to acknowledge how small he feels about himself. You reached your hand tentatively, touching his forearm, and Spencer's eyes drifted back to you.

"Spencer, you have to know there is no one in this world who I love so deeply as I love you. No man could compare to you. No matter how young or confident or whatever difference you can name. You are the most thorough, caring, and selfless person I know, and I love you so fucking much it hurts," you gave his arm a gentle squeeze to emphasize your point. Spencer's cheeks flushed a bit. He still needs to get used to your compliments.

"What I still don't get is why you didn't tell me. Don't you trust me enough to talk to me about how you feel?"

Spencer hastened to reply, taking your hand in his. "No! It's not that! I do trust you with my life!"

"Then why didn't you tell me the truth at the beginning?"

"I - I don't know. I thought you would see me as the shitty boyfriend who can't see his partner near another man. It's as if I wanted to control you. And that's far from what I want," Spencer explained, scooting by your side as his grip on your hand tightened. "It was my problem, not yours. You did nothing to make this happen. I'm the one who must have to fix it." You shook your head.

"Baby, no. If it is something that upsets you, it is my problem, too. Spencer, we need to talk about those things and resolve them together."

Spencer's head hung low, taking in your words.

"But why? I am the insecure one, and you have done nothing more than show me how unfounded my fear is."

"Well, because you're still my best friend, and I care about you." Spencer's gaze met yours again. "It's the thing I first loved about us, you know? I love feeling safe with you and having the trust to talk about what is happening to us." With loving eyes, you brought his hand to your lips to kiss it.

"I want you to keep being my best friend, too," Spencer said with a hopeful smile. It was all you needed to hear.

"Then please don't forget that. You can always talk to me, and I promise to do the same, okay?" Spencer nodded at your words, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Okay. I promise," Spencer replied before wrapping you in a tight embrace. You melted in his arms, feeling his warmth and inhaling his scent, something you have been missing in the past two days.

"I love you," you mumbled into his chest. "So so much."

"I love you too. And I'm so sorry for my behavior two days ago," Spencer muttered in your hair.

You chuckled, slightly parting to look at him.

"Yeah, we have to work on taming that green monster, doctor. Otherwise, Hotch won't be able to bring anyone new to the team," you pointed, leaning to kiss his lips. Spencer smiled into the kiss.

"That means you forgive me?" he asked hopefully. You narrowed your eyes.

"Yes. But you still have to make it up to me," you teased, faking seriousness.

Spencer nodded eagerly nonetheless. "Whatever it takes."

"You could start making something to eat. I'm starving here after two days with a hole in my stomach," you rubbed your belly for emphasis.

"Yes, ma'am," Spencer smiled, standing and strolling quickly to the kitchen. He felt so relieved after coming clean with you that he swore not to make the same mistake again. That green monster fed by his insecurities dissipating as he thought how lucky he was to love and have you in his life.

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

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #aperrywilliams #amanda perry williams

942 notes · View notes

justdontaskme · 1 month ago

Text

Home Sick (Leah Williamson x Reader)

A/N: It's been so long! I'm trying to get back into things but don't be surprised if I dip again, unfortunately. I want to go back and finish some of my WIPs but needed to get something out. Let me know what you think!

Normally, a day off from practice was a godsend, and you’d spend most of the day tangled in bed with your girlfriend. The day would be filled with laziness as you both enjoyed the simplicity and stillness the rare day of no obligations could hold.

Yet, today, at this very moment, you felt as if you were at your wit’s end. And said girlfriend was the source of much of the current frustration.

You’ve been slaving away in the kitchen since you woke up this morning, preparing to feed your whole team as they were scheduled to arrive later today. If you were being honest, there was a part of you that was beginning to regret even deciding to host, but it was too late now.

Ordinary team hangouts were usually chill, with all the girls coming over for drinks and a movie or game night. Today though, you had planned an early Friendsgiving dinner. Well, it was actually Emily’s idea after she heard you were feeling extra homesick this year.

Your fellow American picked up on your sour mood lately, and she hounded you until you admitted that you had seen a bunch of videos about people already planning out Thanksgiving menus. In fact, your family group chat had been going off with your parents asking for a head count for the special dinner and any dish requests.

Since neither you nor Emily were going to make it home for the holiday, it only made sense for you two to celebrate this holiday with your new team. It didn’t matter that they didn’t quite understand the hype of this specific holiday here on the other side of the pond, they were more than happy to learn and eat.

When word got to Leah, she was onboard instantly, wanting to do whatever she could to help alleviate any feeling of you missing home. While you loved and appreciated your girlfriend for wanting to help, right now you really just needed her to get out of your way.

“Leah! Get out of the kitchen!” you said, shooing your girlfriend away before she could knock something else over. You grabbed another dish towel and started wiping up the sauce the blonde managed to get all over the counter.

“I’m just trying to help,” she said, standing right behind you with a bunch of paper towels in hand, causing you to run straight into her when you turned around.

After throwing the dirty towel into the sink to rinse later, you grabbed Leah’s shoulders so you could face her directly, “I know, babe, but right now you are literally stressing me out more than you are helping me.”

The blonde pouted, visibly deflating, her voice mumbled, “I didn’t mean to stress you out.”

Your face softened at her words. Leah really was just trying to help, but with a million different things going on in the kitchen at once she was more a hazard than anything else. A hand went up, cupping her cheek.

“I know you want to help, but cooking has never been your strong suit,” you said, your voice light to let her know you were teasing. “How about you help instead by sitting right here,” you patted the kitchen counter that was currently free of anything, “and keep me company?”

“I could do that,” she smiled, stepping away from you just enough that she could hop up and place herself in the open space you had previously cleared for her.

Once she was settled, you took a step forward, standing between her legs, “You’ll be the best helper from right here.”

She dipped her head down, stealing a quick kiss from your lips. “Anything else you need from me?”

“I just need you to sit there and tell me I look pretty,” you told her, your arms slipping around her as you hid your face in her neck.

“Oooo, complimenting my beautiful and gorgeous girlfriend. My speciality,” she grinned, her hands running up and down your back soothingly.

As Leah sat there, with her cheek resting against the top of your head, she whispered all the sweet nothings you wanted to hear into your ear. It helped calm your racing mind as you started to refocus on the task at hand.

Reluctantly, you stepped out of Leah’s embrace, one hand sitting on her thigh as you turned and took in the kitchen, mentally planning out what dish needed attention next. You left Leah to attend to your dishes, asking Leah to taste things here and there. In your mind, since she was the pickiest eater on the team, if it passed Leah’s taste tests, then it would be good enough for the others.

If anyone asked, you would deny it, but you literally almost cried in relief when Alessia and Emily showed up almost two hours later. Your friends being the extra sets of hands you desperately needed in the kitchen. With their help, things started moving much more smoothly.

As the day went on, your teammates slowly started to filter in with drinks, other homemade dishes, or desserts in hand. Now that you had helpers, Leah was free to play hostess, checking in on everyone and making sure you were supplied with drinks that Katie was kind enough to mix for everyone. A few of your teammates offered their help, but with the kitchen being as small as it was, you, Emily, and Alessia were better off handling the food.

Steadily, the house filled with smells of all the different food as things were almost done. The space in your apartment was becoming almost nonexistent, but it was obvious your teammates were enjoying themselves if their laughs and screams were anything to go by. Despite what some would consider chaos, this is exactly what you needed.

As the last few dishes were either finishing up or were being reheated, you three finally took a nice break to catch up on drinks and gossip.

Alessia was telling a story about something Tooney had gotten herself into back in the day when you felt a pair of arms slide around your waist from behind.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?”

You turned your head to find Leah flashing you a bright grin. Her smile was one of the reasons you were enjoying yourself so much despite all the crazy and hard work from prepping and cooking over the past few days.

“Everything is perfect,” you told her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, squeezing you a little tighter. She held you in her arms, joining in on your conversation with Emily and Alessia, only disappearing once to refill your drink for you.

When the timer went off from the oven, you felt like a huge weight was lifted off of your shoulders. Your friends chuckled as they watched you slip out of your girlfriend’s arms and back to the oven.

With a huge sigh of relief, you slipped on the oven mitts and went to grab the star of the night. While having a turkey was a staple for the holiday, you decided to forgo it to keep your sanity for the day.

Instead, you decided to try your hand at something new that you felt would garner much more appreciation. After triple checking that everything was cooked and ready, you gave Leah a nod to get everyone ready to eat.

“Dinner is ready!” she called, watching as a few of the young ones and Katie started playfully shoving each other in their haste to get first in line for food. You watched as everyone lined up buffet style and served themselves before looking for a space to eat, either at the table, on the couch, or up against the wall.

After everyone else was served, you grabbed a plate and started making a plate for your girlfriend as she went to reprimand the young ones for making a mess on the coffee table.

“This is so good, Y/N! Can you cook for us all the time?” Beth said around a mouthful of food.

You rolled your eyes, “I already do, Beth,” you reminded her, thinking of all the days Beth would show up unannounced, looking for food and company since Viv moved to Manchester.

“True, but you don’t make all this,” she countered, stealing a piece of bread off of Steph’s plate when the Australian was dealing with Kyra trying to overload her plate with food.

“Thanksgiving special, so enjoy this while you can because I will not be cooking like this for some time,” you said, handing Leah her plate of food, when she came back.

“Aren’t you eating?” she asked after thanking you, taking a seat so you could then sit in her lap. It was a little harder for her to eat this way, but she really just wanted you close. She felt like she barely saw you today as soon as people started showing up.

“Maybe later, I just need a sec,” you told her, urging her to eat while the food was still hot. Honestly, you had quite a fill from taste testing and right now you were content to sit back and watch everyone enjoy themselves as long as you had a drink in hand.

“I’m a bit surprised there weren’t Smileys on the menu, with Leah living here and all,” Alessia said, digging into her food.

You chuckled, seeing Leah’s mouth fall upon at the open attack, “We’re working on expanding her horizons on her food.”

Your girlfriend turned to you, her face full of betrayal, “I eat more than just Smileys!”

“Oh, I know, babe. Why do you think I made a ham instead of a turkey? Now you’ll be set with a ham sandwich for like the next week,” you said, grabbing a napkin to wipe the bit of food that spilled from the side of her mouth.

“Lucky! Now you don’t have to cook. Not that you really did much of that before.”

“I can cook!” Leah nearly shouted, sitting back from her food, glaring at her teammates.

“No, Leah. You can heat things up. There’s a big difference,” Lia said, jumping on the train to tease her best friend.

“I would take more offense to that, but you lot are just jealous that I have a girlfriend who is not only insanely pretty but loves to cook for me,” Leah said, sitting up proudly and sending you a quick wink.

“I mean she’s not my girlfriend, but she does keep me fed pretty regularly,” Beth reminded her.

“And for that comment, Beth, you are not allowed to take any leftovers home with you,” Leah asserted, a satisfactory smirk in place when her friend immediately tried to backtrack all statements.

“Are we going to go around the table and say what we’re grateful for like they do in movies?” Kyra asked, switching topics before Leah and Beth’s banter could continue.

You waved your hand, dismissing the idea while you took a rather large swig of your drink. The alcohol started to kick in and relax you more now that all of your responsibilities for the day were now over, “No, not really. I don’t know about you, Foxy, but we never really did that at my house. It sounds sweet in practice, but it was pretty awkward the one year we tried it. You are more than welcome to share if you want, but don’t feel like you have to.”

“I, for one, have something to say,” Leah stated, chasing her last bite with a bit of water before she cleared her throat. “It may sound corny and everything, but I want to say I’m thankful for having all of you in my life, especially this one right next to me. After doing my ACL, having you lot support me through it all and being able to share things like this is a dream.”

“Stop being so emotional, you’re going to make me cry,” Katie shouted, pretending to fan away imaginary tears in her eyes.

“Okay, okay, one more thing. Last one to clean up after themself is on dish duty!” Leah exclaimed, taking the last bite from her plate before rushing to put the dish in the sink.

From there it was a mad rush to the sink, as a few snuck around, packing some food to go home with them as the chaos reigned around them.

You continued to watch everything unfold with rapt interest, refilling your glass and cheersing with Foxy who was following your lead. With these people you considered a second family, you truly felt a sense of home, healing that little patch of homesickness you had been feeling lately.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine

433 notes · View notes

lostalioth · 2 months ago

Text

𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐲

→ premise: miguel considered himself a very put together and composed man until your hands were on him, he lost himself.

→ pairing: sub!miguel o’hara x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, handjob, overstimualtion, begging, miguel switches between spanish and english a lot

→ a/n: kinktober 10

Miguel was laid back with his legs widened to accommodate you sitting in front of him on your knees on the bed. He had been so over worked all day, you wanted to give him a little stress relief.

That was about three orgasms ago and he was a blabbering, needy, overstimulated mess now.

“Bebe, mhmm-mireda slow down please please” Miguel rambles out breathlessly, his brain on overdrive as his words switch between English and Spanish and his hips buck up into your hand. Your grip on his cock tightens as you speed up your movements, rubbing your thumb through his leaking tip when you go up. Your saliva and spit coating and dripping down his shaft from having him in your mouth earlier makes your hand glide along easier.

“Ay coño, amor ahh~ Por favor bebe i can't take it, no more” he cries out his fingers digging into your thighs as his hips thrust up and squirm. “You can give me one more baby come on Miggy” you slow down your movements just for him to catch his breath. “Just one more orgasm my love” you explain smiling sweetly at him, though he swears he heard those exact words before his last one. Miguel’s head was far too fuzzy and his cock throbbing too much from both his impending orgasm as well as the overstimulation to know if he was remembering correctly.

“Mi vida, Bebe mmm~ no puedo, s’to much, feels s’good but too much” he whines, all his words slurring together, his balls tighten like he’s gonna cum and yet he feels as though you’ve already drained it all out of him three orgasms ago. His eyes screw shut as his head falls back agaisnt the plush pillows behind him, hips still fucking up still into your hand as if they had a mind of their own. His cock aching and extra sensitive and yet still stiff as a rock, he’s barely gone soft this whole time as your hand hasn't left him for a minute. Your hands on his body, rubbing along his tip and shaft felt heavenly and painful at the same time and yet he makes no move to stop you. “I promise Miggy, one more baby, you're my big strong man you can do it” the latter half of your sentence was intended to be taken as you mocking him. He knew this, the position he was in, whining, panting, letting out strings of Spanish curse words that blend together with his English ones. He was a pathetic mess right now, not the typical strong well composed man he always was. He could care less however, this is what your touch does to him and it feels far too good to fight back against your teasing words.

”Gonna cum Bebe, please let me cum amor, necesito, fuck- hurts s’good” he moans out, his hips flattering in their synced rymth with your hand, now thrusting desperatly for your hand to milk the last drops of cum even left in his twitching overstimualted body. “Cum baby, cum for me” you command softly, watching as his face contorted in pain and pleasure mixed together as his high crashed over him hard. Long ropes of cum shoot out, spilling over your hand and even land on his chest and thighs. He lets out some morph of a whiny sigh of relief when finally after what has felt like hours, your hand moves off his hyper sensitive cock as it twitches and softens against his cum stained stomach.

→ a/n: sorry this is hella short, i have also never written much for miguel other than a wip i never posted nor even finished from a year ago soo also sorry for errors in the spanish, the little I know is rusty so

612 notes · View notes

pathologicalreid · 10 months ago

Text

stuck between a rock and a hard place | S.R.

