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scuttling · 3 years ago

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Lean on Me

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Gender Neutral Reader Word Count: 4,717 Tags: SFW, Fluff, 5+1 Trope, Obliviousness, Mutual pining, Aaron Hotchner deserves good things, Canon typical injury Summary: Five times you want to kiss the frown off of your boss's face, and one time you actually do it. *Requested by Anon. Link to AO3 or read below! “It doesn’t make sense.”

You stick a tack in a photo of a murdered woman—unfortunately one of many you’ve stuck to this board—and turn to face Hotch, who is looking over your handiwork with a quizzical expression.

“What doesn’t?” He takes a few steps closer, crosses his arms in front of him.

“Why would the unsub leave his comfort zone? The first six abductions occurred within five miles of the college, so why did the seventh and eighth happen almost twelve miles away?” He reaches for the board, traces his finger along the circle Reid had colored in on the map. “We profiled that he’s disorganized and far from confident, so why would he do that?”

He looks over at you, frowns, and not for the first time your gaze is drawn to the little crease between his eyebrows that always forms when he is puzzled, worried, confused, stressed, or otherwise unhappy. In short, it’s there kind of all of the time.

For the first time, though, you think of how easy it would be to lean over, press your lips there, smooth it out, and maybe even get him to smile for a change. He has a great smile, when he lets people see it.

You shake the daydream, rewind back to the question he asked, and wrinkle your nose in thought.

“Maybe his circumstances changed? It's summer now, and there are still classes, but students aren’t living in the dorms. Maybe he moved back home or got an apartment off campus that’s within that area—or a job.” He sighs, runs a hand over the back of his head, nods.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. That’s good. I’ll mention it to the others.” He pulls out his phone, and you grab another photo, another thumbtack, but something stops you and you lay a gentle hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to think of everything, you know. That’s why you have us.” He exhales, his shoulders losing a little of their tension, and that forehead wrinkle gets a little less deep.

“Sometimes I forget that not everything needs to be done the hard way. Or by me.”

“What? You, Aaron Hotchner, doing things the hard way?” you tease, and you are gifted a glimpse of his rare, unfiltered smile.

“Okay, enough pointing out my flaws,” he says with a raised eyebrow, though he’s still smiling, and as he looks down to type out a text, you remember to pull back your hand.

“I would never.” He looks up from his phone at that—maybe at the conviction in your voice, which you hadn’t exactly intended—and his expression softens further.

“I know you wouldn’t.” You hold eye contact for a moment, and then turn to finish preparing the board, pinning up another photo of another woman and reminding yourself that they need you to focus on the task at hand. Two weeks later, you knock on Hotch’s office door, a stack of completed consults in your hand. He looks up, that familiar notch in between his brows, a scowl on his face; when he sees that it’s you, he tones it down a little.

“Draw the short straw?” he asks, and you figure that’s because everyone knows he is in a bad mood and they’ve been avoiding this office all day. You shrug.

“It was rock, paper, scissors, but yes.” He huffs a short laugh, and you smile, step toward his desk. “Anything I can do to lighten the load?”

“Technically you’re adding to it,” he says with a glance at the files in your hand, and you set them on one of the chairs with a purposefully loud thump and then take the other seat.

“Technically. But technically, you only need to review my consults; I can review theirs. Right?” He mulls it over a moment, like the thought never crossed his mind—of course Aaron I have to do everything myself Hotchner would never suggest such a thing, even as the team sits in the bullpen with nothing to do, seeing who can throw M&Ms into Spencer’s mouth from the furthest distance.

“Technically,” he agrees, and you pluck a pen out of his pen cup and take the first file off the pile, open it in front of yourself, careful not to cut into the workspace he’s occupying. You both smile softly down at your work, and you actively do not think about that wrinkle between his eyebrows.

About an hour later, he reaches for his mug out of habit but finds it empty; you stand, take it in your hand, and he makes a noise of protest.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you say, and you walk toward the door. “I need some too. I’ll be right back.”

You pass through the bullpen—apparently the M&M contest led to a sugar crash, because Spencer is laying with his head on his desk—and grab your cup off your desk, take both to the break room to fill them.

Derek appears next to you as you’re stirring your sugar in.

“Coffee date with the boss?” he asks with a curious expression, and you shake your head.

“Of course not. I’m helping him with the overwhelming amount of paperwork on his desk so his mood improves, instead of just ignoring him.” You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and Derek scratches the back of his head.

“Never thought of that,” he admits, and you pat him on the arm and take your coffees back upstairs.

Hotch looks up at you as you set his mug down, says a soft thank you, and you grab the pile of files you brought up, separate them, and head back downstairs.

“You review mine,” you say to Derek, handing him a stack, “Emily take Spencer’s, Spencer take Derek’s, I’ll take Emily’s.” They look at you like they have no idea what to say, and you just smile, tap the top of Spencer’s head with a folder. “I’ll come back down and grab them in a little bit.”

“Yes, boss,” Emily says, and you grin on your way back upstairs. Hotch is standing when you arrive this time, looking out the window over the bullpen.

“What did you do?” he asks, turning to you, frowning again. You’re so close that kissing that wrinkle would be effortless. All you’d have to do is lean in.

You smile.

“I delegated, Hotch. You should try it some time.” You put your hands on his arms and guide him back to his desk. “Now what can I help you with?”

By the end of the day, his desk is clean and his bad mood is long gone. He closes the last of his files, sighs deeply, covers your hand with one of his, and says thank you.

The next morning when you come in, there is a steaming latte and a cookie on your desk, and you can’t stop smiling the rest of the day. Your next case is draining, children abducted and left for dead, and everyone is on edge, but no one more than Hotch. You’re fairly certain his face hasn’t relaxed since the initial briefing, and he’d be a prime candidate for the old ‘your face will get stuck like that’ joke, if anyone was up to joking.

The team catches the unsub, saves one child, but not until after three are dead; you take a late flight home because no one wants to stay another night in a town it feels like you’ve failed, and everyone curls up to get some rest except you and Hotch.

You try to read the book you brought along—a science fiction dystopian novel, something to get you out of your head and away from real life problems—but you’re a little distracted by Hotch’s sighing. It’s become an every-five-minutes thing, and while you’re definitely on board with sighing as a way to decompress, he’s not decompressing. He looks like he’s in pain mentally, exhausted physically; you’re not sure how everyone else was able to ignore it and go to sleep, but then you figure everyone else may not be as in tune with him as you are. As observant.

As in love.

Not that that matters: you know your issues, and some of his issues, and there’s the whole superior/subordinate thing which doesn’t really do anything for you except give you a stomach ache. It would never work out, even if he somehow, miraculously, were to love you back—and that’s a pretty big if in and of itself.

But still, you notice him, can’t help it, and the sighing is getting to be a little much. You sigh yourself, put your finger in between the pages of your book, and walk over to take the seat next to him; he looks over at you, frowning just like always, and you carefully close his file and set it aside.

Neither of you say anything to the other, just look each other over for a moment, and then you lean lightly against his shoulder and flip back to the beginning of your book.

“I still dream of the island. I sometimes approach it across water, but more often through air, like a bird, with a great wind under my wings. The shores rise rain-coloured on the horizon of sleep, and in their quiet circle the buildings: the houses grown along the canals, the workshops of inkmasters, the low-ceilinged taverns.”

You keep your voice low and soothing, and you are just turning to page fifteen when you feel the weight of his head drop onto your shoulder.

The crease between his eyes melts away in sleep.

You read until you make it home, and you wake him up with a gentle nudge before the rest of the team drifts back to consciousness. He looks at you, blinks slowly like he’s trying to remember where he is, and then gets a little sheepish when he puts two and two together, realizes he fell asleep on your shoulder.

You just shake your head, give his arm a squeeze, and head back to your seat to gather your things. You, Hotch, and Emily are catching the elevator to the parking garage—after staying two hours later to work on some rush consults straight from Strauss—when he looks at something on his phone that makes him groan aloud. You and Emily share a look, and you ask what’s wrong.

“I just remembered I’m supposed to have a treat for Jack to take to school tomorrow and it’s, what, seven thirty?”

“So just stop at the supermarket on your way home; no one can tell the difference anyway,” Emily says, but you and Hotch both shoot her a skeptical glance.

“It’s all about the treats at a school like Jack’s,” you supply, and Hotch looks over at you like he’s surprised by your comment. “If they’re not homemade, the parents talk. Plus there’s probably an allergen list a mile long: no nuts, no eggs, no soy, no dairy. You have to pick him up from Haley’s tonight, right?” You’re pretty sure, but when he nods he confirms it. “So pick him up, go home and get some dinner, put him to bed, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way over with the goods. I have a great recipe for vegan apple cinnamon muffins that will go over really well.”

“You really don’t have to do that; I’ll figure something out,” he says, but you just shake your head and pull up the recipe on your phone.

“Forget it, it’s already done. I have everything I need at home already; let me help,” you murmur softly, and when he looks at you with the furrowed brow that comes with accepting kindness from someone else, you almost forget it’s not just the two of you in the elevator. It’s only when Emily clears her throat that the eye contact breaks. He nods.

“Okay. Thank you; I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” The elevator dings and it stops at the parking garage; the three of you get off and head in separate directions for your cars. “I’ll text you.”

“Goodnight,” Emily says with a grin, and you wave at her, hop into your car, and head for home.

About two hours later, you show up at Hotch’s door with two dozen apple cinnamon muffins, and unbleached, whole wheat flour in your hair, and he has coffee brewing, a smile on his face.

“You don’t know how grateful I am,” he says as he ushers you into the kitchen, takes the boxes of muffins from your hands, and pours you a cup of dark, delicious coffee. You sip it slowly, savoring the taste—you should have known he’d have incredible coffee—even though it’s far too late for you to be indulging. Unless you’re working a case, you usually switch to decaf by three.

“I know you are. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think you’d appreciate the gesture.” You lean forward, open a box, and pull out two muffins, handing one to him. “I made a couple extra so we could taste test; if I accidentally put salt in instead of sugar, you’re on your own,” you joke, and you wait for him to taste it before taking your own bite.

“That’s delicious. There’s really nothing unapproved in here?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“Nope, it’s all healthy and allergen free, except for the flour, but that wasn’t on the list you sent.” He reaches a hand toward you, and you don’t realize, at first, that he’s brushing the flour out of your hair.

“Messy baker,” he teases, and your heart feels really full, being in his kitchen like this, warm muffins and fresh coffee, even if your hair is a mess. You smile, and he smiles back before dropping into that serious expression, eyebrow wrinkle and all. You think about brushing your lips there tonight, but this feels like two steps forward, and you don’t want to risk taking that step back. “Next time I’ll help you.”

“Oh, next time? You plan on needing my baking expertise again? Fair warning, this is the only recipe I know, so I hope you like apple cinnamon muffins.” You take a sip of your coffee, look up at him, and he takes another bite, nods his head.

“I do. Especially these.”

In a perfect world, what comes next would be a cinnamony, coffee flavored kiss, but the world’s not perfect, and you yawn instead. You look down at your mug like it’s betrayed you, and Hotch chuckles low.

“It’s decaf. I know you usually stop in the afternoon; I wouldn’t forgive myself if you were up all night because of me.” You have always been a person who falls in love with all the little details about someone, so the fact that he’s noticed this, remembers this, makes your heart beat a little faster. “I should let you go. You’ve done so much today, between staying late and baking for Jack—for me. You need to get some sleep.”

He’s right, it’s nearly ten, and you should be getting back home, but this is a moment you never want to end.

You just nod, though, and he reaches out to brush his hand over your back when he walks you to the door.

“Thank you again. I really appreciate that you did this for me,” he says, soft, like he still can’t imagine you would.

“You’re welcome, Hotch. Any time, really; I’m happy to help.”

You get home, clean your kitchen, and have a very late dinner, and the smell of good coffee and apples and cinnamon is still in your nose when you drift to sleep. “You didn’t hear what he said,” Hotch snaps almost a month later, with one hand splayed on his hip and the other on the table in front of him. The moment you saw him engaged in an argument with a member of the Sheriff’s department, fire in his eyes, you’d grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into a small conference room, shutting the door behind you. It took almost three minutes of staring at each other for him to say something instead of just glaring at you for interrupting the pissing contest.

“I don’t need to know what he said. I know you, and I know you handle people like that with a quick, sharp remark and then you wash your hands of it. You don’t argue back and forth, you don’t draw it out. You would have regretted it if you did that today, so I stopped you.”

“You think you know me so well, do you?” he asks in an unkind tone of voice you can’t identify, haven’t heard from him before; the expression on his face is familiar, though, a scowl that only puts emphasis on his handsome features—it’s unfair, really.

You exhale, cross your arms.

“Yes, and I know you well enough to know you’re irritated with him, not me, so cut the shit.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever been quite that direct with him, and certainly the first time you’ve ever sworn at him; your immediate instinct is to apologize, but he surprises you by huffing a laugh. The angry lines of his face smooth into something softer.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. He just—I can’t stand people like that.” He scrubs a hand through his hair in irritation. “We’re here to work—to do a job they couldn’t finish on their own. Not to be… objectified.” He mutters the last word, so low you almost don’t hear it, and then there’s a knock at the door. Derek enters.

“Sheriff wants a word, Hotch; do you have a sec?” With one last look at you, he nods, brushes past him to leave the room. Derek gives you the barest hint of a smile. “He was defending your honor, you know.”

You frown. You didn’t know.

“That jerk was talking about me?” you ask, clarifying, and he nods.

“Something about assuming you’re an athlete because he likes your ass. Set the boss man off.” You walk over to him and leave the room together, heading back to your workspace.

“Well Hotch is right, we’re here to work, not to be objectified. I can see how he would get angry.” Derek shoots you a flat, questioning glance.

“You think he’d be getting that worked up if it was my ass that guy was talking about? Or Emily’s?” The two of you stop outside the conference room, and you cross your arms, lean against the doorframe, frown.

“So what are you trying to say? That he sees me as being weak, thinks he needs to defend me? I'm as capable as either of you.” That may not be strictly true, because you’re a little more brains than brawn, like Spencer in that way, but you can hold your own and you thought Hotch knew that.

Derek just laughs, shakes his head, and ducks into the room. You follow, so confused.

“I thought you were just playing it close to the vest, but you’re oblivious, aren’t you?”

“Oblivious about what?” Emily asks, pen between her teeth, feet kicked up onto a chair, and you shrug.

“I’m still not sure. Hotch got into an argument with a deputy about me, and I asked Derek if Hotch thinks I’m weak and that’s why he felt like he had to defend me.” She smiles broadly around the pen, pulls it out of her mouth with a grin.

“Oh, honey. That’s not it. You know that’s not it, right?”

“I clearly don’t know what’s going on at all, so no, if you’d care to enlighten me,” you say, sinking into an empty chair. “I hate it when you guys are cryptic.” You love your team, but they have a habit of doing this all the time, saying things to each other with their eyes, or just a few words that don’t have any sensible meaning that you know of. It’s like they live to talk over your head, to say things without actually saying them.

“Okay. Hotch has a thing for you,” Emily says simply, and you blink.

Well that’s the very last thing you’d expected to hear.

“He absolutely does not.” You look at Derek, who’s making a face like you’re the one being crazy; you laugh out loud, can’t help it. “He does not. I’m pretty sure Hotch doesn’t have things, and if he did, he wouldn’t have a thing for me.”

“Why not? Because that would be too convenient, since you have a thing for him too?” Derek asks, taking the seat across from you, and you grab the nearest case file, flip it open and focus your attention on it.

“I care about him, the same way I care about all of you, and he maybe needs a little more care—but you guys are reading into things.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to say anything more, because Hotch, JJ, and Spencer return, and you all have a lead to work.

You can’t help but wonder if you’re being obvious about your feelings, though, especially later, when you get back to the hotel and the group decides to have a drink at the bar.

JJ and Emily hit the pool table while Derek and Spencer head up for drinks, and you are left sitting with Hotch at the table, pressed together in the inside corner of a booth.

“Tired?” you ask him, because he does look worn out, his tie a bit loose, his eyes a little red. You know he doesn’t get much sleep when you travel, and you can’t imagine he’ll go to bed even when this little detour is over.

“Always,” he sighs, but when he looks over at you, he smiles, just a little. “Just can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Yeah, it gives Southern hospitality a whole new meaning, doesn’t it?” The people you’ve interviewed today are, on paper, quite respectable, but there’s a Desperate Housewives, ‘everyone is sleeping with someone else's spouse’ kind of thing going on, and it’s honestly exhausting. To your surprise, Hotch laughs.

“It really does. I don’t think I’ve ever missed the quiet solitude of my apartment quite this much.” You lean back against the vinyl of the booth, sigh.

“I miss my apartment, but it’s been too quiet lately. I prefer the sounds of someone else sharing space with me: the coffee maker percolating, the news in the background, the shower running, the sound of flipping the pages of a book or magazine.” You look down at your hands, because you’re getting a little more emotional than you usually let other people see. “Sorry. I’m not typically this open about being…”

You trail off, but Hotch looks over at you, concerned, the wrinkle between his eyebrows even more noticeable when you’re sitting this close. You think, just briefly, of running your thumb over it, but with your luck, Derek or Emily would see, and you’d never live it down.

“Lonely?” he finishes softly, and when you nod your head, he covers your hands with one of his own, bumps his shoulder against yours. “I get lonely too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” You look up at him, feeling a little vulnerable, and his expression softens. “When we get back, maybe you could come over for dinner some night. Nothing fancy,” he clarifies, and you smile, “just two lonely people being a little less lonely.”

“That would be really nice.” You can see Derek and Spencer approaching out of the corner of your eye, and Hotch must too, because he removes his hand, slips back into the slight, persistent frown you have come to know and love. Derek looks at you, raises an eyebrow, and hands you your beer. You try to tell him to shut up with your face, plan to follow up later to see if that actually worked. “We have an agent down on the second floor,” Spencer says into his comms, and you immediately want to slap him in the back of the head.

“Don’t say agent down, kid; I’m like, slightly wounded at best.” You hold a hand against the stab wound on your side—the unsub honestly just grazed you, and you’d knocked him out with a single punch, which made you feel pretty awesome—and reach out the other so he can help pull you to your feet. Your hand comes up to your own walkie button. “I’m not down, I’m fine—just slightly stabbed,” you add, and Spencer is getting his cuffs on the unsub when Hotch and JJ burst through the doors.

Well, Hotch bursts. JJ follows behind looking strangely winded for one of the most naturally athletic people you know.

“What happened? Are you alright?” he asks, and you lift your shirt to show him the sluggishly bleeding gash.

“I’m fine, see? It’s not even deep. Spencer saw blood and got a little ahead of himself.” You turn to Spencer, who sticks out his tongue, then back to Hotch, who looks haunted and pale, with that goddamn wrinkle between his eyebrows again. He’s bent down, looking over your wound seriously—you’ve had worse, so much worse, that you don’t understand why he’s so worried about it—and then he leans up, presses a hand to your cheek, and pulls you close for a soft, tender kiss.

If this were a movie, right about now a camera would be panning around you in a circle, as you wrap your free hand around his neck, pull him closer, melt against his body like it’s all you’ve been dreaming of for months, and the two of you would break apart smiling, maybe even kiss again.

It’s not a movie, though, so you just bleed out against your hand and freeze, because Hotch is kissing you at a crime scene and you almost got filleted, so you’re not sure if this is a you got hurt, so I’d better kiss you kiss or an I’ve been wanting to kiss you forever, and you got hurt so I have to kiss you kiss.

When he breaks the kiss, you’re both breathing a bit heavily, and you don’t know what to do, so you just lean in and press your lips to that wrinkle between his eyebrows that you’ve been thinking about so frequently since the first time you noticed it. You brush a hand through his hair, and when you pull back, he’s smiling.

“What was that?” He covers your hand on your side with his own and helps get you toward the elevator so you can be patched up by the EMTs; JJ and Spencer are left staring, open-mouthed in your wake, with an unconscious unsub at their feet, but neither of you are concerned about that.

“I’ve been thinking of doing that for months now: to kiss that spot between your eyes so you’ll stop frowning for a change. Since I couldn’t, I decided to find other ways to help you stop frowning so much. It kind of became my life’s mission.” He sighs, puts his arm around you and holds you close while you wait for the elevator to bring you to the ground floor.

“I stop frowning when you’re around because you’re around, not just because of the things you do for me,” he tells you, and he presses his lips to yours for another warm, soft, perfect kiss. “I’ve been thinking of doing that for months now.” You tilt your head, make a sound of contemplation, and he chuckles softly. “What is it?”

“I think those cryptic idiots we work with might be onto something,” you say with a grin, and when the elevator lets you off and Hotch helps you toward the ambulance to be patched up, Derek and Emily are waiting with concerned looks on their faces. They must be pretty confused to see you’re grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, you guys were right; Hotch does have a thing for me!” you call as you walk past them, and when your wound is properly dressed and wrapped, you put your arms around his neck and let him kiss you until the frown and accompanying wrinkle are nothing but distant memories.

*The novel excerpt is from The Weaver by Emmi Itäranta.

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stressedoutcanary · 4 years ago

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Hold On - Jason Todd x Batgirl!Reader

Summary:

"Hey! I see a vent inside, maybe if we get to the roof-"

BAMMMM

"Of course, just shoot open the lock and alert whoever's inside. What a great strategy! Why didn't I think of it?! Oh I know, because it's dumb!"

Warnings: Language, Canon typical Violence, Occasional Angst lets be real it's Jason we are talking about, Kidnappings..?

Word count: 1.6k

A/N:- I...should be studying right now buttt I had fun writing this and yes, I took the title from the song Hold On by Chord Overstreet, I think it fits this perfectly.

I wasn't going for a series but here we are.

Part 2, Part 3

•°•°•°•°

It was a quite night for Gotham. Every person was busy with their own work and so were you, even if it was a little different from what people down below on the streets were doing. As of yet, you had stopped two muggings, busted a few armed two-face goons trying to rob a bank and were currently running across rooftops.

'Maybeee I can get off easy today, go home, microwave the pizza that has been waiting for me in the fridge, get a nice, warm shower and then straight to bed'

You hummed to yourself at the delightful thought as you sat on a gargoyle overlooking the city. You were enjoying the feeling of the light breeze on your face. It was soothing in a way. Not long after, you were startled by your comms crackling to life out of nowhere as you heard Oracle's automated voice in your ears.

"Batgirl I am going to need you to check out the area near Gotham Central Park for any visible strange activity. There are several missing persons reports filed this week that I have tied up to that particular region."

'So much for a warm bath and a good night's sleep, way to jinx yourself (Y/N), you dumbass'

"Isn't that park under construction or something? You know after the whole Justice League fiasco last month?", you questioned.

"Yep but people still go there, in the mornings for walks and at the nights for certain activities."

"Of course they do, I swear, people here are on a whole different level." You sighed. "Alrighty then Babs, I am on it."

•°•°

After climbing up a couple of fire escapes and swinging off of numerous rooftops you finally reached your target destination. There was a deafening silence when your feet landed on the damp grass. You took in the misted surroundings and decided to look around for something out of the ordinary. There was a broken bright neon sign by the corner of the street which caught your attention, you could only make out the last bit, it spelled Parlor.

'That seems awfully familiar. Something about it is odd but I can't quite place my finger on it'

You were lost in thought when you felt someone move behind you, there was rather little time for you to react so you choose the 'hit first ask questions later' option. You clenched your fist, twisted your upper body and delivered a quick, staggering blow to the shady figure lurking behind.

"OWW!! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!"

"HOOD?!"

Sure enough, Jason was on the ground clutching his ribs looking like a hurt puppy.

You moved your hands up and massaged you temples. You do not want to deal with him. Not today and if possible not ever. Even though you never let it show, you always avoided a run in with him. He may have become a part of the family again but you were far off from forgiving him.

You watched with narrowed eyes as he got to his feet and and dusted off the grass from his jacket.

"So on a Scale of one to Demon brat, how much do you hate me?", the smirk on his face and the way he wiggled his eyebrows at you almost made you want to smack him with a crowbar yourself.

"What? Dami?! I don't-- I don't hate Damian, he just gets on my nerves sometimes, something you do all the time.", you enjoyed, maybe a little too much, the way Jason's smirk turned into a small pout. You smiled a bit as you shook your head at his childishness.

"Before you start chucking batarangs at me I want to make this clear; No, Oracle did not send me here to be your backup or whatever, I just happen to be investigating the same thing which obviously led me here to you. So how about we work on this together and watch each other's back", Despite the uncertainty of your rejection, he sounded hopeful. It seemed as if he was ready to build the old, worn out bridges of your relationship back up again. It sent an unexpected warmth through your chest.

"Just like old times?"

"Just like old times.", Jason repeated as you both did a rather unsuccessful fist bump and grinned like idiots.

•°•°

You walked up to the seemingly abandoned building, Jason examined the door for traps whereas you decided on taking a look through the glass window.

"Hey! I see a vent inside, maybe if we get to the roof-"

BAMMMM

"Of course, just shoot open the lock and alert whoever's inside. What a great strategy! Why didn't I think of it?! Oh I know, because it's dumb!", you whisper shouted with a scowl. Jason just shrugged and tilted his head to the side, pointing towards the now open door.

"Ladies first, so lead the way, unless you're scared.", it was a playful challenge on Jason's part, one that you were more than ready to accept.

"Oh you're on Red."

You stepped inside and it was all business from there on. You took in the condition of the room; dusty desks, broken glass, oddly placed mannequins and footprints leading up ahead into a long hallway.

"They seem recent enough", Jason gave a slight nod at your discovery.

Considering the darkness of the hallway, you and Jason shared a look and switched on your night vision lenses. You both started taking cautious steps, the occasional soft thud of your boots being the only sound in the vicinity.

The end of the hallway was forked up and there were two rooms at the end of each passageway.

"How is this place so big! it didn't seem this huge from the outside", you could hear the exasperation in Jason's voice. You figured not getting to hit someone might be getting to him or that he was just bored.

"Look I will take the right, you take the left, our comms are already connected, if any one of us finds anything we tell the other and remember we do not engage in a fight alone. Am I clear or do you want me to write that down for you"

"Yes ma'am, but just so you know you are starting to sound like The old man", you rolled your eyes at his comment and went on ahead towards the right as he went the other way.

•°•°

You scrolled through the torn down bookshelf kept in one of the rooms and you were making a mental note in your mind that there were a lot of medical journals in the bunch, when your comms buzzed.

"I am sorry", Jason whispered in a soft voice and you froze for a spilt second, eyes widening.

'No (Y/N) don't listen to him, he doesn't know what he is saying, just focus on finding those missing people and get this over with'

With that thought you tried continuing your investigation as if you had heard nothing.

"I said, I am sorry (Y/N). I know you heard me. I also know you've been avoiding me, cutting me out and you don't have to reply if don't feel like it but...I just wanted you to know..."

"Now is not the right time for this Hood and...for what it's worth I am not looking forward to a forgiveness session with you...", you felt awful for cutting him out the way you did, your heart clenched at the harshness of your words as you clicked off your comms, but you refused to have this discussion right now. If you were being more honest to yourself you just couldn't bear the emotions it would bring, so you chose the easiest way; completely shutting him out.

It was few minutes after the highly uncomfortable talk with Jason that a wall poster had caught your eye. You moved your hand over it, somewhat wiping off the dust, there was something scribbled on it making it harder for you to read the actual text. You squinted, trying to make out the words

"The people need...perfection...and that is what Pretty Dolls Parlor strives to achieve."

You scanned the area near poster for fingerprints and clicked your comms back on.

"Hood, get over here, I found something and I think this is the make or break kind of information", you were waiting for scan to complete, concern creeping up your mind when there was no reply from the other end.

"Red Hood? can you hear me?"

Nothing.

"Red?! Answer me Damnit!!"

A whole lot of Nothing.

As soon as you heard the chime of the scanner signaling its completion, you sped the other way towards the left corridor, towards Jason.

'Jay please be okay, please be okay, please be okay.'

By the time you reached Jason's location you were panting from the lack of breath and were already cursing yourself for bringing Jason along. To say that the man can take care of himself might be an understatement, he is basically a lone wolf, but still the thought of something happening to him while he was with you hurt like hell.

You looked around frantically and almost jumped out of your skin when you stepped on a gun. You heart almost stopped, it was Jason's. To make matters worse, there was no other sign of him or of were he went. You picked up the gun holding it securely in your hand. You could literally hear your heart pounding in your ears.

Suddenly, through the reflection from the glass window in front of you, you caught a glimpse of a man wearing a blank white face mask, you turned around, immediately switching to a fighting stance but that only did so much for you. A flashlight was switched on and shoved near your face, the night vision of your lens intensified the light, blinding you completely.

Before you could react, a metal pole connected straight with the back of your head and just like that you were lights out on the ground.

°•°•°•°•

Author's cute little extra Note:

*wiggling my eyebrows rn*

I might be a little too obsessed with the Arkham Knight game hehe.

Well that ended well for you, didn't it?? Jason's gone missing and you get a nice concussion to garnish your anxiety level? No? Okay I will stop talking now.

Tell me if you want to be tagged for the next parts.💕

#jason todd x reader #jason todd reader insert #jason todd x y/n #red hood reader insert #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #jason todd x batgirl!reader #red hood imagines #jason todd imagines #reader is batgirl #jason todd #red hood #batfam #batfamily

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mosswillow · 4 years ago

Text

Your room (Dark!Peter Parker x Reader)

Word count 3.3k

!!!!! This is dark! And explicit 18+ only !!!!!

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, oral (female receiving), spankings, punishment, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, unprotected sex, smut, vaginal intercourse.

Summery: Your life is bland and boring but not for long. What happens when you catch the eye of a certain super hero?

Your room has always reflected you as a person. In highschool you haphazardly filled the walls with quotes and posters. Your room was messy in the typical way teenagers rooms tend to be, but also like a typical teenager was filled with feeling and hope. In college you filled your space with pictures of you and your friends taken on a polaroid camera. Everywhere you looked had your life staring back at you. Now as an adult the pictures from college are tucked away in a box. Your room is simple and boring. Most people think of you as minimalist but you don’t do it to be trendy, you just have no passion. You’ve spent the years after graduating college working a job you hate in a lab, running the same tests over and over again. You’ve always wanted to be a scientist, working on something new and exciting. You’ve applied everywhere but you rarely even get an interview. Your dreams, unfortunately, will never happen for you. Sometimes you wish for someone to swoop in and take you for your bland life but you know that will never happen. Watching your friends get dream jobs and buy homes while you waste away has crushed your spirit. You’re tired.

---

“Hey Y/N, we’re going out tonight.”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, you never come with us.”

“Ok sure.”

Your coworker is right that you never go out anymore and so several hours later you walk into a bar, grabbing a drink and finding your coworkers. The bar is bustling with activity and you lose track of time. You usually curl up in bed with a book on a friday night but you’re glad you came. You used to go out all the time in college and miss being social. Going out is good for your mental health and you decide to make more of a point to spend time with people.

You say goodbye to your still partying co-workers and head home a little past midnight. You start your walk and cut through an alleyway, wanting to get home before you vomit from the alcohol.

“Hey sweetheart. What are you doing all alone out here?”

A large man steps out of the shadows and walks toward you. You ignore him, keeping your eyes focused ahead and pick up the pace.

“Oi, I’m talkin’ to you,” He lunges forward and grabs your arm.

“Let me go.” You try to walk away but he holds onto you still, pushing you against the wall and landing a bruising kiss on your lips. His breath smells rancid and you feel bile rise in your throat. You cry out for help and the man is suddenly pulled away from you. You watch with disbelief as Spider man throws the stranger against the opposing wall.

“She said to go away buddy.”

The man slowly stands up and runs away. Spider Man shoots a web at the running stranger and he falls over, immobilized.

“You ok?” Spider Man turns to you, cocking his head.

“Yes, thank you Spider Man.”

“I’ll come check on you tomorrow”

You watch spider man pick up the stranger like he’s nothing and swing away. You walk the rest of the way home and lie in bed, unable to fall asleep. The next morning there’s a tap on your window and you look out to see Spider Man on your fire escape. You briefly wonder how he knows where you live but quickly brush off the thought and open your window.

“You sure you’re ok?” He steps towards you, looking you over.

“Just a little shaken up.”

He walks to your kitchen, filling a glass of water and handing it to you.

“This is too much, really I’m fine. You already saved me.”

“Drink the water,” He commands.

You sigh and drink it.

��That’s a good girl. Now get back to bed.”

You set the glass down and stare at the stranger you let in your home. Alarm bells start ringing.

“I’d like you to leave.”

“I’ll leave once I know you’re doing as you're told.”

Your heart beats rapidly and you take a step back.

“I appreciate that you saved me and came to make sure that I’m fine but I’m now asking you to please go.”

Spider man crosses his arms.

“I’ll call the cops” you say.

“And say what?”

“That there’s an intruder.”

Spider man sighs and walks to your window, standing at it.

“Get in bed and I’ll go.”

You walk to your bed and get under the covers.

“Good girl. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

As soon as he’s through the window you jump out of bed and lock every door and window, double checking your work. You get back in bed and let out a sigh of relief, finally able to sleep.

You wake up to tapping on your window. Spiderman is back. You make your way to the window but don’t open it.

“Let me in.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with you in here.”

Spider Man shakes his head and leaves without a word.

The next few weeks are filled with anxiety. You see flashes of red in your peripheral vision everywhere you go. Spider man is stalking you. You consider telling police but don’t think they’ll believe you. It sounds crazy, even to you. If it weren't for the bruises from the assault in the alleyway you would think you had imagined the whole thing. You stop leaving your apartment unless necessary and never go out after dark.

You get a voicemail one day.

“HI, this is Rebecca Johnson from Stark Industries. We’re looking for someone to fill a position in one of our labs. You had submitted an application previously and we wanted to reach out and see if you’d like to interview for the position. Please call back at your earliest convenience.

You squeal in delight, doing a celebratory fist pump. Stark industries is a dream job. You immediately hit redial and set up the interview. This would change everything. Just one year working at Stark would open up endless possibilities for you and that’s if you ever want to leave. You could afford a nicer apartment with more security. Maybe you will finally feel safe. You remind yourself that it’s just an interview and you shouldn’t get ahead of yourself.

---

You look up at the tower and take a deep breath. It’s intimidating, going for an interview at Stark tower. It’s been so long since you’ve interviewed anywhere let alone somewhere so big. You tug at your blouse, second guessing your outfit, maybe you should have worn something different. It’s too late to go back home and change. You walk in, mustering up all the courage you can and talk to the woman at the front desk.

“Hi, I’m here for an interview. Y/N Y/L/N”

“Oh yes, they’re expecting you. Here’s a temporary badge. Go to the 80th floor and take a seat.”

You take the badge and follow the instructions. You’re surprised to find yourself in what looks like private quarters. There’s a small couch near the elevator and you sit and wait.

Tony Stark himself appears in front of you and your mouth flies open. You stand quickly and hold your hand out.

“Mr. Stark, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Tony looks you up and down, clicking his tongue.

“Likewise, follow.”

You half walk, half run behind him, getting in the elevator and taking it down a floor. You arrive at a state of the art lab and workshop and Tony leads you to a desk.

“The whole workshop will be open to you. This is your desk.”

He starts walking again and you keep following him back to the elevator and to another floor.

“Here’s where you’ll live. I’ll leave you with the contract and you can call my assistant if you have any questions.”

He hands you a tablet and walks out.

You look around the room dumbfounded. You thought you were just here for an interview. You guess this means you got the job. You swipe through the contract and your eyes widen at your salary. There are a few things that make you uncomfortable though. You’re required to live on site and there’s a curfew. You have to sign a NDA about anything you see in the tower. You also can’t decide to quit without permission, which you’re not sure is even legal. You call the number to Tony’s assistant.

“This is Rebecca.”

“Hi, this is Y/N. I’m looking through this contract and it says I have to live on site and there’s a curfew?”

“Yes. That is non negotiable. Living on site will give you access to the workshop 24/7. There will be times when you will work through the night. The curfew is for security as the tower is locked down every night.”

You would rather have your own place where you can come and go as you please but you’re willing to live here if you have to and the reason for a curfew makes sense. The tower has top of the line security, which is something that’s really important to you. You don’t usually go out late anyway and if you do decide to be out late you can crash at a friends house or get a hotel room.

“And the avengers? Will I have to work closely with them?”

“You might meet them or see them at some point but most likely not.”

“I know this sounds weird but I don’t want Spider man to know I’m working here.”

“Mums the word.”

“What exactly will the job entail? I see there’s a NDA.”

“You’ll be an assistant in Tony Stark's personal workshop and will work closely with him. He appreciates privacy.”

“I see, and the part where I’m not allowed to quit?”

“He just wants to make sure you’re serious. Tony picks his assistants personally and requires loyalty.”

“Ok, thank you.”

You hang up and sign the screen. When you open the door there's a man standing outside. He’s not a tall man, standing a few inches taller than you. However, he is muscular and something about him commands attention. You feel an immediate pull towards him.

“Oh, hi I’m Peter Parker.” He holds out his hand.

“I’m Y/N”

“I also work with Tony and live right next to you. I’ll be your direct boss.”

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Parker.”

“Peter is fine. I won’t keep you any longer, I just wanted to introduce myself.”

You immediately get to work rearranging your life. By the end of the weekend you’re completely moved into your new place and on monday you start your first day on the job. It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of, full of state of the art technology and free reign to do whatever you want. You walk into work every day with a smile.

You work alone most of the time, Tony and Peter working awkward, sporadic hours but you enjoy it when you do get to work with them. Tony is funny and brilliant, you learn more from him than from any college class. Peter is smart and sweet. He helps you with your work and makes sure you’re always taken care of, sending you back to your room if you’ve been working too long or making you take breaks to eat. You find yourself starting to develop feelings for Peter and your heart swells when he asks you on a date. Life is good and only getting better.

You meet Peter outside of your door and he takes your hand. The two of you walk to a little italian restaurant and Peter takes your menu, ordering your food for you. It’s very forward for a first date but you like the confidence. After dinner he walks you back to your door and kisses you. You see something in his eyes when he pulls away, possessive and dark. It makes you feel uncomfortable but also excited. Nobody has ever looked at you like that.

Over the next few weeks Peter becomes more and more comfortable around you, becoming more physical. It’s small things, like pushing your hair back when talking or touching you gently as he walks past. He asks you out again, this time wanting to cook you dinner and you decline, suggesting a coffee date instead. You don’t feel comfortable enough with him to be alone in his room. He clenches his jaw when you tell him, obviously upset you won’t come over but agrees.

A few days later you decide to go out with some old friends and crash on one of their couches. When you get home the next day Peter is standing outside your door.

“You missed curfew.”

“I know, I went out with friends and crashed on one of their couches.”

Peter clenches his jaw.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

“It shouldn't matter if I want to stay the night somewhere else.”

“Well it does.”

You roll your eyes and unlock your door quickly, locking it behind you. The two of you have only been on one date. His behavior is a red flag and you decide to take things slowly.

The next day you decide to go out for coffee, pulling on a simple tee shirt dress and some flip flops. The elevator won’t let you down.

“Your privileges have been revoked.” Peter says from behind you.

You jump. “Why?”

“You know why.”

He stalks toward you, pushing you up against the elevator.

“I don’t feel comfortable with this Peter. You need to back away from me now.”

Peter takes a step back.

“I’m sorry but right now I don’t want any sort of relationship outside of work.”

“That’s not going to work for me.”

Something in Peter's eyes terrifies you. You need to get out of here. You try the elevator again but it still won’t open.

“I quit.” you yell at the elevator, feeling more danger every second you’re stuck in the hallway with Peter.

“You can’t quit baby.”

“There’s no way it’s legal to force me to keep working even if it’s in the contract.”

“There’s nowhere to go. You’re not getting out of this building and even if you did you’d have to find a lawyer to take your case.”

“You can’t do this, I'll tell Tony.”

“Who do you think suggested this in the first place? Most of the Avengers have gotten their partners this way. I was waiting for the right person and I knew you were them the moment I saw you.”

“Why would Tony help you trap me here? You’re just a lab assistant.”

“Oh no honey, I’m much more than that.”

He steps toward you, caging you in.

“You think it’s a coincidence I saved you in that alleyway?”

“Spider man?”

Peter gives a grin. He leans in and smells your hair.

“No.”

“I’m sorry it’s happening this way, I wanted to break you down slower. You’ll have a really good life, we’ll live together and work together. You’ll have everything you could need or want.”

“I want to leave.”

“You’ll change your mind, you just need a little motivation.”

Peter pulls you to his room and opens the door, pushing you into his apartment. You try to run but he easily catches you, picking you up and throwing you on his bed.

“Why are you doing this? Why me?” you scrabble to the far side of the bed.

“You’re mine.”

Peter's phone rings and he picks it up.

“Hey, yes I did... I know It wasn’t the plan, I had to improvise… Ok, see you in a few weeks.”

He hangs up and gets on top of you. you spit in his face.

“I’m not yours freak. Let me go.”

“You won’t be allowed to act like that moving forward. Now lie still.”

“Get off of me.”

Peter gets off briefly, flipping you over his lap and pulling up your skirt. He lands a smack on your bottom.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to do this. You’ve been so bad baby.

“Not letting me in your apartment.”

Smack.

“Telling Rebecca you didn’t want me to you started working here.”

Smack

“Staying out all night.”

Smack.

“Shutting the door in my face.”

Smack.

“I liked you Peter, If you had just acted like a normal person we could have continued a relationship.” You say through tears.

“I don’t want a relationship, I want to own you.”

He lands another blow on your bottom and grabs your underwear, pulling them down and off of you. You try to wiggle away but he’s so strong and easily holds you down with one arm. He moves his hand between your legs and towards your sex, pushing a finger in and out.

“You’re wet for me.” He says smugly.

You close your eyes and turn your head away. You’ve stopped resisting and he lets go.

“There you go.”

He kisses your neck and cheek then grabs your chin moving your face and kissing you gently, pushing his tongue into your mouth. He pulls back and you hear him unbuttons his pants, pulling them down. You open your eyes and move away from him, pushing your back against the headboard. You watch as he holds his erection, slowly moving his hand up and down. He moves towards you and grabs your ankle, pulling you down the bed and positioning himself in between your legs. He holds onto your hips and kisses your inner thigh, moving toward your mound until his mouth is on your clit, kissing and licking. You arch your back and throw your head back, fighting against the rising orgasm. Right before you come he pulls back, smiling up at your dazed face. He rises up and slowly pushes his dick into you until you’re full. You whimper as he brings his hand down to your clit, stimulating it.

“That’s right baby,I know what you like.”

You can’t think about anything else anymore, only the orgasm that threatens to take over.

“Come Baby”

You reach out, grabbing his arms as you come. He grabs your shoulders and thrusts deep, filling you with cum before collapsing next to you, pulling you into the crook of his arm.

“Can I go back to my room now?” you ask.

“You won’t be leaving this room until I can trust you.”

“I won’t say anything. You won. You got what you wanted so just let me go.”

“You still don’t get it Y/N. You’re mine now. I know this is a hard adjustment but everything will be fine as long as you follow what I say.”

“And if I don’t obey you?”

“You’ll be punished.”

“Fuck you.”

Peter sits up next to you, grabbing his pants off the floor and pulling his belt out of the loops.

“I guess your first lesson starts now.”

---

You look around the room you live in. It’s no longer the empty minimalist space it was before you met Peter. Now it’s filled with him. Everywhere you look there are reminders of him. The shower has his body wash and razor. There are pictures of him hanging on the walls. Everything you own has been bought for you by Peter. He dictates what you’re allowed to wear, where you’re allowed to go, who can talk to. It’s all him. Every part of your life revolves around Peter to the point where you don’t know what you would do without him. You wake up to him, go to sleep to him, think about him constantly. You’re even sometimes woken up in the middle of the night to him touching you, wanting you. At some point you stop pretending you don’t want him back. You hate it but it’s true.

Your room has always been a reflection of you as a person.

#dark!peter parker x reader #dark!fic #dark!peter parker #dark peter #dark peter parker #smut

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sunlight-moonrise · 4 years ago

Text

Satisfied Curiosity (Reid Imagine)

Summary: Bartender!Reader does everything she can to get the cute FBI agent’s attention.

A/N: This wasn’t suppose to be so long or late, but my mind got the best of me. Big Thanks to @spencer-reid-in-a-pool and @reidetic for being amazing Betas (you guys are precious!). This story would be utterly unintelligible without them. Also thank you to everyone who showed love to my first fic. I didn’t expect for it to receive half of the attention it was given. I’m super grateful and I hope to provide more for you all. Enjoy!

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: Sexting, Oral (Male Receiving), Fingering, Penetrative Sex, Rough Sex, Degradation

Word Count: 9.1K (sorry, not sorry)

Masterlist

I’d like to think that I’m able to read people pretty well. Since working as a bartender for the past five years, I can examine an individual and have their personality down pat. Facial expressions, body language, posture, gestures. All these things are basically words to a story that I am able to put together.

My thought process was cut off when I noticed these two guys sitting at the end of the bar. I regarded them momentarily. They don’t look like the typical bar patron, their clothing a little too unseemly for a place like this. They were surveying the area as if looking for something.

I got a side profile of the tan Hispanic man. He had dark curly hair and trimmed facial hair. He was talking lowly to the man he was sitting with, their eyes still skimming all over their surroundings. I couldn’t get a good look at the other guy since his back was to me.

They sat tall, their bodies alert to any movement. It was as if it was their first time at a bar, but I know they were not uncomfortable here. There were no jittery movements from what I can see; no telltale signs that they were nervous. They also were not paying much attention to the people around them, focusing more on random spots within the place. Weird. Are they inspectors? Nah, that can’t be. Drew always gives us a heads up when visitors come. Plus, we got checked a few weeks ago.

The two finally turned towards my direction, and I was able to see the other guy. Wow, he was hot. Like very hot. Loose brown curls sat wildly on his head, looking as if he just rolled out of bed. He had a light stubble going on, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw. Damn, I bet I’d cut myself just touching it. He had a beautiful pair of pink lips. I quickly turned my attention to his left hand, noticing the lack of a ring. No wife, good. Now I need to make sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend or fiancée waiting for him at home.

I trailed my eyes upward, noticing that he was staring at me as well. I felt my face heat up when I saw him smirk. Damn, he caught me checking him out. His companion was also looking at me expectantly. They probably have been trying to get my attention for a while now, most likely to order some drinks. I made my way towards them, smoothing my hands over my jeans.

“Evening fellas, would you like to see a menu?” I asked as I placed some napkins in front of them.

“No thanks, but my partner and I would like to ask you some questions…” said the Hispanic man with a small pause. He quickly looked at my name tag before looking back at me “…(Y/N)”

The fuck? Partners? I didn’t think they were a couple. I did a quick glance over at them. Two Alpha males in a relationship rarely ever work out. They were not physically close to one another either. Sigh, you always fall for the ones you can’t get.

I didn’t answer them, still mentally distraught over this taken man. I’m sure they took my silence as confusion because the Hispanic man went on to explain, “I’m Luke Alvez and this here is Dr. Spencer Reid,” they flashed their badges, showing me some credentials. “We’re with the FBI.” Oh. I glanced toward Dr. Reid, a smile tugging on my lips. Score, we’re back in business.

I figured I might be here for a while so I got myself comfortable. Well, as comfortable as I can get standing behind a bar. I leaned towards them, my hands resting on the bar top. “Well, in that case, fire away.”

“Have you noticed any males here who arrived by themselves? This man likely sits alone, only interacts with women. He presents himself as a charming gentleman. His head would be facing downwards if he were sitting at the bar and he would probably wear some kind of hat to shield himself,” asked Luke.

“That’s roughly 50% of my male patrons, you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Yea, I should have figured that is not much to go by.”

I turned my attention back to the doctor who has yet to say a word, noticing that he was once again looking at random spots around the bar. “Your friend here is awfully quiet.”

At my comment, Spencer finally looked at me. I am sure that time stopped as his honey-colored eyes stared deeply into my own. If it wouldn’t come off strange, I’d stared at them all day.

He eventually turned away from me, “This place has a lot of blind spots.” He pointed to one corner by the back and another near the billiards table. It took a moment for me to comprehend what he was saying since I was distracted by the sound of his voice. He could probably recite Shakespeare and I’d think it was erotica.

He continued talking, oblivious of my swooning. “The man we are looking for does not want to be seen, he’ll know where to be so that the camera can’t spot him. He’ll likely bring the woman he’s talking to there or even over there,” he pointed to another spot, this time it was a small crook partially hidden behind a wall.

“The area by the restroom entrance also has no camera at all so he’ll possibly spend some time there as well,” he finished.

“I’d think I’ll notice some creep hanging near the bathrooms all night,” I remarked. “However, we have a security room in the back if you want to look over some footage.” I pointed to a door opposite the kitchen’s entrance.

“That’ll be very useful, thanks,” Luke reached into his pocket and took out his phone. He turned to Spencer saying “I’ma call Garcia, see if she can run some facial recognition on this guy.” With that, he walked to the security room.

I focused my attention back on Spencer, hoping he’ll stay here a bit longer. “May I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” he said, the damn smirk on his face once again. Smartass.

“Haha, I’m serious,” He didn’t say anything, which I took as my cue to continue. “What exactly does someone like you do in the FBI?”

“Someone like me?” he repeated.

“Well, you do not look like a typical agent,” I stated, and he just raised a single eyebrow at me. “Not to say that you’re probably bad at your job. I’m sure that you’re amazing at whatever it is that you do. I’d just like to know exactly what it is. Like what does your job entail…” Great, out of all times for my motor mouth to talk off, it chose this moment.

Spencer didn’t say anything and the awkward pause was killing me. I wanted to grab his gun and shoot myself in the foot. He probably thought I was insulting him. He continued to watch me as I fidgeted under his stare.

Finally, he decided to show me some mercy. “I use psychology to profile and find people,” he put it simply.

“That’s it?” I questioned.

“Pretty much,” he stated evenly, focusing his attention on the napkin in front of him. His body was slightly tenser than before, telling me that he was uncomfortable. I decided to drop the topic.

I scanned his being in an attempt to find something, anything that would allow me to continue talking to him. He beat me to it. “Which Sherlock portrayal are you a fan of?”

I was momentarily confused as to how he knew I was a fan. “Um, I started watching BBC’s Sherlock but I find the books to be much more interesting than the show. Are you a fan?”��

“Of the books, yes. I haven’t had the chance to watch any of the series or films. I always find that reading offers a better experience. That’s a nice pin you have by the way.”

Pin? I looked down and remembered my “I am Sherlocked” pin clasped next to my name tag. Gosh, I feel like an idiot. Just when I was going to reply, I saw Luke stepping out of the security room.

I turned back towards Spencer, who was digging his hand into his pocket. He pulled out a card and gave it to me. “The number of the precinct we are helping is on here. If you have any further information, you should contact them.”

What, no. I don’t want him to leave yet. “But what if I want to talk to you more?”

“My number is on the back.” I flipped the card around and was greeted by a ten-digit code sprawled out in blue ink.

A smile adorned my face as I looked back at him. “How did you do that?” There’s not even a pen near his hands. Unless he carries all these cards with his number on it, which I severely doubt.

“You ask a lot of questions,” he stated.

“I’m a naturally curious person.”

He paused for a moment to dart his tongue across his lips. He made sure to look into my eyes before saying “You know that curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back.”

He gave a low laugh, “Touché.”

Just then Luke walked back to us, his phone to his ear. “C’mon man. The team needs us back at the station. There’s been another victim.”

“We’ll talk later,” Spencer said to me. My heart skipped a beat at his words. I felt like a kid who had a childhood crush.

Spencer got up and with one last glance at my direction, the two of them headed out the door.

Well, there goes the best part of my day. I’m being selfish wishing that he would have stayed behind. The man is here to find a criminal, not get his dick sucked. I folded the card and slid it into my pocket before grabbing a rag. These shot glasses aren’t going to clean themselves.

●The Next Day●

I spent the last few hours debating on whether or not I should text Spencer. I tried to distract myself with mundane activities. I watched TV, did my chores, even attempted to read a book, but nothing kept my interest. I grabbed the card that was sitting idly on my dresser, pondering on what to do.

You shouldn’t. But I’m bored and he’s cute. He’s an FBI agent for crying out loud. He got important things to do. What’s the worst that can happen? You could get arrested for obstruction of justice. Or I can get closer to him and find out more about him.

It is settled. I added Spencer’s number to my contacts and perched myself on my bed before sending a short text.

‘Hello Dr. Reid.’ I waited a minute, then two, then three, anxiously hoping for a response back. This was a bad idea, he’s probably at another bar trying to catch this guy. I should just delete his number and make myself a sandwich.

Right when I was going to do just that, my phone vibrated. I never opened my messages so fast in my life.

‘(Y/N). Is everything okay?’

A smile broke across my face as I pondered on what to send him. Should I keep everything cute and sweet? Nah. That’s boring. Should I send some salacious texts? No, he’ll probably think I am some kind of skank. Perhaps I should go for the playful persona?

I finally decided to type out a message, not wanting him to wait any longer. I don’t need him thinking that I’m in actual danger because I don’t know how to respond to a simple text.

‘I’m more than okay now that you’re here.’

I didn’t have to wait long before his next text came in. ‘Is there something that you need?’

Oh Spencer, if only you knew. However, what I want cannot be attained at the moment. I quickly typed across my keypad, ‘That’s a loaded question.’