You, an undercover agent, uncover a hidden secret of the country's largest operation, putting your life in danger and under the protection of the BAU.

who? spencer reid x fem!FBI!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, hospitals, medical inaccuracy, drugs, sex crimes/trafficking, attempted sa, reader works in sex crimes. mentions foyet and also 6x24 (supply and demand). established relationship. word count: 7.7k a/n: this has been sitting in my wip folder for far too long. i am now emotionally attached to these two. i will write more of this specific pairing because now all i want is for them to be happy.

Spencer

It wasn’t every day that men and women in suits piled into the BAU carrying evidence boxes, everyone stood up at their desks. Spencer watched as Andi Swann followed in behind the other agents, not even bothering to greet the team as she went straight to Emily’s office.

Prentiss opened the door, letting Andi in before beckoning for Reid to join them. This had to be about you.

Ignoring the way his heart rate spiked, Spencer stood up from his desk and went up to Emily’s office. On the other side of the bullpen, the rest of the team filed into the roundtable room.

“Spencer, have a seat,” Emily offered, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of her desk.

Glancing at Agent Swann, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “No, I’ll stand.”

Andi cleared her throat, looking at Spencer, she spoke, “Y/N missed her last two check-ins. As her next of kin, I need to notify you to let you know that as of now, the FBI is considering her missing.”

He wanted to be angry. He wanted so badly to be mad, but he’d seen this before. Years ago, an agent in Andi’s unit missed her check-ins and the BAU helped find her. More than that, he knew how much Andi cared about her agents, so he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad.

“Section Chief Cruz has asked that the BAU help to recover Y/N,” Emily said, looking at Spencer. “You know I have to tell you that you can’t be on this case,” she explained, leaning against her desk, eyes flickering as she tried to read Spencer’s expression.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer looked at Emily, “Y/N’s gone missing, and I’m not allowed to help look for her?”

Sympathetically, Prentiss shook her head, dark hair swaying with the movement. “You know it’s a conflict of interest to be involved with a loved one’s case.”

“Isn’t that kind of what the BAU does?” He could’ve rambled off a list of BAU agents who worked on cases involving their loved ones – including himself and Emily.

Turning to face Agent Swann, Emily suggested she join the rest of the team in the roundtable room. She waited until the door was closed before speaking again, “When’s the last time you saw Y/N?”

Closing his eyes, he remembered the morning of the day you left, the both of you had stayed up late as if you could delay your departure, but the last time he saw you was when he dropped you off at the Sex Crimes Unit before making his way up to the Behavioral Analysis Unit. “We haven’t even spoken since she left,” he answered, almost a month ago now.

“Is there a chance she tried to reach you or her family?” Emily asked. She had to ask, he knew that, but it didn’t make the questions any less ridiculous to him.

Shaking his head, he began to pace around the office, “No, she wouldn’t have done that. She follows the undercover playbook obsessively. She always said freestyling was like signing your death certificate.” He tried. He tried to get you to leave him breadcrumbs, but you never did.

Nodding, Emily watched as he paced back and forth “When did you get married?”

Pressing his lips into a thin white line, he stopped in his tracks, “When I came back after The Believers. It was the next day.” You had offered to sleep on the couch in an attempt to give him space when he asked you to go to the courthouse with him. That was two months ago now.

He didn’t want space. Not from you. Never from you.

Finally, he sat down.

“Did you tell anyone?” Emily asked, sitting down in the chair next to him. “Did you have a witness to sign your marriage certificate?”

Nodding, Spencer reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and produced three rings, his wedding ring, your engagement ring, and your wedding band. You didn’t have the time to get them soldered together yet. “Rossi was our witness,” he responded, “He was the only one who answered his phone.” He slipped his ring on and closed his fist around your two rings.

After a moment, Emily stood, “I’m going to speak with the rest of the team, but I won’t tell them anything I don’t think is pertinent to the case.” Which was her way of saying ‘Your secret is safe with me.’ “Stay in here as long as you need, Spence,” she offered before walking out, shutting the door tightly behind her.

He thought of the last night you were together. Spencer tried to check in with you, he told you that if your job ever became too much, you just had to tell him, and he’d be there. What he neglected to tell you was that he was beginning to feel like your job was too much for him.

You had given him the opportunity to hold you close, and instead, he let you slip through his fingers.

Opening his fist, he looked down at your rings and the indent they had left on his palm, slipping them back into his pocket before he walked over to the roundtable room. Everyone paused what they were doing to look up at him.

Spencer just shrugged and looked at Emily, “I can’t just do nothing.”

In response, Emily nodded solemnly and suggested he go through the case files with Matt.

It had been hours. The sun had set, jackets had been shed, and takeout had been ordered. The clock behind him showed it was nearly midnight, meaning it had been almost two days since anyone had last heard from you.

“Oh god,” Penelope said, her voice cutting into the thick silence of the roundtable room. Her fingers began frantically typing on her laptop.

Spinning in the office chair, Spencer wheeled over so he could look at the screen, vaguely aware of Emily hovering above him, “What is it? What did you find?”

She hit the keyboard so hard he thought they might break, but she answered, “The trauma center at Johns Hopkins reported a Jane Doe brought in a few hours ago. She matches Y/N’s description.”

“Did they run prints?” Andi asked, of course, there would be red tape if the hospital tried to run your prints, seeing as you were undercover.

Another tap and dozens of files opened, “It looks like she went right into surgery. Uh, the EMTs reported she was listing off a string of numbers when they brought her in… 265D019Z?”

Spencer swallowed thickly, “That’s Y/N’s badge number.”

Shaking her head, JJ looked over at the map of DC on the wall, “It’s a two-hour drive to Baltimore from here.”

“But it’s a thirty-minute flight, Reid, Tara, Swann, and Alvez go. The rest of us will look into what happened from here,” Emily doled out responsibilities, nodding at everyone as the team broke.

Spencer stayed still, still looking at Penelope’s screen, his eyes flickering over the documents. Words jumped out at him, drugged, punctured, and knife. It made his stomach churn. How had you gotten to Baltimore? Your unit had you set up in an apartment near the Hill. When did you travel from the district to Baltimore?

The thirty-minute flight felt like it was hours long, the drive from the airstrip to the hospital dragged on, but thankfully Emily had called the hospital ahead of time to let them know who you were and who was coming for you.

A doctor stopped the four of you from going into the room, a police officer was already stationed outside of the room, and the blinds were closed. Please, Spencer wanted to plead, please just let me see her.

“She’s weak, she just came down from recovery and she hasn’t fully woken up yet,” the doctor said, placing her hands on her hips. “I can’t in good faith let you go in there and badger her with questions. Not with no one in there to focus on her well-being,” she ordered. The doctor stared the four of them down with piercing gray eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer peeked through the doorway when a nurse exited your room. “She’s my wife, I’ll advocate for her,” he responded, hoping the doctor would let him through. He could feel Tara and Luke staring, but he didn’t care.

Nodding, the doctor continued sizing Reid up, “Alright, but just you, for now. She’s not awake enough to be questioned anyway.” Stepping to the side, the doctor let Spencer through before blocking the doorway to everyone else.

In the worst way possible, you took his breath away. Your skin was sallow, you had an IV, nasal cannula, and a chest tube out the left side. Walking to your right, he took a seat next to you, taking your hand in his and pressing a gentle kiss to your bloodied knuckles – evidence that you had put up one hell of a fight. “Oh sweetheart, what did they do to you?” He whispered even though he knew you wouldn’t answer.

Reaching over you, he smoothed your hair from your face, your skin was clammy, probably as a result of blood loss. It looked like they were still transfusing, so you had probably lost a considerable amount of blood.

Shuffling the seat closer to you, Spencer took your hand in his. The doctor came back in holding a tablet, “Dr. Reid?”

He hummed in response, not daring to take his eyes off of you. “What happened to her? Why did she need surgery?”

“She had been bleeding out in an alley, according to the police officers who reported to the scene. The other agents are talking to them now,” the doctor said, tapping a few buttons on the tablet. “She had been stabbed several times in the upper left side, we went in to repair damage to her spleen, liver, and lung. There was some strain to her heart, it appears she was drugged before she was stabbed.”

He intently watched the steady rise and fall of your chest before he spoke up again, “Is she going to be okay?”

Setting the tablet down, the doctor paused before answering, “We’ll know more when she wakes up.”

Spencer leaned back in the chair, finally taking his eyes off of you and looking at the doctor, “Was there anything… did they…” He felt ridiculous, having spent the better part of his adult life in the BAU, and he couldn’t even put the words together.

To his relief, the doctor shook her head, “There were no injuries that suggested she was sexually assaulted.”

Reading the doctor’s badge, Spencer nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Herman.”

“Hit the call button when she wakes up, we’ll need to evaluate her pain and other treatment,” the doctor said, gathering her things before walking out of the room, and shutting the door behind her.

Spencer kept his eyes on you, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently, every once in a while, his phone rang, but he didn’t have the energy to talk on the phone. When his phone buzzed, he pulled it out of his pocket and checked the messages.

Penelope Garcia: How is she? Spencer Reid: Still sleeping. Penelope Garcia: How are you? Spencer Reid: Not sure.

Setting his phone on the table, screen down, he watched you again, every once in a while, your nose would twitch, or your eyes would flutter. Every time he would hold his breath, hoping you’d open your eyes.

He waited, and about an hour after he had arrived, a small, keening noise came from you. His head snapped up at the sound, your eyes were still closed, but you were moving. “Y/N?” He whispered hesitantly, not wanting to wake you up if you weren’t ready. Slowly, he stood up from the chair, not sure if he should keep waiting or if he should hit the call button.

You were muttering something, talking to someone in your sleep, when suddenly you jerked away. Instinctively, Spencer put his hands on your shoulders to stop you from tearing your stitches, and it was that touch that caused your eyes to snap open. “No, no, no, no,” you babbled, frantically looking around the hospital room.

“Y/N,” Spencer said, keeping his hands on your shoulders, “You’re safe, I’m here. You’re at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.”

With wide eyes, you looked up at him and mouthed the word ‘Baltimore.’ As if you were trying to figure out how you had ended up in Baltimore, something the BAU still hadn’t figured out. “I thought I…” Your voice was nothing more than a rasp, but with the bruises he could now see littering your neck, that didn’t surprise him much. “Did you see it?”

Spencer pushed the call button without you noticing, “Did I see what, love?” He asked, keeping his voice low as he gently sat down on the edge of your hospital bed.

You furrowed your eyebrows and looked around the room, “Is Andi here?" Your voice was tight, like you were struggling to breathe. "I need to talk to Andi.”

Helplessly, Spencer watched as the number signifying your heart rate jumped, “Not just yet, alright?” He said, looking up when the doctor and a nurse came through the door.

The doctor introduced herself and started trying to get you to even out your breathing, one of the monitors was beeping like crazy until the nurse hit a button on it.

All he could do was watch, making sure he didn’t get in the way. Listening in to words about medications and making a mental note to research everything. “How’s your pain, Y/N? On a scale from one through ten.” The doctor asked, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Like a seven? When I breathe it’s more like a nine,” you answered, every word was strained. The doctor flashed a light in your eyes, “That isn’t helping,” you said through gritted teeth.

The doctor said something to the nurse, prompting her to nod before pushing something through your IV. After a few moments, Spencer watched as your heart rate lowered and your body visibly relaxed into the mattress. You nodded softly when the nurse asked if that was better.

Dr. Herman left and the nurse scrawled some notes down on your chart, introducing herself as Amelia before she left as well.

“Oh no,” you whispered, looking in the direction of the door. “Is the whole BAU here? How badly did I fuck up?”

Quickly, Spencer shook his head, “You didn’t, at all. It’s just me, Tara, and Luke,” he tried to reassure you as best he could without knowing the full story. “Do you feel up to talking?” He asked, smoothing your hair away from your face.

You nodded gently, “I need to talk to Andi. Alone, if it’s okay with you.”

“I can wait right outside in the hallway,” he offered, holding your hand in his and skimming the pad of his thumb over top of your knuckles.

You hummed contentedly, “Could you see if I can have water?”

Grateful to have something to do, Spencer stood up, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I’ll be right back.” He stepped out of the room, garnering the attention of the agents who were waiting in the hallway, all of them staring at Spencer expectantly, “Andi, she wants to talk to you.”

The Unit Chief nodded and disappeared into the room, leaving the door open just a crack.

He was gone for three minutes, that was the time it took him to walk to the nurses’ station and ask if you were allowed liquids and back, but when he returned the door to your room was wide open. “Where did they go?” He asked, looking over at Tara.

She was still leaning against the taupe hospital walls before nodding in the direction of the red exit sign, “Swann was in there for maybe two minutes before she came out in a huff, she took Alvez with her.” Lewis spoke calmly like it didn’t necessarily mean anything to her.

But it did to him. Walking back into your room, he stood at the side of your bed, “What did you tell Andi that you didn’t want me hearing?”

“Huh?” You sounded tired – rightfully so. Your pupils were dilated, which told Spencer that the drugs that the doctors had given you were working.

It comforted him that you weren’t in as much pain, but you were still hiding something from him. “You asked me to leave while you talked to Andi because you didn’t want me to hear what you were telling her. What did you tell her?”

Your face softened as your eyes filled with a different kind of hurt, “Don’t profile me.” You were too tired to hide the pain in your voice.

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, “Don’t lie to me,” He countered. You were lying by omission, but what was worse was that you might’ve been putting yourself in danger.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whimpered.

Spencer’s chest tightened as he watched your eyes fill with tears, he sat down on the edge of your bed and took your hand in his. “I’m not going anywhere. Why would you think I’d leave you, darling?”

Your eyes were half-closed, “because you…” your voice trailed off and he squeezed your hand to get your attention. “When Scratch had Emily, you wanted to kill him,” you murmured.

The air had been knocked out of his lungs. You hadn’t been talking about a divorce. You were saying that you could identify your assailant, and you didn’t want Spencer to know. “I won’t go,” he whispered, “I’ll be right here.”

“It was Jake,” you mumbled, barely able to open your mouth as you fought your exhaustion.

That hadn’t been the answer he was expecting. He swallowed thickly, “Jake did this to you?” He asked slowly, looking at your hand, your fingers intertwined.

Minutely, you shook your head, “Jake blew my cover, Spence.” Yawning, you proceeded to mumble about him doing it on purpose.

Untangling your fingers, Spencer reached out and smoothed your hair away from your forehead, “Get some sleep, angel. I love you.”

You hummed an ‘I love you’ back, and the next moment your eyes were shut.

A nurse came in and asked for a moment while she checked the output of your chest tube, ushering Spencer and Tara out. “Okay, I’ll bite, who’s Jake?” Tara asked, putting a hand on her hip as she looked expectantly at Reid.

“Jake is her partner. When she’s not undercover and just out in the field, they’re partners,” Spencer explained.

Tara pursed her lips thoughtfully, “So, he would’ve known that she was undercover.”

Nodding as the newly added weight of the situation threatened to pull him down, Spencer turned and faced you, watching as the nurse examined you as you slept. “He blew her cover on purpose,” he reached up and rubbed his eye. Jake knew exactly what he was doing when he blew your cover, and you knew exactly what you were doing when you begged Spencer not to leave you.

“We have to go back in and ask her more questions,” Tara said.