Apparently he did not like that since his next reply was, ‘I don’t have time for this. I am working right now.’

Well shit, should I stop? Hell no, we are in too deep. Besides, he could always choose to ignore my messages instead of responding. And he did give me his number instead of just leaving me with the precinct’s. With that in mind, I typed out a text and quickly pressed send before I started second-guessing my choices again.

‘So you don’t want to talk to me?’

Again, I didn’t have to wait long for his next message to come through. ‘You should only contact me if you have information pertinent to the man we are looking for.’

That’s bullshit. Why give me your number if you didn’t want me to talk to you? ‘You said we’ll continue the conversation later. It’s later.’

‘Later, When I am not working.’ he clarified.

If I were a smart girl, I would have left this alone so that he could work peacefully. But I’m not. ‘All work and no play makes for a grumpy doctor. Don’t you want some entertainment?’

‘You’re acting childish.’

I couldn’t help but grin at his statement. If only he knew. Well, I could drop him a hint or two. ‘I’ve been compared to a brat before.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

‘I’m a glutton for punishment, agent.’

‘Do you want me to deliver?’

My breath caught in my throat. Could it be? Does Dr. Reid have a darker side to him? Or maybe I’m reading too deeply into this. I don’t care, I’m having too much fun at the possibility of this man having a more unhinged side to him. I wanted to see it. I decided to be cheeky with him, ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you Sir.’

‘What are you trying to get at?’ One step forward and two steps back. I guess profiling and mind-reading are not one and the same if he has to ask me this. Or maybe he isn’t used to someone asking him to dick them down without outright saying they want him to dick them down.

‘I said it already, I just want to talk to you.’

It took a couple of minutes for his reply to come through. ‘We’ll talk later.’

I decided to give Spencer a break. I got what I wanted with his earlier comment. I ended everything with an ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ and put my phone down. I looked at the clock on my bedside table and saw that an hour had passed. I guess time really does fly when you’re having fun. I might as well start getting ready for work.

●●●

Four hours into my shift and the crowd near the bar was barely manageable. I’m not a big fan of working Friday evenings. I easily get annoyed with the sloppy drunks who think they could hook up with any of the workers but the tips usually make up for it at the end of the night.

I was grabbing some bottles of beer when all of a sudden I got a twisted feeling in my gut. I felt the hairs in the back of my neck stand up, and not in a good way. Call it a sixth sense, but I suspected that something was wrong, very wrong. I placed the bottles down and looked at the countless customers littered around the bar top. My eyes landed on this man who was giving off some creepy vibes.

I’d like to think I had a pretty good memory and this guy was definitely new. He was hunched over, eyes looking at the menu on the table. He was rapidly tapping his finger on top of the table, so I assumed he was feeling uneasy. Every once in a while, his head would peek up, as if he was searching the crowd for someone. He had a baseball cap on, the hat pressed tightly down on his head, his blond hair barely peeking through.

From what I can see he was attractive enough. A full-on beard decorated his face. He had on a leather jacket and a fitted shirt; seemingly trying to give off bad boy vibes. I started making my way towards him, “Is there anything you’d like to order?”

“That depends, are you on the menu?” Ugh. Gag. If I had a dollar for every time some Casanova wannabe used that line on me, I could pay for two months of my rent. He had a smile on his face that could be charismatic but I just found it downright disturbing.

“Food and drinks only. Sorry to disappoint.”

“That’s fine sweetheart, I’ll have whatever beer y’all got on tap.” As I walked away, I could feel his eyes leering at me. Should I text Spencer? No, I dealt with creeps before, this is nothing new.

I turned back to where Mr. Creepy Guy was previously sitting but he was no longer occupying the seat. Fuck. I took a look around the crowded pub, hoping to spot him. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you see it, I did. He was near the bathroom entrance talking to some girl who hardly looked like she could keep herself up.

Shit, I should get Spencer right now. I pondered on whether I should call him but figured that he wouldn’t be able to hear me over the volume of the crowd. I hurriedly pull my phone out of my pocket, trying my best to send the message as fast as my shaky hands can manage.

‘I’m pretty sure the man you’re looking for is here. You should bring some officers ASAP.’

Come on, Come on, Come on, have your cell on you. My phone vibrated, alerting me of a message. Oh thank god yes. ‘Are you serious?’ it read.

What the? Does he think I’m pranking him or something? I angrily typed on my screen, ‘This isn’t exactly something I will joke about Spencer.’

‘We’ll be there soon’ came his simple response. Okay, good. Now I just need to make sure that this guy doesn’t try to escape.

I looked back up and saw Mr. Creepy Guy still near the restrooms. One of his hands was holding on to the girl’s arm and I just knew he was trying to get her out of here. Spencer and company won’t arrive fast enough. I have to do something to make him stay longer.

I turned to my co-bartender, Manny, “I am going to take a 10 minute break.” I didn’t give him a chance to respond before I opened the small door dividing us from the crowd and made my way to Mr. Creepy Guy.

Once I got to the two of them, I spewed the first thing that came to mind, “Uh, excuse me. You um, forgot your drink. You know, the beer. That you ordered. At the bar earlier. About 10 minutes ago.” God, I looked like an idiot, but I couldn’t risk saying something that made him apprehensive.

Mr. Creepy guy sneered at me, “Yeah. I didn’t want it anymore.” Well, who shit in your cereal, mister. Oh right, that would be me. I gotta keep him a bit more distracted.

“Well if you order something, you gotta pay for it. Bar’s policy.” He continued to glare at me upset that I was being a cockblocker. Or more appropriately a murderblocker. Realizing that I wasn’t going away soon, he pulled a bill from his pocket before throwing it at me. Wow I wonder where his pleasant attitude disappeared to.

I turned my attention to this poor girl and noticed she wasn’t looking too good. I assumed she was drunk but she looked way off it; as if she had been drugged or something.

Fucking hell, she probably has been. She can’t stand on her own two feet and she could barely stop her eyes from drooping downwards.

“Your friend here doesn’t look too good,” I commented, my hand already going towards the arm he wasn’t currently holding on to.

“She’s fine. We were just about to leave, right Sarah?” he asked the girl. ‘Sarah’ didn’t say a word, too busy trying her best to not crash down on the floor.

“Nonsense, we can’t have you leaving in such a state, it would look bad on us,” I improvised. “We’ll give her something real quick to help sober her up.” I hastily scanned the room, spotting Hannah, one of my coworkers, a few feet away.

“Hey Hannah,” I shouted, garnering her attention. I gestured for her to come here and she started walking over. When she stood in front of us, I pried ‘Sarah’ out of Mr. Creepy Guy’s hold and gently ushered her into Hannah’s arms.

“This is Sarah and she’s not feeling all that well. Can you tell Manny to give her the Queen’s special?” Hannah instantly knew what was up. The Queen’s special is our code name for helping those who we believe are in an uncomfortable or dangerous situation. Most of the time, the person is coherent enough to ask for help, but for these kinds of scenarios we’ll have to rely on our own wits.

The two walked, or in Sarah’s case, stumbled away. Hannah managed to give Mr. Creepy Guy a glare which he openly returned in my direction. I gave him a small smile, hoping he didn’t get suspicious and try to leave.

“She’ll be right back, would you like that beer while you wait?” I asked.

“No, you did enough,” He jeered, taking slow steps back. I could have sworn he muttered ‘fucking bitch’ as he disappeared in the crowd, no doubt hightailing it out of here.

Crap, I should follow him. At least I’ll be able to tell the cops what direction he went or what his license plate number is. I started walking to the exit, shoving my way through the sweaty mass of people.

Once I got to the door, I pushed it open feeling the cool air hit my face. I looked around, trying to see if I could find Mr. Creepy Guy but to no avail. I walked a few steps down, searching to see if he went down an alley or something.

The place was eerily quiet and my nerves were starting to get the best of me. I suddenly felt a hand roughly grab my shoulder and let out an ear-piercing scream. I whirled around, my hand already in a fist to punch the living daylight out of this person.

Right when my hand was going to make contact, a hand closed around my fist. No problem, I’ll just kick you in the shin. My leg was about to leave the ground when I heard a stern “Calm down (Y/N).”

I know that voice. For the first time, I looked up and saw that it was Spencer behind me. I never realized beforehand how easily he towered over my form. He released my hand and I leaned my body against the wall next to me. The adrenaline from earlier leaving me.

“What the fuck Spencer, a little warning next time,” I angrily shouted at him. “You could have said my name before grabbing me or just tapped my shoulder. I don’t like being manhandled.”

“I severely doubt that,” he whispered. Wait, what. “Is the man still inside?” he asked in a louder voice than before.

“Um no. That’s the reason why I came out here. I was trying to find where he went.”

“And you decided to check an alleyway.” I casted my eyes down, paying attention to a piece of gravel on the floor. The tone of voice he was using made me feel as if I was in trouble. “Do you know what kind of danger you just put yourself in? What if it was him behind you instead of me just now?” he chastised.

“I was fighting back,” I retorted.

“And you were losing that fight. You had no weapon of any kind to help defend yourself. You are no match for a fully grown male who sees girls like you as nothing but property,” Spencer snapped.

I felt miffed that he was scolding me about my safety but a pathetic part of me was turned on as well. I decided to switch this conversation back to what was important. “He’s a Caucasian man. About 5’9 with dirty blonde hair and facial hair. He had a Salem Red Sox cap and a faux black leather jacket. Burgundy henley shirt with black washed jeans and white Adidas,” I recounted from my memory.

He recited everything word for word into his radio. “Go back inside, we’ll take care of it from here.”

“You’re fucking welcome by the way,” I sarcastically stated. Before I could blink, Spencer slammed his hands on either side of my head and was staring intently into my eyes. I felt my heart rate pick up instantly. I didn’t know whether to be scared or horny so my body decided on both.

He had a carnal look in his eyes and I felt a light shiver run down my spine. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. It was as if it happened in slow motion, my eyes hungrily following the movement. He opened his mouth to speak and I was eagerly anticipating his words.

“Reid, come in. We need you for backup.” What the..? It was then that I noticed his comms were still on and one of his team members was trying to get his attention.

“Go back inside,” Spencer repeated, “We’ll continue this later.” Yeah fucking right. This is the third time you’ve told me this in the thirty hours I’ve known you. Nevertheless, I obeyed but it wasn’t because he told me; it was because I got paid by the hour and I was already gone for over fifteen minutes. At least that’s what I kept telling myself as I walked back inside.

I turned around to get a glimpse of his retreating form but he was already gone.

●●●

It was past midnight and I had about forty-five minutes left until my shift ended. The place was a lot emptier right now, which is pretty shocking. However, I’m guessing no one wanted to be around and get wasted when the cops were roaming about barely an hour ago.

I was pouring some shots for this couple when I felt a vibration in my pocket. I finished serving the duo before fishing my phone out, opening my messages straight away. ‘We caught the guy.’

I didn’t bother reading the name, knowing already who it was. Is it wrong of me to be a bit upset? I’m happy there’s one less criminal on the streets but I wanted to see Spencer some more.

Hmmm. There’s still a chance to make something happen, but I can’t mess it up. I quickly typed, ‘I should get a reward. I did help you catch the guy.’

I assumed that I’d have to wait a few minutes for him to respond but that was not the case. ‘And what is it that you want?’ It’s now or never.

‘You.’

I’m guessing he had his phone glued to him right now because his reply was immediate. ‘You don’t know who you’re dealing with.’

‘I’m not scared Spencer.’ If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he didn’t want me. But all the heated moments we had shared thus far had to have meant something.

‘You should be, I’m not the man that you need.’ was his reply.

I decided to be a bit cheeky, remembering that it gave me some results when I was messaging him earlier today. ‘You’re a man and I am in need, that’s more than enough for me. Save the rest for the pillow talk.’

I didn’t even get to put my phone down before his next text arrived. ‘This isn’t a good idea.’

Damn, this man is a hard nut to crack, but he has made me stubborn for him. I guess I’ll have to use my ultimate weapon.

Taking note of my surroundings, I dimmed the brightness of my phone and made sure to keep it close to my body. I don’t need any of the customers or coworkers to have a sneak peek into my secret album. I opened the app that holds all of my inappropriate photos, pondering on which one I should send to Spencer.

My eyes landed on one I took pretty recently. I’m not trying to sound conceited or anything but I looked fucking hot. It was erotic and sensual, but not overly so.

I was lying on my bed, one hand holding onto my chest while the other held the phone up. My fingers were spread apart, allowing for the taunt nipple of my left breast to peek out. The dim lighting of the lamp helped accentuate the curves of my body. The picture includes the lower half of my face, where I was biting down on my lower lip. I was wearing a white lacy thong that barely left anything for the imagination.

I quickly clicked on the photo and made it so that he’ll have to download the image before seeing it. I added the caption Warning, it’s a bit NSFW, before hitting send. Crossing my fingers, I hoped for a reply soon.

I waited and waited but my phone did not notify me of any new messages. Five minutes have passed and I was shit out of luck. Welp I tried. Now I gotta pick up my pride from the floor.

Suddenly, I felt my phone vibrate and I felt happiness immediately taking over. At first, I thought it was a text message, except the vibrations kept going and going. Realization hit me, it’s an incoming call. I grabbed it quickly, a small squeal leaving my mouth when I saw Spencer’s name appear. I accepted the call and put it towards my ear.

“Hello Dr. Reid, to what do I---“

“When does your shift end?” he interrupted. Well hot damn, no waiting around now huh.

“20 minutes,” came my simple reply.

“I’ll be outside,” and with that, he hung up the phone. Wow, I can’t believe that actually worked.

The next 20 minutes were by far the slowest time has ever went. I kept glancing at the clock, watching as each minute passed at a pain strikingly slow pace. Once it was 12:58 A.M, I already had my bag on my shoulder with my hand on the dividing door.

I made a quick mental check on the inventory I had in my purse. Wallet, check. Phone charger, check. Travel toothbrush, check. Bobby Pins, check. Condom, check. Deodorant, check. Extra panty, check. Yup, I’m ready. I’ve had too many spontaneous sleepovers to not be prepared for evenings like this.

I looked at the time and saw that it was finally 1:00 A.M. I zipped right out of here, making sure to shout my goodbyes as I made my way to the exit. Once out the door, I turned towards the corner and immediately spotted Spencer waiting for me.

I made my way towards him with the biggest smile on my face. “Hi, Spencer.”

“Get in,” he demanded.

“Why the haste?” I asked with a teasing tone behind my words.

“I’ve wasted enough time when it comes to you.” That’s a good enough reason for me. He got in the driver seat while I made my way to the passenger’s side, placing my bag on the floor near my feet.

“My house is a 20-minute drive,” I informed him. “You’ll just have to make a lef—“

“No,” he cut me off. “The hotel I am staying at is 10 minutes away from here.” And this is why I always pack the necessities.

“Alright, you’re in charge, Sir.”

Spencer didn’t respond to my little quip, choosing instead to turn the car on. Fine, play that game of yours. As soon as I put my seat belt on, he pulled out and started driving.

We’ve only been in the car for a couple of minutes before I got a bit antsy. I never did like quiet rides. I turned to him “What took you so long to get Mr. Creepy guy?”

His eyes fleetingly dashed towards my direction before focusing back on the road. “Who?”

“The man that you were looking for,” I clarified.

“We had to be sure it was him,” he stated.

“My description wasn’t enough for you.”

“It was helpful but we had to be certain. He eventually confessed to the crimes while under custody.”

“Oh,” I said. “Umm do you have a girlfriend?” A girl gotta make sure that she wasn’t becoming a homewrecker.

“A. What,” he asked. I’m pretty sure he heard me but I repeated myself anyway.

“A girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Somebody waiting for you at home?”

“I do not. I am not in a committed relationship.”

“That’s cool. Neither am I if you’re wondering,” I said. “So did you like my picture?” Apparently, my mouth does not know when to stop. Although I must admit, I’m curious to know what he thought of it.

We stopped at a red light and he gazed at me before saying “I was with my team when I got your little message. They were wondering why I got quiet all of a sudden.” I would have laughed if he didn’t have such a dark look on his face. “I did not appreciate their curiosity as to what was going on.” The light turned green, and he started driving faster now. Do FBI agents get speedy tickets for booty calls?

“Does that mean you did not like it?”

Spencer didn’t respond and I was about to ask him something else when I realized the car was parked. Oh we’re here, that was fast. He got out and went to open my door for me.

“Wow, what a gentleman.” Still no response from him. I picked up my bag and hopped out while he closed the door behind me. He made sure to lock it before grabbing my hand and leading me to the hotel’s entrance.

I couldn’t even appreciate the interior of the place since Spencer was dragging me to the elevators. He finally spoke after pressing the button for the doors to open. “I’m giving you one more chance to turn back.”

“And miss out on the fun, no way.”

The doors to the lift opened and we stepped inside. They didn’t even close fully before he pushed me against the wall and crashed his lips against mine. Fuck, the moan that left my body was embarrassingly loud; I am sure the receptionists heard it.

I went to put my arms around Spencer’s neck but he grabbed my hands and pinned them to the wall before my fingers could even touch his shoulder. His knee drew my legs apart, resting in between my thighs. A shudder ran through me, which caused him to tighten his hands around my wrists. I liked that he was releasing the wilder side of him; the side that he kept hidden from others.

He sucked my bottom lip between his and bit down on it. Instinctively, I opened my mouth which he took as a green light to plunge his tongue inside. It was sloppy, it was raunchy, but I loved it.

I was about to start grinding my pelvis against his knee when the elevator doors dinged open. As quickly as he came upon me, he pulled apart. Spencer grabbed my hand once again and tugged me down a hallway. After a few steps, we stopped in front of the door and he went to grab his key from his pocket.

I took the moment to admire him. He was still wearing what I assumed to be his work clothes. His hair looked even more messy than usual. I’d like to think that he was running his hands through it while debating on what to do with me. His eyes seemed darker, no longer the honey orbs I was captivated by the day prior. Nonetheless, they were still beautiful. His lips, my god those lips of his. Puffed out and more pink than normal. I just wanted to kiss him again.

Spencer opened the door to his room holding it open for me. Once we were inside, with the door fully closed this time, he pulled me into another hungry kiss. One of his hands held my face as the other landed on my waist. I dropped my purse on the floor, my hands promptly losing themselves in his hair.

My mouth immediately opened up, wanting to feel his tongue pressed alongside mine once more. He used the hand that was holding my waist to pull me closer until I was flushed against his body. I felt hot. Too hot. I wanted to rip off my clothes and his at this very moment.

Suddenly his face pulled away, much to my disappointment. We were trying to catch our breath as we looked at one another.

“I want you on your knees,” he rasped. I’d love nothing more but we wouldn’t be here if I were obedient.

“And if I say no?” I asked.

“Don’t pretend you’re some kind of bad girl because we both know that is far from the truth.”

“Your profiling skills need some work if you think I am a good girl who follows the rules.”

He tightened his grip on my waist. “I never said you were a good girl.”

“Then what am I?”

“You’re a cock hungry dirty whore who is going to get on her knees or be bent over mine. Your choice.” Well, who am I to argue against such logic. Although the idea of being spanked by him is exciting, I rather see him come undone by me. And on me.

I slowly sunk down to my knees as Spencer started removing his belt and unbuttoning his slacks. I helped him drag his pants and boxers down, low enough to unveil his hard dick. My mouth salivated at the sight of him and I pressed my thighs closer together. Maybe I am a cock hungry dirty whore.

I placed one hand on him, feeling the heated skin against my cooler palm. His dick gave a slight twitch at the difference in temperatures. I closed my hand, delighted by the fact that I couldn’t fit my whole first around his cock. Leaning forward, I placed a small tentative kiss on the head. I glanced up, seeing that he had his poker face on.

Now that wouldn’t do, I want to see Spencer Reid lose control because of me.

I pulled my hand back and brought it to my face. I licked the length of my palm before placing it at the base of his cock again. My opposite hand settled on his thigh to help balance myself. I leaned forward once more and lightly licked the tip before placing it inside my mouth. I sucked gently while firmly grasping the base. He rewarded me with a small grunt.

I moved down, slowly taking him inch by inch. I made sure to get him as wet as I can while gliding my lips against him. My hand pumped the remaining length that couldn’t fit in my mouth. He started to become more and more erect.

“You like this don’t you?” Spencer groaned out, “You’re such a filthy slut for me.” How is it possible that the sound of his voice is making me aroused? He placed his hands on my hair, fisting his fingers among the locks.

I moaned at his words, bobbing my head up and down at a faster pace. I moved my hand to cup his sac, giving him a gentle massage between my fingers. He gave out a choked sound as he started to slowly thrust his hips.

I drew back and kissed my way down his cock until my lips met my hand. I placed my mouth on one of his balls and gave one a light suck before running my tongue around it. “Fucking hell,” Spencer loudly exclaimed, as I returned the same ministrations to the neglected one.

I pulled away with a small pop and dragged my tongue from base to tip. My eyes looked up at him, and the sight was sexy as fuck. His mouth was opened as he was trying to catch his breath, his face slightly flushed. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and the veins on his neck were more prominent.

I made sure Spencer’s eyes landed on mine as I wrapped my lips around his now full length. He started thrusting more earnestly this time as my hand went back to massaging his balls. I continued eye contact as I bobbed my head up and down on his cock.

He tightened his hands on my hair harshly, which made me more wet. Great, on top of being a cock whore, I am a pain whore. This man is bringing the worst out of me and I’m loving it.

I made sure to hollow my cheeks and swirl my tongue around his head every time I returned back up. I didn’t think I’d have this much fun with a cock in my mouth. Once I dipped my tongue against his slit and firmly clasped my hand over his sac, it was over for him.

Spencer took over and held my head in place as he started to thrust within me. I tried my best to maintain eye contact, despite the tears swelling up. My other hand clutched at the skin of his thigh, raking my nails over him. His groans were a sweet symphony to my ears. Just when I thought he was about to release himself, he stopped and pulled away from me.

“Why’d you stop?” I pouted, my lips feeling very sensitive as they moved against each other.

He panted heavily and loudly, “I don’t want to cum yet.” I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at the sight of him. He was a mess and it was all because of me.

“But I wanted to taste you.” My hand went back to grab him but he stopped me with a sharp tug of my hair.

“Behave or you won’t get a reward for sucking my dick so well,” he said flatly.

Ohh, I’m curious as to what a reward from Spencer Reid entails. He pulled me up and I had to place my hands on his chest for balance. As my legs were regaining feeling, he was staring at my face. I can already imagine what he sees. Tear stained face with puffy eyes and swollen lips. Apparently, he liked the sight because he pulled me into another kiss.

This one was much more tender than our previous kisses. His lips were soft, as if afraid they would irritate my already swollen ones. His hands cradled my head, gently tilting it up so he has better access. His tongue swirled against mine and I was surprised he wasn’t repulsed by his taste on me. So many guys would find this to be disturbing.

Spencer slowly pulled away from me. He looked into my eyes as he said, “I want you to strip then bend over the bed.”

“What if I don’t?” His once gentle hands on my face are now gripping my cheeks, making my lips pucker. He continued to stare at me and it took everything within me not to moan at his actions.

“I think you know what would happen if you don’t, do you really want that?” As much as I would have loved to mess with him some more, I did not want it at the expense of my orgasm. I’m too horny to be acting recklessly.

I started stepping away from him, doing as he requested. I would have taken my time removing my clothes, but I was too impatient. As I pulled down my panties, I noticed how damp they were. This man has made me wanton and soaked without even touching me yet.

I went over to the bed, placing myself in the desired position. The bed was tall enough where my feet were still firmly on the floor but I didn’t need to bend my knees to keep my stomach flat against the mattress.

I watched Spencer strip out of his clothes, making note of the mismatched socks he had on. Aww cute. Once he was bare, he walked up behind me and placed his hands on my hips. For a few seconds, he did nothing while I was readily anticipating his next move.

Finally, I felt his hand cup my mound and I gasped at the feeling. “You’re so wet. All of this because you had my cock in that dirty mouth of yours.” I shuddered at his words, the hairs on my arm rising up.

He started rubbing at my lower lips, spreading the arousal that has already formed all over me. “You have nothing to say now that I got my hands on you huh,” he continued, stroking his fingers against my core.

Just when I was about to say something, he sunk a single finger inside me. I inhaled sharply and buried my head into the sheets. I tried my best to move against him but the hand resting on my hip kept me at bay. He was methodical with his actions, pressing his finger against my walls as he moved in and out.

“Your pretty little cunt is taking my finger so well. You think you can handle another one?” I still couldn’t reply to him, too busy trying to even out my breathing. He then entered another finger. I moaned as he started diligently working those dexterous digits inside of me. My pussy was throbbing while he was working wonders.

A loud moan was torn out my body as Spencer’s fingers curled against my G-spot. “Oh you liked that, dirty girl,” he growled out. He curled his fingers once again and I let out an equally loud whine. He continued this every time he returned his fingers back inside of me; my throat releasing a moan whenever he did so. You’d think with all the time I spent staring at his hands that I’d be ready for him but that’s a big no.

My body was warming up and I could feel the heat pooling within me. I was a goner when a third finger entered me. He tightened his hand on my hip and I prayed that it would leave marks. I wanted to admire the bruises when this was all over.

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the pleasure racking my body. I was so close to finding my release. The way I was pulsating around his fingers was a telltale sign that I was upon my release.

“You want to come, dirty girl, you want to come all over my hand?” he fiercely whispered. All I could do was nod against the comforters, my voice long gone by now.

I felt myself pulse and tighten around him. With just one more curl of his fingers, I was about to climax. But he suddenly pulled out and released me.

“What the fuck?” I screeched, voice coming back with a vengeance. “You said I was going to get rewarded you teasing bastard.”

“And you are. Now shut up before I change my mind.” For once, I stayed quiet, only because I really wanted an orgasm. It is the least he could do after making me all hot and bothered.

I turned my head back, wanting to see what Spencer would do next. I whimpered when I saw him put his fingers in his mouth, licking my essence off of him. I watched as he took his time, my pussy continuing to throb at the sight.

“You taste pretty good for such a whore,” he remarked once he was done. I saw him walk towards the nightstand and grab a foil packet. Excitement coursed through my veins, my body barely staying still.

He was behind me once again, and I was ready for him. I felt him rub the head against my lips, pressing down when it met my clit. He continued doing this, moving up and down against me, making sure to coat himself in my arousal. I started to wiggle my hips against him, hoping to gain some more friction.

A loud moan was torn out of my throat when Spencer suddenly grabbed my hips and buried himself inside my pussy. He let out a groan as he stilled within me. We had a moment to adjust to one another before he started rocking against me. He was hitting me deep, touching places that I didn't know were possible.

“Spencer, you feel so fucking good,” I mewled out, enjoying the feel of his cock against my walls.

He kept a steady rhythm, making sure to pull halfway out before pushing back in. Small moans left my mouth as I tried my best to return his thrusts. His hands on my hips did not allow for much movement, reminding me that he was the one in charge of my pleasure.

My body moved rhythmically against the bed, my sensitive nipples rubbing against the sheet, adding to this blissful feeling. I was burning up from the sensations wrecking my body.

“I want you to touch yourself,” Spencer growled out. I let my hand trailed down my stomach but paused when they got to my lower abdomen. I felt a bump form at my lower abdomen every time he entered me, which only added to my desire. I tightened around him and he let out a groan before giving me a powerful thrust as a warning.

My hand continued its descent to my clit, fingers rubbing against it once they met. Spencer increased the pace, slamming his hips against my ass. My legs started to tremble, my orgasm looming over my body. My hand continued to play with my clit while the other gripped the sheets tightly. I bit down on the comforter, trying my best to quiet down my moans.

One of Spencer’s hands grabbed my hair and pulled my head up. “None of that, I want to hear you. I want everyone in this hotel to know what a filthy little bitch you are. My filthy little whore,” he grunted out.

It was all too much for me. His voice, his cock, his hands. I felt wave after wave of pleasure as my release washed over me. I cried out his name; submitting to the ecstasy my body was experiencing. My muscles went limp as I attempted to return air into my lungs.

I heard Spencer grunt as my pussy pulsed and creamed around him but that did not stop his relentless pace. “Keep touching the clit of yours, I want you to come one more time.”

“I can’t,” I whimpered. I was still recovering from the powerful orgasm I just had. I won’t be able to have another one so soon.

But Spencer Reid was nothing if not diligent. “You can and you will.”

His hand that was in my hair joined mine between my legs. His fingers were so much better than mine. He pressed firmly against my clit, keeping a steady motion against me. He snapped his hips harder, the slight pain making me feel that familiar coil in my stomach.

“I know you have one more in you for me. I want you to give it to me” he uttered. I’m not sure how he is able to do it, but I felt my body start rising again.

“Sp-Spencer. Please.” I didn’t know what I was begging for as I stammered those words out. His hand between my legs pressed harder and his rhythm against me started wavering. I knew he was close to his release, but I was right there with him.

When he pinched my clit firmly against his fingers, I mewled out his name once more. The coil snapped and I couldn’t help the way I trembled once more. My body quaked against his as the shock waves overcame me. I felt as if lightning was running across my nerves.

Spencer thrusted three more times before tensing against me. I felt him jerk and spill himself inside of me. He dropped down, pressing his chest against my back and whispering my name in my ear. We both tried to catch our breaths as we came down from our high.

After a few minutes, Spencer pulled out of me and walked to a door which I assumed led to the bathroom. I’m guessing he went to dispose of the condom. I continued to lie on the bed, trying my best to catch my breath. My body was still on an all-time high, still reeling from the aftershocks of my climax. I fought against the drowsiness of my eyes, wondering how the hell I am going to stay alert on the cab ride home.

“How are you feeling?” I couldn’t even jump in surprise. I had no idea he returned and was standing right next to me. “I wasn’t too rough?”

“Best. Sex. Ever,” I drowsily responded. Spencer picked me up and maneuvered my body so that I was lying on my back. He grabbed a bottle that was standing on the nightstand; squeezing some cream into the palm of his hand. He rubbed his hands together and started massaging the lotion onto my legs. He focused his attention on my knees and thighs.

“Do you want some water? He asked. I nodded my head and he immediately went to the snack bar area. He grabbed a bottle and what looks to be a granola bar. He uncapped the bottle and gently fed the water to me.

“Do you want some food,” I shook my head at his question. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Cuddles” came my whispered response. Spencer smiled at me before settling on the bed next to me. He draped the blankets over our bodies and wrapped his hand over my waist, pulling me close.

“Goodnight Spencer.”

“Goodnight (Y/N).”

The last thing I felt was the press of his lips against my neck as my body surrendered itself to the sweet bliss of slumber.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #smut #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid reader insert #mgg #reid smut

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hiatuswhore · 3 years ago

Text

All That Glitters • 1 🌸

DRINKING A FEW BEERS THE BEAMING SUN KISSED YOUR SKIN. The tiny heat waves brought a calm with it. Orange was overtaking the sky as the sunset neared. You sipped your beer quietly as you laid back on your forearms. The back deck of the uninhabited house much like your own. Though ideally you enjoyed spending balmy days hidden beneath the shade of a tree this alternative worked. You laughed quietly as Kie scolded John B who balanced himself up on the roof. Your hand did no wonders as you peered up at him, the blinding sunlight made him out as a vast shadow.

“This used to be a turtle habitat but who cares about turtles right?” Looking at Kiara you placed your hand on hers. She smiles at you as you say you care about turtles.

“Didn’t you get some huge award at the school for your earth friendly project?” JJ asked, explaining to him that a medical mission was much more he only shrugs. Pope expresses his fascination with your trip and there was only a mild reminder of your status. The balance of two lives, most of your friends in your financial class thought you were with your family. Though you feel bad for lying there is a clear disconnect between Kooks and Pogues. Only difference is you have no interest in it. Announcing your friendship with the Pogues would not come without consequence. The last thing you wanted was Rafe and the others trying to retaliate. None of the Pogues ever voice dismay with the secret friendship so it carries on. The five of you drink and enjoy the view until Gary the security guard joins the party. Poor guy chases after the lot of you with all he has. Even as JJ and the guys taunt his endurance, tossing him a beer he gives up in seconds. Panting quietly you lay across the floor in the old van. The smell of weed and beer fill the small space and the heat of outside only makes it more prevalent. A blunt would do wonders as you mentally groan. You would soon have to fabricate every part of your family stuff later with the Kooks. No interrogation but one whiff of bullshit and it would raise questions you were not going to answer. Back at John B’s you announce your departure. Kie’s the first to confirm that you are good to drive but you reassure her. JJ drapes his arm around your shoulder, you wait for something worth hearing before he ruffles your hair. John B tells you to drive safe and Pope expects a text when you make it home. In your jeep, the Weeknd plays loudly. You sing along as the scenery gradually changes. From lower class homes and fewer venues to luxury cars and gated communities. Six cars are parked in your drive way, three of which are your parents and brother. The same three cars that are always parked when your friends fill your home. Inside you are first greeted by Sarah.

“I missed you. I thought you said family stuff?” Sarah said. You had only returned from your trip that morning. Topper greets you next with a hug. Kelce grins and you happily did your sacred handshake before last there was Rafe. Your eyes lock with his and he crosses his arms watching you.

“Hey to you too Rafe?” Stepping forward you open your arms awaiting a hug. He narrows his eyes at you, returning the action it feels more like a game. His pensive stare slowly turns into a wide smile before he embraces you.

“Out saving the world you forgot to say bye (L/n),” Teasing him you ask if you hurt his feelings which he nudges you. Your brother Travis crosses his arms asking why you had lied. Of course, Travis would not let you catch a break. He was well aware of your friendship with the pogues, it did not matter much to him. What he does enjoy is watching you squirm to keep it a secret.

“I was so excited to be back when I got here I ran out. Went rogue a little. Lost track of time,” The lie felt weak but as Kelce said how typical of you, your nerves calm. Making a face at your brother he only shrugs with an amused grin. You shoot Pope a text before locking your phone, putting it aside you fail to notice the texts from both Pope and JJ. Everyone follows you up to your room and you fall onto your beanbag chair. The others scatter around your room taking a seat on your bed, carpet, and desk chair. Your father pops his head in saying hello before leaving you all.

“So what are we thinking?” Kelce asks, revealing a blunt. Sarah chimes in first saying no thank you as she leans onto Topper. Rafe moves about your room like it’s his own. He grabs your towel blocking the bottom of your bedroom door. Then opens three windows before removing your hidden lighter on your bookshelf. You sink further into your bean bag as you all smoke. The euphoric feeling comes with the desire to keep quiet as well as the urge for food. Pictures litter your wall from over the years. The only ones you keep away are with the Pogues. It makes you want to laugh how much of the Pogues are truly around the room. One of John B’s many scarves hang on the decorative coat rack by the door. On your desk a book you borrowed from Pope lays propped open. Both you and Kiara love collecting shells from the beach and painting them. Those shells sit in a jar on your windowsill. The very best one in your room which JJ orchestrated was your surf board. For your birthday they pooled money together and got it for you. This one you hung above your bed for show never for use. They signed the side you had facing the wall, full of happy birthday wishes from each of them.

“(Y/n)’s high,” Travis laughs as he watches you. Your glossy eyes and tired face only adde to the obvious high you are riding. Despite not doing much your first day home feels better than expected. The others chat about the keggar that the Pogues are hosting.

“Why not just throw our own. Why should we go party with those dirty Pogues. I’d rather hook up with a girl I know gets tested,” Your eyes down cast and the guys chuckle as your brother and Sarah scold them.

On the other side of the island the Pogues settle into lounging around John B’s. Kie’s head rests in John B’s lap as JJ and Pope banter aimlessly. A single blunt in rotation as they save the rest of the weed for the party.

“Think (Y/n) is gonna come to the party with the Kooks?” Pope asks, earning chuckles around the room. Kiara rubs her eyes as a soft yawn leaves her lips. She points out the real question was if you would speak to them.

“Should we be offended?” John B questions, his eyebrows pull together in actualization. Kiara only laughs at the mop headed fool as JJ shares his expression.

“No harm no foul. She just doesn’t want those pricks messing with us anymore than they already do,” A silence fills the warm room as the four grow hungry. Pope announces you made it home okay and JJ jumps on his phone. “What are you doing?”

“Texting (Y/n),” JJ says, earning a nudge it was a common occurrence between the two when you were involved. They both had an obvious crush on you which you never entertained. JJ was more persistent then Pope and it always made John B wonder if either of them were serious. As expected of JJ, his infatuation was off first glance. You had been friends with Kiara before and after her falling out with Sarah. The Wreck was short staffed and you volunteered to help out, during this time JJ showed up.

“And you are who?” JJ asked, fixing your face you forced a smile. The question felt invasive but from the looks of dust on his clothes he lacked the status to be arrogant. Well aware of who you were from school he still poked.

“Hello welcome to Wreck my names (Y/n) are you eating in?” The customer service voice was present but he took note of the passive of aggressiveness in your tone. He introduced himself as JJ before asking for ‘Kie’ as he called her. Though not saying anything you thought the nickname was rather cute. While JJ watched your every move you continued on around the restaurant. Despite not wanting to be paid Mr. Carrera insisted at the end of the night. Outside by Kiara’s car stood the boy from earlier. You moved with caution as you approached your car. “If I’m not home in an hour flat my father will vet every corner of this island.”

He chuckled putting his hands up in surrender. Your hands remained clutched on your mace that dangled on your keys. “I’m actually just waiting for Kie but I want to apologize for earlier. I didn’t mean to come off as rude.”

“It’s okay. I was quick to react anyway so sorry about that,” You laughed, hand still on your mace just in case. A name drop and pretty face did not equate to safety. JJ glanced at your hand but said nothing, stepping out of your path he placed his hands in his pockets.

“You have a good night (Y/n),” Returning the goodnight, you walked to your car. The interaction felt awkward but it was stuck to your head like hot glue to a paper. How you met Pope was a complete different ball game. His intelligence put him in kook territory more often than he liked. Once in the research academy you attended after school, his parents had him looking into scholarships. You were his and his parents tour guide.

“I know we have the mandated places we have to show you for wow value but here’s my personal favorite. The property line is pretty far and because of that there are a lot different good spots to study or relax. See those trees over there,” You pointed and Pope watched as his parents narrowed their eyes at where you were pointing. He smiled watching the sight of you entertain his parents. Not once had you appeared disgusted by their Pogue status. Following your line of sight he could see a shallow line of trees, “Best study place in the warm of spring and beginning of the fall semester. Most people are under the misconception this program is as demanding as school but it’s not. You acquire college level credits and network.”

Once the informative part of the tour was over Popes parents walked ahead of you both. You pointed out he must of been really smart as admin were insistent on making an impression.

“I’m alright,” Shrugging he smiled at the floor sheepishly as you chuckled at him.

“You probably have some insane GPA but the modesty is endearing,” Earning a laugh the two of you walked comfortably. His mom would point things out she thought looked cool. While his father did the same you found their family to be adorable. You did not enjoy giving tours as families could be extraordinarily rude or not interactive. The Heywards were very interactive and kind, they asked many questions and appreciated your small stories. It almost saddened you when the tour was completely over.

“Thank you for being so kind and making this tour so wonderful. Pope I really hope you join us here at the academy,” You said, his parents thanked you profusely. Pope leaned on the balls of his feet, seemingly waiting.

“Are you going to say goodbye or what?” Heyward asked, his wife nudged his side before allowing the two of you to be alone.

“I really enjoyed your tour,” He said, thanking him you found yourself tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. It felt more like the end of a date if anything. While you were surprised unsure of how the goodbyes would continue Pope avoided your waiting gaze. His palms felt sweaty as he felt like he would choke on his words. He called himself crazy as he pushed himself to ask you his desired question, “Would you wanna h—“

“Look what tour guide (Y/n) dragged in,” Topper said, swinging his arm around your shoulder you shrugged him off. A sigh left your lips as you said play nice. The call of his parents saved the awkward encounter. Pope said goodbye before joining his parents. At lunch that day as the guys chatted about it, the tour had lingered on. Pope was easy to talk to and the banter came naturally.

Kiara and John B had a long term bet going on. Twenty bucks on the future of your love life, Kiara coined herself team Pope. While John B was sure JJ could convince you to fall in love with him. The rest of you remained oblivious to this bet, and the twenty dollar bills sat in the two teens pockets burning holes. You showed little interest in entertaining either of their advances.

Early the next morning Kiara had the boys up and at it. First they got the keg loading it into the HMS Pogue none of them had heard from you. It was not outside of the ordinary, days could go by without a sign of life from you. As they ran around the island preparing for the Keggar you were back home.

“—and your dress for the midsummer party came in. You ordered your shoes right?” Your mother asked, clearing your side of the table. Travis turned his head to roll his eyes as your mother had been on edge all week. Reassuring her that everything would be ready for the party your father chuckles.

“She’s been home for one night honey. Breathe,” Your father said, wrapping his arms around her you gag. Travis whines the PDA is unnecessary. While you wash the dishes your brother dries and put them away. Your hands feel cold as you scrub at the pot, the feeling of your phone vibrating in your pocket shocks your senses.

“I’ll just be a second,” You said, stepping into the foyer you look at your phone. The groupchat is blowing up. Topper and Rafe are debating the pogue party. No one else is saying a thing besides Kelce emphasizing certain messages. You quick type that you and Travis are going, taking your place back with your brother he is looking at his phone. The sound of the water fills the silence and you can feel Travis staring at you.

“Hey uh is Kiara seeing anyone?” A wide grin overtakes your face. He rolls his eyes as you ask why he is asking. The shrug of your brothers shoulders tells you more than you want to know.

Planting a smile on your lips you say you wonder if she is seeing anyone. The rest of cleaning falls into a comfortable silence. Sarah facetimes you briefly to discuss outfits. Basic is the look of the evening or at least that is what you tell her. A knit tan crop top with mom denim shorts and busted pair of uptowns. This look includes large gold hoops and your hair pulled back by a tan bandana. You spend a few minutes covering a couple acne scars with concealer followed by some mascara. Travis complains as you take your daily mirror selfie by the front door. On your Instagram story you layer it with Yo Perro Sola by Bad Bunny playing in the background. In the passenger seat of Travis’s car you type the caption. I’m the main character.

@J.Maybank: Had to Google translate the song...thanks for that

You only heart his message as Travis’s heavy metal infiltrates your inner monologue. He ignores your snarky remark of distaste in his music choice. Another dash of red alerts you of a notification on Instagram.

@Heywardz: Are we talking chosen one or girl next door?

You can practically hear his voice as you read the message. Messages in your Instagram inbox typically remain unanswered. If lucky like JJ they receive a like but you cannot help yourself with Pope’s witty message.

@ComoLaFlor: Mad Scientist 🥀

Travis makes no attempts to wait for you as he parks. You place your phone in your back pocket, failing to keep up as Travis’s long legs move at sizable strides. Topper and the others are already in the sea of faces. You can see JJ and John B managing the keg. Kiara sits with Pope on the logs and music plays at a good volume. You say hello to multiple people accepting welcome backs from familiar faces. Kelce already has another blunt ready while Rafe and Travis start a game of pong. Topper and Sarah stand off a little further from the party.

“I’ve really missed you (Y/n). You out smoke the rest of these losers easy,” Laughing as Rafe and Travis complain Kelce holds out the blunt to you. The smoke stings the back of your throat as you take a deep breath. When you release a good portion exits your nose creating an awful burning sensation in your nostrils. You excuse yourself to grab a drink and JJ is the first to mockingly refuse.

“Oh come on. Not the Kook and Pogue nonsense,” John B laughs as you play into the foolish. He enjoys the banter and encourages it, even shooting a sardonic look at Kiara. A chuckle leaves your lips before you get closer to JJ. You smile faintly with your head down cast as you tilt up at JJ slightly. “What do I need to do to get a drink.”

In your peripheral your eyes lock on JJ’s full cup of beer. You lean closer tantalizing the blonde before snatching his drink. Backing away you down it in seconds wiping the remaining remnants from your chin. You know it’s a matter of time before your friends assume there is an issue.

“I’ll catch you guys later.” With a wink you walk back to your friends with a now empty cup. Travis’s eyes are seemingly on you but as you join his side you follow his eyes to Kiara. She is laughing at something Pope has just said. You lean close to your brothers ear whispering that Kiara does not bite. He lifts his shoulder shaking you off while you laugh at him. For a while things are good, the breeze from the water clashes with the humidity. The energy between the Kooks and pogues remains neutral until it’s not. You watch as Topper slaps a beer out of JJ’s hand. The blondes jaw clenches as he glares at Topper with Sarah in tow.

“No, no, no,” John B rambles as JJ shoves Topper and you walk over at a slow pace. By the time you reach them Topper and John B are fighting just faintly by the tide. Your yells mix in with Sarah’s and Kiara’s for the boys to stop fighting. The punches fail to cease and when Topper gains the upper hand he holds John B’s head beneath the water.

“Topper!” You scream, Pope yells that Topper is drowning him. The next few seconds morph as JJ steps forward you barely see the dark object in his hand.

“Yeah, you know what that is. Your move Kook,” Muttering JJ you take a nervous step back. Eyes locked on the gun in the hand of your friend pointed at your other friend. Pope is calling out to JJ to chill while Topper freezes. Kiara checks on John B as Sarah tells JJ to put the gun down.

“Did you say something Princess?” JJ taunts but pauses as his sight shifts from Sarah to your hesitant stature. You stare at him with wide eyes and you look close to bolting. Travis blocks JJ’s view of you as he now stands in front of you. The bickering amongst your friends is unintelligible and washes away as JJ yells.

“Okay everyone get the hell off our side of the Island!” The two shots ring in your ears from the proximity. A sea of screaming teens mix in and the only discernible thing is Travis’s grip on your wrist. You miss the sound of Kiara and Pope calling out to you. In Travis’s BMW he does not move to start the car. You both look at each other with wide eyes. The silence breaks as Travis starts laughing.

“What in the hell is possibly funny right now?” This only furthers Travis’s amusement as he clutches his stomach. His eyes hold a glossiness to them—obvious indicator of Travis being high. “Should I drive?”

In between laughs he turns on the car muttering not a chance in hell. You roll your eyes checking your phone. The group chat is blowing up as Topper recounts the last five minutes. You tell them Travis and yourself are driving home before switching to the Pogue group chat.

P4L. 1 New Message

The Pope: (Y/n) u okay??

Yes. You erase that as Travis turns up his radio drumming his hands against the steering wheel. What the hell JJ? You sigh leaning back with your hand at your temple. More messages flood the chat as it stares back at you.

Blonde: Im sorry

I’m okay, on my way home. You drop your phone on your lap. It vibrates on your thigh with every incoming notification. When you both arrive home the clock reads two. You both move as quiet as possible but halt as the Foyer light flicks on. At the stop of the stairs is your mother, black robe on a wine glass in her hand she glares down at both of you.

“So no one thought to tell me where they were going,” You glance at Travis nudging your head for him to say something. Since small children it was obvious Travis had more pull with your Mom like you do with your Dad.

“Sorry Mom. (Y/n) and I went out to the beach with the Cameron’s,” You both watch as her glare slips away. She asks how Sara and Rafe are and the tension eases. While your brother chats you walk up the stairs ready to hit your mattress. Your mom quick kisses your temple reminding you of the facials scheduled for tomorrow.

“Yeah just wake me when it’s time to go please,” Rubbing your eyes like a sleepy child. In your room you kick off your shoes and place your phone on the charger deck before hiding beneath the comforter.

“Last call (Y/n) you got ten minutes let’s go!” Banging on your room door your mother causes you to flinch awake. Your hair is knotted and you flinch from the sunlight shining through your white curtains. The events of the night prior return to your thoughts as you throw yourself back onto your pillows. “(Y/n)!”

“I’m almost ready!” Your voice echoes through the house. Travis opens your room door in only his grey sweats.

“Can you just hurry so mom stops screaming?” He whines before retreating back to his bedroom and you huff at the open door. Your phone vibrates and you ignore the several notifications. On Twitter multiple of your peers make jabs at the incident the night prior. You click the little plus sign and feather typing away. Finger hovering over the tweet button you hesitate before clicking it. You toss your phone on the bed and rifle through your closet. Shorts and a tank top suffice with a pair of slides.

Inside your mothers Range Rover she drives with the windows open. You both make awkward small talk as if you are being forced to hang out. This continues on the Ferry and in the car with the driver. The salon appears like your savior and you are both directed to your seats.

“Miss (L/n) are you comfortable? May I get you anything?” Looking at her name tag you address her by name. You ask for water before telling her your first name will do just fine.

“It will not. Miss (L/n)’s will do and make that two waters,” Rolling your eyes you watch as Kimberly fights a grimace. She disappears into another room as you shake your head.

“That was not necessary,” Your mother only places in her airpods before clicking on the massage chair. She leans back and says nothing else to you. You follow suit with your own airpods. Slide by H.E.R plays on shuffle and when Kimberly returns you thank her. You sip your water and lay back. Not long after the facial begins. The different toners and treatments tickle your skin creating an airy feel across your pores.

When it is over two hours have passed and your phone is once again overloaded with notifications. Twitter is still flooding with tweets about the party at the boneyard.

You thank the workers profusely as your mother pays. She hands both the workers fifty dollar tips on the way out. Once again you are stuck to uncomfortable conversation. When you both hit fashion territory of conversation you watch her grimace at your outfit.

“You dress like you live in the Cut,” The disgust in her expression only makes you laugh. You were more than aware she had been sitting on that comment all day. Her navy slacks white blouse with pointed heels combination is over kill for a small facial trip.

You say nothing in response and the ferry ride back stays like this. When you finally arrive home she tells you she’s scheduled you both nail appointments for the following week. Both Travis and your father were laughing about something in the backyard. They work side by side both sweating from the balmy weather.

“We have workers for this honey?” Your mother complains but both your Dad and Travis chuckle. Travis opens his arms walking toward you for hug. He ignores your threats as you back away from him.

“Travis leave my baby alone,” Rushing behind you father, Travis halts his pursuit. While the three of you banter your mother stands visibly irritated.

“Dinner will be in an hour. Clean up all of you,” Storming off into the house you fan yourself as the sun beams. Travis rolls his eyes at his mothers antic while your father calls out an ‘I love you.’

“How did you marry that woman?” Your words do not go unnoticed. His arm wraps around you despite your grimace of your fathers sweaty body.

“She loves you. She has worked really hard for this family. Give her the benefit of the doubt,” Your frown continues despite his words but he nudges your side. “For me? Please Gopher.”

“Oh gosh seriously! Not that nickname? Dad!” You whine but a smile broke across your lips. The three of you walk toward the house in a chorus of laughter. Your phone vibrates in your pocket.

P4L. 2 New Messages

Routledge: U home?

Blonde: We can see u. Turn around.

You look back at your dock, a smile breaks across your features at your friends. This smile falters as you look into your house. The table is set for dinner and you know you will not hear the end of it. You text Travis to cover for you before taking off.

“Where you been?” Kiara smiles as Pope helps you from the dock into the boat. As you watch your house disappear you barely realize what is to come next.

Outer Banks Masterlist

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blacksunscorpio · 4 years ago

Note

Hi, hope you’re well! I was wondering about the hidden enemies aspect of the twelfth house. Does hidden mean the types of people (people with influence of the sign in your 12h) you are unaware are antagonizing you or is it that those characteristics in someone throw you off but you can’t really put your finger on why? Can these people believe that they are helping you but really they’re holding you back in some way? Can the hidden aspect go both ways? Why does 12h synestry have this effect? I have cancer on the 12h cusp and I’ve never really been able to develop any meaningful relationships with any (cancers) that I’ve met though I’ve been trying to emulate characteristics of this sign (12h as repressed tendencies). Note: I unfortunately have no water placements to help me out what so ever lol. Thanks for your help, your blog is absolute gold ✨✨✨

12th House and Hidden Enemies

Since the 12th house is ruled by Neptune, this is the place in our chart where things can be difficult to ascertain. Things are murky and veiled here. Not only can you be unaware of where people are causing trouble for you but there can also be a weird “vibe” that something is not right with something or someone but one may not be readily able to make it out. In the natal chart, synastry, or composite this can display itself as mentioned above. Things can get triggered here in ways you are not altogether comfortable with. And of course, because like the 8th house, things can be deeply buried or repressed. For more insight lets look further:

Aries/Mars in the 12th

Hidden or unconscious foes can often attack a native’s go sense of self. This is because Aries/Mars rules the 1st house of self. “I AM”. Often a native with this placement may wind up feeling victimized without being able to put their finger on the source if said feeling. An astrologer/native will want to observe one’s Mars placement and the contacts it is making to other planets in the natal horoscope or in synastry/composite [Mid-point or Davison]. Ex: Mars in the 1st can indicate conflict to the self. Mars in the 7th can indicate complexity with enemies being close relationships. One can have issues with authority figures or those in leadership. Hidden enemies can be competitors or they may feel anyone who triggers these planets is a rival they need to “beat”. People who trigger “lust” or “Sexual urges” in a native may be perceived as a nemesis. In addition, rivals/enemies might display aggression, antagonism, self-serving habits, and impulsivity. Watch out for those who display toxicity in the form of domination or those who overall try to silence or step on your drive. These people can be ruthless, cruel, “bullies” or simply those who charge in a shoot first/ask questions later.