Usually, Spencer agreed with Tara, but not this time. He saw the monitors you were hooked up to, he read your chart, and he watched the concerned looks on the nurses’ faces. They all told him that you weren’t stable enough to be speaking, let alone a cognitive interview. “No,” Spencer said finally.

Clearing her throat lightly, Tara stood next to him in the doorway, “We can’t let them get away, Reid.”

“And I can’t lose her,” he rebutted, ignoring the way his voice broke in his desperation.

Stepping back slightly, the other agent nodded in understanding. “Okay, I’ll call Emily. You go sit with her.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice; he pulled a chair up impossibly close to your bedside and draped his jacket over the back of it before loosening his tie and sitting down.

You

When you woke up, it was still dark outside, but the bright lights of the hospital room made it hard for you to get any real rest. You were pleased to find that, true to his word, Spencer was right next to you when he woke up.

He was sleeping, resting his head on his hand with his wrist bent awkwardly. “Spence,” You whispered, clearing your throat, “Spencer.” You couldn’t reach out to touch him, but you wanted to wake him up, so his wrist wasn’t sore.

Jolting awake, he looked at you, “Hey, did you just wake up? How do you feel?”

It was a weird question, you felt like an absolute dumpster fire. “Better,” you whispered, ��less hurt, achier. Sore. I don’t know, my head feels fuzzy,” you rambled, trying to move higher up on the hospital bed, but being limited by the chest tube. “How long do I have to have it?” You asked, staring at the plastic tubing as if you could make it go away via the power of suggestion.

“At least through the night, but it could be longer,” he said, reaching over and smoothing over the edges of your blanket. “Do you know what they gave you?” Spencer asked, shaking out his wrist.

You hummed in response, “No, it was intravenous though. They were big on amphetamines, but it didn’t feel like a stimulant. Benzos maybe,” you told him, your voice was soft. The pain in your throat had subsided after being intubated during surgery, but you were still swollen from when Cal grabbed you.

None of this made sense to you. The one thing that bothered you more than anything else was why Cal stopped when Jake said to. It couldn’t have been as simple as the money.

Spencer must’ve noticed you burrowing into your memories, “You remember everything?” He asked gently.

He knew what he was implying, in more cases involving severe trauma, victims generally remember everything or remember nothing. It was lucky for law enforcement when they remembered, but bad for the victims. Bad for you. “Mostly,” you breathed, avoiding his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” you said softly.

“Why? You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” he tried to reassure you, reaching out and taking your hand in his.

You hummed, “I don’t remember anything after they drugged me, just the stuff before. Just the…” Your voice trailed off as you returned to your confusion. “Who’s still here that I can talk to?”

He squeezed your hand comfortingly, “Do you feel up to it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice,” you answered him despondently.

Spencer nodded before he got up from his chair, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before he stepped out into the hallway and let Tara in.

The agent smiled at you gently, “Hey, Y/N, how are you feeling?” She asked, sitting down at a free chair at the end of your hospital bed, leaving the chair at your side available for Spencer to return to.

You gave your best attempt at returning the smile before you answered, “I think I’m going to make it.”

As Spencer sat back down next to you, placing a water cup on your bedside table, Tara opened a file and looked through it, “Can you start by telling me a little bit about your assignment? You were undercover as… Barbara?” She read from the file.

Nodding slowly, you held out your hand for Spencer to hold, “Yeah, but they called me Babs.”

Three days ago...

You shifted self-consciously in the gold dress. It was a silky, slippery number that displayed more than you particularly liked. Spencer would probably like it, but he’d hate how uncomfortable you were in it.

Inadvertently, you smiled at just the thought of your husband. It was late, so he was probably at home, reading next to the fireplace. Maybe he was on a case, off somewhere in the United States and saving lives.

It had been twenty-nine days since you had last seen him.

“You look gorgeous tonight, Babs,” Johnathan McCallister, better known as Cal, told you, reaching out and placing a hand on either one of your shoulders before placing a kiss on both cheeks.

Bashfully, you smiled at him, “You’re too good to me, Cal. I can’t believe you got me in!” Deep down, you knew tonight could be the night, you would be able to take down The Program. At least the D.C. chapter of it.

When it was over, you could be Y/N Reid again, instead of Barbara McFarston.

The Program took women around your age and sold them into sex slavery. The chapter in Washington D.C. was one of the most active, which made sense when you looked around the room and saw a majority of the people were elected officials – men and women alike.

Andi Swann had assured you that taking down this chapter would create a domino effect, causing the other chapters to topple. According to her, if you could take down D.C., Miami, and Los Angeles, The Program would most likely cease to exist.

Turning to ask Cal about the selection tonight, you were startled to see familiar gray eyes on your companion’s other side. You felt your façade slip, but only for a second before you pasted a brilliant smile back on your face.

You tilted your head to the side, “And who might you be?” You asked Jake, wondering if Andi had sent him in to get a status report on you.

“Jake Cohn,” he answered, and goosebumps spread over your exposed skin at his answer. He should’ve said William Jacoby, that was his identity for this case.

In horror, you watched as Jake leaned in to whisper something in Cal’s ear, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. You bit your tongue as Cal wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in tightly, “Let’s talk.”

You stumbled a little over your own feet and looked at Jake with wide eyes, the leader forcefully shoved you into a private room, one that would probably light up like a Christmas tree under a blacklight. “What’s wrong, Cal?” You asked, standing up straight.

He reached over and grabbed the back of your neck, gathering the hair at the nape of your neck in his fist. The force of it made you scrunch your shoulders up, “You’re a fucking fed?” He seethed, tossing you to the ground in one swift movement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried to convince him. Tried to flip the script so that Jake was the liar instead of you.

Cal grabbed your throat next, holding you down on a booth seat. “Oh, Y/N… Jake’s been one of my best employees for years.” He said, chuckling at the betrayal in your eyes, he only laughed more when you kneed him in the gut. “Oh, I like it when they fight back.”

You shut your eyes tightly as you heard the clinking of his belt buckle, but they snapped back open when you heard the word, “Stop.”

“What? Did you want first go on her?” Cal asked, wiping his cheek – you must’ve scratched him in your struggle.

Jake cleared his throat and met your eyes, “We should keep her clean, you know?” He said, and for a moment you thought he was actually trying to help you, “Think about how much a clean fed would go for here. Especially in D.C.”

And just like that, your hopes were dashed, “he’s right,” you told Cal, trying to formulate a plan.

“Shut up, whore,” Cal spat, causing you to involuntarily flinch.

At least there’s nothing he could call you that you hadn’t heard before, in your line of work, people got very creative.

Cal looked at you, inspecting your neck where he had grabbed you before, “You’ll make me a lot of money, won’t you?” He said, rubbing a hand up and down your arm soothingly before poking you with a needle.

Your legs gave out beneath you, but Jake caught you before you hit the ground. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think he’d do this. I thought he’d kick you out, but I didn’t think…”

Looking up at him, your throat burned, and you weren’t sure if you were going to cry or throw up, but you shut your eyes. “No, you didn’t.” You don’t just casually tell the leader of a sex trafficking ring that the person with them is an FBI agent.

Present

“And that’s the last thing you remember?” Tara asked, scribbling something down in your file.

You nodded absentmindedly, “I think…” Your voice trailed off as you looked at Spencer, “I think Jake might’ve been in charge the whole time. Pulling the strings from behind the curtain while he waited for the perfect time to catch me off guard. That’s the only reason Cal would’ve backed off when Jake told him to,” You proposed your theory, not missing the way Spencer was holding your hand a little tighter than before.

Tara’s brows were raised, “Jake Cohn has worked in the bureau for almost a decade, it would be hard for him to evade detection for that long.”

“But he knows exactly how to evade it,” you rebutted. “He’d know all of the tricks from Sex Crimes and all of my tricks. He- He set me up,” you realized.

Spencer turned around and looked at your monitor, “Okay, let’s take a break. We can talk more later.”

Getting up, Tara let Spencer know she was going to call the rest of the team before she stepped back into the hallway.

“My chest hurts,” you said, hating how your voice sounded like a whine.

In response, Spencer smoothed your hair back in an attempt to comfort you. “Your heart is racing,” he whispered, “Take a deep breath, okay?”

You nodded slowly, breathing in deeply through your nostrils and letting the air collect in your lungs before blowing it out your mouth. Looking up at Spencer, worry plain in his eyes no matter how hard he tried to hide it, you came to a decision, “Spence?”

He bowed slightly closer to you so he could hear you better, “What is it, love?” He moved his hand, so it was gently cupping your cheek.

Leaning into his touch, you whispered, “It’s too much.” The only thing you had left was to hope he knew what you were talking about, the words were too hard right now, but you felt them contributing to the burning in your chest.

“Okay,” he answered. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about disappointing anyone.”

You practically melted back into the hospital bed; the weight of your job eased off of you. Nodding, you closed your eyes, “It’s good, this is good. I just feel crazy, but a good crazy.”

Spencer smiled at you, “Okay crazy,” he whispered, “I’m going to-“ He was abruptly cut off by his phone ringing, furrowing his brows, he swiped the screen and held the phone up to his ear, “Hey, JJ.”

Cocking your head to the side, you tried to listen to JJ’s side of the conversation, but either she was speaking quietly, or Spencer had his phone volume really low. From the way Spencer’s jaw tightened, you knew that this couldn’t be anything good.

He looked at you before looking at the door, “Do you know where?” He said in a tone entirely unfamiliar to you, it was low and steely. Reaching over you, he nimbly pressed the call button on your bed, “Okay, keep me updated.”

“Spencer, what is going on?” You asked as the nurse came into your room, faltering for a moment as she looked at the two of you.

Placing a hand on the bar of your hospital bed, Spencer looked at the nurse, “Do you have somewhere secure she can be moved to?”

The nurse looked shellshocked, surely the FBI occupying the hospital wasn’t an everyday occurrence, “I don’t… I don’t think so?” She seemed unsure of herself.

“Spencer,” you repeated his name.

He turned to look at you, “Jake’s here and he’s looking for you.” Turning back to the nurse, he pointed at you, “She has to be moved.”

“I don’t… I’m just a student, my preceptor is taking a break. I could try to find-“ The nurse stammered nervously. “We don’t usually just move people.”

Nothing about this situation was usual, but one look at Spencer told you this was life or death. Your life or your death. You sighed in defeat, “This is really going to suck.” Reaching over to your side, you gripped the tube that had been draining blood from outside your lung and pulled it out. Like ripping off a band-aid.

In the process, you tore the stitches holding it in place and set off all kinds of alarms, leading to a crowd of nurses and doctors charging into the room.

As someone held pressure down on where you were bleeding, someone said something about moving you to a sterile procedure room, and the nursing student trailed along, whispering “That was the stupidest smart thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

Everything was blurry when you woke up next and, through the blinds, you could see that the sun was finally rising. The warm, orange light peeking through like lines on a piece of paper.

“Hey,” Spencer said from right next to you, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispered.

You looked away from him, back towards the blinds, “Will you open them?” You rasped, your throat felt raw, and your body felt heavy.

He got up and ambled over to the window, twisting the mechanism until the sun poured into your room. “How are you feeling?”

“Heavy,” you whispered, the mental weight of the past several days was threatening to take you down, but physically you felt like Atlas himself, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Spencer hummed in response, “They sedated you, standard procedure for people who rip their own chest tubes out.” He adjusted the way your gown rested on your shoulders, “Luckily you didn’t do too much damage.”

You took a deep breath and leaned your head so you could look out the window. The outside felt so foreign to you now, you couldn’t remember the last time you had breathed real, fresh air. “So, what is the damage?” Your voice was little more than a murmur but with just the two of you in your room, it wasn’t hard to hear.

“You’re going to be fine; they think the tube can go later today. Then they’ll evaluate whether enough you’re strong enough to go home, it’ll probably be another couple of days,” He explained to you, matching your gentle tone. “Johnathan McCallister is in custody, and Jake Cohn is dead,” he told you, studying your face for any kind of reaction.

Closing your eyes, you felt white hot tears stream down your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, laughing a little despite yourself. He probably thought you were losing it, crying over the death of someone who had nearly had you murdered.

The edge of your mattress dipped down slightly, and you opened your eyes to see Spencer sitting next to you, “You don’t need to be sorry, my love.” Gently, he rested a hand on your hip, skimming his thumb over the rough fabric of your hospital gown, “He was like family to you. I’m not sorry he’s dead – I’m not. I am sorry for that loss, though.”

Nodding, you felt it as your face crumpled, leading Spencer to lean down and hug you as best he could. “I’m sorry I scared you,” you said as he pulled away.

Your furrowed your brows in confusion as he reached into his pocket and produced your wedding ring, taking your left hand, he slid the rings on, “For better or for worse, right?”

A small smile grew on your face as the gem on your finger shimmered in the morning light, “for richer or for poorer,” you continued.

“In sickness and in health,” Spencer whispered, eyes flickering around the hospital room.

You reached up a shaky hand and cupped his cheek with your palm, “to love and to cherish.” You said, feeling a dopey, lovesick grin blooming on your face.

He turned his head and kissed the center of your palm, “until parted by death,” he finished, taking your hand in his.

“No dying,” you insisted, feeling your energy begin to drain, you started to understand why the doctors didn’t want you going home for a few days.

Spencer hummed in response, “You almost did. If you hadn’t been found when you were-“ his voice broke off and you had to tear your eyes away from his for a moment. “I still can’t believe you chose that,” he whispered, looking at you like you hung the moon.

Shrugging as if it was nothing, you melted back into the pillows, “I had a split second to weigh my options – get sold into sex slavery or get stabbed in the chest.”

“A catch-22,” he nodded, wrapping his head around your impossible decision. You couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take until the fear in his eyes left.

You shifted a little in the hospital bed, the sheets rustling as you did, “We get it, you’ve read Joseph Heller.”

He smiled at that, the light teasing seemed to bring brightness to his face, “What is it about blood loss that makes you think you’re funny?”

Laughing lightly, you squeezed his hand as tightly as you could manage, “I am funny. And I’m tired.”

“Go back to sleep then, baby,” he said softly, “it’ll all be here when you wake up.”

There was a party in your hospital room. It started with just Emily, coming in because you were finally up to seeing anyone other than Spencer, and it ended up being the entire BAU.

Someone had gone to the apartment and gathered clothes for you so that, once your chest tube was removed, you could put on real clothes. So now you were sitting up, wearing sweatpants and a ratty old college sweatshirt, and laughing with the BAU. You were leaning heavily on Spencer, who was also sitting on your hospital bed, but he didn’t seem to have a problem with keeping you steady.

Luckily for you, no one in the BAU wanted to ask about what had happened on your assignment, they were more interested in the rings that adorned your and Spencer’s fingers.

“I still can’t believe you two secretly got married,” Penelope said. “Of all of the times for me to not answer my phone.”

Next to her, Luke shrugged, “Honestly, I can believe it. It feels like a very Y/N and Reid thing to do.”

Gently, Spencer rubbed your back. His hovering was quickly going to become insufferable, but right now you were welcoming every touch with open arms.

“Well, we’ll have a party for the two of you. When you’re up for it, of course,” JJ said, smiling from where she was standing next to Emily.

You wanted to shake your head and tell them that it really wasn’t necessary, but asking the BAU to refrain from throwing a party was like asking a shark to stop swimming. Instead of debating, you just smiled and bobbed your head.

Eventually, Andi showed up, just as you knew she would. “Hey, guys,” Emily nodded in the direction of the doorway, “Why don’t we go raid the hospital cafeteria?”