Taurus/Venus in the 12th

Enemies are involved with 2nd house realm of “possessions”. Things we get territorial over. This includes finances and things we appreciate. Enemies may accuse the native of stealing/taking something precious from them. Things they value. Be on guard for those who encourage over-indulgence, general excess, and materialism. Someone who once wore the mask of a friend may turn foe due to being envious of the things a native owns. The things a native has or their wealth. Venusian placements can indicate the type of relationship a native has with their enemy. Ex: Venus in the 4th may indicate secretly toxic family members. Venus in the 11th= friends or those in their general social network. Venus in the 5th, casual lovers, etc. Fixed tendencies or feelings can exist in the underlying relationship between secret enemies. Be on the lookout for undoing in the physical/material realm. This includes thievery, hoarding, over-spending, or living beyond practical means. Undoing can come from going after comfort and security in toxic or co-dependent ways. Lovers or those who provide wealth and security may become enemies by withholding it from a native or trying to gain control over it behind the native’s back.

Gemini/Mercury in the 12th

Secret enemies can come in many forms. Generally, this will be in the realm of communication, ideals, or intellect. The interactions may be formidable and stem from communicative interactions or opposing views. A secret enemy will often challenge the native’s wits or will simply strive to appear more intelligent than them. Superficiality, fakeness, disingenuousness, and two-faced behavior are common threads. Undoing can display itself as blockages to learning, gaining insights, and general discouragement of focus that can make the native grow. An enemy will, in layman’s terms, try to make you look stupid. Insult your mind. Make you lose focus. Mercury aspects and placements can reveal more. Ex: Mercury in the 11th can indicate surface level bonds with peers and communication that is not honest. Friends may lie. Mercury in the 9th possibly indicating enemies who may try to manipulate beliefs or manipulation in regard to teaching and religion. Secret enemies will reveal themselves in their communication methods with the natives. Through dialogue. Enemies here can use sarcasm, cowardly subs, insults veiled through “back-handed compliments”, passive aggression, insult you subliminally so you don’t realize you were attacked or insulted until after-the-fact. Slander, libel, or general shit talking. Think of Regina George: “OMG I love your skirt!” only to turn around and say “That is the fugliest effing skirt I’ve ever seen”. with the 3rd house involved, siblings and extended family could be culprits or part of the problem. A toxic person may try to attack your intellectual confidence. Unethical approaches involved with words and general attacks of the mind. These people may intentionally cause confusion or gaslighting. Watch out for people you perceive to be liars. Therein lies the foe.

Cancer/Moon in the 12th

Veiled Nemesis’ are often difficult to feel. Things will be subtle. Their tactics or vibes will often display themselves in the form of manipulation, passive aggression, or a general “toying with the feelings”. Since the moon/Cancer often represents the “mother”, toxicity from a parent or child may be an issue or the culprit. A native will often feel their sense of security or safety being “attacked”. Enemies will attach their healing methods and/or emotional confidence. The placement of the Moon can indicate where emotional damage typically goes on. Ex: Moon in the 10th can indicate attacks to the public person or prestige or even the career. Coddling, not being able to let go, clinginess and overprotection are general themes. Perhaps a parent or guardian, lover, or close friend is incessantly over-protective that it causes a stunt to general emotional and mental growth. Again, it may be hard to see since it is the moon that can be a mysterious place as is the 12th house. The channel that one discovers said enemy will typically be through intuition and even dreams. Remember, through said over-protection and general fear of letting go can lead to the native’s undoing. We often see the toxic side of femininity with this placement. Mom, Grandma, sister, great grandmother, etc can be involved in the problem here. Child-abuse, using the child as a pawn during custody battles, emotional manipulation in order to get what the enemy wants can be what causes the nemesis theme. A hidden enemy may cloak themselves as “just wanting the best for you” or “I do it because I love you and care.” The enemy may not be able to let go.

Leo/Sun in the 12th

Foes will strive to exert their and dominance over a native. This will display itself as the spirit of competitiveness, bullying, domination, bossiness, arrogance, etc. Think leonine traits at their worst. Leo in the 12th will do this behind the scenes with power plays. How they can lord things over a native. The father could be a culprit in this or the father could be part of the issue. Daddy issue [regardless of sex]. Internalized misogyny. The Sun’s placement can reveal more. Sun in the 3rd will try to influence the mind or dominate the intellect. Sun in the 6th indicates a coworker or boss or one may feel/be overshadowed at work. The battle will always be involved with the core ego or one’s sense of self. A hidden enemy will try to greatly influence this person in this realm. A hidden nemesis will try to act like the dominant parental figure or act as if they are giving good sage-like guidance or person. They will try to act like the authority figure. This person will drain the native’s energy stores. The definition of an energy vampire. Why? because even as humans, we get our energy from the Sun. We are heliocentric. One can often feel drained energetically after dealing with such an individual. This will reveal to you “who” the enemy is. In addition, we can see more themes of toxic masculinity here just like Mars in the 12th. Moreover, the enemy may not be another person but the own native’s hubris. They need to take care not to allow their ego to run roughshod over them. Pride comes before the fall.

Virgo/Mercury in the 12th

Secret enemies with this placement will often reveal themselves by criticism. More specifically, criticism about things a native is very insecure about. The critiquing will be neither healthy nor remotely helpful. It will scar instead fo heal. Hidden foes will wear the mask of the “caretaker” or “healer”. Their behavior will simply be a means to an end. The native will often find themselves internalizing the criticism which is exactly what their enemy wants. The words the foe spouts will be sort of like Simon Cowell’s analytical stance. Harsh but not in a way that builds. One may often find the enemy saying things like “that’s just my opinion.” they will veil it under the mask of “honesty” when in reality it is just shit-talking for shit-talking’s sake. These people don’t really care, they just like to take people down a peg. Be on the lookout for those who display “Munchhausen by proxy syndrome” towards you. The caregiver who secretly injures by tries to gaslight and cover it up under the guise of “love”.

Libra/Venus in the 12th

Like Taurus in the 12th, similar issues will display themselves through relationships. The ones closest to us. Your hidden foes may hide under the mask of “friend”. They are nearer than you are probably comfortable with. Look for those who are near and dear. Now, will all your teammates, family ties or friends be enemies? No. But you’ll want to be careful who you let into your circle with said placement. Best friends turn to enemies. The ones who hate on you when something good happens. The friends who link with you through trauma bonds but when you successfully break that tie, they are angry at every “win” you have. These people will be the ones who don’t clap when you win. The people who say they are “there for you” but stab you in the back. They’ll secretly compete with you. Those who thrive and gloat when you are down and out. Enemies in this house will threaten your harmony and balance somehow. They will not respond well to diplomacy or will mask their ill-intent through the mask of “sweetness” and “Friendliness”. You’ll feel a shallow vibe from them. They’ll say one thing but their energy screams something else. Friends who are fair weather. Those who take advantage of a native’s attachment, or infatuation. A lover who ghosts or tries to make you co-dependent on them. An enemy or toxic person may actually lust or secretly desire you but manipulate you into thinking you are the one obsessed with them. There will be subtle mind games. They will enjoy toying with you. Delayed gratification or just manipulation. Think 5 of swords and 3 of cups paired.

Scorpio/Pluto in the 12th

Paranoia resides here. Hidden foes will be quite underhanded and manipulative. Secrecy is seriously involved. People with this placement live by the mantra “expect anything from anyone, the devil was once an angel”. Betrayal, possessiveness, control and power themes, vengeance, and guilt are involved with enemies. Anyone who triggers these themes recurringly may be individuals to keep your distance from. People who trigger self-destructive tendencies are enemies to look out for. Moreover, a native can feel like they are their own worst enemy. Remember, a Scorpion is prone to stinging themselves. Enemies here are prone to trying to turn the native against themselves. This toxic behavior will be intentional. Toxicity will display itself through trauma bonds, possessiveness, gaslighting, manipulation, envy, or just general attempts at control and domination. Remember, the general theme here is “power and transformation.” Enemies are often those who boast a considerable amount of power [over the native or those who are powerful in general]. The danger in this placement? A native may feel a strong magnetic pull or obsessive fascination towards the enemy. This can appear in the natal, synastry, or composite chart. Watch out for the lover who seems to have a hold on you but you don’t know how or can’t seem to break it. They know what they're doing *sucks teeth*. Secret enemies desire to manipulate you or play the ventriloquist. Their goal is to see you be your own downfall. They’ll wade in the shadows, pouring gasoline on the fire of the flames of your self-destruction. Watch out for those who smirk while you’re going through a hard time. Or those who encourage you to do things you inwardly know aren’t good for you. Be on the look out for power-hungry individuals. Those who NEED to be worshipped. The types to lead “cult-like” followings and draw you in. This can often be displayed through seduction.

Sagittarius/Jupiter in the 12th

Hidden enemies/foes will be very fanatical and zealous. Enemies here lie in the realm of philosophies, teaching, higher learning, or religious beliefs. These enemies will be toxic gamblers. People who enable you or encourage self-indulgence, promiscuity, and general recklessness. They won’t ever warn you or ask you to heed caution. Ever. They’ll mislead you, tell you half-truths, or cherry-pick facts and figures to suit their own needs. They’ll make you think you’re getting the full picture but you won’t be. They’ll teach harmful beliefs, things that destroy faith in what is tangible or real. Make shit up to suit their own propaganda. It’s very similar to Neptune since both Jupiter and Neptune rule the spiritual. What they teach you may make you feel bogged down. They’ll use beliefs and doctrine to control. Their passion and zeal may make you feel as if what they are spouting is the end-all-be-all but it tends to be the opposite. Gloating and one-upmanship are themes as well. These hidden enemies will reveal themselves by questioning your beliefs or forcing you to believe theirs or causing dramatic scenes when you don’t conform or question theirs. The nemesis might be a professor, guru, preacher, priest/priestess, or political leader. They’ll be exaggerators, quite preachy, and cloak their arrogance under another mask. Often it will be “confidence” but ultimately it’s bravado or self-absorption. They’ll be charismatic, yes, but they’ll attack your aspirations, idealism, talents, and dreams or simply try to tell you they’re not there or tell you you don’t really know yourself- they do. They’ll tell you they “know you better than you know yourself”. Again the theme is “beliefs”. They will dissuade you from forming any thought process that doesn’t align with their own. They won’t encourage you to learn for yourself, cross reference, cite your own sources, or guide you to thinking for yourself. It will always have to be in the confines of what THEY believe for it to be seen as “appropriate”.

Capricorn/Saturn in the 12th

Hidden enemies or foes will often be a threat to growth. They’ll be restrictive. Threaten a native’s ambitions, reputation, prestige, groundedness/security. They may present themselves or even be authority figures. Power games are seen here. Guilt, repression, feelings of guilt, and/or general suppression of self-expression and drive. These individuals will be calculated. Very chess-like. Wealth or the legacy of a native and their possessions will be threatened or at risk when one has this placement. The enemy will display an austere persona. Could even be the father, grandfather, great grandfather, etc. Masculinity is involved here. Disappointment and criticism are extreme themes they’ll subject you to. This is how you’ll figure out who they are. They’ll be cold, want control, or be controlling. EXTREMELY negative. They’ll also be greedy or attempt to hold a native back from success, prosperity, or independence. Maturity will be inhibited. Opportunities thwarted. But they’ll mask it all under “wanting the best for you.” The enemy could even be an individual's lack of exploration or their own self-repression. They could cause themselves to be too hard on themselves which could lead them into self-imposed depression. They must learn to be free. LIVE.

Aquarius/Uranus in the 12th

Hidden foes and/or enemies can be erratic. They’ll operate in a very unpredictable manner. Their behavior will be exciting so it may be hard to recognize it at first. They may appear out of the blue. The nemesis might attack a native’s individuality and freedom. They may cause chaos and disruptions in your life. The enemy may not respect your individuality or differences and/or freedom. They’ll disapprove of the unique way of life your lead. [Look at Saturn as well as Uranus]. Your freedom will always be a threat to theirs and vice versa. Look out for those who seem “out there” and who try to coax you into avant-garde ways of doing things. It may not always be in your best interest. You could wind up with sudden breaks, accidents, unpredictable events because of them. They may cause disruptions to your security or cause so much confusion they can cause severe damage to your psyche [Uranus can also rule intelligence and mental dealings]. They’ll be recognizable as the “rebels”. They may not always be the types to intentionally wish you harm but may lead you to it. They’ll be, eccentrics, or anarchists and can lead you astray. Their agenda is to be agents of chaos. Think of the Joker from the Dark Knight. “Do I really look like a guy with a plan?” It will be hard to see. You may even be enthralled. Again this is the 12th house. Lots of instability here. The enemy could even be the individual's need for rebellion which can cause them to get themselves into trouble because they don’t see the threat or danger involved or they simply don’t care.

Pisces/Neptune in the 12th

Hidden foes may have may connections to karma. The feelings will be extremely felt through intuition and psychic insights. You’ll feel them but not really know where they’re coming from. Often there will be a “Nessus/Dejanira” theme going on. The victim and abuser. Often, the native will be the abused. Strong Manipulation. The enemy will make you drink the “Kool-aid”. Their abuse often stems from their own hurt and trauma. They’ll claim they want to heal you or help you. Their “aid” will be cloaked under sympathy and love. Often it is an illusion. In reality, they’re wanting something. Being used can often be a theme. Themes of addiction or drug abuse can live here, too. Think of Bobby and Whitney or even Syd and Nancy. Enabling addictions are very prevalent. Now the enemy may not even be a person but addictions themselves can be the undoing or downfall. One with this placement must be careful in indulging in mind-altering substances. Alcoholism can be an issue as well. If it is an actual individual, the foe can play the martyr or cause you to sacrifice something precious to you. They can play off your insecurities or weakness and keep you emotionally dependent. They can toxic to your spirituality or try to influence your spirituality as well.

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runwithwolvcs · 3 years ago

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You Know I’m No Good - o n e

Summary: Tallulah Forester isn’t a bad person, she’s just made one too many bad decisions. Which is why she has now found herself four hours away from her home in Seattle, to her estranged fathers little home in La Push, with her stepmom and two half sisters, whom she has only been with a couple of times in the past 15 years. Her mother and father had agreed, shockingly, that the small town lifestyle would be beneficial to their wild child, but bad habits die hard, especially when it comes to being in control.

Timeline: Takes place a few years after the events of Breaking Dawn

Pairing: Paul Lahote x OC (Tallulah is 18)

Warnings (future chapters): Drugs/Alcohol, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Jealousy, Mental Health, (Mentions of SA, but no details)

There are losses that rearrange the world. Deaths that change the way you see everything, grief that tears everything down. Pain that transports you to an entirely different universe, even while everyone else thinks nothing has really changed.

Tallulah stared out the window in the back seat with her knees tucked up to her chest, arms wrapped around them tightly as her father drawled on, switching from topic to topic, your sisters and Kira are so excited your coming to we’ve already enrolled you at the school to do you remember this person or that person? Anything to fill the silence from creating a suffocating atmosphere in the car. It all sounded like white noise to her, she barely remembered La Push.

She moved to Seattle with her mother when she was six and the two of them never looked back, whenever she would see her father or half-sisters, they would meet halfway in Port Angeles and then head their separate ways. It was easier that way for everyone involved.

Josette and Lenna, her half-sisters, were ten the last time she spent any actual memory inducing time with them. Although they are only two years younger than her, they were so different. So in tune with the tribe, whereas she barely knew anything about the histories. She doubted anything would have changed in that respect.

Tallulah's headaches from her hangover, or maybe lack of sleep, she thought, and as she laid her head against the window she listened to the sound of passing cars and her dad's voice as she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

--------

Tallulah awoke to the sound of the car door shutting and a nearby dog barking, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, grateful her headache was gone, but now in its place was a lump in her throat, as she looked around her surroundings outside of the car. The little blue house she vaguely remembers. The tire swings in the old oak tree. A woman's laugh caught her attention, as she looked to see her dad and stepmom, chatting away, happier than ever. Tallulah felt so out of place. Like she was an intruder coming in to ruin her fathers happy, little family with her black cloud of disappointment.

Tallulah groaned to herself as she unbuckled herself, might as well get this over with, she thought to herself while opening the car door and slowly stepping out, stretching as she did. She could feel the two adults eyes on her as she shut the door gently, looking towards them, Kiras big smile, that if she didn’t know better would look insincere, but she did know. Her stepmom was a tryhard, doing anything and everything to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother and stepmother, no matter how hard Tallulah pushed against her kind persona. She was the reason her family was in pieces. Kira and her father were no doubt in love, even when her parents were still together, they never looked at each other the way she sees her father looks at Kira and vice versa, like they are each other's reasons for being. She moves, he moves. Tallulah nearly physically cringes. It's not something she ever wants for herself, that fairy tale love.

She walks toward them slowly, Kira meeting her halfway, wrapping her arms in a bear crushing hug that she doesn’t reciprocate, looking past her at her father who has that ‘be nice’ look on his face, and clearly, she was in no place to fight that. She couldn’t help but think, if this doesn't work out the way her parents think it will, where is the next place she would be shipped off to?

Kiras' soft, sweet voice shakes her from her thoughts, “it's so nice to see you again. Your hair has gotten so long.” Tallulah raises an eyebrow before stating, “I've cut it a few times since I saw you last.” Kira laughs off the dig, before walking towards her father and saying, “the twins are out, we’d figured you'd be better off getting settled without a full house.” Tallulah nodded in response as her father spoke up for the first time since arriving, “besides, we have some things to discuss. Expectations and what not,”

Tallulah eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Rules? I’m eighteen. I don’t need to have any rules.” Her arms crossed over chest, as if she were a child.

“If you think that you will be continuing your..extracurricular activities that you have picked up in Seattle, you are wrongly mistaken” he says in what she assumes is his fatherly tone that works on the twins, but not her, he gave up that right fifteen years ago. “Your mother has filled us in on everything, Tally” She rolls her eyes at this, as if she knows everything, she thought to herself.

Kira stood up on the porch, just inside the doorway, “Joseph, let her settle in, we can have this conversation tomorrow, after the bonfire.” she said in ‘dont fight me in this tone’, to which Tallulah appreciated, yet was confused, “Bonfire?” she asked, as she made her way up the steps of the house leaving her dad to bring in her few bags, “The tribe bonfire party happens once a month, the girls love it, plus you can meet some of your classmates before you start school.” Kira spoke as if this was something she should look forward to, but in all honesty, large gatherings were not Tallys scene, despite what her mother thinks. But, she would attend, save face and hope with good behaviour she would be back in Seattle with her friends in no time. This thought reminded her to shoot them a text quickly explaining her situation, hoping they would see it as an SOS, before shoving her phone back in her pocket and following Kira around the house like a little kid, listening to where things were kept, which rooms were which and then finally a stop at the room in which she would call hers. The walls were a blank, cream color, with light blue bedding and a wooden desk shoved in the corner, along with what looks like textbooks sitting on top.She nods politely as Kira mentions they will be leaving within the hour but try to settle in and suggests she may want to change out of her cotton shorts, as it “gets quite cold compared to Seattle” as she put it.

-----

7:14 read the time on Tallulah's phone as they walked up to the beach, the sun had just begun to set and the temperature had, in fact, dropped quite a bit, thankful for Kiras advice, Tallulah had changed into a pair of loose, blue jeans and had tucked her hands into the pockets of her oversized, black hoodie, fingers curled under the long sleeves to keep them warm.

She walked slightly behind Kira and her father, standing off to the side as they were greeted by people, before they had reached whom she suspected to be the twins. They looked so different from what she remember, her father lowly spoke to her, as Kira caught their attention, pointing out the smaller of the two as Josette and the taller, as Lenna. Josie dawned a baggie pair of dark pair of overalls, with a striped sweater underneath, her hair in two space buns, which was quite different from her sister, in her plaid mini skirt and form-fitting long sleeve shirt, her pin straight, dark hair fanned out behind her back. Tallulah could already tell they wouldn’t get along.

She watched as Lenna stalked away from her mother to a group of people who looked around their age, before snapping her eyes back at the sound of her name being called, to see Kira and Josette waving her over, before she could even move her feet willingly, her dad was nudging her in their direction, as if she would turn and walk the other way.

Josette moved over so she could sit directly beside, a friendly smile that resembled Kiras on her face, “ Hi Tally” she spoke her childhood nickname softly, “it’s been awhile, you look so much older, not in a bad way, like mature, adultish, but obviously your only two years older than me so not technically an adult..” she rambled off, “Hey Josette” and before Tallulah could say anything else, she was interrupted by the younger girl, “Its Josie or Jo, whichever fine, just not Josette” she spoke quickly, a pale blush crossing her olive toned skin, to which Tallulah just nodded and asked, “How long do these things last?”

“That depends,” Josie spoke, “Typically the adults leave once the stories and tribal matter finishes, so maybe an hour or two. But we usually stay later, or at least Lenna does.” she said, looking in the direction of her twin, who was now surrounded by a group of other rambunctious teenagers. “Sam Uley's crew is here tonight, so who knows if that will even happen, especially after last time.” Tallulah didn’t question the younger girl, mainly because she just didn’t care to. She looked away from Lenna and her friends, her eyes gazing on all the unfamiliar faces sitting on logs or picnic tables surrounding the growing fire.

Her eyes stopped on what seemed to be a couple, the girl was beautiful, her long black hair was tied up into a neat ponytail, she was talking to a man in a wheelchair beside her, who looked like he could be her dad, her eyes shifted to the man sitting next her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, he was in shorts and a shirt and looked perfectly comfortable in the frigid air, he was joking around with the boys next to him, as if the beautiful girl next to him was really there, despite his arm around her, “Thats Paul Lahote.” Josie said from next to her, causing her to flush from her obvious staring, he looked in their direction, as if he had heard Josie say his name, they locked eyes for a split second before Tallulah looked away embarrassed she had been caught. “Don’t worry, Lenna stares at him too,” Josie laughed jokingly, “I wasn’t staring” Tallulah spoke defensively, Josie raised her hands in surrender before leaning in close, “looks like he's the one staring now” Josie grinned, watching as Tallulah looked back at the older boy, noticing that he was staring at her, almost like a deer in headlights. He looked so familiar, though she doubts that they have ever met before. He smiles at her slightly, his arm retracting from the girl beside him despite her protest to his movement, and now the beautiful women is also looking at her, causing Tallulah to look down at her sleeve covered hands that lay in her lap, only looking up again when her father sits in the spot next to her, asking if she's alright, to which she absentmindedly nods her head. Is she alright after her entire life has been altered in the last 12 hours? What kind of question is that?

Her eyes are drawn back to the spot Paul Lahote was sitting in, or had been sitting in, the seat was now vacant, the man nowhere in her line of sight, and she can't help but feel a little disappointed.

#paul lahote imagine #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote x oc #paul lahote #twilight wolves #twilight wolf pack #embry call #leah clearwater #you know im no good #chapter 1

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toosicktoocare · 4 years ago

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AU where the Avengers don’t know that Spider-Man is Peter Parker just cuz

inspired by a fantastic ask about concussions from @carley-carley-carley (hope it’s okay that I tagged you!)

“Young man? Young man, are you alright?”

Grunting, Peter drags his head away from the insistent tapping against his cheek, an almost rhythmic, steady pressure that jerks up his temple to spread across his forehead. The pressure isolates to the base of his skull, where the pounding seems to be at it’s worst, and it holds ground there, pulsing uncomfortably.

“Young man, you fell from a four-story apartment building.”

Peter’s brows furrow at this. He wants to object because he’s Spider-Man, and a fall like that is minor compared to the novel of inuries he’s suffered alongside the Avengers. He opens his mouth to do just that, to explain to this woman that this is nothing, that he’ll walk it off, but a pricking senstation hot against the back of his neck hotwires to his eyelids, forcing them open.

He’s aware of two things: One, the woman leaning over him is far too close, and she’s doubling and tripling before him, going in out of focus against his blurry eyes. Despite hazy around the edges, she looks concerned, if the deep-set wrinkles etched into her forehead are anything to go by. Two, there’s a small crowd surrounding him, and while Peter’s not particularly claustrophobic, right now, it feels like each body is pushing against his lungs, and his stomach. When the hell did he start feeling so nauseous?

“Young man, do you know what day it is?”

No, Peter thinks flatly to himself. He really doesn’t. He could dig through his mind, eager to push out logic, work through his mental calendar that operates soley around when homework assignments are due, but there’s a solid rock of pulsing pain blocking all normal, brain functioning. “Monday?” he tries weakly. He’s faintly aware that his own voice sounds hollow and distant, but more so, he’s distinctly aware of the saliva pooling in his mouth, a copper taste that coats against his tongue.

Peter didn’t think it was possible, but the woman somehow frowns deeper at him, and she climbs to her feet, body rigid. He supposes it’s not Monday after all.

“Call an ambulance! He’s concussed.”

Peter shoots forward into a sitting position, and the pain in his head bursts like a balloon. The redistributed pressure is blinding, and Peter drops his face into his cupped hands with a low groan that threatens to bring more than just air up his throat.

He wants to assure them that a hospital isn’t necessary, that his enhanced healing defies medical science, but when the white light coating his vision dies down to an unsteady sway of darker, blurring colors, he only sees scraped up palms before him, not gloves. He rips his hands away, and one, quick look down shows that he’s sporting a blue NASA hoodie and blue jeans and that he’s definitely not wearing his signature red and blue Spider-Man suit he thought he had on.

The hell?

He glances to see his backpack beside him, thankfully still zipped up and intact. He tries to wrack his brain, briefly craning his neck up toward the rooftop he assumes he fell from, only to quickly jerk his gaze back down when the setting sun seems to shine past his eyes to burn at his skull. He can’t remember why he was up there in the first place, especially since he’s in civilian clothing. He can’t remember much of anything, now that he dwells on it.

“Young man, by all accounts, you should be dead.”

Peter makes to reply, his clenched jaw unhinging almost painfully, but a different, probing jolt sparks up his spine to the back of his neck, and he’s climbing to his feet, pale, wobbly, just as two, new voices somehow carry over the wall of chatter around him.

“What’s going on?”

“Make way. Crowds typically mean one of two things: some weird alien contraption that equals bad news or a dead body, either of which I can’t really fit into today’s schedule.”

Even if Peter didn’t have the two voices memorized, down to the timbre, the sudden, loud squealing from the crowd of “Tony Stark!” and “Captain America!” is enough to have him eyeing for a quick exit, determining if he can duck his way through the pressing bodies.

“This young man fell from the roof!”

“So,” Tony draws out, his voice growing closer. “Dead body it...” He trails off as he nudges around a few people until he’s breaking into the center of the circle with Steve hot on his heels.

“Well, hello there, not dead person.”

Peter wants to shrink away from Tony’s gaze. He wants the ground to crumble and break and swallow him hole, to rid himself of the awkward fear and warm embarrasment that flushes his cheeks. He can feel a thick, lukewarm liquid dripping down his neck, and he doesn’t want to look down to see the concerning pool of blood at his feet.

“Son, are you alright?” Steve shoves forward, and on instinct, Peter backs away and brings a hand to the back of his neck, a nervous tick, but he pulls it back almost immediately, faintly frowning at the splattered red coloring his palm.

“You fell,” Tony starts, and Peter knows this tone well as it’s Tony’s signature speculation tone, where he dissects the situation around clipped, short sentences.

“From up there?”

Leveling his gaze, Peter huffs out a shaky sigh, wincing slightly as Steve prods lightly at the back of his head.

“Um, yeah. I guess?”

“You guess?”

“I don’t really remember,” Peter laughs awkwardly, clears his throat. He can sense the tension that builds behind him, can almost feel the way Steve’s muslces grow rigid.

“He’s concussed, Tony. Maybe save the interrogation for another time?”

“Sure,” Tony says, and he steps forward, carefully avoiding the puddle of blood. “But, you can’t blame me for finding this entire situation unsettling, Steve. This kid fell from the roof of a four-story building, landed on his back, and now he’s standing, and aside from the fact that he looks a tad worse for wear, he’s alive?”

“I’m right here,” Peter mutters under his breath, and Tony nods and crowds too close to him.

“You are. Standing. Speaking. Alive. Three things that don’t exactly pair well with falling off a roof.”

Peter’s head hurts, bad. Deflect, he thinks. But how? “I’ve always been told I come from a family of hard heads,” he mumbles around a hollow laugh, and, he thinks, it definitely sounds as stupid out loud as it did in his head.

Tony’s gaze, in response, his sharp, and narrow, and Peter unconsciously closes his eyes. He can feel the ground rippling below his feet, and he sways, steadying only when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“Enough, Tony.”

“How much would it take to get you to come back to our labs so I can run some tests-”

“-Enough, Tony.”

Steve’s voice vibrates all across Peter’s body. It’s a powerful yet familiar feeling that makes him shudder slightly.

“What’s your name, son?”

Peter contemplates lying, maybe even using Ned’s name. But, he’s been careful as Spider-Man thus far, so, he thinks, he’s not at risk by sharing his real name. Besides, it’s not like it’s uncommon. “Peter,” he says after a moment.

He could hear Steve talking beside him, but an unannounced rush of blood in his ears begisn to drown out close sounds. He grows hot suddenly, or maybe, he’s been getting steadily hotter this entire time and he couldn’t fully realize. His body’s shaking a little harder now, inconsistent trembles jerking his limbs. His throat’s tightening, and when he realizes what the hell is happening, he’s shoving away from Steve and hunching over to vomit.

He feels worse when he finishes. He’s exhausted, and his head is positively throbbing. Yet, there’s a color of clarity flicking across his mind. Through the thick pain, he can think a little clearer, see a little clearer.

“Peter?”

“Gross, kid. Time to go to the hospital.”

“No!” Peter whips around, staggers, and unconsciously reaches out to Steve’s arm for support. “I mean, that’s not necessary,” he clarifies at the two, wide expressions looking at him expectantly. “Really. I’m already feeling better.” To punctuate his point, he lets go of Steve’s arm and bends down to snag his backpack, clutching it close to his chest. “See, totally fine. No passing out or anything.”

On the back of his head, he can already feel his broken skin moving, closing torn gaps, slowing the bloodflow. He figures he’s got about an hour until it’s completely healed, and he’d rather not be around two Avengers when it happens.

“I’ll just go home and... rest! I’ll rest. Scout’s honor.” He mock salutes, and then he spins on his heel and starts pushing his way out of the crowd, missing the furrowed gaze from Tony. He swallows thickly when he hears two sets of heavy footsteps behind him.

“Peter, wait!”

“I’m with Steve on this one, kid. I can’t, in good conscience, let you disappear in this condition. I can see the headlines now. Iron Man Abandons Helpless Teen.”

“Tony...”

Peter keeps walking ahead, keeps his gaze locked to the sidewalk below him as Tony and Steve take either side of him. “My apartment’s just a few blocks from here,” he mumbles, focusing on the rhythmic pound of his shoes on concrete and not on the hot pain pushing all across his head or on the fact that he can’t shake a couple of Avengers, something he’d never consider as Spider-Man.

“Do you not like hospitals, Peter?”

Steve’s question is a gentle prod, and Peter goes with it, shrugging.

“Not really,” he offers, keeping his voice low, indicating he doesn’t want to pursue the conversation, and luckily, Steve takes the bait and drops it. At least, Peter thinks, they’ll stop insisting he seek out medical assistance now. Though, he does feel a little bad lying to Steve; he doesn’t like lying, unless it’s to egg on Tony’s nerves as Spider-Man. But to Steve? It feels morally wrong, and he thinks he should seek out a confessional for his sins later.

“Not interested in having a bunch of doctors deem you a medical miracle?”

“Definitely not,” Peter groans, finally dragging his gaze up until he’s looking forward and not at the scuff marks on his shoes. His memories, though fuzzy, are filtering through cracks in the thick mud that’s currently his mind. He can remember standing atop the roof, maybe a little too close to the edge. He was getting ready to rip open his backpack for his suit, and then he remembers losing his footing. He remembers the back of his foot hitting the edge of the roof, and everything goes dark after that.

Embarrassing, he thinks. He’s the only super hero he knows clumsier than a newborn deer. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize he’s reached his apartment until his leg muscles are dragging to a stop on habit. He looks up, craning his neck, and sighs. “Well, this is me. I appreciate the escort, but I’m good now.” He starts up the steps, sighing louder when he hears the two follow.

He makes it all the way up the steps to his apartment door and unlocks it before he spins on his heel, a second, longer sigh pushing past his lips. “Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but don’t you both have... bigger things to do? Iron Man and Captain America things?”

“You busy, Steve?” Tony asks, and Steve mutely shakes his head before following Tony into the apartment.

Groaning, Peter rubs at his forehead and shuffles inside, knowing full and well that both are incredibly busy on an hour-to-hour basis. He’s quick to slip his bacpack into his bedroom and close the door before he steps back out into the living room to see Steve motioning toward the couch with a pack of frozen peas in hand.

“It’s all you had.”

Shrugging, Peter drops down flat onto the couch, sitting up briefly so Steve can slip the bag of frozen peas behind his head. He shivers on contact because shit, it’s freezing, and Steve’s reaching over him to snag the blanket draped behind the couch. He hums absently when Steve tucks it around him, and then he cracks an eye open to see Tony staring down childhood pictures with a familair set of glasses on.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Huh?” Tony whips around, already plucking the glasses from his face.

“Really, Tony? How much info is FRIDAY feeding you right now?”

“What?” Tony drags out, both hands raised in defense. “Kid fell off a roof and walked away. Sue me.”

“I promise, Mr. Stark, I’m not even remotely interesting,” Peter tries, and Tony raises a single brow his way.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Peter’s kept his identity tightly under wraps thus far, and he knows childhood pictures or pictures with May aren’t going to reveal that he’s Spider-Man. Still, it’s annoyingly intrusive, and he sits up with a groan.

“If I swear on my best friend’s lego model death star that I’ll stay put, rest, and wake up every few hours to monitor my condition, will you both please leave? You really don’t need to hang around here; I know you both have to be really busy.”

“Your best friend has a lego model death star?” Tony starts, isolating that one fact. “Is your best friend in second grade?”

Peter clambers to his feet, stalks over to his door, and yanks it open. “We’re the same age, and I happily helped him with it,” he challenges, motioning toward the doorway.

“Easy, champ,” Tony says around a laugh as he and Steve start toward the door. “If you and your friend want to play with legos, that’s none of my business. Just try not to fall off any more roofs because, unfortunately, that is my business.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says, offering a nod as the two step out.

“Consider going to a hospital, Peter,” Steve adds. “Maybe take your friend with you for comfort.”

Yeah right, Peter thinks. Ned can’t even handle the thought of a needle without feeling faint. Still, he nods, if only to appease Steve, and then he’s closing the door and sinking against it with a low sigh. He listens for a long time until he can no longer make out their footsteps, and then he’s ignoring the pressure in his head and running to his room to don his suit.

Concussion or not, Queens still needs the friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man.

296 notes · View notes

master-sass-blast · 3 years ago

Text

This Life is Infinite: Chapter One.

OH YEAH. IT'S TIME, BITCHES!!!

Summary: The Infinity War Fic aka I do whatever the fuck I want with the Russo's canon.

Get ready for the most ambitious crossover in CHC history.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin, and Kitty Pryde x Illyana Rasputin.

Rating: M for canon typical violence and death threats.

Word Count: 10k... oops.

Set after "Children of the Gods: Part Three."

Author's Note: Tentatively, I’m back from my hiatus. Things are nowhere near settled with my mental health, but I’m feeling well enough to post again.

I think it mostly goes without saying that updates for this series might be a little irregular going forward; not only do I need to take care of myself, but I also need to find a better balance with posting fanfiction and the rest of my life. As always, I will do my best to be clear with you all about what to expect in terms of updates and wait times.

Thank you again for your compassion and understanding.

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @leo-writer, @emma-frxst, @sadstone-s

It’s not every day that mysterious, leather-clad men appear –quite literally, considering they teleported in—in your kitchen unannounced.

(Okay, perhaps they don’t qualify as “mysterious” when one of them is your dad, one of them is your brother, and the third is your uncle, but there’s a fourth man with them that you don’t recognize, so you like to think that the principle of the expression remains intact.)

You glance between Nate, Wade, your uncle, and the aforementioned unrecognized fourth man, then lift the box of cereal you’d been pouring into a bowl by way of greeting. “Breakfast?”

***

(The fourth man, as it turns out, goes by the code name “Kronos” –which, in terms of super cool code names, ranks at about an eight.)

“There’s a war coming,” Nate explains while the four of you stand around your kitchen counter. “Apocalypse is stirring. He’ll be sending his allies to Earth to initiate the first stage of the war, so that he’ll encounter less resistance when he comes to rule.”

“‘s called ‘The Decimation,’” Wade interjects as he shovels spoonfuls of Lucky Charms into his mouth. He points at his bowl, then jerks his head at the fridge. “D’ y’all have chocolate syrup?”

“Yeah, second shelf on the door.” You take another bite of your cereal, swallow, then ask Nathan, “What… what happens with ‘The Decimation?’”

“One of Apocalypse’s allies, Thanos, will arrive with his armies and generals. He’ll use his own forces to annihilate the heroes of Earth, then he’ll finish assembling the Infinity Stones and gauntlet and use them to wipe out half of all life across the cosmos.”

You purse your lips together and eye your dad warily. “If… if this was anyone other than you saying this, I’d say this all sounds like a hackneyed comic book and-or movie plot.”

“His information checks out,” Kronos says, voice low and gravelly. “Our cross-temporal intel confirms communications between Apocalypse and Thanos. We might have a few weeks to prepare for Thanos’s arrival –and that’s if we’re lucky.”

Wade snorts and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “handwavey bullshit” under his breath.

You look to your uncle. “And you’re here because…”

“Need to talk to Xavier,” your uncle answers, “and then alert the Avengers and anyone else that can help us face Thanos.”

“Right,” you say slowly. “And you stopped here first because…”

“I was hungry,” Wade blurts as he drizzles more chocolate syrup on top of his cereal.

“You have credibility,” Nathan says while shooting Wade an equally annoyed and endeared look. “Xavier and Piotr listen to you, and the rest of the X-Men listen to them. We can’t afford to deal with a bunch of hesitating and infighting right now. We need to get our shit together and defeat Thanos, or the world as we know it is fucked.”

“Question.” Wade lifts his spoon. “Does Donald Trump die in this decimation bullshit?”

“We’ll deal with him later,” your uncle stage-whispers to Wade.

“If you’re all sure…” You wait for all four of them to nod, then sigh and shrug. “Alright. I think most of the X-Men are training right now. Let’s go talk to them.”

***

“This all sounds fucking insane.”

Wade gasps. The eyes on his mask widen as he lifts a gloved hand to where his mouth is under his mask. “James Doohan used a no-no word! My goodness gracious golly!”

Scott Summers scowls, but otherwise ignores Wade. He turns to the Professor, expression incredulous. “Do you believe… any of this?”

Xavier grimaces. “Our sources through Kronos” –he gestures to your uncle’s colleague—“have been confirming the intentions of Apocalypse for several years now. The difficulty was always in determining when Apocalypse would act, and in which timeline –though, now that we have Cable’s intel, we’ve been able to figure those two details out.”

“If Thanos is as powerful as you’re saying,” Ororo pipes up, looking at Nathan, “then how are we supposed to defeat him?”

“Any way we can,” Nathan fires back, expression grim.

“Our intel says that Thanos only has three of the six Infinity Stones, along with the gauntlet,” Kronos adds. “If we can keep the last three stones out of his hands and defeat his armies here on Earth, we’ll have better odds of facing Apocalypse down the road.”

“Right,” Jean says. “And where are the last three stones?”

“The Mind Stone is in the possession of Vision, an android created by Ultron, who now works with the Avengers,” Kronos explains. “The Time Stone is in the possession of Doctor Stephen Strange, who leads an order of sorcerers and magic users in New York. The Soul Stone… has yet to be located.”

“And we’re sure that Thanos is coming here?” Ororo asks, brows raised in skepticism.

“One of the unifying features across the pertinent timelines is a battle that takes place on Earth, specifically in the country of Wakanda,” Kronos answers. “Regardless of the other features in the timeline, there is always a major confrontation between Thanos and the forces of earth there.”

“Great,” Rogue deadpans, expression flat. “Now we just have to convince them to let us in. ‘Excuse me, your Majesty T’Challa, but there’s an evil spaceman that is collecting all powerful rhinestones and he’s going to come here to try and wipe out half of all life on Earth, so we need you to let us into your country with strict visitation policies to we can help you fight him.’ Yeah, that’ll go over real well.”

“We don’t have time to waste on sarcastic bullshit,” Nathan grits out, cybernetic eye flaring as he glares at Rogue. “We’ll handle getting the Avengers and Wakanda on board,” he says, turning to the Professor. “I take it we can trust you to get your team and Magneto collected?”

“I’ll contact Erik,” Xavier promises before looking over at your husband. “Piotr, would you mind calling your family? I believe, given the severity of the coming conflict, having as many hands as possible would be in our best interests.”

Piotr nods. “Konechno –of course.” He looks up at you from where he’s sitting, confusion clear in his sky blue eyes—

“You good to come with us?” Nathan asks, tapping your shoulder lightly to get your attention. “We’ll need help talking to Stark.”

“Huh? Uh –yeah. Sure.” You look back at Piotr; the request to ask for five minutes, just five minutes, to talk to your husband is on the tip of your tongue—

Nate tugs you –gently—a couple inches closer, then says, “Bodyslide by five.”

The room blurs, then disappears from view.

***

You’ve only bodyslid with Nathan a handful of times –and each time you do, you’re always caught off guard by how fucking weird it feels.

Your stomach lurches like you’ve just gone down the steepest drop on a rollercoaster, even though the ground remains steady beneath your feet. In a flash, there’s a brand new room in front of you –sleek, monochromatic cabinets, white marble countertops, stainless steel appliances and fixtures, the works. The space oozes sophistication, function, style –and money. So much money.

Given everything you’ve heard about Tony Stark, it makes sense.

“Deep breaths,” Nathan says. He places a steadying hand on your shoulder while you blink rapidly. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

You do your best to comply –though it’s a bit difficult, given that your brain is shrieking ‘sensory overload’ while trying to adjust to the new lighting, the new sounds, the sensation of having moved without really having moved at all, at least in the sense of walking or riding in a car—

And then alarms start blaring. Red lights flash, klaxons go off, the works.

Wade swears and claps his hands over his ears. “Christ! For a guy who has literal robots that can wipe his ass with dollar bills, you think he’d invest in something a little easier on the ears!”

“Wilson!” The klaxons and red lights cut out, replaced by various whirring noises and the sound of hurried, angry footsteps. “I swear to God, if you’ve hijacked one of my jets again, I’m gonna –who the fuck are all of you?”

Tony Stark looks… nothing like what you see in the papers. Granted, his face and hair look largely the same, but he’s not wearing the crisp, stylish suits that all the magazines, articles, papers, and interviews feature him wearing. He’s got on a worn, holey Metallica shirt, ripped, grease stained jeans, and a pair of scuffed sneakers that look like they might’ve been purchased ten years ago, for all that they’re barely holding together.

The army of security bots hovering and whirring around him, however, do fit his press image.

“Jon Snow!” Wade chirps, waggling his fingers at the harried “genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist.” “Long time, no talk. How’s Daenerys doing?”

“Summers, would you do me a favor and put your psychopath on a leash?” Tony asks, tone less than polite or pleasant as he focuses on Nate. “Preferably a nice short one that’s far away from me?”

“We’re here to talk,” Nathan says –though he does stop Wade from trying to play with the knives in the block on the kitchen counter. “It’s a matter of life and death. The well-being of the entire universe is at stake.”

“Yeah, been there, done that,” Tony says, looking none too impressed.

“One of your colleagues may have mentioned his name,” Kronos interjects, taking a step forward. “Does the word ‘Thanos’ ring any bells?”

Tony’s expression sobers for an instant, but he hides it quickly enough. “This is private property, and you’re all—”

A red being with a green suit and a yellow gem in the center of his forehead emerges from the floor. He places himself between Tony and the rest of you. “Would you like me to escort them out, Mr. Stark?”

“Ah, Casper the Friendly Android with No Concept of Personal Boundaries Despite the Infinite Knowledge!” Wade fires back, waving cheerfully. “How you doing, twenty-twenty?”

Vision sighs, longsuffering. “You have been expressly forbidden from these premises, Mr. Wilson.”

“Unless he’s here under my direct supervision,” Nathan fires back. “Stark, we need to talk about this—”

“Tony?” A tall, elegant woman with red hair wearing a tailored, navy blue dress walks up behind the man in question. She flashes you all a polite smile, but there’s no missing the way her gaze cautiously assesses each one of you. “I’m guessing these aren’t –oh. Wade’s here.”

Wade waves in response. “Hi, Miss Potts! How’s being a CEO?”

“It’s going very well, thank you,” Pepper replies politely –though, this time, she’s scanning the room for missing objects and-or visible damage. When nothing turns up, she looks back at Tony. “Are we escorting them out?”

“They claim to have information about the end of the world,” Tony says, tone flippant –though the grave expression on his face belies his snark. “About Thanos.”

Recognition flashes over Pepper’s face, though her polite mask never fully slips. She nods, then says, “Are we going to listen to them?”

“Probably should,” Tony replies in the same lackadaisical tone. “I’m not turning off the security drones while Wilson’s here, though.”

“Just for that, I’m pissing in your Ficus before I leave,” Wade huffs.

“That seems like it’s for the best,” Pepper tells Tony, smiling going tight at the edges while she stares at Wade. She takes a breath, steeling herself, then steps past Tony and nods at the rest of you in greeting. “Sorry for the confusion. Would you mind coming with us, so we can talk somewhere more comfortable?”

***

“I started connecting the dots after Thor left,” Tony explains, twirling a pencil between his fingers as he paces back and forth. “He mentioned Thanos briefly –but with the destruction and repurposing of Loki’s staff, the straggling records of Dormammu’s attack and the use of the Time Stone by Strange, the roles that the Tesseract and Loki’s staff played in the attack on New York by the Chitauri…” He sighs, pausing to stare out at the window at some unseen object before grimacing and shrugging. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

You’re all gathered in a conference room –which, as with the kitchen, carries the same modern, sleek style. Floor to ceiling windows show off the training grounds and the forest that conceals the base from the rest of the world. A massive plasma TV takes up one of the far walls, while the other walls are taken up by various dormant, holographic and electronic displays (made by Stark himself, no doubt). A black, oblong table sits in the center of the room, with leather, silver studded swivel chairs positioned around it.

“How many are there?” Tony asks, looking first at Kronos, then at Nathan. “How much time do we have?”

“There are six Infinity Stones in total,” Kronos says. “Thanos already has three –the Space stone, which was contained by the Tesseract, the Reality stone and the Power stone. Your colleague, Vision—” he gestures to the android “—is in possession of the Mind Stone already, and Stephen Strange has the Time Stone. Our agents have been unable to confirm the whereabouts of the Soul Stone, but we’re certain that Thanos doesn’t have it.”

“Yet,” Tony adds, tone pessimistic.

“As far as time goes, we have a few days at most,” Nathan says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe a week, if we’re lucky.”

Tony grimaces. “That doesn’t bode well for rebuilding international relations on a dime. Or team morale for that matter.”

“Sort it out,” Nathan gravels out. “We’ve got bigger issues.”

“We won’t have time for issues if we can’t even pull a team together,” Tony snaps.

“If it helps…” Kronos withdraws a flash drive from his jacket pocket and holds it out to Tony. “The evidence of Thanos’s collection of the stones and his plans to come here.”

Tony accepts the flash drive. He turns it over in his fingers a couple times –no doubt mentally comparing the drive to the technology he’s created—then pockets it. “And Xavier’s on board with all this?”

You blink when you realize everyone’s staring at you. “Uh –yes. He’s contacting Erik Lensherr for some additional support, and the rest of the X-Men are ready to take on Thanos as well.”

“Great.” Tony stares down at the table for a moment, expression slightly melancholy but otherwise inscrutable, but then he snaps back to his usual self. “Good meeting. I’ll text you with the details.”

“Ooh, does that mean we’re trading numbers?” Wade gasps, pressing his hands on either side of his face. “I’ll put you on my favorites list.”

“I’ll contact Xavier,” Tony amends, shooting Wade a slightly harried look.

“We’ll be ready,” you assure him, at a loss for what else to say as you hook your arm around Wade’s to keep him from messing with the holographic display system.

“Vision will escort you out,” Pepper says with a polite smile and nod.

“I’ll make you a friendship bracelet, Tony the Tiger!” Wade calls as you and Nathan gently usher him towards the door. “Wait –stop shoving me! I need to get his wrist size!”

“Later, gorgeous,” Nate says with a barely suppressed smile.

Under any other circumstances, you’d laugh, but the stony foreboding weighing down your gut makes it too hard to even muster up a chuckle –especially when you catch Tony slumping down into one of the conference room chairs with a despairing expression on his face. You force yourself to focus on getting Wade out of the Avenger’s headquarters without stealing anything –though that does little to calm your swirling thoughts. How in the hell are we gonna pull this off?

***

“Are you okay?”

You sigh, instinctively wriggling back against Piotr’s chest as he lays down behind you. “Define ‘okay.’”

It’s nearly midnight now. Between contacting other allies for help –Nathan had you all bodysliding around New York for the better part of the day to reach out to the Hell’s Kitchen figures—and learning up about Thanos’s army and what could be expected in a confrontation against him, you didn’t get home until well after dinner.

You’re in bed now, too tired for anything else. You stare out the windows that overlook the balcony, purposefully trying to keep your mind blank so you don’t grow overwhelmed by the chaos buzzing in your brain.

Because this is insane. This is beyond mutant trafficking or petty grievances between groups of mutant rivals or even being gunned down by the mafia. This is beyond abusive parents, groups of hateful bigots, or anti-mutant legislators.

It’s –quite literally—the fate of the entire world. The entire galaxy. Based on Nathan’s reports of the future, half of all life is wiped out. People, animals, plants –all gone, dissolved into piles of ash… and for what? So some egomaniac can have his moment of glory?

Your stomach curdles when you even try to contemplate a life without Piotr.

“Hey.” Piotr draws you in close when you start crying. “Tische, myshka. Everything is okay.”

“But it’s not.” You sniff, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. “Nothing about this is fucking okay, Piotr. Someone’s gonna wipe out half of the damn universe because he wants to jerk off to it later.”

“He has to go through us, first,” Piotr reminds you as he presses soft, sweet kisses against your cheek.

“We don’t have the numbers,” you point out bleakly. “We don’t have the ammunition. We don’t have the time to make a solid plan, or to prepare any extra defenses, or—”

Piotr hugs you tight. He kisses the top of your head. His hand strokes up and down your arm in an attempt to soothe you.

You grip his other hand, holding him close to you. You focus on how warm and solid he is. How wonderful he is and how lovely your life is with him. “I love you, Piotr.”

“And I love you, Y/N.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and cry some more.

***

The call comes in at five thirty in the morning.

“Stark’s brought around the other Avengers and Wakanda,” Nathan says, sounding far more alert than you ever will at this godforsaken hour. “We’re lifting off at seven.”

“Roger that,” you manage while Piotr turns on the bedside lamp and blinks the sleep out of his eyes. “We’ll be ready.” You set down your phone when the call ends, then groan and drop your head into your pillow. Why can’t the end of the world ever happen in the afternoon?

***

The Blackbird jets are loaded to maximum capacity. Aside from carrying the X-Men and the X-Force exclusive members, you’re also ferrying the Hell’s Kitchen vigilantes, Piotr’s family and Allison, your uncle and his team, and the younger children and their parents to Wakanda for safe-keeping (your uncle’s reasoning was that an enemy of the institute might notice the sudden lack of protection and decide to attack the younger, more vulnerable students and their families for vengeance, so it was better to be safe than sorry).

You keep close to Piotr or to the cockpit, but there’s still no avoiding the tense, cramped feeling.

You’re not the only “birds” in the sky, either. It’s practically a whole convoy, flying out to Wakanda in what might’ve been a formation if Wade didn’t occasionally grab the control and try to do a “barrel roll.” Magneto and his forces are flying in their own airship, while the Avengers are leading their pack in Tony’s custom, “cutting edge of technology” jets.

You watch the small fleet of jets that belong to the Avengers, lips pursed into a tight line. Your gaze darts over to the navigation board every few seconds, tracking your miniscule progress across the Atlantic Ocean towards Wakanda.

There’s a heavy sigh behind you, and then an even heavier pair of arms settle around your shoulders. “Myshka. You should rest.”

You “hmm” softly to let Piotr know you heard him, but you don’t step away from the cockpit door.

He kisses the top of head and starts gently rubbing your neck with his thumbs. “Will be several hours before arrival, dorogoy. There is nothing you can do until then.”

“It feels like wasting time,” you murmur back –because, naturally, Piotr’s seen to the heart of the issue already. “We’ve got so much to do.”

“And we can do nothing until we arrive in Wakanda.” Piotr kisses your temple, then gently nudges you away from the cockpit. “Come sit with me, lyublyu. You will need full energy when we land.”

And that, above all else, is the only reason you let Piotr usher you over to the nearest seat.

You crawl into his lap once he sits, curling up in his arms. You lay your head on his shoulder and let his warmth combined with the gentle thrum of the jet’s sonic engines lull you to sleep.

***

Wakanda is simultaneously everything and nothing like what you expected.

There’s a force shield that surrounds the inner part of the country that gives way as the convoy of ships pass through it. It almost seems to shimmer out of view before revealing an elegant, shining palace and curved, glimmering towers that comprise the larger part of the city. Lush jungle and towering, ice-capped mountains border the city, split by a winding river and rushing waterfalls.