After a few more hugs, including a lingering one from Garcia, the BAU, save for your husband, filtered out, and Andi made her way to the foot of your bed. “Hey,” you said, your voice was soft.

Nine years. You had spent nine years in the sex crimes unit. Spencer had done the math, you’d spent approximately seventy-six percent of that time undercover, missing birthdays, holidays, not ever really looking forward to the future. Until now.

You, the most decorated member of the sex crimes unit, were leaving.

Suspiciously, you eyed the files in Andi’s arms, one was a case file, the other a plain manila folder. She silently handed you the case file, and you shared a look with Spencer before flipping it open. “The Program is gone?” You asked, your eyes skimming the folder.

Swann nodded, her brown hair swaying with the movement, “The arrest of the leader of the D.C. chapter greatly contributed to that, but it was the death of the ringleader that took the remainder of The Program down.”

Closing your eyes, you nodded as you tried to process what she was telling you. Jake had been in charge all along. “Andi, I-“

“It was your intel that did it,” she cut you off. “From your last several assignments, everything you collected directly contributed to the downfall of this trafficking network. One of the largest networks the FBI has ever seen.”

She handed you the next file, labeled with only your name. You flipped it open, well aware that Spencer was reading from over your shoulder. “I don’t qualify for retirement,” you told her, furrowing your eyebrows, and looking at the papers in front of you. You didn’t qualify for retirement, and yet, you were looking at a retirement offer.

Your unit chief nodded understandingly, “I pulled some strings, with some help. Collectively, Prentiss and I know a lot of people.”

Spencer placed a supportive hand on your back, and you looked up at Andi. “I’m only thirty-two?” You asked, it wasn’t a clarification, it was a question.

“And yet,” she answered, “you’ve done more for the Bureau than most agents could hope to do in their whole career. This plan came from the director, Y/N. He wanted you to have it.”

Shaking your head, you handed the folder over to your husband so he could look through it. “I don’t… can I think about it?”

“He’ll want an answer soon but talk it over and give me a call when you’ve come to a decision,” she said, grabbing her things and making her way to the door. “And Y/N?”

You lifted your head up to meet her eyes, “Yeah, Andi?”

She smiled at you, a rare, real smile from her, “Make the right decision for you. You have a small army ready to support you through everything.”

Slowly, your gaze followed her out the door, waiting until you heard the latch of the door secure. Spencer handed the folder back to you, “What do you want to do?”

You flipped through the folder again, it was a lot of money, and there were a few different distribution options, but it was more than you felt you’d ever need. “I don’t really feel like I deserve this,” you whispered, reaching your hand up and rubbing the back of your neck. “The Bureau doesn’t offer early retirement like this, not without extenuating circumstances,” you continued.

“They did it with Hotch,” Spencer said, reading the file over your shoulder.

Shaking your head, you leaned over to look at him, “That was way different, Haley was murdered by a serial killer.”

Spencer sighed, “I think you’re selling yourself short, darling. The Program was trafficking almost 12,000 people across the country. That’s almost 70 percent of the yearly total trafficking victims. You took them down,” he told you earnestly.

Your shoulders slouched forward, “I didn’t do it alone, though.”

“Didn’t you, though? They sent you in with no communication device, no emergency signal, and information that wasn’t even true. Your unit told you Johnathan McCallister was the leader of the ring, but it ended up being a decorated agent and you’re the one who figured that out,” Spencer spoke emphatically. “You almost died in the process, and now there are thousands of victims who are going to go home – all thanks to you.”

Wiping at your eyes, you looked at your husband, “You’re biased.” That felt true, but Spencer was the person who knew you best in the world.

“What’s holding you back?” He murmured gently, sweeping strands of your hair behind your ears.

Smiling unsurely, you closed your eyes, “Fear of the future. In the past nine years, the longest I’ve ever been home was four weeks. I don’t… What do you want me to do?”

He shook his head slowly, “it’s not my decision.” A diplomatic answer, you should’ve guessed.

“But what do you want me to do?” You pressed.

Sighing, you watched him weigh his options, “If my choices are you going back out into the field and getting hurt again, where maybe it doesn’t have this good of an outcome, or you, safe at home, where I get to see you more than approximately three months a year, then the choice is clear.”

When he laid it out for you like that, it was pretty clear. “Maybe I could finally see what all the BAU spouses are talking about. You know, how you’re never home,” you said. Some part of you always felt disconnected from the other BAU family members, Spencer wasn’t the one who was never home, you were.

Spencer laughed lightly, “We could celebrate your birthday together.” That was the one day you always missed. Almost six years together, and something always came up on your birthday.

“I’ve never had this before,” you whispered, there was still something about it that felt tentative, almost frail.

Smilingly softly, Spencer reached out and took your hand in his, “Had what before?”

You beamed, “A future to plan.” Everything was always laid out for you, every day was spent waiting for the next directive, a new assignment. “I mean, not in nine years.”

There were always dreams, late-night murmurs with Spencer about a house with a yard and kids running around, but they were just dreams. The nights when you were able to sleep next to each other. “Do you have plans for us?”

Nodding rapidly, you answered, “Oh yeah, you and me, I’ve got big plans for us.”

please remember to like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed :-)

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #written by margot #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer x retired!reader

2K notes · View notes

suga-kookiemonster · 9 months ago

Text

ctrl-alt-del | jjk (teaser)

summary⇢ you graduated bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but, to your extreme disappointment, your big girl job isn't turning out to be nearly as exciting as you thought it would be. still, you're holding out hope that your talents will soon be recognized and your coworkers will stop trying to include you in their gossip sessions. enter jungkook, the quiet IT guy who's gradually making your days more bearable. (and if you find him easy on the eyes, that's nobody's business but yours.) pairing⇢ jungkook/reader teaser word count⇢ 1.4k genre⇢ smut | humor | office!au warnings⇢ nothing too bad for this teaser! just a mention of oral

a/n⇢this fic has literally been sitting in my wips for YEARS lmao. i feel like it's finally time to set it free 🕊️✨ it's looking like it's gonna lean more towards pwp, but there's definitely still enough plot in there to keep it interesting. not sure when it will be up, but wanted to share a snippet to get your thoughts and get myself excited to finish the last leg--fingers crossed for the next month or so 🤞🏾🙌🏾💜

When you graduated top of your class with a marketing degree and a job already lined up, you weren’t big-headed to assume you would be given a lot in the beginning. No, you knew that you were the new kid on the block and needed to prove yourself first, needed to work your way up from the bottom. But what you definitely didn’t anticipate was working up from thefigurative trenches, almost exclusively doing busywork—constantly making coffee runs, catering business lunches, printing out endless spreadsheets.

Eighty-thousand dollars in debt, and you are a glorified intern.

You’re positively itching to hit the ground running and get your hands dirty, your job isn’t too bad. The people there are all nice and welcoming, the complimentary coffee in the break room is decent enough for your dwindling bank account, and every couple of weeks, the company sponsors an employee barbecue were everyone can fraternize and enjoy free food.

“Apparently it fosters unity and teamwork,” your coworker Joy informs you as you both stand in the food line. “Seokjin—that’s our CEO—is really big on unity and teamwork.”

Joy is also a member of your marketing team. Though as sweet as can be, she has no filter, and thus always has a lot to say about everything—which has helped you when it comes to learning the ropes about the company, but has also had you clutching your imaginary pearls in some situations where you found it inappropriate. Despite only being a year older than you, her title of Marketing Associate (instead of your measly Assistant)means that she technically outranks you, though she doesn’t usually enforce that fact (unless there was something that needed to be copied or filed, of course). Still, she immediately took you under her wing when you first started, and she is the closest person to a friend you have at work (even though her daily coffee order is always so ridiculous, you are convinced that she has to be fucking with you—or at least engaging in some form of mild hazing.).

“I think it’s nice,” you reply. “I’ll never say no to free food, and they let us out early and everything.”

“I mean, pretty sure you can get the hotdogs twelve in a pack at the dollar store,” Joy quips, raising her eyebrows at you pointedly. “But sometimes the boys from Sales take their shirts off and play soccer, so there’s that.”

Your eyes dart to said Sales boys against your will, gaze drawn to Jung Hoseok as he chats animatedly with his teammates by the tables. You’ve only spoken to him once or twice, but his fiery red hair and even brighter smile caught your attention immediately, your heart rate accelerating at the sight of him in hallways mere days into starting your new position. Who better to have a mild work crush on than a sweet-talking salesman who winks at you sometimes in passing?

An appreciative noise has you turning back around, embarrassed at being caught ogling how shapely Hoseok’s butt looks in his dress pants today, but it’s just Wendy from accounting, Joy’s best friend and thus a harmless, familiar face. Wendy has cut in front of a few editors to join you and Joy, and the way that she smiles at you lets you know she’s up to no good. “He’s cute, huh?” she asks, leaning towards you conspiratorially. “I would definitely give him the good ol’ suck behind the dumpsters over there, if you catch my drift.”

“Err…yeah, I do,” you reply awkwardly. She had been explicitly clear—keyword explicit—so there definitely isn’t any room for misunderstandings. Is this truly appropriate work function conversation? From the way the editors behind you are politely clearing their throats, you think not.

“Behind the dumpster?” Joy asks curiously. “He’s standing right next to some sturdy tables that I, for one, would take great advantage of—”

“I’m gonna go get us some drinks,” you announce loudly, your neck heating up. “Can you grab me a hot dog, Joy?”

“Sure,” she says dismissively, already distracted by her sudden debate with Wendy about the most convenient place to suck off salesman Jung.

The whole conversation is making you uncomfortable. You are not a prude—far from it—but there is a time and place for everything, and your coworkers’ blasé attitude towards speaking about inappropriate topics at company functions on company time rattles you a bit. So instead of engaging in the risqué discussion further, you make your way to the cluster of brightly-colored coolers that presumably hold beverages, sidling up to the only other person lingering the area.

“Anything good?” you ask cordially, making your coworker, who had apparently been deep in thought while considering his beverage options, startle a bit.

He’s tall, his large frame covered in the appropriate business casual attire of nice jeans and a powder-blue buttonup. When he turns his head to look at you, you’re met with large, dark eyes blinking in surprise from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Said eyes dart around for a moment before determining that you were, in fact, speaking to him.

The man clears his throat. “Just the usual,” he says, voice soft. Timid.

“The usual?” you repeat. There are little hoops dangling from his earlobes, and you brush off your surprise at seeing them, returning your gaze to the coolers. Water, a clear soda, a cola. “The basics, you mean. Well, can’t really complain, right? Seeing as it’s all free. I think it’s really nice of them.”

Your companion seems surprised at your words. “It is,” he agrees softly, eyes meeting yours for a second before dropping back down to the cooler. “Um, are you...are you new?”

“Damn, I guess my cover’s blown.” You shoot him a wry smile. “Yeah, I just started a couple of weeks ago. What gave it away?”

“It’s just—no one else here really cares about these barbecues anymore,” he admits, looking at you, but not quite. More like, in your direction. “Everyone has forgotten to appreciate the little things.”

“Nothing is a given,” you shrug. “So you need to appreciate things when you can. And besides, those lots of little things can really add up without you realizing it.”

He finally seems to look at you properly, and the weight of his large, gentle brown eyes throws you off for a second. “They can,” he agrees, lips slowly drifting up.

“What do we have over here?” a loud voice interrupts, a hand falling to your shoulder. You look up, and are met with the brightness of salesman Jung.

“Ah,” Hoseok says with a wink, reaching into the cooler. “I love Sprite.”

“Me too,” you reply automatically, and then immediately want to smack yourself. Because you don’t—carbonated beverages make you break out. But your mouth had formed the lie without your permission.

Embarrassed, you reach into the cooler, grabbing three water bottles. “See you later,” you squeak, avoiding eye contact as you make your escape.

Joy and Wendy are already watching you when you return to where they have procured a table, and when you hand them their waters, Joy raises an eyebrow. “I was wondering how long you were going to talk to that IT guy.”

“Yeah, and why did you leave when Hoseok showed up?” Wendy pouted. “_____, the universe is only going to give you so many opportunities. If you don’t want the ball, then pass it to me! Goddamn.”

“IT guy?” you ask, hoping to slide past that last remark.

“Yeah. His name is Jungkook, I think? Mostly works with the printers, started a couple months ago.” Joy shrugs, obviously disinterested by the topic. She reaches for the ketchup bottle in the center of the table and squirts some on her hot dog. “This is the first time I’ve seen him at a barbecue, though. Honestly, I’m surprised he even came out, because the IT dudes generally keep to themselves. The rarely leave their little tower,” she adds with a dismissive wave.

Wendy scoffs. “Who cares about Jeremy! Hurry up and eat, I’m sure Sales is gonna start their soccer game soon.”

“Soccer game?” you ask.

“The sales department likes to play soccer during these things,” Joy informs you. Her expression brightens. “Hey, maybe Hoseok will take his shirt off again! Let us pray.”

To your coworkers’ disappointment, Hoseok did not take his shirt off. But they certainly had a good time watching him run back and forth across the grass.

#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook scenario #bts fic #mine #fic: ctrl alt del #bby

1K notes · View notes

sweetestcaptainhughes · 29 days ago

Text

a chaotic trip to the grocery store

Word Count - 1.6k

Author's Note: I am 100% procrastinating on other wips simply because I can't get Jack as a dad out of my head. I might make this a whole AU. 🤭 Shoutout to Allie (@aleskie-hischier) for letting me yap her ear off, about this concept off and on for weeks. Also choosing not to put a summary because it's so small it ruins it.

So I did turn it into an AU… till forever falls apart.

Grocery shopping wasn't supposed to be this difficult. Jack has been a single dad for a few months now, but somehow this is the first time he is taking both his kids grocery shopping - and he knows he is a shitty person for thinking this - but he wishes Luke would of agreed to babysit for an hour instead of him taking both of them to the store.

"Daddy" his son screeches his name and Jack is suddenly alert again, to the fact that he is in the store entering the cereal aisle.

"ya baby?" because despite his son, just being a little over two years old now, Zander will always be Jack's baby. Even now, even though Zander hates it and his brows are in that cute little frown and lips are slightly pouting as they do only when Jack calls him by that.

" 'ot a baby. Zo a baby." he pouts, standing in the cart now, with his little arms folded over his chest, 'God he looks so much like me' Jack thinks to himself. 'just too sassy for his own good.'

"You are both my babies. Isn't that right Zozo." Jack coos at his baby girl sitting in the seat of the basket, slightly leaning forward to grab her attention. Jack smiles at his daughter as she laughs at him, clapping her hands now that she's receiving attention from her favorite person.

Jack suddenly snaps out of whatever moment he's having with his daughter when he hears his son call for him again. "yes bab-. Sorry little Z whatcha need?" He smirks as he teases his son on purpose.

"Can I have da good cereal?" he asks cheekily with a smile on his face. The 'good cereal' Zander means the sugary kind that gets him so hyper it’s hard to control his energy and he usually is meaner to his sister, which results in a lot of crying and screaming from both of them. Jack takes a deep breath, just thinking about how his morning would go if he gave in and let him have it for a snack when they got home. Ultimately if he gave in to buying it, Zander would have a hard time understanding that right before nap time isn’t the right time for that type of snack. Jack sighs to himself, as he tries to let his son down gently hoping he doesn’t have a meltdown.