It almost looks too beautiful to be real.

The awe-inducing visuals and technology don’t stop as the convoy flies out to a glittering, black glass structure that, on the navigation board, is labeled as the lab of Princess Shuri. The convoy swoops around to a massive hangar at the base of the building, landing just inside on the polished stone and metal floor.

Waiting for all of you in the hangar is King T’Challa Udaku; he’s wearing a black robe embroidered with silver thread and a vibrant kente scarf, and generally looks every bit as poised and unflappable as he did in the UN interviews. He’s flanked by his Dora Milaje soldiers –who are undeniably badass with their armor and spears, and you catch Ellie, Yukio, and Kitty all staring at the women in awe—and his partner, Nakia, and his sister, Princess Shuri.

Tony and Professor Xavier handle the introductions with the King, which lets you stretch and take in the hangar and throngs of superheroes. You recognize a few of them –Captain America aka Steve Rogers, Ant-Man aka Scott Lang and his entourage --including a man with dark hair styled like Elvis that you recall seeing in some sort of news interview a while back and a young woman with curly brown hair and warm eyes that’s holding his hand-- and War Hero ,aka James Rhodes, aka Tony’s best friend and “work wife”—but some of the entourage members are new to you.

You take a moment to stretch out your back –sleeping in Piotr’s lap isn’t the worst quality rest you’ve ever had, but given the configurations of the jet seats it was a little cramped—and admire the glimmering, inlaid lights on the hangar ceiling. Swanky.

“We have space prepared for the upcoming preparations and hosting all of you,” T’Challa says, voice cutting through the din of the crowd with ease. “If you would all follow Princess Shuri, please.”

Shuri smiles, then motions for everyone to follow her out of the hangar.

Half of the Dora Milaje break away from the formation, keeping a protective line between the princess and everyone else.

You fall into stride alongside your husband, well-practiced by now at matching your steps to his long stride.

***

The “prepared space” winds up being three massive rooms, each with smaller rooms sectioned around the main spaces, a kitchen-slash-rec area that joins the three massive rooms in the center, and three large, communal style bathrooms with multiple stalls for toilets and showers. The main rooms have several long, workstation style tables at them, with some beds stationed at the fringes, and the smaller rooms function only as bedrooms, mostly for the families with kids and the handful of couples present.

“This interface,” Princess Shuri says as she taps on a small disk embedded into the wall, “will let you contact security and staff if you have questions or need to speak with someone. There’s one in each room, for easy access. It will begin glowing and beeping if someone’s trying to send a call to you; you answer by pressing the base,” she explains, demonstrating on the disk.

“We’re expecting another group of people,” Tony pipes up. “Strange is collecting some of our allies from the South Eastern Quadrant. They should be here in the next sixteen hours, give or take.”

Shuri nods. “We’ll contact you when they arrive.” She offers the group a magnanimous nod and smile, then strides out the hall you all entered through, flanked by the Dora Milaje soldiers.

For a moment, no one moves. You all stand around, hesitating as you all try to take in the new scenery and space.

Alex moves first. She sighs, then grabs her duffel and strides towards the nearest workroom. “No point in waiting.”

Her initiative seems to jolt everyone else out of their daze. Everyone sections off, largely sticking with the groups of their original affiliation.

You amble alongside Piotr, peering around the workroom as you try to decide where to set your pack. Here goes nothing.

***

We’re staring down the apocalypse, you muse as you watch everyone set up shop, and it’s all coming down to sewing machines.

It’d come as a shock when Alexandra had lugged the sleek, white machine out of its carrying case. She’d set it on one of the tables, then lifted bolts of thick, rugged Kevlar out of one of her duffels next. Thread, scissors, measuring tape, and gridded cutting boards follow the Kevlar—

And then the sewing machine jammed as soon as Alex turned it on.

“Ty meshok der'ma,” Alex mutters under her breath as she fiddles with the internal mechanisms of the sewing machine. She glares at the gears, grumbling and swearing while she prods at them with a pair of tweezers. “Kakogo khrena tvoya problema?”

The situation seems mundane in its inanity.

The end of the damn world, and we’re being thwarted by twenty pounds of plastic and metal.

“Day mne poprobovat'.” Nikolai crouches down next to his wife. He adjusts the reading glasses perched on his nose, then aims a small flashlight at the interior of the machine. He murmurs and tuts in Russian while prodding at the machine –and then he makes a soft noise of exclamation. “Broken needle. Pryamo tam.”

“Sukin syn.” Alex uses her telekinesis to draw out the metal shard, then lets out an exasperated sigh and spreads her arms when the machine finally makes the proper start up noises. “Thank you.”

“Be nice,” Nikolai chides her with a teasing grin. “Is uncomfortable, having metal stuck in organs. You would not want to work either.”

“I’ve had metal in my organs,” Alex grumbles as she gets her sewing machine configured. “I still managed.” She smirks when Nikolai laughs, then kisses her husband’s cheek before motioning for you to approach. “Come here, ptitsa. I want to reinforce your suit; I need your measurements.”

You round the table, shucking off your sweatshirt so Alex can measure your torso. “Is there anything I need to do?”

“Just hold still, malenkiy,” Alex murmurs as she runs her tape measure around your waist.

“I make no promises,” you joke.

Alex snorts, then moves her measuring tape up to your ribcage.

***

The waiting is, somehow, worse now.

At least on the plan there was a promise of a destination. A sense of the temporary, that you’d be up and moving and doing again within a few hours.

Unfortunately, reality is so often different from how you envision it, just as it is now. Because the reality of the situation is that there are only a limited number of people capable of helping. Nate and Tony are working with the Princess to configure weapons to fight Thanos’s forces, Hank and the healers are preparing a makeshift medical bay, Frank, Wade, Mikhail, and Neena are cleaning and checking guns, Alex, Piotr and Nikolai are taking turns working on fabricating armor for those who need it—

Leaving you with nothing to do. Aside from keeping those who are working well fed and hydrated and managing the kids, all you can do is sit and watch while everyone else prepares.

It’s agony. Your chest aches from stress, and your stomach’s churning so much you can barely choke food down at mealtimes. I need to help more. I need to do something, dammit.

It’s like being in line for random execution and having no idea whether you’re going to be shot or not.

You stay close to Piotr. You run food and snacks and drinks for anyone who needs it. You help manage the kids when the need arises –but since most of their parents are here, the incidents are far and few between.

You sit. And you wait.

It’s all you can do.

***

“Absolutely not.”

“You need to be reasonable.”

“I am. It’s perfectly reasonable to keep a fourteen-year-old off a fucking battlefield!”

Alex sighs. She leans back in her seat and raises an eyebrow at her eldest daughter. “Normally I would agree, but I don’t think you’ll have much say in the matter. Your ability to control her is notably lacking.”

Artemis huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “You try reining in a teenager who’s realized there’s no consequences to her actions.”

“I’m not judging, merely observing,” Alex assures her daughter. “But, at any rate, it’s not unreasonable to predict that she’ll join the fray at some point. Body armor is a necessity.”

“It’s an invitation! She’ll take it as permission!”

“Artemis?” Allison sticks her head into the room, then strides over to her mentor-slash-surrogate mother. “Is everything okay? Who’s getting permission to do what?”

“No one is,” Artemis grumbles, even as she holds her arm out so the teen can lean against her side. “Especially not you.”

Allison lets out a disgusted sigh and rolls her eyes. “I already told you—”

“You’re not fighting.”

“I can handle myself!” Allison snaps. She jerks away from Tatianna, scowling. “You’re treating me like a baby!”

“Compared to me, you are a baby,” the older woman points out drily.

“It’s not your burden to bear,” Alex interjects, fixing the testy teen with an even –though not harsh—stare. “Teenagers shouldn’t have to fight for the future of the world. That’s for adults to handle.”

“No one gets to decide,” Allison grits out, “what my burdens are. And this isn’t about ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t.’”

The corner of Alex’s mouth twitches. She looks up at Artemis, brows raised.

Artemis sighs. She tips her head back, staring up at the ceiling, then looks down at Allison. “You need body armor to keep you safe. That does not mean, however, that you’ll be joining us in the fight against Thanos.”

Allison sweeps her tongue along the inside of her cheek. She crosses her arms and cocks her head to the side. “Pretty sure you don’t get to decide that.”

“Pretty sure you should listen to me,” Artemis fires back, “since I have more experience and am telling you that it’s too much for you to handle.” She lets out an exasperated breath when Allison rolls her eyes, then waves her hand dismissively as if to say ‘I tried.’ “Get her set up.”

Alex nods, then waves Allison over. “Alright, malenkiy. Let’s get you sorted.”

***

“Are you asleep?”

“Nyet.” Piotr rolls over, drapes an arm over you, and kisses your forehead. “I would ask you the same, but…”

You manage a small chuckle. “Pretty obvious answer, yeah.”

The two of you are in one of the private rooms –if only because (aside from your status as married) it has a bed big enough to accommodate Piotr. There’s a small window that overlooks a cavern beneath the lab. Dim, blue light seeps through the glass pane, but it’s not enough to properly illuminate the room.

Piotr’s fingers skim over your upper arm. “Why are you not sleeping, myshka?”

“Can’t,” you admit, voice wavering. You take a deep breath through your nose and try to calm yourself. “I just… I can’t handle not doing anything. It gives me too much time to think about what might happen.”

Piotr croons gently, drawing you in closer so he can tuck you against his chest. He cradles your head with one massive head. “Dorogoy. You know such things are not good for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” you grumble, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Doesn’t mean that knowledge stops my brain any.”

“Ya znayu,” Piotr murmurs as he kisses your temple. “But everything is going to be alright, myshka.”

“Except it really might not be,” you argue, voice shaking. You grip the material of his shirt, as though he might be wrenched away from you at any moment and whisked away into the wind. “It really might not, Piotr.”

Your husband doesn’t say anything in response to that. He merely holds you closer still and strokes his fingers through your hair.

You press your forehead against his chest and start weeping quietly.

***

The second day is much like the first –a slow, agonizing crawl punctuated by overwhelming anxiety and exhaustion.

You linger at the table where Nate, Tony, and Ellie are modifying guns, handing the three various tools and materials when they ask for it. You watch their progress numbly, brain devoid of anything other than wordless worry.

At least, you watch until Nate texts Piotr to come get you.

“Davay, myshka,” your husband coaxes as he lifts you off your stool. He grunts slightly as he shifts you into a bridal-style hold, then carries you away from the table and out of the room. “Let’s have lunch.”

“But—”

“Is important to stay fed and hydrated.”

“—I was helping.” You peer past Piotr’s arm –then sigh when Nathan gives you a sympathetic, concerned smile and waves you along. “Baby—”

“Just for little bit.” Piotr sets you down when you ask, but he keeps a hand on your shoulder, just in case. “Is not good to sit and stew in anxiety.”

You drop your gaze to the floor. “You can’t prove anything.”

Piotr lifts his hand from your shoulder and cradles your cheek. He strokes his thumb against your skin, waiting until you look up at him before speaking again. “Come have lunch with me, moya lyubov’,” he says with an adoring smile (which you’re certain is a deliberate, tactical move on his part to make sure you don’t try and argue, and dammit if it isn’t working). “I would enjoy your company.”

You scuff the toe of your sneaker against the floor, but ultimately acquiesce. “Alright. I guess I should take a break.”

***

The snooping starts after lunch, while Alex is chewing Frank out for spray-painting his bullet proof vest.

“What, are you looking to ruin perfectly good Kevlar?” Alex gripes as she tosses Frank’s “Punisher” vest aside. “You want to break down the material? Get shot out like some schmuck because you decided to be an artist?”

“It’s strategic,” Frank argues with a good-natured, crooked grin. “Keeps my enemies’ line of sight trained on where I have the most protection.”

Alex nods and makes a sarcastic noise of assent. “‘Strategic.’ Is that what it is? Ya ne mogu v eto poverit'. V moye vremya my nazyvali strategiyu pobedoy, a ne stavili svoyu grebanuyu vizitnuyu kartochku na kazhdoye sovershennoye nami proklyatoye ubiystvo. Get your ass over here, drama boy.” She scoffs and starts measuring Frank’s chest and shoulders. “‘Strategiya,’” she scoffs. “What a load of horse shit.”

“Akh akh,” Nikolai tuts as he walks into the room with a plate of food and glass of water. “What is happening here?”

“I’m pretty sure I upset the apple cart, sir,” Frank says, unabashed.

Nikolai chuckles while Alexandra brings up to speed, ranting in irritated Russian. He sets the plate and glass on the table next to his wife, kisses her head, then ambles back out to the kitchen—

And that’s when you notice it. Or, rather, her.

Natasha Romanoff, aka the Black Widow. Renowned spy, assassin, weapons and espionage expert, and former member of the Avengers if the debacle surrounding the Sokovia Accords is to be believed.

She’s sitting at the kitchen counter on barstool, tapping away at her phone –which isn’t inherently suspicious, but her line of sight lets her look directly into the room you’re all situated in and—

She’s watching Alex.

At first you think she might be watching Frank (which, fair enough, having a mass murderer, somewhat unstable vigilante around is a reasonable cause for caution). But when Frank gets up and walks out (probably to go find Karen), Natasha doesn’t even move. Her gaze –when she’s not looking at her phone—stays fixed on Alexandra while she works at her sewing machine.

For once, you’re grateful Piotr is as large as he is; he makes a great hiding spot to do countersurveillance from.

Natasha approaches slowly, but deliberately. She talks to someone on her phone –whether she’s faking or not doesn’t matter to you, because she still uses it to get off the barstool and amble around while she’s talking. Then, she has a conversation with Captain Rogers, which she uses to get a few feet closer to the doorway.

At some point, you’re not certain if she realizes you’re watching her, only because she gives up the pretense of trying to hide her snooping entirely. She leans against the doorframe, watching Alex intently while she marks, pins, and cuts out fabric.

It’s Illyana who has enough of the whole thing first. Three minutes into Natasha standing in the door way, the blonde sighs, sets her phone down on the work table, and glares up at the red head. “Kakogo khrena ty khochesh?”

Natasha purses her lips slightly. She acknowledges Illyana with a brief glance, then turns her focus back to Alex. “Alexandra.”

“Natalia,” Alex says by way of greeting, not even bothering to look up from her work. “Are you here to help, or are you here to waste my time?”

She grimaces, but recovers and smiles politely. “It’s been a long time.”

“So, you’re here to waste my time,” Alex surmises as she pins a pattern to a piece of heavy black Kevlar.

Natasha swallows reflexively, then turns on her heel and walks away.

***

Half an hour later, it’s Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes’s turn.

The two supersoldiers are far less covert than Agent Romanoff. They stand in the middle of the rec room, a few feet away from the door, and don’t make any attempt to hide their conversation or the fact that they’re watching Alex (and, to some extent, her children and Nikolai as well).

Illyana says something to her mother a few times, but Alex waves her off –and, in general, seems unbothered. “U nas yest' rabota, snezhinka. U nas yest' rabota.”

“Did you know him?” you ask, later, when the Rasputin kids are out of the room. “The Winter Soldier?”

You’ve heard enough through the grapevine to know about the basics of the man’s story –captured by Hydra, experimentation, brainwashing, being coerced into murdering.

(It all sounds chillingly familiar.)

“We crossed paths,” Alex admits with a shrug. She slides a piece of ceramic armor plating inside a Kevlar pouch, then starts sewing the pouch shut. “Overlap was common back in the day.”

“Do you think he remembers you?” you murmur, glancing out at the kitchen (fortunately, Rogers and Barnes are gone for now).

Alex pauses. She purses her lips, then shrugs and resumes working. “I don’t know. He went through a lot with the forced mind wipes. There’s really no way of knowing.”

“Are you going to be in trouble if he does remember you?”

Alex huffs and favors you with a gentle smile. “I’ve gotten out of worse, ptitsa. Don’t worry so much.”

You say that like it’s easy, you think while the knot in your stomach coils tighter.

***

There’s a brief reprieve around dinner. You even manage to relax a little, smiling and chuckling as Piotr and Mikhail bicker and generally irritate each other as much as humanly possible.

Work starts up once more as soon as everyone’s done eating. You nestle yourself against Piotr’s side, relaxed via the virtue of being too tired to be stressed—

And then Tony Stark walks in.

Or perhaps “walk” isn’t the right term. He moves with an air of grandeur and utter self-assurance –which, even with your limited exposure to Tony Stark, you can tell is a “brand standard” for him. He tosses an apple up and down in one hand as he breezes along, expression blasé to the point of looking disinterested as he strides up to the table where Alexandra works.

If it weren’t for Natasha, Captain Rogers, and Sergeant Barnes scoping out the Rasputin matriarch earlier, you would’ve pegged Stark’s visit as entirely coincidental.

“What’s your deal?” Tony asks, leaning against the table next to where Alex is stationed at her sewing machine.

No pretense. No niceties. No attempt at subtlety.

Alex’s lips quirk into an annoyed grimace. She looks up and over the top of her machine for a moment, staring at Nikolai (likely trying to find any scrap of his infinite patience for herself), then lowers her gaze once more and says, “Usually, it’s not answering vague, pointless questions asked by nosey individuals.”

“You’ve got half my team twisted up just by being here,” Tony continues, unruffled. “I’ve seen Romanoff stare down the Hulk on a rampage without flinching. What about you is so special that you make her nervous?”

“Interesting,” Alex comments, almost to herself. “And here I thought, after the Berlin incident, your ‘team’ was largely disbanded. Something about ‘not agreeing with your leadership.’”

Tony’s face twitches, mouth briefly stretching into a pained grimace before he smooths it back out. “You don’t exist.”

“Everyone’s concept of self is different,” Alex mutters as she rips out a crooked seam on an armor pouch.

“There’s no record of your birth. Or your parents, for that matter. Your marriage license has no given maiden name. No history of education, doctor’s visits, driver’s license –nothing until you turned twenty-four.” He takes a bite of his apple, swallows, then says, “People don’t just ‘poof’ into existence as full grown adults. It doesn’t happen.”

“Perhaps,” Alex retorts as she resews the faulty seam, “you are just not very good at finding things.”

“I can find anything.”

“Except, it would seem, a way to keep from trying my patience.”

Tony watches her for a moment longer –then, when she doesn’t say anything, he turns and starts striding out of the room. “I’m going to figure out what’s up with you. There aren’t any secrets that can hide from my A.I.”

Alex doesn’t dignify his departure with a response –but her eyelid twitches as she continues her sewing.

You look up at Piotr, only to find he’s watching Nikolai. You look over at the Rasputin patriarch, and your heart sinks when you see the worried expression on his face.

Nick sighs, then stands and rounds the table. He ambles up behind his wife, drapes his arms around her shoulders, and kisses the top of her head before he starts murmuring to her in quiet, loving Russian.

You lean against Piotr’s side, giving him a reassuring squeeze even though the only thing you feel is disquieted. You force yourself to take a deep breath and relax your jaw as fear starts crawling up your spine once more. One thing at a time. One thing at a time, that’s all you can do.

Except, it seems, when everything decides to happen at once.

***

Meeting the Norse god of thunder is… intense.

Though, that may have to do with the entourage of people he brings with him.

Around three in the morning, Dr. Strange shows up with the remaining allies –Thor, god of thunder, and his brother Loki, god of magic, Bruce Banner aka the Hulk, a woman by the name of Carol, and a group that calls themselves the “Guardians of the Galaxy” (which happens to include a talking raccoon and a sentient tree).

“Just when you thought, like, it couldn’t get weirder,” Kitty mutters to you as she stares at the newest arrivals.

You nod. Granted, your usual metric for all things weird is Wade, who has basically explored every avenue of zany, bizarre, and disturbing—

But yeah, this is pretty fucking weird.

“Where do we stand in preparations for the arrival of Thanos?” Thor asks Tony.

“We’ve got most of the busywork done,” Tony says, outlining the weapons upgrades and the armor work that’s been done. “We waited for major planning until we had everyone here and better intel.”

Thor nods, then gestures to two women standing with the “Guardians of the Galaxy,” one with green skin and dark hair and the other with blue skin and cybernetic enhancements. “This is Gamora and Nebula, daughters of Thanos. They’ll be able to provide information on the strength and size of his forces.”

“Good,” Steve pipes up from where he’s standing with Sam Wilson and Sergeant Barnes. “The sooner we have a plan, the better.”

“It can wait until we’ve slept,” Alex decides, voice crisp. “We won’t come up with anything good while we’re fried.”

Tony blinks, then scowls. “Thanos could be here as soon as this coming morning.”

“Then we’ll be doubly fucked if we’ve stayed up all night trying to scrape together a plan,” Alex replies, unmoved. She crosses her arms when Tony glares at her. “The younger and less experienced of us need rest if this is going to work.”

“I’m with the lady,” Quill pipes up, brushing past Tony. He gives Stark a smile that, if you had to wager, is supposed to be charming but just comes off as arrogant. “I think you’ll find that we… don’t really roll with plans. It’s not our style.”

Alex stares at Quill for a moment, expression vastly unimpressed. She sighs, blinks slowly, shakes her head, then turns on her heel and strides back to the room she’s been sharing with Nick. “Absolutely not. I’m going back to bed.”

As if waiting for a cue, everyone else disperses, muttering about being tired and “needing an IV drip of espresso.”

You shuffle off with Piotr, hand in hand, shivering slightly from nerves. Please just let this go well.

***

“Both the Chitauri and the Klyntaar forces number into the tens of thousands. The Chitauri have sentient airships capable of carrying infantry forces while wreaking their own havoc, in addition to chariots that can carry up to five marksmen at a time. He also has tanks the size of this building that can demolish anything in their path.”

Everyone is gathered in one of the main work rooms. A majority of the people present hang back at the fringes, content to watch while Tony, Captain Rogers, King T’Challa, Alexandra, your uncle, Thor, Quill, and Natasha hash out a strategy.

“He’s trying to overwhelm us with sheer numbers,” Steve says in response to Gamora’s information.

“It might work,” Natasha murmurs, gaze focused on the worktable in front of her. “We don’t have near enough firepower to chip away at that many grunts.”

“Not if we play our cards right,” Alex says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“There’s also our siblings,” Gamora adds with a pained grimace.

Off to the side, Nebula scoffs. “They’re hardly family.”

“Thanos collected beings throughout the galaxy to serve him,” Gamora explains. “To act as his eyes and ears and eliminate his foes. Aside from Nebula and I, he has four other ‘children.’ They’ll be acting as his generals and commanders in the fight –and helping him track down and capture the final infinity stones.”

Tension ripples through the room.

“What do we know about these Infinity Stones?” Alex asks after a moment of fraught silence.

“The stones were originally created by the Celestials,” Loki pipes up from where he’s leaning against a wall. “Their magical properties are tied to aspects of the universe –time, space, reality, and so on. Only beings of immense power can wield them without severe consequences.”

“Thanos has the gauntlet that accompanies the stones,” Thor adds. “With it, once he assembles all six stones, he’ll be able to use them simultaneously.”

“He wants to wipe out half of all life on Earth,” Gamora says, voice wavering slightly. “That’s been his single goal ever since I’ve known him.”

“All men want to be gods,” your uncle jokes half-heartedly.

“Can the stones be broken?” Alex asks.

Loki chuckles, incredulous. “These are magical tools created by the most powerful beings ever known to the galaxy… and you want to break them?”

She shrugs. “Best not to overlook the simplest solution.”

“I’m taking that as a ‘no,’” Steve interjects. “So, if we can’t destroy them, how do we fight them?”

“The only thing powerful enough to combat the effects of the Infinity Stones are the Infinity Stones,” Loki answers.

“And we only have two,” Natasha surmises, expression drawn and grim.

“Three.”

Everyone looks up and turns when Illyana speaks.

She smirks, tilting her chin up when Natasha meets her gaze. “We have three Infinity Stones.”

“Vision has the mind stone, and Dr. Strange has the time stone,” Kronos argues, shaking his head. “The soul stone is still missing.”

Illyana’s smirk broadens. She lifts her hand, curling it as if she was holding something.

A sword materializes in her hand –and in the center of the sword, small but unmistakable, is a glowing orange gem.

Your uncle’s eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

“Three,” Illyana repeats, looking supremely confident and self-satisfied. “Unless there is elusive seventh stone?”

Loki smiles ruefully, shaking his head. “The Goddess of Limbo pulls through. Well done.”

“Okay, but Vision’s stone is in his head and Strange has his stone in a necklace around his neck,” Tony interjects, gesturing to each person in turn.

“Amulet,” Dr. Strange mutters under his breath.

“Your stone disappears if you’re not holding it,” Tony continues, pointing to the sword as Illyana dematerializes it once more. “What’s stopping Thanos from finding it and taking it?”

“I am only person who can use Soul Sword,” Illyana says, arching her eyebrows. “It is bound to me until the next in my line is ready to take my place.”

“My family has been bound to Limbo’s magicks for generations,” Nikolai clarifies when Tony starts sputtering. “Illyana is the keeper of the sword, which means only she can call upon it. Thanos would need our blood to have access to it.”

Tony grimaces. “Still risky.”

“Better than nothing,” your uncle fires back.

“We have a shot of taking down Thanos with the other three Infinity Stones in our camp,” Steve says, planting his hands against the worktable's surface. “Without them, we’re as good as sunk.”

“Well then,” Alex says, smirking. “Let’s make sure we don’t waste our opportunity.”

***

“For the love of god, stop talking.”

“I’m just saying,” Quill starts, spreading his hands in a defensive gesture.

“You’re not saying shit!” Alex snaps, lifting her head from her hands to glare at him. “You’re just wasting our time!”

Once the planning started, a large portion of the crowd dispersed to help wrap up the last of the weapons modification. The leaders from each faction stayed behind –Tony, T’Challa, Steve, Natasha, Thor, Peter Quill, Xavier, your uncle, Alexandra, and Erik—to plan, along with Gamora, Nebula, and Loki so they could offer up information on Thanos, his forces, and the Infinity Stones.

You’d also hung back, since you didn’t have the skills necessary to do the weapons modification. If all I can do is sit around like a nervous lump, may as well do it where I won’t be in the way.

“This plan just isn’t our style,” Quill argues, either immune or completely ignorant to the exasperated sighs and death glares the others are giving him. “We like to take things looser, add a little pizazz.”

“How many times did your parents drop you as a baby?” your uncle asks, staring Quill down. “No, I’m serious,” he adds when Quill glares back at him and opens his mouth to argue. “I’m genuinely at a loss for how you can be this fucking dense.”

“We’re up against overwhelming numbers and powers no one here has ever seen, let alone fought against,” Natasha adds. “We need to allocate our resources carefully if we want even a chance at victory. The three wave strategy is our best chance.”