"No buddy, not today." Jack responds softly hoping that Zander will let it go. But before his son can let out any response, let alone his little protests. Jack hears someone call his name and he flinches his father's instincts kicking into overdrive, he used to not mind getting recognized when he was out but when he has his kids it's his worst nightmare.

It's almost like his kids can feel their father's shift in the mood and he lets out a deep breath, hoping that it soothes them. Jack smiles to himself when it seems to work, keeping a hand on the cart he turns around to the voice shedding the stranger from seeing his children. Sadly it isn't the first time he has been recognized in public with his kids and it won't be the last. But the knot in his stomach, hopes whoever he is about to face will be kind. One thing Jack hates the most about playing in the NHL, is his children's faces being blasted all over social media and talked about endlessly simply because of who their father is. Jack truly doesn’t know how real famous people deal with the media around their kids.

He turns around to see a man and a girl, and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Somehow the guys always happened to be a little more chill than the young girls. "oh shit you are Jack Hughes!" he exclaims in shock.

"hey can you not curse in front of my kids man." Jack tries hard to not sound like a dick, but Zander is in his copying faze and if he picks up curse words from a fan, Jack will never hear the end of it.

"Oh fuck sorry. shit sorry I-." Jack gives him a tight smile, he can see the guy trying but when you're in your 20's most people don't have to censor their language due to being around children. The young man, probably no more older than the 24 year old Jack, looks to the girl for help.

"Sorry to bother you, but it would mean a lot if he could take a picture with you?" The girl smiles softly at Jack, but Jack doesn't respond because he hears Zander whine for him, his stranger danger stage along with copying every word stage in full force. Of course, if Zander shows any sign of distress Zo will start fussing as well. Jack doesn't even attempt to apologize to the couple as he turns to his kids.

"Come here baby. It's okay." Jack mumbles as he reaches for his mini-me. Zander doesn't seem to mind the nickname anymore when he's scared. Quickly he goes to his fathers arms and lets him be picked up out of the cart, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and hiding his face in his neck. Jack holds his son and tries to smooth him as he clings to him. Jack tries to focus, frowning his eyebrows as he uses the heel of his foot to rock the cart back and forth trying to calm Zola down in the process. Finally, feeling Zander calm down against his chest, he moves him to one side so he now can use his hand to pet his daughter's head showing her everything is fine.

"You have really cute kids." The girl speaks up, and suddenly Jack is reminded of why his son was so scared in the first place, he feels Zander press into him a little harder than a few seconds ago and Jack's jaw tightens in response.

"Look if I take a picture with you, you promise not to take any of them or post the photo online for a few hours. They're just kids, they deserve privacy." Before Jack can continue on his tangent the girl cuts him off.

"We haven't." She almost seems offended for Jack assuming they would take unconsented photos but he doesn't apologize for it.

"I'd love a picture with you if you're able." The man speaks softly, Jack grins at him tightly, bending his head down to talk to his son.

"Hey little Z?" he coos. Even though Jack doesn't hear his son, he knows Zander is listening because his head turns ever so slightly towards his fathers voice.

"Can we make a deal lil' man?" Jack softly asks. He waits until he can feel his son nod his head. “Can you be brave and stay with sissy while I take a photo with these nice people.” Jack softly asks, his tone so soft that Zander is craning his neck slightly to make sure he hears his dads every word.

“I wanna stay wit you.” Zander sniffles, and Jack's heart sinks in the pit of his stomach.

“My baby. I’ll be 3 feet away okay. And then we can pick a special healthy snack for snack time today. Alright?” Jack shoots a look over to the couple, as if to tell them without speaking that he’s working on it.

“Why cannt’ I stay wit you?” Zander asks.

“Because then who’s gonna watch Zozo?” Jack asks, knowing he isn’t telling his son the whole truth, about how he will never let him be in fan pictures. I mean he is a little over two and his face hasn’t been posted once on social media, it’s honestly a miracle that only Jack holding him one time was posted. One day he will tell him, but not when Zander is two and having a tough time understanding that his dad isn’t leaving him.

“Promise you come back. Not like mama.” Zander asks, and Jack wants to cry, his son thinks that Jack would ever leave him.

“Promise honey.” Jack coos, kissing the crown of his son's head. He felt Zander wiggle in his grasp and he knew he wanted to let down. Jack gently made sure he was on his feet, before he stood and got up, he softly put Zanders little hand so it grasped the cart but he stepped back. Jack stood opposite of his kids, on the other side, so there was no chance for even a glimpse of his children in the picture. Jack took a selfie with both, and one photo with each of them separately.

Once the couple finally walked away, he felt his son tug his leg. “I did it daddy! I was a big boy SEE NO BABY.” His voice screeched with glee.

“You did so good Z.” Jack smiled down at him, ruffing his hair. “What healthy snack do you want bubs?” he asks, picking him up and placing him back in the cart.

“I wan’ da good cereal,” he demands.

“Zander,” he says sternly. “I already told you not today.” Jack knows he has roughly 3 minutes before a full on meltdown, and maybe it’s the guilt from Zander struggling earlier on during the grocery trip. But he just sighs and places the cinnamon toast crunch in the cart, Jack is just glad he could avoid a meltdown. Although then his daughter needs her diaper changed and starts to cry to let her dad know. Suddenly Jack feels like he should have just listened to Luke when he told him to Instacart.

#jack hughes fluff #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #hughes imagine #dad!jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes blurb #new jersey devils x reader #new jersey devils fanfic #new jersey devils imagine #schwritingsjh86 #zola hughes #zander hughes

177 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

Someone New 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You've had a crush on your best friend for years, but you're slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: nice to see ya again!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Thor makes himself as permanent as the layers of sediment. Whether you’re in the dirt or looking over the charts and maps, making notes or sorting through your findings, he appears. Knowing he’ll be there keeps you coming yourself. Despite the short nights and long drives, thinking of him finding an empty site deters you from a day off, even against Sam’s pleas.

The night before was filled with similar chiding from your friend. Sam is as persistent as ever. He always has a new account of his antics with Bucky and never forgets to tell you to take a break. You can’t stop though. You know if you do, you’ll have to think about everything you’re denying.

The time away has given you time to breathe but it’s suffocated you in new ways. Along with that weight on your chest that has a name, there’s another you can’t quite understand. The one that sees you spending your spare hours alone and your working hours longing for anything but. You’re desperate to get out but terrified of the very same.

When he arrives that day, you’re ready to give up. The tension in the air is giving you a headache and the dampness makes your skin feel sticky. You just feel gross.

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d brave the weather today,” he muses as Thunder hops around his feet. You don’t look up, in a mood as grim as the sky. “You’d do well to stay in tomorrow. Trust me.”

He’s always right about the weather. It must be the familiarity and yet it’s almost eerie how accurate he is. You might take his advice. You don’t like being wet and you’re starting to go cross-eyed from the hours and hours of concentration.

Thunder yipes as you use your gloves to brush away clumps of dirt. Thor’s footsteps mulch patches of grass that sparsely carpet the dirt. He hums as his shadows looms in your peripheral.

“Yes, my darling, I believe you’ve found the perfect spot,” he praises.

You look over curiously. What is he talking about? You only notice then that he has more than the tiny dog with him. He has a basket on his elbow and a blanket under his arm. You sit up and watch him place down the former and shake out the latter.

He spreads the blanket over the dirt and Thunder jumps onto it, rolling around on the fabric, digging her nose into the patched quilt as she wiggles across it. You clap off your hands and watch him as he gets down to his knees and flips open one side of the basket. He lays out several containers and two thermos’; one is the very same he brought you tea in.

“I thought you could use a nice lunch before the weather turns,” he stands and nears the fence, “summer doesn’t last long here. You may as well enjoy it.”

“Lunch?” You utter.

“Brunch?” He suggest coyly. “Surely you can take a break. You are only human, you need to eat.”

“You...” you lean to see around him, “you brought me lunch?”

“I know it isn’t the most elaborate picnic but I thought it might be a pleasant surprise. I must confess I’ve been rather bored these days,” he admits, “so?”

“Thor, that’s so... sweet,” you frown, “but...”

“Work, work, work. Surely they can’t expect you to work yourself to the bone, pardon the pun,” he insists, “it will only be a bit.”

“Yes, but...” you leave the sentence to hang. You don’t have a good excuse. You don’t know. It just makes you nervous. It’s a whole lot of effort for just you.

“Oh, I don’t mind if you would rather stay over there. Only mean more for, eh, Thunder?” He asks the canine tramping around the blanket. “More than happy to sit here and enjoy my jelly cookies and hot coffee.

“Coffee?” Your brows raise.

“Freshly brewed. Promise, There’s nothing pickled. Though I don’t mind a nice herring,” he grins.

Thunder bounces over and barks at you. She stands on her hind legs as she paws at the barrier between you. Now, how can you deny her?

You stand and shed your gloves. You carry them over to the table beneath the tent and grab a wet wipe from the back. You come back under the open sky as you wipe your hands.

“Sorry about all the dirt,” you scoff as you cross the dirt.

“I don’t mind,” he assures you. He pulls apart the panels of the fence to let you through. It isn’t something you could ever forget but you can’t help but be stricken again by his sheer size.

You bend to pet Thunder as she gets between your feet. She licks your fingers and you giggle. She’s cute.

“Go on, pick her up,” Thor goads, “she loves it.”

You scoop up the dog and stand. She squirms as she wags her tail incessantly. She swipes your chin with her tongue and you scrunch up your face. You carry her to the blanket and look over the spread. A leafy salad, pasta salad, sandwiches, cookies... There’s so much. Your protein bars and peanut butter and jelly can’t compare.

“Oh gosh, this... a lot.”

“Is it? Isn’t too much. We’re friends, yes?”

“Friends?” You face him as you pet Thunder’s soft head.

“Perhaps it is rather one-sided. You are obligated to be here, I just sort of haunt this place,” he chuckles.

“No, no, friends,” you smile, “that sounds about right.”

You turn away and lower yourself onto the blanket, sure to keep your boots off of it, as you hide your face. There’s a tinge of disappointment. You hear a far off echo in your head. How many times did Steve say the same; we’re friends, just friends, you’re such a good friend. Well, that’s all this is. No need to be so sensitive.

“Do you ever take time off?” He asks as he gets to his knees.

You look at him as you put Thunder down. He barely keeps her from chomping down on a rye crust. He lifts her easily and she kicks her legs.

“Eh, you beast,” he points a finger at her snout, “be good.”

He sets her back on her paws and she obeys. He tells her to sit and she does so. Her eyes continue to hungrily rove over the food. How can he resist them?

“Like you said, the weather won’t last. Should get done what I can before the ground gets cold.”

“Ah, yes, that is a concern,” he tuts, “how would you deal with that?”

“Heat lamps, tiger torch... jackhammer if I really need but I’d have to put in a request for that...” you hadn’t thought too much into the inevitability of winter.

“Ah, that’s...” he smirks, “I’m sorry but the idea of you with a jackhammer,” he snorts.

“Hey,” you pout.

“It isn’t to be mean but... you’re so gentle. When you dig, you’re so delicate about it.”

“Am I?” You wonder.

“Mm, is it a bit weird to say so?” He wonders aloud. “Yes, you are very precise, very cautious.” He takes out a set of plates and offers you one, “please, help yourself.”

“It must be boring watching. Really, I’m the one digging and it gets dull,” you accept and pluck out one of the sandwiches. Salmon, you think.

“You make it interesting,” he muses. “You talk to the bones.”

“I talk to the bones?” You repeat, “what?”

“Yes, I suppose you’re not aware of it. But your lips move when you’re focused. As if you’re chatting up the dirt,” he chuckles, “sometimes a few words do slip out.”

“They do?” You blanch before you can help yourself to the salad.

“You don’t say much. Usually something about the dishes, I’m not too sure.”

“You never mentioned,” you look away shyly.

“It’s... cute,” he shrugs.

“You mean crazy,” you shake your head.

“I say what I mean,” he counters. “No use in not. We can’t be happy if we’re not honest, not least of all with ourselves.”

You’re quiet as you turn your attention to your plate. His words feel sharp despite his placid tone. You know it’s only because they’re true, especially for you. If you’d just accepted everything sooner, if you hadn’t been so dumb, if you hadn’t been so emotional, it would never have gotten so bad. No, if you’d just been honest.

“I hope... I hope that didn’t come off wrong,” he says.

“No, no, I’m... this all looks so good and I’m starving,” you assure him as you sit back with your plate. “Thank you again. This is... great.”

“Well, I was thinking, you must miss your friends. I might be a paltry substitute but I thought i might fill that gap, even just for an hour.”

“It’s really...” your eyes tingle but you push away the tinge of sadness, “it’s really nice.”

“So tell me,” he scoops up salad onto his plate, “tell me about home.”

“I...” you begin, surprised by the prompt. “It’s just home. New York. It’s busy and loud. Not like here.”

“No, not that. Your friends. I want to know all about them. If I’m ever going to come up standards, I’ve got to know the competition.”

You laugh. He speaks as if he needs to impress you. It’s nice to be somewhere where no one knows you’re not that special. You take a bite of the sandwich and chew, thinking out your question.

You swallow, “well, my friend Sam, he calls every night to bitch at me. He’s great. Supportive but pushy. He likes to terrorise Bucky. He’s the strong and silent type, you know? Grumpy to boot but they’re... they’re awesome.” You smile without thinking, “before I left, they took me to this cocktail bar...” you blow out between your lips and roll your eyes, “real girly stuff.”

“Ooh, cocktails. I’ve been known to indulge. I love finding new recipes.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes, I love the sweet ones. I’ve only just perfected my blueberry basil concoction. I’m afraid I can’t share the secret ingredient unfortunately.”

“Blueberry?” You ponder the flavour, “sounds yummy.”

“Perhaps one day you can try it,” he suggest.

“Maybe,” you say evasively. “Anyway, yeah, Sam and Bucky are... characters.”

“They sound like it. How’d you meet?”

“Oh, it’s boring. What about you?”

“It’s not my turn,” he deflects, “tell me.”

You don’t know why he cares. It’s as confounding as everything else about him. You still don’t get why he’s here watching you sit in the dirt. It sounds as grueling as watching a golfing tournament, in your opinion. Yet here he is, a man who looks like that, staring at you in your mud-stained khakis.

“College. We met through a mutual friend,” you explain vaguely.

“Ah, so you’ve been friends for some time. Yes, I see, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” he hums thoughtfully as he toys with the braid that hangs loose by his face, the rest of his hair twisted back as always.

“Steve,” you say without thinking, your eyes drifting off into the distance, “he was my best friend. We met in art history. We spent almost every day together. Studying, whatever. He was more of a partier than me but... fifteen years, more than, and we saw each other...” You choke on your words and scoff darkly, “sorry, that’s... I’m homesick, I think.”

You bat away the glaze in your eyes and focus on your food. You take a few bites as he sits quietly. Thunder stands up cautiously and crosses the blanket. She settles against your leg, leaning her head on your thigh. It’s comforting.

“Yes, I think I would be very homesick as well. I lived in the city for a while but mother and father, they need me. And I love this mountain. It’s home. There was nothing in Oslo for me. I can work from here.”

“Work? What exactly do you do?” You ask, happy to divert from your own painful past. “Oo, are you like a farmer? Or a shepherd. There must be sheep up here or something.”

He laughs, “there are some sheep, yes, but those are protected by the government. We’ve not much of a choice where they settle. No, I’m not so savvy as all that.”

“Hm, you... oh, what could do you here?” You look around, “on a mountain... oh, tours? Do you give tours?”

He laughs, “it’s not a bad idea, but no. I’m a business owner.”

“A business. You must sell fitness or something.”

“Must I?” He narrows his eyes, “and what else do you assume about me?”

“Oh, it’s only you’re so...” you cringe as you eke out the word, “big?”

“Genetics,” he affirms, “not that but close, in a matter of looking at it. You recall that tea I brought you, with the cloudberry?”

“Uh, yeah, it was sweet. Yummy.”

“I’m happy you enjoyed it,” he smiles proudly, “I make superblends. All Nordic ingredients. There is a demand for wellness and organic products. I found the right niche and I’ve not done too badly.”

“Must not if you can live all the way up here,” you remark.

“Yes, but... it’s a reason I moved back. Business is a lonely venture. Now I’ve got it all figured out, I have my managers and my business plan, I break even, I realise how much I put to the side,” he mulls his sandwich and takes a glum bite. It’s the first time you’ve seen him anything but bright and beaming, “I feel like I’ve fallen behind. Like I’m playing catch up.”

His words sink in and storm inside of you. You crunch on the crisp lettuce and gulp. You wipe your mouth with a napkin and clear your throat.

“I know exactly what you mean,” you say breathily.

“Do you? You’re out here, on an adventure all you’re own, how brave,” his voice is wistful and his gray blue eyes reminds you of the clouds above.

“Yes, I know,” you say, “better than you. Trust me.”

You smile, a bittersweet tug in your cheeks, and he stares back at you. Your eyes cling to each other and you feel as if the world is moving around you. He smiles and a glimmer of something unfurls in your chest. You make yourself look away.

“Well,” you push the salad around your plate, “what about you? You must have friends, aside from the girl in the dirt.”

He hums and scrapes up a bite of the pasta salad. He takes his time chewing before he answers. You scratch Thunder’s nose as she sniffs at your plate.

“Yes, if you ever come to sample my cocktails, you might meet a few,” he coaxes, “I think you’d get along. Hogan and Vol, and Fandy. All good company. Sif’s not around so often when my brother’s around but he’s as fleeting as the sun.” He tuts, “I would call Loki a friend as well but he does scowl at the very thought.”

“Loki?”

“My brother of course,” he explains with , “yes, he is quite the dour one. He might get along with that Bucky.”

#thor #steve rogers #thor x reader #steve rogers x reader #angst fic #grayish fic #fic #au #series #someone new #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers

355 notes · View notes

holly-the-trash-writer · 2 years ago

Text

Guilt

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Y/n lies unconscious in a hospital bed while Spencer drowns in guilt. You had felt that Spencer was cheating on you with Maeve and were going to stay with someone else before you got shot. Finding this out causes Spencer to snap and lash out at one of his closest friends.

Part 2

Word Count: 2,866

A/N: This has been a WIP for years! It was apart of a series with my own OC but I decided to change it to a Reader fic. The amount of WIPs I have is ridiculous!!!!!

Spencer sat at Y/n's hospital bed in silence. Tears were continuously streaming down his face, his breaths were shaky and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your unmoving face.

There was a tube coming out of your mouth to help your breathing. So many different wires were coming out of your body and attached to multiple beeping machines.

He was holding your right hand in both of his, your skin wasn’t freezing cold but it was colder than he prefers it to be.

You had only came out of surgery half an hour ago but they won’t know if it was successful until you wake up. Which could be between the next few seconds and never.

Never was something Spencer was trying his hardest not to think about.

There was so much he needed to tell you. So many things he had to say.

The last time you were together you had fought. You told him that he’s been speaking to Maeve too much and that he's been ignoring you. Spending more time with this woman.

Spencer had told you that you were being ridiculous and then you had to go on a case and Spencer never got the chance to talk anymore about it.

You had been furious at him and now Spencer was angry at himself as well.

He had called you ridiculous for coming to him about your feelings. This resulted in you refusing to be his partner in the field. Which led to you going with Morgan. Which ended in you getting shot.

This is when Spencer’s brain began connecting things that didn’t match up.

If he had listened to you he could’ve gotten you out of harm’s way.

Not speaking to Maeve meant you wouldn’t have fought and you never would’ve been shot.

He was supposed to protect you.

It should be him lying there. Not his sweet girl.

There was a knock on the door and Spencer barely reacted as Garcia and Emily came in.

“Hey, how is she doin’?” Emily asked softly.

Spencer turned his head a little towards them, “She... uh.” His voice cracked and he cleared it before trying again, “They said everything went well but we won’t know the damage until she wakes up.”

Garcia's eyes watered as she stared at your body. “When will she wake up?”

Spencer's eyes filled with tears, a sad smile forming as he squeezed your hand, “When she’s ready.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out to see that it was Maeve.

Again.

Along with the twenty missed calls from Maeve.

He rubbed his eyes before pressing answer, “Spencer Reid.”

“Oh my God. Spencer, I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Are you alright?”

This statement didn’t sit well in his stomach.

If you miss an appointment with your doctor, they don’t leave twenty missed calls on your phone.

They wait for you to reschedule.

He glanced at the other two women who were trying their best not to listen in. Although Garcia was looking particularly peeved about something.

Then he glanced down at you and any words he was going to say to Maeve turned to ash in his mouth. He felt sick.

Now he understood what you meant.

“Now, isn’t a good time. I’ll call you next week.” He didn’t wait for a response before he ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket.

Garcia shifted uncomfortably, “Was... was that her?”

“Who?” Spencer’s brain wasn’t even functioning at 20%. He couldn’t think things through clearly.

“Doctor Maeve.” Garcia mocked.

Spencer frowned, “Yes. Why?”

Emily gave Penelope a pointed look.

A look that did not go unnoticed by Spencer, “What? What is it?”

Emily put her hands up in a calming gesture, as if trying to approach a cornered animal. “Spencer. You must understand, we don’t mean to pry but Y/n spoke to Morgan and he didn’t know what to do so he told Garcia, who told me.”

Spencer rubbed his eyes for the fourth time in ten minutes, he did not have the energy for this, “Told you what? What are you talking about?” Spencer was getting agitated now. Why can’t they just tell him? He hated not getting to the point.

“Well, Y/n came to Morgan two weeks ago and was quite upset.”

Spencer frowned as he looked at you again. Two weeks ago? You didn’t seem upset two weeks ago.

“She had some concerns about this doctor that you’ve been speaking to.” Emily explained.

Garcia huffed, “She told Derek that she had suspicions that you were cheating on her.” She spoke with daggers in her eyes.

Spencer froze.

What?!

He stiffened in his seat as he stared at his unconscious fiancé in shock.

You thought he was cheating on you?

You might never wake up again and your last thoughts of him would be the fight and thoughts of his, supposed, adultery.

How?! How could you think that he could even look at anyone that wasn’t you?

“I. Would. Never.” He punctuated every damn word so they got his point, trying to blink away the fresh batch of tears that filled his eyes.

“She planned to stay with Morgan and Savannah for a couple of days-" Garcia told him.

Spencer tore his eyes away from the bed to gawk at Garcia, “She what?”

Emily placed her hand on Garcia’s arm and spoke next, “Yesterday, Derek had... overheard one of your conversations with the doctor and he spoke to Y/n about it. So, she decided she would go and stay with him for a few days to sort out her head before coming to you about it.”

Spencer was furious. Not only did you think he was cheating on you, half of the team now suspected him of it too and no one even had the decency to ask him. And what was this phone call that was so damning that Derek had to run and tell his fiancé? Why didn’t Derek just ask him instead of almost ruining his relationship without him even knowing about it!

Spencer was shaking with rage. He stood abruptly from his chair and turned to the girls, pointing to Y/n’s bed he ordered out, “Stay with her.” before he stormed outside to head to the waiting room.

He saw red. He couldn’t think of anything except for the anger he felt.

Quickly turning the corner he saw the rest of the team sitting and talking as if nothing was wrong.

J.J noticed him first and stood up, Hotch, Rossi and Morgan following suit.

“Spence, any news?” she asked gently.

Spencer didn’t even hear her; never slowed his pace either. As soon as Morgan was within arm’s reach he clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white and swung as hard as he could.

His fist made connection with Morgan’s cheek and from the shock of Spencer’s actions it knocked Morgan off kilter. Morgan stumbled and placed his hand to his cheek.

The punch clearly did more harm to Spencer than Morgan, but he didn’t care. The pain in his hand was welcomed. It cut through the hurt that was clutched around his heart.

The others cried out in shock as they tried to digest what just happened.

“What the hell, kid?!” Morgan yelled at him.

“’What the hell’ is right!” Spencer growled back as he stepped up to the other man and pushed his shoulders, “Sneaking behind my back? Telling my fiancé that I had some secret affair because of some phone call you didn’t hear the entirety of!”

Spencer was seething, the rest of the team gaping at him never having seen him so furious before, “You could’ve just asked! But no, the whole team had to get involved. And now I hear she was planning on living with you for a few days?!” Spencer clenched his possibly broken fist again. “She’s in a coma and may never wake up again and her last thoughts of me will be the thought that I was getting with someone else.”

Spencer inhaled sharply as his rage at Morgan turned to rage at himself.

“Spencer!” J.J shouted, “Stop!”

His sharp inhales quickly turned to hyperventilation, his brain was in overdrive, a million thoughts and memories were spinning around his head and he just wanted it to stop.

So he stopped it the only way he knew how.

Instead of hitting Morgan, Spencer turned at the last second and hit the wall.

He fell to his knees and cried as he hit the wall again and again and again and again.

Blood smeared across the white wall as he broke the skin on the knuckles. The physical pain overrode his senses and he chased the feeling.

That was until Hotch grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him away from the wall causing Spencer to lose his balance and fall back into Hotch's arms which quickly locked around him.

“Stop! Get off of me! Hotch, let go!” Spencer squirmed as he tried to fight against his boss. His back was pressed tightly against Hotch’s chest, his legs bent in front of him and he kept slapping at Hotch’s arms to let go.

Hotch just shushed him and held him tighter. Completely understanding his anger. He’s been there and the best thing for Spencer is to calm down enough so he can go back and sit with Y/n instead of giving in to his anger and doing something else that he will regret.

Once Spencer figured out that he wasn’t going anywhere the fight drained out of him and he stopped slapping at the arms circled around him.

While Spencer was hunched over Hotch gave the rest of the team a nod to clear the area and give the two some space.

Hotch pulled one Spencer’s shoulders to shift his position so that Spencer curled into his chest.

Once Hotch placed a comforting hand over Spencer’s head a sob broke past his lips and the entire dam broke. Spencer cried his heart out.

He could barely breathe, inhaling only made him choke on his sobs and made him feel worse.

“What if I never get to speak to her again?” he whispered between sobs. “Never get to tell her that she’s the only one for me.”

“Spencer you need to breathe.” Hotch told him gently, “You need to calm down. Breathe with me.”

Spencer felt Hotch’s chest rising and falling against him. He closed his eyes and tried to follow his boss’ actions.

After a moment, Spencer was finally able to take a deep breath. The oxygen flooded his brain and the fog cleared. His entire body shivered before he came to his senses.

Blinking hard he realised he was curled into Hotch’s chest, cocooned in his arms.

He shouldn’t be here.

He was sitting on the hospital floor instead of in with Y/n. He slowly sat up and Hotch let his arms fall from around him.

“You alright?”

Spencer wiped his left hand over his face, “Fine. Fine. Yeah. I need to uh, I need to go to Y/n.”

He put his right hand behind him to support his weight, but an agonising pain shot through his hand and he fell onto his elbow with a grunt.

“Here, let me see.” Hotch knelt over him and held out his hand.

Spencer shook his head and used his other hand to support his weight as he got off the floor, dusting himself off as best he could, “I’m fine.” He held his right arm close to him as he stood up straight.

He looked around and noticed that J.J, Rossi and Morgan are nowhere to be seen… which is probably for the best.

The shame of what he’s done washed over him like a bucket of ice water. He just punched his best friend in front of his team then proceeded to have a break down in his boss’ arms.

“Spencer.” Hotch called out. “You’re not fine, let me see your hand.”

Spencer shook his head and walked out of the waiting room without saying anything.

Stopping just outside Y/n’s room he looked in the window, you hadn’t moved a muscle.

Emily was sat by your bedside holding your hand.

The pain of the possibility of losing her was too much for him. His only relief was the slow rise and fall of your chest.

His eyes were already puffy and sore, and he felt dehydrated. He sighed as he raised his left hand to wipe the tears away, cursing himself for his behaviour.

“Spencer.” Hotch stood at his side, “You need to get your hand looked at, and I’m sure the nurse wouldn’t mind doing it by Y/n’s bedside.” He knew Spencer probably doesn’t want his hand looked at for at least three reasons; he doesn’t want to leave Y/n’s side for much longer, he feels embarrassed or shameful or he feels the need to punish himself.

He agreed as long as he can stay beside Y/n, “Okay.” He opened the door and the bleeps of the machine’s filled his ears.

That was your heartbeat.

He lowered himself into the chair at your right side and raised his left hand to hold hers. His right hand was tucked into his chest. The throbbing was excruciating but he welcomed it.

He pointedly avoided Emily’s worried expression before she smiled at him and left the room without word.

A nurse came bustling into the room a few moments later with a tray of equipment, clearly fetched by Hotch. She stood next to him and Spencer raised his hand to let her do what she needed to do. Hissing as she cleaned the cuts on his knuckles.

The nurse didn’t mind his silence and talked calmly to him as she worked, “You did quite the number on your hand.” She wiped away the blood and inspected his fingers, “You’ve definitely broken a few knuckles, I’m going to wrap your fingers in a splint and then bandage you up, okay?”

Spencer nodded, “Okay.” He said quietly.

She taped his middle and ring finger together and then bandaged his entire hand down to his wrist. “Now, keep this on for the next two weeks and then come back in so we can give you an x-ray and review the damage.”

Spencer nodded, “Thank you.”

The nurse left and Spencer was alone with Y/n once more. He stared at his right hand that was now resting on the bed.

How could he do this? Throw a tantrum while the love of his life lies in bed fighting for her life.

He leaned forward to rest his arms on the bed.

“Hi.” His voice shook, and he cleared his throat. He hasn’t been this nervous to talk to you since you first met. “You always told me that I needed to talk more, but I- I have no words for what I’ve done. I’ve done something terrible. Actually, I’ve done a few terrible things.” The tears formed once more, and his head pounded from the pressure. “I may never get the chance to say this to you but I am so, so, sorry. I made you feel that you weren’t special to me anymore, that I don’t love you which is the furthest thing from the truth.”

Spencer played with a strand of your hair that was laying on your shoulder.

“How could I ever be with someone else? No one could ever, ever take your place in my heart.”

He gently lifted your hand in both of his, his head felt heavy, so he bent over and placed his forehead on the back of her hand. “I love you more than anything in this world. When you wake up I’m going to spend every second of the rest of my life making it up to you. And I know you wouldn’t want to miss that. So, please wake up. Please.”

He had been talking when it happened so he never heard it.

You weren’t breathing in the same rhythm as before.

When he finally noticed, he frowned as he looked you over. He slowly got to his feet as he scanned the machines. Right before his eyes some of the numbers began to climb as others started to fall.

Spencer scrambled past the chair and ripped open the door to your room, “Doctor! I need a doctor here now!” He yelled out before running back to your side, “Y/n, sweetheart if you can hear me; don’t give up. Please.”

Two doctors and a nurse sprinted into the room.

“Sir, sir!” The nurse grabbed Spencer’s shoulder, “We need you to leave.”

Spencer shook his head frantically, trying to keep up with everything that the doctors were saying to each other, “I can’t.” he whispered to himself.

“Sir! Please!” The nurse pushed at Spencer’s shoulders until he was outside the room and the door was shut in his face.

The rest of the team had heard the commotion and had run to the room as well.

Rossi placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder as the entire team watched the doctors place paddles on your chest and shock you.

Again.

And again.

#spencer x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds

4K notes · View notes

thestarsofpines · 10 months ago

Text

a little wip of a combination of prompts and AUs I've seen that I just had to give my own take on.

Damian was bored. He’d followed Father around for most of the night, listening absentmindedly to the trivial blabbering of rich socialites that tried to suck up to the prince of Gotham. He could only handle it for so long, patience quickly running out as a few shoved their own children his way, perhaps hoping the young heir would make a friend and create easier access to the Wayne wealth. Pitiful.

The young teen stood off to the side of a polished dance floor that had couples mingling and swaying to the soft classical music playing. He’d picked up a drink and was sipping at it slowly, just to have something to do with his hands. He itched for something to do that wasn’t making small, meaningless talk.

He hears footsteps approaching, perhaps a bit heavier than intended, as if it was a warning for someone that they were approaching.

“Little Badger, we talked about this in great detail earlier, you are not to leave my sight-“

Just as a man moves to place a hand on Damian’s shoulder, the teen turns around and glares at the man. He takes in the details of the man quickly; older, likely mid forties if not older, gray hair pulled back into a low ponytail, vibrant blue eyes that at first are narrowed at him in perhaps annoyance before they turn wide with shock. The man recovers quickly, expression turning apologetic as he steps back.

“Oh-my most sincere apologies, I thought you were someone else!” He breathes out, and his expression shifts again to one of slight surprise as he takes in more of Damian’s features from the front. “My, you two do look quite alike.” He says easily, hand coming back to rest beside him before he places both his hands behind his back. “I do apologize again, young sir…?”

Bruce spots this interaction, politely ends the conversation he was in, and makes his way over to investigate.

“Damian Wayne, my son.” Bruce slides up to the pair, standing easily at Damian’s right. “Vlad Masters, yes?”

Said man’s eyes widen ever so slightly at the easy recognition and at the fact that he could’ve accidentally torn into such an influential young man as he’d been planning to do to whoever he was looking for, but he recovers quickly again.

“Yes, I was just apologizing to your boy here, Mr. Wayne. It seems he has quite a lot of physical similarities to my godson.”

Damian remains silent, but nods in the direction of the billionaire. Something isn’t sitting right with him about Masters, but he can’t put it into words. He’ll allow Father to handle the situation, for the moment.

“Oh? Why, that is quite interesting.” Bruce smiles, open and disarming. He places a hand on Damian’s shoulder, and gives a subtle squeeze. “What’s the young man’s name?”

“Daniel,” And the grip tightens ever so slightly. “He is the son of some old family friends who unfortunately cannot take care of him anymore, so I’ve become his legal guardian in their stead.”

“How kind, opening your house to a youth in need.” Bruce continues, pushing for more information. “From experience I know how hard that can be. Raising a teenager is no cakewalk that’s for sure.”

“Oh yes, I do recall hearing of your experiences with adoption; you’re up to four adoptions now, yes?” There’s a hint of something in Vlad’s eyes, likely aware of the information seeking nature of this conversation but unconcerned by it. Intriguing. “I can hardly claim to have such kindness, one fifteen year old is enough for me.”

Damian has to physically restrain his face from reacting. Perhaps this is another cloning situation. Perhaps this Vlad Masters should be higher on the priority list of people to investigate closely.

“Oh, well I do believe I have taken up enough of your time, Mr. Wayne. I really must get looking for Daniel, as we do intend to leave soon.” Vlad holds out a hand to the two, smiling confidently. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.”

Bruce takes it and shakes it politely; Damian’s following is more forced in its gentleness. Vlad Masters unsettles him and it is driving him mad that he cannot pinpoint why.

“Enjoy the rest of the gala, Vlad Masters. Perhaps our paths will cross again soon.”

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc crossover #demon twin au #damian and danny are twins #danny is trans #will be important later #i haven't sat down and written this much in years-the document is over 25 pages holy shit #my writing #writing wip #my wips

473 notes · View notes

all-about-kyu · 1 year ago

Text

Summary: Just as you get back on your feet after a nasty breakup, you see your ex out in public with his new girlfriend. What will you do to avoid an awkward encounter? Pairing: Jongho x fem!reader Tropes: strangers to lovers, fake dating au, Genre: fluff, angst Rating: PG Warnings: mentions of breakups, mentions of cheating, language, a brief moment of nudity (for changing), kissing Word Count: 5,496 Note: for @cultofdionysusnet Mocha Madness event! Thank you to @anyamaris and @sanjoongie for beta reading this and listening to my panic!! This has been a WIP for over 2 years now so FINALLY it's released!

Before You Interact

Prompt: You sit at the table with a random boy you see sitting at a cafe or something alone and say, “Kiss me,” and he replies, “Hi, nice to meet you too. My name is ___,” and then you explain that your ex is right there with the side piece he cheated on you with and this boy agrees ‘cause you to seem really serious about this. Ex approaches and starts questioning you, but somehow, this random guy gets him off your back. You start hanging out, faking a relationship in front of your ex whenever you see him, but the actual feelings develop. - given by @jaehunnyy

You had finally gotten back to going out after your ex left you. It had been a few months, but it took a while to get back in the swing of things with how that breakup went. You had gone to your boyfriend’s apartment to surprise him and found another girl in his lap kissing him. He was so shameless about it, too. He tried to introduce you to her and have you be friends. You push the memory out of your head as you walk down the sidewalk, it’s a beautiful day, and you were going to take advantage of it. You were walking along one of your town’s major routes lined with little cafes, restaurants, and stores. You enjoy the spring breeze and sunshine on your skin, breathing in the sweet smell of blooming flowers. You finally felt ready to face the world head-on and return to a routine. That’s when you saw them: your ex and his new girlfriend. You feel your heart race and suddenly sit in front of a random young man in one of the cafe’s outdoor seating areas.

“Kiss me.” you tell him.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you too! My name is Jongho.” he says with a sarcastic smile.

You sigh, “Please, my ex is walking this way. He’s with his new girlfriend, the side piece he cheated on me with. I don’t want to deal with the confrontation. I’ll pay for your food. Please kiss me, and I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

He gives you a confused look at first, then leans forward, inches from your lips, “That all depends on how good of a kisser you are.” he whispers.

Suddenly, his lips are on yours, and you nearly melt onto the cement beneath you. You had no idea what to expect from him, so when you feel his soft, pillowy lips against yours, you can’t help but lose your breath. His right hand holds your face gently. They’re slightly calloused but not enough to annoy you. When you pull back, you hear your name called by the last person you want to hear say it.

“Just follow my lead,” you whisper to Jongho, “Hi, Wooyoung!” you fake a smile, “How have you been?” “Pretty good. It’s been a few months now, hasn’t it?”

“Mhm.” you reply with a tight-lipped smile, “Oh, this is Jongho, my boyfriend.”

He holds one of your hands across the table, seeing as how you introduced him. His other hand reached out to shake Wooyoung’s hand. Then, releasing his new girlfriend’s hand, he shakes hands with who he assumes is your new boyfriend.

“It’s nice to meet you. This is my girlfriend, Miyeon.” he smiles brightly, looking back at her.

“It’s nice to meet you.” she sweetly greets you, “Wooyoung has told me a lot about you.”

You cannot help but feel slightly attacked by how she makes her latter comment. She knew much more about you than she would admit in front of your “boyfriend”. She had been a side piece for six months before you found out. She was lying through her teeth, and she and Wooyoung knew it. You subconsciously squeeze Jongho’s hand, and he immediately notices your slight discomfort. He squeezes your hand back, and only then do you notice that you’re squeezing his. He gives you a reassuring smile, and you suddenly feel comfortable with him, as if you’ve known each other for years.

“I hate to cut this short, but we’re in the middle of a date here.” Jongho smiles fakely.

Wooyoung looks taken aback a bit but smiles back, fakely, “Sorry, how about a double date sometime though? You comfortable with that, Miyeon?” she smiles and nods at him, “You too?” he questions you.

When you don’t respond, Jongho tries to gain your attention, “Sweetheart, you okay?”

“Y-yeah.” you stutter, “Sounds lovely. When were you thinking?”

“We were going to have an at-home date later this week. You two want to crash that?” “You okay with that, baby?” Jongho questions you this time, and you nearly melt hearing his low voice calling you that. “Yeah, same address?” “Same address. I’ll text you the details. You have the same number, right?” Wooyoung confirms, with Miyeon clung to his arm much tighter than before.

“Same number… I’ll just have to unblock you first.” you say with a subtle bite.

“See you later then.” he smiles awkwardly.

The moment they walk far enough away, you let go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Then, hearing Jongho call your name throws you off. You look back at him and see his worried look. His thumb runs over the back of your hand across your knuckles, letting you take your time to process what just happened. Then, when you fully come back to your senses, you nearly panic.

“Oh my god, Jongho, I’m so sorry! I was just trying to get him to leave me alone, but now you got dragged into another thing with me, a complete stranger.” you ramble.

“Hey hey hey, it’s okay, let’s just take this time now to get to know each other, and then I don’t mind being your fake boyfriend around them. You seem fun.” he smiles softly.

“What’s in it for you?” you ask skeptically.

“I could use some excitement in my life.” He shrugs, “My friend has been trying to get me to go on blind dates nonstop for like a month, too.”

You end up agreeing to his deal. You two stay there and get to know each other for a few hours. You find out he’s currently in university, majoring in early childhood education and minoring in music. He also works part-time at the little hole-in-the-wall book store downtown when he doesn’t have classes. As you continue to talk, you forget about the passing of time. You’re genuinely having a good time with him. It isn’t until a random storm comes rolling that you process how long you’ve been sitting at the cafe. You sit there in shock for a few seconds, just looking at each other until the rain gets heavier. You have a silent conversation then, running into the building, you find yourself at the front counter.

“Oh, let me pay for your food and coffee. I owe you at least that.” you offer.

He smiles at you, and you nearly melt with his gorgeous looks. You knew he was attractive when you sat down in front of him for the first time (you lucked out there), but now, seeing him with a bright smile and hair wet from the rain, your breath gets stolen from your lungs. Your mind returns to just how nice his kiss felt. You can’t help but wish you could feel it again. Of course, it likely won’t happen again, but you can dream.

“Don’t worry about it. I enjoyed spending time with you.” he smiles softly.

“Jongho, I roped you in pretending to be my boyfriend, lying to my ex and his new girlfriend, and kissing a stranger-”

He interrupted you, “And I don’t mind paying for my food. You made up for all that and more by spending time with me.”

You huff, slightly annoyed he wouldn’t let you at least pay for the items as an apology. He chuckles at your reaction before walking to the counter to pay. While you wait, you notice how the rain only got heavier. You had walked here. There was no way it would ease up anytime soon. You seemed to be stuck here for a while now. Finally, you’re dragged out of your thoughts when someone nudges you. Looking over, you see Jongho. He looks at you, out the door at the rain, and back to you again.

“Do you live far away?”

“No, but I walked here, and it takes about 20 minutes to walk here on a light foot traffic day.”

“Do you want to stay at mine for a little bit?” he offers.

“What?”

“Just until the rain stops. I can drive you home after, too. I just live down the street.”

You think for a minute, just looking at him, “How do I know you’re not a creep or murderer?” you say, teasing slightly.

He just chuckles and comments how you were the one who kissed him first. Ultimately, you end up nodding, accepting his offer. You both look outside at the rain and then at each other. There were no words exchanged between you, but somehow you both knew. He took your hand and pulled you out of the cafe into the heavy rain outside. You don’t stop to think or let go of his hand. If anything, you’re enjoying the spontaneity of it all. You feel relatively safe with him despite only meeting a few hours ago. The rain beats down on your skin, and your hair sticks to your body, but you couldn’t care less. Before you realize it, you’re being pulled into an apartment complex. Running inside and upstairs, you laugh in the hallway, dripping wet.

“Oh? Who’s this Jongho?” You hear an elderly woman’s voice.

“Hello, Mrs. Kang, just a guest.” He says offhandedly, smiling at her.

She lets out a slight hum, noticing how Jongho is fumbling with his keys, “Just keep it down.” She teases.

“Mrs. Kang,” he awkwardly chuckles, “it’s not like that. I’m just being kind and letting her stay out of the rain until it settles down.”

The older woman hums as if to suggest something else. Jongho shakes his head, looking down at his feet. Unlocking his front door, he allows you to walk in before him. You feel homey and comfortable in the atmosphere when you step in. The second thing you note is that a large Saint Bernard is fast asleep on the couch. You don’t dare take another step in due to how soaking wet you still are. Jongho steps in just behind you, pulling the door shut. He softly chuckles, seeing the dog and how he snores, still deep in sleep.

“Bear,” he calls sweetly.

The dog slowly blinks awake, its tail flopping loudly and happily against the cushion. It stands up on the couch and stretches before hopping down and trotting over to you both. The dog takes his time but sits down directly on Jongho’s feet when he gets to where you are.

“Hi, boy, you do okay with this rain?” he asks the large canine, petting him, “This is Bear. I know not everyone is a dog fan, but he’s a sweet baby who just wants love.” he explains to you.

You nod and let the large dog sniff your hand and get to know you. Almost immediately, he lowers his head as if asking to be petted. You hear Jongho hum again a split second later, almost in surprise.

“He’s normally timid. I’m surprised he’s already letting you pet him.” he explains, “Oh, um, do you want something else to wear? I’m sure soaking wet clothing can’t be comfortable.”

“I don’t want to impose.” You shyly respond.

He shakes his head at you, “It’s no big deal. Come with me. I’ll show you where the bathroom is and get something for you to wear instead.”

You nod, accepting his kind gesture. He motions for you to follow him down the hallway. Bear following not far behind him, happily trotting. You take note of the various pictures hanging on the wall. One, in particular, catches your eye: a group of guys around your age. All of them are smiling brightly, sitting in an outdoor seeing area. You quickly pick out the man, slowly becoming less of a stranger. The others, though, you make a mental note to ask about later.

“Bathroom’s right there,” his deep voice pulls you from your thoughts, “I’ll be right back with some clothes. I hope you don’t mind me giving you some of mine. I don’t have anything else.”

“T-that’s fine,” you offer with a slight smile, “I’ll need to get used to it eventually if Wooyoung keeps insisting that we do double dates with him.” you add as he starts walking further down the hall.

“You think he’ll do that?” he calls back.

“I dated him for three years. He likes double or group dates much better than one-on-one dates.”

You hear his footsteps grow closer again (and Bear’s nails clicking against the hardwood with him), and not much longer, he’s standing right in front of you. His wet, tussled hair makes you gulp and finally process just how stunning the man in front of you is. Then, you just look at him for a few moments, neither of you saying a thing.

“Um, I put a pair of boxers in there, just in case you wanted something under the sweats.” he notes, avoiding eye contact, “You don’t have to take them. Just leave them in here. I can wash your rained-on clothes, though. It would be rude of me not to offer that.”

“Oh, thank you.” you respond, an awkward chuckle raising your tone.

You close the door, clothes, and towel in hand. At the bottom, there lay the aforementioned black sweatpants and boxers; on the top was an oversized graphic t-shirt. You smile contently without realizing it. It was a kind gesture for him to offer you clothing. For him to provide clothes that you would be comfortable in was even more caring. Perhaps fake dating this man wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

As you slowly peel off your sopping-wet clothing, your mind wanders. At first, it was just about how things between you and Wooyoung went and what you wanted to do differently about the entire encounter. Then, your brain wholly shifted tracks. Jongho was at the forefront of your mind about making up this elaborate scheme to convince your ex and his girlfriend. He vaguely mentioned stopping his friend from trying to get him to go on blind dates, too. That could add a whole new layer of complexity. When you step back and actually think about it, it sounds a little insane. You just kissed a man you didn’t even know, and now he’s pretending to be your boyfriend willingly. Your mind continues wandering down that path as you dry off your body and hair with the towel he provided you.

Then you freeze, looking over at the pile of clothing, and see the boxers he had referenced. Now, the internal debate starts. It would be weird to wear his boxers for multiple reasons, but at the same time, wearing his sweatpants without them would also be weird in various ways. In this case, you had to decide which was the lesser of the two evils. After a few minutes of standing there, fully nude, in a stranger’s bathroom, you finally decided to wear and deal with the item. After fully dressing, you look at yourself in the mirror momentarily. It’s odd; you haven’t worn anyone else’s clothing since your breakup with Wooyoung. Your hair is still damp from the rain; a towel can only do so much. You lack a bra, but at the moment, you couldn’t really be bothered with that. The shirt he gave you was large enough to conceal everything for the most part. Just as you open the door, you find Jongho standing directly before you, also now in dry clothing. Of course, Bear was by his side, happily panting and wanting attention.

“Oh, sorry,” he speaks choppily, “you were just in there for a little while. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You smile gently, “Yeah, I’m good. Where do you want me to put the wet clothes?”

“Follow me. You can give me the clothes. I’ll put them in the washer for you.” he offers.

You hand him the pile of clothes you had just picked up and follow him as he travels further down the hallway. Finally, he stops in front of a small closet and reveals the washer and dryer stacked inside it. He double-checks with you to ensure that nothing needs to be washed a certain way before he promptly starts the load of laundry and turns to face you again.

For the second time today, you’re absolutely amazed by this man slowly becoming less of a stranger. His hair is still slightly damp and hangs in his face. He looks comfortable in casual house clothing. Seeing him more in his element than at the cafe is nice. It feels like an eternity that you’re just standing there taking in his beauty. In reality, though, you know it’s a mere few moments. You don’t get broken from your gaze until a large dog jumps on you, demanding to be petted. He nearly tackles you to the ground before you can process what’s happening. You hear Jongho make a panicked noise before lifting Bear off you.

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into him today. He’s never clingy with anyone but me.” he sighs before reaching a hand out to help you up.

“It’s okay,” you smile, taking his hand, “I’m happy to know he’s friendly.”

“He definitely is,” he chuckles, “did you want a blanket? We can warm up in the living room and figure out everything regarding our story.”

You hum in response, just realizing that you are actually quite chilly. Jongho disappears into what you quickly notice to be his room and grabs a few throw blankets he had tucked into an armoire. The moment he steps out, he hands you one of the blankets and guides the way back to the couches in the living room. He lets you have the first choice of seating with a quick apology about the dog hair. Once you’re both comfortable, Jongho lets out a light sigh. You give him a puzzled look, and he’s ready to explain once he catches your drift.

“It’s nice to have someone other than Yunho, Mingi, or Yeosang here.” he explains, “It’s been a while since I’ve had someone over that’s not them. This wasn’t by choice, but I wanted to say it is nice to have your company.”

“Thank you,” you mutter out, “Are they the other three guys in those pictures?”

“The ones in the hallway? Yeah, we’ve all been friends since we were young. All of my life, essentially. They’ve gotten me through some really rough times.” He cleared his throat, realizing he was getting too deep too quick, “I guess it would be smart to figure out our story now.”

“Well,” you start, “Wooyoung and I didn’t break up long ago. It was only in February that I found out about Miyeon. So, do you wanna say we started dating in April? Like two months ago?”

“Damn, two months, and you’re already stealing all my clothes.” he jokes lightly, “Yeah, that sounds good to me. How about where and when we met?” “The bookstore you work at?” “Nah, Mingi would flip and blow our cover if we claimed that. He works there too.” he glances over and notices you’re still shivering slightly in your blanket, “Here,” he offers, opening up the blanket around him, “Come sit with me. You’ll warm up quicker.”

At first, you think about declining his offer, but the chills that run through your body urge you to accept. You nod, sliding across the couch to get wrapped up in his arms. You haven’t cuddled with anyone for any reason since before your breakup with Wooyoung. Feeling the warmth of his body against yours underneath this fluffy throw blanket sends butterflies through your stomach that you will away.

“I guess we’ll have to adjust to physical affection, too. I mean, only if you want that, though. I know Wooyoung wasn’t really big on PDA. I guess he is with Miyeon, but with me-”

“Hey, hey, you’re rambling,” he teases, “we can go over all those details as they come up in conversation. Now, about where we met.”

“The cafe we met at today? It’s the truth, just bent a little.”

“I like that idea.” he hums, “Blind date?”

“Seems boring,” you joke, “let’s at least make it interesting if we’re gonna make it up.”

“Hmm,” he ponders, “how about we meet at that cafe? I just saw a pretty girl and decided to pay for her coffee. That’s overly sweet, of course.”

You can’t tell if he’s flirting or just making up the story, but how he said it made your heart flip in your chest. Only now do you realize just how intimate this situation really is. You don’t know what cologne he uses, but the scent entirely surrounds you. Not only are you wearing his clothes, but you’re using his blankets and cuddling up against his chest. You’re wholly engulfed in the scent. The overall atmosphere is so comforting and calm. You absolutely love it. The heavy rainfall mixed with your relatively quiet conversation adds to the ambiance. It’s something you could never quite describe.

“Hey,” he pulls you from your thoughts with a shrug of his shoulder you were leaning against, “You zoned out there. What do you think about that idea?”

“I like it.” you hum back, “I guess we should get to know each other better than just our first names and jobs.”

He chuckles and tells you anything you want to know. Things that were as simple as his favorite color (it’s white) or as complex as his family dynamic. You laugh all throughout your time, cuddled up together, learning all you can. Bear had joined you at one point, resting his head against your thigh. His body flopped across the empty space on the couch you had once occupied. You hadn’t even noticed the passage of time, just happy sitting here and telling him about yourself and learning about him. The rain never let up, though. It remained a constant heavy downpour the entire time. At some point, you both become even more comfortable. His head rested on top of yours, and his arm wrapped ever so slightly tighter around your shoulder. It felt so right despite having just met a few hours ago.

Suddenly, he lifts his head, “How late is it? It’s hard to tell with how rainy it is.”

“It’s,” you start, pulling your phone out of the sweatpants’ pocket, “almost 10 pm. Oh shit, almost 10… I should probably go. It would be rude of me to overstay my welcome.”

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s still raining hard outside. I don’t want to send you home in this storm.”

“Jongho,” you sigh, “it’s fine. You said you’d be able to drive me home.” you remind him.

Just as he goes to answer you, a loud crack of thunder sounds through the sky outside. The rain begins beating down harder, the sound almost deafening against the windowpanes. It’s almost as if the weather itself is telling you to stay, too. He lets out a sigh instead of the words he was about to say.

“I doubt either of us wants to go out in that rain… and honestly, I don’t want to drive in that kind of storm either.”

“I wouldn’t make you do that.”

An awkward silence fills the space between you. You both know what needs to be addressed, but neither of you wants to say it. You hear Bear panting quietly from his bed near Jongho’s houseplant. It’s the only sound besides the rain filling the apartment. Fiddling with the hem of the shirt he lent you, you aren’t sure how to approach the elephant in the room. He doesn’t seem to either. Jongho is busying himself, looking around his living room, trying to find anything to look at.

“Well-” your voice comes out slightly shaky, “I’ll just sleep on your couch until the storm passes. I can walk home after-”

“No,” the brunette cuts you off, “I won’t let you go home by yourself in the middle of the night. I’ll sleep on the couch. You should sleep in a bed.”

“Jongho I-”

“Unless you’d rather share it with me.” he states plainly.

You’re taken back for a moment, having not expected the comment, “Um, I guess I’ll sleep in your bed then…” your voice comes out shaky again.

“Bear likes to sleep at the foot of the bed.” he chuckles, “Just a warning.”

A part of you feels bad for taking the bed. It is his apartment, after all. Another part of you is grateful he gave you the bed. You know sleeping on a stranger’s couch wouldn’t be the most comfortable, and his gentlemanly gesture makes you feel just a bit more comfortable. The greater part of you feels bad that he’s sleeping on the couch in his home.

You try for a while to fall asleep, but you just can’t. Even with Bear eventually coming to lay at the end of the bed, you can’t seem to fall asleep. Your tossing and turning eventually annoys the Saint Bernard, who huffs at you before walking up to lay against your body. You welcome the warmth, but sleep doesn’t come your way. Sitting up, you look at the half-asleep dog beside you. Bear just gives you a look and huffs again. After debating mentally for about another ten minutes, you wrap a throw blanket around yourself and walk out to the living room again.

Jongho is seemingly fast asleep on the couch. One of his arms is over his head while the other is resting against his chest. Yet again, he steals your breath for simply existing. When you step closer, you start to debate with yourself again. You should probably just go back to his room and succumb to tossing and turning all night.

“If you’re gonna stare, at least be subtle about it.” Jongho teases, eyes still shut.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You reply, “I didn’t want to disturb you, but-”

“I can’t sleep either.” He admits, “Come here.”

“What?” You’re confused, to say the least.

“Normally, Bear cuddles with me, but he’s already opted for his dog bed. Come here, we need to get used to physical contact, right?”

You nibble on your lower lip as you think. Earlier, you really did feel comfortable in his arms. His is right, too. If you’re going to be meeting Wooyoung later in the week for a double date, you know he’d be suspicious if you two weren’t physically affectionate. Finally giving in, you climb onto the couch and lay your head against his chest. The arm that was previously resting there moves to be splayed across your shoulders. Suddenly, you feel exhaustion overtake you. Mere moments ago, you were the furthest you could be from getting rest. Now, you can barely keep your eyes open.

You don’t expect to have a dog licking your face when you wake up. You blink slowly, seeing the sun beaming through the window. Then, when you see the pup sitting in front of the couch, you notice that he’s picked up his leash and wants to go for a walk. Jongho is still asleep underneath you. You opt to get up and get your clothing out of the dryer before you head out. On your way to the laundry closet, you grab your phone. You do your best not to let out an annoyed groan when you see a text from Wooyoung.

Do Not Answer ❌ Hey Miyeon and I are heading to the festival that’s in the park right now. You and your boyfriend down to move out double date today?

You leave him on ‘read’ for now. Eventually, you reach the laundry closet and grab all your clothing. Suddenly, Jongho appears in front of you. He’s clearly still half asleep as he shuffles down the hallway.

“Let me walk you back to your place if you’re going to leave so soon.” He offers, his voice still gravelly from sleep.

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Let me. It’s not a bother to me at all. Bear wants his morning walk as it is.”

You nod, “I’ll get changed back into my own clothes real quick, then we can go.”

Jongho nods back at you and lets you walk past to change in the bathroom. Everything is fine, peaceful even. You don’t think about Wooyoung’s rather irritating request to change plans. That is, until, he sends you yet another text.

Do Not Answer ❌ Hey… if you would rather come to our place and have the date there we can…

Didn’t think you wanted to be back in our apartment after you stormed out on me like that

If you do though I don’t mind that one bit… hope your boy doesn’t mind though

His comments make your skin crawl. Referring to his apartment as your shared home was already bad; also, saying you stormed out on him only made the bitter taste in your mouth worse. Still, you swallow your irritation and respond.

Do Not Answer ❌

My boyfriend has a name. Be fucking respectful Wooyoung.

My bad… So are you and whatever his name is coming or should I tell Miyeon you backed out?

You talked with him yesterday. His name is Jongho. We didn’t back out of anything… We literally just woke up. I’ll talk to him about it in a second

You don’t check whether he responds once you pocket your phone. When you pop the door open again, Bear is waiting for you. His tail is swishing against the hall rug excitedly. You watch as he trots down the hall when you step closer. You follow after him and see that he stops right at the door where Jongho is ready and waiting for you while looking at his phone.

“I need to ask you something.”

“Hmm?” He asks, putting his phone in his jacket pocket.

“Wooyoung…” you trail off, trying your best not to be annoyed with your ex.

Jongho’s face hardens, “Did he do something?”

For a moment, you feel butterflies coursing through your body. The way he’s asking is as if he’s your actual boyfriend and is showing concern for your well-being. You shake your head to snap yourself out of it.

“He wants to change plans last minute. He always did this shit when we were together too… If you aren’t up for going on a double date right now, I’ll just take the fall of ‘backing out’ like he’s claiming.”

“Where are they? If I can bring Bear with us, we’ll be good.”

“The park near his apartment that has some sort of festival.”

“Perfect! Do you want something else to wear since you wore that yesterday? I know it’s clean, but I’m sure he would say something even though I only met him yesterday. He seems like that kind of person.”

You nod shyly, “A sweater would be nice. I don’t mind wearing the rest of my clothes still.”

Bear walks over and nudges you with his head. He’s already very attached to you it seems. You squat down and pet him for a few moments. Despite his size, the large dog melts into you and lets out a satisfied groan when you scratch his ears.

“What kind of sweater?” You hear Jongho call, “I have plenty.”

“Something comfy! I don’t want to be too cold while we’re out.” You call back, very much still preoccupied with Bear.

You hear Jongho walk back up to you. You look up and see a thicker black sweater with thin grey and white stripes across it in his hands. He’s giving you a gentle smile.

“Here you go, clothing thief.” He smirks at you.

You take the sweater from him, “You offered.” You grumble back playfully before walking back to the bathroom to change again.

The sweater is far more comfortable than you expected. It’s long enough that your hands disappear beneath the sleeves, and the bottom hem hangs low enough to cover your entire butt. When you return, Jongho has Bear harnessed up and ready to go. Something about the entire scene makes you feel warmly domestic with a man you met less than 24 hours ago.

The walk to the park isn’t very eventful, in complete honesty. Most pauses you take are to let Bear sniff something or do his business. Of course, you and Jongho make small conversation about nothing particularly important. You don’t even physically interact with each other. That is, until, you approach the start of the park. You feel Jongho’s strong arm wrap around you while the other still holds onto Bear’s leash. You look at him with a slightly perplexed look; you expect him to hold you, but his grip is rather tight on your hip. It’s almost protective in a way.

“I see them.” he whispers against your hair as if he’s whispering a sweet nothing. “Just play along, okay?”

You nod, “Let the show begin.”

Networks: @kwritersworld @k-vanity @cultofdionysusnet

Tag List: @sanjoongie @jaehunnyy @ericssmile @anyamaris @almondmilkeu @shinestarhwaa @northerngalaxy

#jongho fanfic #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #cultofdionysusnet #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #jongho x reader #jongho fluff

641 notes · View notes