“Okay,” Quill says, pressing his hands together. “I think we just all need to relax—”

“You’ll be pretty fucking relaxed when I gut you,” Alex grumbles as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Look, the way I see it, Thanos can’t take us all at once!” Quill reasons. “If we hit him with everything we have—”

“We have to survive his armies, too,” Tony adds, words clipped. “Or there won’t be any of us for Thanos to be hit by.”

“No.” Alex glares at Quill when he keeps trying to argue, startling him into silence. “Look at them.” She points at Gamora and Nebula. “These are your friends, da? Your teammates and companions, da? This is their abuser we’re facing. If we lose, what do you think happens to them? Do you think someone that wants to destroy half of all life will have mercy for them? Hm? If you care about them, you pick the plan that has the best shot of ensuring their safety. Got it?”

Quill swallows reflexively. He stares down at the holographic display of the future battlefield, jaw working. He exhales through his nose, slow and stuttered, then nods. “Alright. We… we do the three wave strategy.”

“So glad we can agree,” Alex says, turning her attention back to the battlefield schematic. “Now, we were discussing where to put our snipers…”

***

“—I need both their arms. Trust me, it’s the only way this is gonna work.”

“Look, I’m normally all for a little dismemberment, but I don’t think forming our own amputee league is gonna net us a win here.”

You shake your head as Wade banters back and forth with the talking racoon –whose name is Rocket, apparently—then look over at Nathan. “How long have they been at this?”

“Going on three hours now,” Nate replies. A soft, endeared smile flits across his face when he looks at Wade, but his expression sobers when he resumes his soldering job. “How’s the final plan looking?”

“Everyone but Quill was leaning towards a three-wave tactic.”

Nathan grunts. “Yeah, he seems like a jackass.”

“Alex threatened to gut him.”

“Hey!” Wade shouts, sounding genuinely wounded. “No disemboweling without me!”

“Quill wanted to do an ‘all for one’ attack directly on Thanos.” You sit down next to your dad, studying his face while he works. “You’ve actually fought against these people before. Do… do you think dividing our forces up will actually work?”

“The issue is the land and air forces,” Nathan says, shaking his head. He attaches a power unit to the base of a rifle, then starts welding the compartment shut. “This time doesn’t have the necessary shielding to repel the Chitauri and Klyntaar forces for that long. We’ll have to fight the grunts; holding some of our people back to make sure we have someone to take on Thanos is our best bet.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean we’ll win, though,” you point out.

He offers you a melancholy half-smile. “That’s war, kid.”

Your heart sinks further. “Do we even have a chance?”

“Statistics says we do,” Nathan says he strips a piece of wire before threading it into the gun.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Nathan sighs. He looks at you for a long moment, then says, “I think we have the best shot possible with what we have right here, right now.”

You gulp, then nod. It’s still not technically an answer to your question –let alone a positive one—but…

You’ve learned that, sometimes, it better not to dig at these sorts of questions at all.

***

“We’re dividing our forces into thirds.”

You’re all crammed into the rec room post dinner. In the center of the room, by the counter, Tony, Steve, Natasha, and Alex are addressing the crowd in turns.

“The first wave will consist of high stamina fighters and snipers,” Steve says. “There’s a shield system that extends several hundred kilometers around the lab’s perimeter. Wakandan soldiers will join the line of snipers who will pick off any of Thanos’s forces that make it through the shields.”

“We’ll also have any fighters with enhanced stamina on standby, in case there’s a larger breach,” Alex adds. “Their job will be to protect the sniper line from being overrun by the enemy forces.”

“The second wave will be air support,” Tony continues. “Myself, Rhodey, Wilson, and any flying mutants will head out when the Chitauri airships come in. Princess Shuri has a fleet of attack drones at the ready, which can be manned from headquarters in the lab. HQ will have a complete look at the battlefield; all intel will be coming from them during the fight.”

“Third wave is everyone else, save for Illyana, Dr. Strange, and Vision,” Natasha says. “We’ll join the fray when the second wave of Thanos’s forces arrive. The final three” –she nods to Illyana, Dr. Strange, and Vision in turn—“will wait in central headquarters until Thanos arrives, to prevent early capture of the remaining Infinity Stones.”

“In the meantime,” Tony says, “we’re going overtime on modifying rifles to be sonic weapons. They’re more effective against the Klyntar forces than regular firearms. All hands on deck. If you can’t solder, you can run supplies back and forth and help perform diagnostic tests at the firing range. Clear?”

Everyone nods, then breaks off to start working on constructing and testing more “awesome guns.”

You slid your fingers between Piotr’s. Your heart’s in your throat, racing a mile a minute. Your mouth feels dry.

If you were the religious type, you’d start praying. As it is, you make a plea with the universe on the off chance it decides to listen to you –for once.

Please. Please just let this work.

***

“So… about the three-wave plan—”

Tony slams down the compartment piece he’d been working on against the table. He glares at Quill, face strained with barely constrained rage and impatience. “What the fuck is your deal?”

“It’s just not sitting well with me,” Quill continues, leaning against the table. “I’m more of a ‘solo moment’ style person. More of a lone wolf.”

You gape at him. “You… you work with a team of five!”

“I just think that there needs to be a more focused confrontation with Thanos. Y’know, for someone to challenge him, man to man—”

“Some get this idiot out of my face,” Tony snaps, looking around for anyone that might be willing to assist –or, at the very least, drag Quill out of the room by his jacket collar.

“You’re not listening to me!”

“You’re wasting my time!”

“Why does every problem come back to you?” Alex stalks into the work room, eyes glowing a dull shade of copper as irritation takes hold in her. She strides over to Quill, looking like a menace in black leather and Kevlar. “How much more of a nuisance can you possibly make yourself?”

“I’m just pointing out some flaws in the strategy!” Quill argues, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m being the devil’s advocate!”

“You’re pointing out dick,” Agent Barton, alias Hawkeye, points out from the side (where he’s modifying some of his arrows to release sonic pulses).

“Look,” Quill presses on, ignoring Clint’s comment. “We need to make sure this thing is airtight—”

“We don’t have time for ‘airtight,’” Nathan growls, cybernetic eye flaring. “The goal is to survive, not to create perfection.”

“I really just think—”

Alex scowls –and then her hand snaps out and closes around Quill’s neck. She slams him against the edge of the table, sneering down at him while he coughs and claws –futilely—against her iron grip. “You’re past the point of being a nuisance. You’re a fucking liability.”

Quill wheezes, face slowly turning red.

“If I was paid every time a man like you told me how to do my job…” Her voice trails off, and she lets out a sardonic chuckle. “Let me make something clear to you, Peter Quill.” Her hand tightens around his neck, which makes some ominous creaking noises as she presses against layers of tissue, cartilage, and bone. “I am not about to have an asshole like you risk the lives of my children, the people who are putting their own lives on the line to protect the world, or the future of the damn universe. If you’re going to keep being a jackass about this…” She smirks. “I’ll kill you. I’ll do it right here, right now. I am not going to have a hazard like you on my team or on that battlefield.” She grins nastily, leaning in closer as Quill’s eyes bug out. “Best thing is, no one really knows you’re here. No tracks to cover, no family to pay off, no authorities to worry about. You’d be an unfortunate casualty in war. No one would fucking miss you.”

A chill runs down your spine. You gulp, stomach twisting as you look from Alex, to Quill, to Alex again. Is anyone going to stop her...

“I really don’t know how to make this any fucking clearer, but since you’ve proven to be thick-headed, I’ll summarize: you stray from the plan in any way, and you’re dead. Got it?”

Quill nods hastily. He gasps when Alex releases him, collapsing to the floor. He hacks and coughs, one hand rubbing at his throat while his skin slowly fades away from an angry magenta color.

“So glad we understand one another.” Alex smirks, then turns on her heel and strides out of the work room like nothing even happened.

You purse your lips, trembling while everyone goes back to work like nothing even happened. You try to focus on sorting pieces into containers for the fabricators to grab from, but with your shaking hands it’s near impossible. You duck your head, gritting your teeth together as your stomach churns angrily. I just want this all to be over.

***

The call comes in a couple hours later.

“We’ve got temporal disturbances outside the shield perimeter,” Kronos shouts while alarms blare overhead. “Thanos’s forces have arrived and are attempting to break through to our location.”

Your stomach drops as everyone starts scrambling. You grab your flight jacket and goggles, throwing them on haphazardly. You start running towards the hangar –then stop and switch directions. “Piotr!”

He pauses when he hears your voice, turning and catching you as you leap into his arms. He kisses you briefly –desperately—then pulls back and cups your face in his hands. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You give him a quick hug, then pull away and start sprinting towards the hanger where the rest of the air support is gathering. Tears sting your eyes, but you wipe them away and force down your fear and preemptive grief. Focus. You have to focus.

It’s time.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #nathan summers x wade wilson #alexandra rasputin x nikolai rasputin #kitty pryde x illyana rasputin #aka my 'fuck you' to the russo bros #get ready for some big canon divergence #i am literally just doing whatever the fuck i want #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

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yoonieboonie · 3 years ago

Text

The Substitute Lover (2)

word count: 1.7k

genre: fluff, angst hehe

pairing: myg x reader

summary: Finally meeting the college boy you've been eyeing on for months, everything goes wrong when you realise what you're really getting yourself into.

a/n: this is part 2!!! i cant figure out how to link the first part properly but if you know how pls slide into my dms and teach me hehe you can find part 1 at my tumblr profile. thank you for the love on the first chapter!!! 🥺 i'll do my best!!! NEXT | PREVIOUS

As soon as you're out of the view, Hoseok immediately swung an arm around Yoongi's shoulder. He was delighted for his friend, afterall, it has been a while since he was in a relationship.

Yoongi took what happened to heart. Namjoon noticed, it didn't take a genius to. He warningly eyed Hoseok who pretended not to see him. The mint haired boy shrugged off the hand and faced them.

"It's your fault, Hoba." He sighed, using the nickname they had for their energetic friend. "She's a senior and isn't around the campus much but news here spread like wildfire. I don't want her to think—" he continued but Hoseok cut him off.

"Think what? Listen, Yoongi. It's over between you two, it has been for a long time. I think it's time you quit moping and start giving yourself a chance to be happy again." This made Yoongi snap his head towards him. Hoseok may be chatty but he always knew not to cross that line. Both him and Namjoon did. What happened was considered taboo and was never spoken about, no matter how long ago it was.

"What did that Y/N feed you? Aren't I your friend here?" He challenged. Hoseok was about to answer when Namjoon intervened. He patted both of the men on the shoulder to kill the tension arising.

"Let's head to rehearsals, please. I don't want to be the receiving end of Mrs. Lee's anger today."

The auditorium was crowded, all students that are part of the recital are scattered around. Since the trio are all helping the backstage crew, they immediately went to their place and settled in.

"Where have you guys been?" Mijin whispered. They all shrugged in return, she wouldn't rat them out. Knowing well that she would do anything to cover up for Yoongi. Though she acts nonchalant about it, she has been crushing on him since their freshmen years.

"Just do your job and don't fuck this up. Please." She pleaded. All the trio did was nod.

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

You are now banging your head on the library table, earning looks from the other students who are procrastinating due to the upcoming finals. If the stake wasn't this high, you wouldn't be this stressed about it. You mentally scold yourself for acting so bold that day. For all you know, Yoongi might be a secret genius and that leaves you making a damn fool out of yourself not only in front of Hoseok and Namjoon but the entire campus aswell.

News of your mess spread quickly, the girl who wore thick-glasses and ugly sweaters asking the ace of the Music department out. You try and avoid their stares and focused on your notes. Praying to the heavens that you at least score decent enough if not scoring higher than Yoongi.

At this point, you don't even bother for the date. You just want to do your best. That is until it was time for your Humanities class again. Your hands are clammy as the test paper are handed out. You prepared for the test but somehow, your heart is pounding out of your chest.

You easily navigate through the questions but one left you confused. You try to recall the answer for a good five minutes but eventually gave up. If you don't know it now, you'll probably not know it later. That is until all papers have been passed and it was time to exit the classroom that a lightbulb went off in your head.

"Plato." you whine. The answer was Plato. You rub your fingers to your temple and let out a frustrated groan.

"Y/N!" a voice you recognise to be Hoseok called out. Honestly, you don't want to face them today. You are embarrassed still, and you're sure if looks could kill, you'd be dead at how Yoongi is shooting glares in your direction.

You adjust your backpack and offered a wave.

"Do you already know where you want to go for the date?" Namjoon teased. Hoseok laughed beside him, shoving his hands in his jean pockets.

"Oh," You sigh. "I don't think I'd be able to go on that date."

That made Yoongi look up at you. He should be relieved, he thought. But he was more intrigued as to why you decided against the bet.

"I forgot the answer to Test II, number 5. I left it blank instead, however when I remembered the answer, the papers were already collected." Not that Yoongi cared, but you seemed sad to not be able to go on that date.

"Think positive, Y/N. The deal was to score higher not to have a perfect score." Hoseok encouraged.

"It's okay, what matters was that I tried. I know Yoongi will ace the test. Specially when the stake was a date with me." you shrugged nonchalantly.

You moved towards him and held out a hand. He eyed it skeptically before lifting his arm to shake it.

"Wait! The results are not out yet!" Namjoon whined. If he was initially opposed to this, he no longer was. He was just as invested as Hoseok was. Pushing you to win against Yoongi.

You laughed and took a step back. "Alright then. If I do win, I want to go to Lotte World."

"You haven't been there?" Hoseok asked. You shook your head.

"I came from Daegu. This is my first time in Seoul and I haven't been able to roam around due to our classes. Besides, I don't see the point entirely but if I would go on a date, I would like it to be there."

Yoongi pretended to not pay attention. It made sense that you were not from the metro. The way you dress and your things are certainly not what a typical college student would wear to the campus. To add to that, he now does notice an accent from the way you speak.

"Namjoon!" a voice called over. It was Mijin, if you recall correctly, she was also part of the rehearsals the trio attended. Hoseok introduced the both of you the first time you had lunch with them. Taking that as a cue to leave, you gathered your things and went home.

The week flew by and before you know it, it was time for the exam results. You were dreading to attend class but not wanting to look like a sore loser, you got ready for the day.

Yoongi subconsciously kept track of the days too. Instead of practicing and attending rehearsals, he found himself too caught up with waiting for the results. He tried to convince himself that he just wants to ensure that you two never go on that date but he isn't really sure.

His heart was pounding out of his chest as he lay down his bed. He was one of the few lucky ones who doesn't have a roommate. Hoseok and Namjoon were, on the otherhand. Deciding to take the day off, he doesn't really give a fuck if he wins or loses the bet. With that, he turned and covered his head with a pillow, trying to fall back asleep.

"Pay up." Yoongi groaned as he hears Hoseok's voice inside his dorm. Namjoon chuckled and called out to Yoongi.

"Hey, I put my bet on you! Hoba told me you'd be too chicken to attend class today and I didn't believe him but seeing it for myself," he trailed off. Yoongi blindy threw his pillow at the two boys maniacally laughing to his side.

"Get up and get dressed. We're going to be late." Namjoon ordered.

Yoongi decided to not bother arguing with them. He knows he won't be able to get out of this so might as well get it done and over with.

Walking to class was annoying for Yoongi. With Hoseok waving the money Namjoon paid him with in Yoongi's face and dreading the results of the exam. He was fucking frustrated.

You came into view, trying to insert yourself into the crowd of people. Trying to get a view of the results. You failed, being lanky and small. You huff, to which Yoongi watched in amusement. You were something, he thought.

"Y/N!" Hoseok beamed and Namjoon followed. Yoongi trailed behind.

"Oh, I haven't seen the results. I'm waiting for the crowd to die down." You explained. Hoseok, excited to know the results, held onto you and helped you squeeze into the bodies of students trying to get a glimpse of their grade.

Yoongi's eyes trailed from Hoseok's hand that was holding onto both of your arms from behind. He knew that his friend was just eager to know the results in order to rub it in his face but the contact of skin made him feel as if it's something he shouldn't be seeing. It felt as if his eyes were interrupting something.

You seemed uncomfortable, he noted. Hoseok was one to be physically comfortable around people. With occasional brushes of hands or an arm around shoulders, you can always expect it from him. Yoongi knew this but he was still somehow bothered by it.

"Yoongi." He was snapped out of his daze when you called for him. He saw your tiny figure offer him a hand.

"Congratulations, Yoongi. It was a great bet." You spoke calmly. He wondered what the results were. To confirm, he didn't shake your hands but instead took a look at it for himself.

FINALS RESULT SY 20XX-20XX

1. Kim Namjoon -100/100

2. Min Yoongi and L/N F/N - 99/100

3. --------------

4. --------------

5. --------------

6. --------------

7. Jung Hoseok -89/100

8. --------------

9. --------------

10. --------------

His eyes widened. He realised you congratulated him because technically, you didn't score higher than him. You didn't win.

Hoseok and Namjoon was chatting with you, patting your back as you smiled at them in return. Assuring them that it's okay and you'll go to Lotte World another time.

"Don't worry, Y/N. Hoba and I would bring you to Lotte World soon!" Namjoon beamed.

You laughed in glee and thanked both of them.

You were about to walk away when Yoongi did something he didn't expect.

"Meet me at the campus gate, 9:00am tomorrow. Don't be late."

With that, Yoongi turned and left. Leaving you with your mouth hanging open, Hoseok and Namjoon smiling at you as they try to catch up with their friend. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NEXT | PREVIOUS

#bts #suga #yoongi #bts suga #myg x reader #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts x you

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dirtykpopsnaps · 4 years ago

Text

Parent-Teacher Conference — Johnny Suh

Warnings: None...other than cuteness and Johnny’s kid

Contains: Y/N the preschool teacher and single dad!Johnny

Requested: no

Words: 1, 763

———————————————————————

I hum lightly, unlocking the door to my apartment and walking inside. I set my bag down by the door and immediately head into the kitchen to begin heating up some leftovers from the other night. As much as I would like to cook something tonight, I know I can’t. I’m only able to be home for an hour or two before I need to be back at the daycare that I work for. Tonight we’re holding parent-teacher conferences, so I’ll be busy for a several hours.

Quickly, I pull some leftover pizza out of the fridge and put it on a plate before heating it up. For the hour and a half that I’m home, I slowly eat my food and just scroll through different apps on my phone. About half an hour before I need to be at the daycare, I grab my laptop and put it into my bag. You see, I tend to keep small notes on each child that is in my class. Little things that the parents might want to know. Calmly, I sling my bag over my shoulder and head out the door again, locking it behind me.

Heading out to my car, I climb inside and set my bag in the passenger seat. I turn the radio to the classic rock channel and start making my way back to Little Ducklings Daycare. The ride is pretty uneventful and I’m able to get to the daycare fairly easily. When I walk inside, a few of the teachers wave at me before going back to their activities. I walk up to my room, the 3’s room, and unlock the door before heading inside. Once the door is open, I take out my laptop and set it on the table. I place my bag in the little cubby for my things and sit down at the table to wait patiently.

Before long, the door opens and, one by one, parents and their children come streaming into the room. The parent-teacher conferences are set for about 30-45 minutes, so I’m able to have a one-on-one with the parents. Some parents bring their child along, but other’s don’t bring their child so that they can fully focus on the conference. For the most part, everything seems to be going fairly well. Most of the students are very well-behaved, so I don’t have many problems to relate to the parents. Although, there are smaller incidences that are typical for 3-year-olds.

Around 6:30, the second-to-last set of parents leave the room. I sigh softly, resting my head against my hand. Thankfully, I only have one more conference to get through. As much as I love teaching, it can be very tiresome to have conferences like this. They’re definitely not my favorite part of the job. Across the room, I hear the door open for the last time tonight. “Alright, little man, let’s go,” someone chuckles kindly. I sit up calmly, training my eyes on the door and the family coming inside. Seconds later, a little boy named Henry hurries inside, followed by a tall man.

Excitedly, Henry hurries inside the room and smiles adorably at me. “Hi, Ms. Y/N!” He says, waving animatedly at me.

“Well, hello, Henry!” I giggle, stepping out from behind the table to greet him. When I look up, I meet the eyes of the man that entered with him. I feel a little surprised that the person I see is not usually the person picking up Henry. However, I brush it off and stand up, shaking the person’s hand. “Good evening, sir. Are you Henry’s father?” I ask as kindly as possible. The man nods his head once, shooting me the exact same smile at his son.

“Please, call me Johnny,” he says.

When I let go of Johnny’s hand, we all sit down in our seats. Henry situates himself on the little chair that I have for children and smiles up at me. I giggle lightly before training my eyes back on his father. Looking into his eyes, I begin talking about how Henry has been acting at daycare. Henry is one of our newer students that joined only a few months ago, so I say as much as I can about him. He seems to be a very sweet and energetic child who is keen on learning. He’s almost always the first to ask questions and he plays with a lot of the children in the room. “Henry is also one of the students who loves having music on. He will ask us to play music and then sing and dance, which usually gets the other children to join in,” I relate, smiling happily.

About halfway through the conference, I ask Henry if he’d like to play with some toys in the room. Excitedly, he jumps out of his seat and runs over to the blocks. For a few seconds, both Johnny and I watch him before turning back to the conference. “There is one thing I would like to ask, though. You said you’re Henry’s father, correct?” I ask. Johnny nods his head lightly. “Then, who is the man who usually picks him up?” To be honest, I had assumed that man was his father. However, looking between Johnny and Henry, there’s no denying that they are father and son. Henry is almost a carbon copy of his father. Johnny chuckles lightly, a half smile playing at his lips.

“The person who usually picks him up is a driver for the company that I work for. To put it simply, my schedule doesn’t really allow for me to drop him off or pick him up. I’m usually already working by the time he shows up, and I’m still working when he leaves. Although, I try to spend as much time with him as I can after work,” Johnny explains softly. I nod my head lightly, adding this to my mental notes.

“Can I ask your job? If you’d rather not tell me, that’s alright. Just...curious,” I smile softly. Johnny chuckles again.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m an idol,” he states calmly.

As soon as this statement leaves his lips, everything seems to make sense. Especially Henry’s love for music and dance. “An idol. That...does explain a lot,” I chuckle. Johnny shrugs his shoulders, smiling softly.

“Yeah, it’s...interesting. Henry loves sitting in on our practices, and the members of my group just adore him. That’s usually where he is before and after daycare, at practice with me.” Johnny flashes another sweet smile and I’m again reminded of how much his son looks like him.

“Just one more question,” I say calmly, “Does, Henry have a mother?” At this, Johnny’s smile drops and he sighs, shaking his head.

“Afraid not. His mother and I only had a short fling going on because, again, my schedule doesn’t always allow for full relationships. When we found out she was pregnant, she immediately said that she didn’t want the child. However, she was so against abortions that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. We came to an agreement that she would give birth to him, but I would take full custody. If she ever wanted to meet him or get to know him, all she had to do was ask me. She, um...she hasn’t talked to me since,” Johnny explains, rubbing at the back of his neck.

When Johnny finishes explaining, I look back at Henry again. He’s still playing happily with the blocks, building something very tall and stacking the blocks on top of each other. I turn back to Johnny, frowning slightly. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Johnny,” I say sympathetically. He sighs, shrugging his shoulders lightly.

“I do what I can. It’s not ideal, but she decided that she didn’t want to be in his life, so I can’t do anything about that. He asks about her sometimes and I don’t lie to him, but...I haven’t exactly told him *why* she isn’t around,” he explains. I nod my head lightly, smiling softly at him.

“Your secret is safe with me,” I say. Johnny flashes another bright smile, laughing lightly.

“Thank you very much.”

After this, I open the discussion to any questions that Johnny may have. Johnny shakes his head lightly, starting to stand up. “None that I can think of,” he hums. When Henry sees us standing up, he hurries back over, but Johnny stops him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at Henry. Henry stands there for a few seconds, before looking back at the collection blocks and flashing a sweet smile.

“Sowwy, daddy,” Henry giggles, running back over and starting to put the blocks away.

While Henry works, Johnny shoots me a glance. “Although...there is one question that I have,” he says, smiling to himself. I turn to him, smiling softly.

“Mhm?” I hum happily. Johnny looks me up and down, then looks into my eyes again.

“I know it’s just the first time I’ve met you, but Henry talks about you a lot. And, I know it’s very personal, but...are you single?” He asks. Immediately, I feel my face warm up and I giggle, tucking some hair behind my ear.

“Umm...yes. I am single,” I giggle, looking up at him again. Johnny smiles softly, nodding his head.

“Would you...like to meet up some time? Just to talk more about Henry, of course,” he jokes. I giggle again and nod my head lightly.

“I would like that, Johnny. Though...we could definitely talk about more than just Henry,” I remind him. He laughs lightly, another bright smile lighting up his face.

“Would...Friday be alright? I think I can get off work a little earlier and I could ask one of my members to watch Henry for a few hours,” Johnny suggests.

“It’s a date,” I giggle, nodding my head once.

When Henry’s done with putting away the blocks, he runs back over to us. Johnny kneels down and Henry jumps into his arms, giggling loudly. Johnny laughs with him and stands up to his full height again. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Ms. Y/N. Say ‘bye’, Hen,” Johnny chuckles. Henry smiles brightly and waves at me.

“Bye!” He says loudly. I giggle and wave goodbye at him. Just before Johnny leaves the room, he flashes me another bright smile.

“See you Friday,” he mouths before dropping a wink and leaving the room. Once they’re out of sight, I start giggling loudly and hide my face in my hands. Wow...that was not how I thought parent-teacher conferences would go.

#dirty kpop snaps #kpop fanfic #johnny suh #johnny seo #johnny x reader #johnny x y/n #nct johnny #nct #nct 127 #single dad Johnny

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tiggymalvern · 4 years ago

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Hi. Ok do you know why Will imagines himself killing Molly (and even Alana in one scene) while taking the Red Dragon case? This never happened before with other cases, like in other seasons he slipped into killers mindsets but he never looked at people and imagined killing them. Seems like a plot point to make Will give up on his family, I wish his return to Hannibal was more organic and not just because other people were poisoned to him :/

I’m sorry it took me a while to get to answering this, Anon, I had a very busy week.

Season three wasn’t actually the first time we see Will imagining himself killing someone he cares about. Back in just episode three, he dreams of slitting Abigail’s throat, when earlier he’s been to visit her in the hospital trying to reassure her. Then he visits her house with her because she wants to go and needs to have people with her. Alana and Hannibal seem like entirely adequate emotional chaperones for that visit. There’s no need for Will to be there too, but he still goes, because he wants to help Abigail.

At that point, Will is showing the first signs of his encephalitis, waking covered in sweat, and we could perhaps attribute his imagining killing Abigail to a simple nightmare, if it wasn’t a thing that recurs again later, as you say, long after his encephalitis is cured.

So I think the question more realisitcally becomes, ‘Why does Will Graham sometimes imagine himself killing people he cares about?’ There’s never going to be a definitive answer for that, all we can do is speculate, so here I go, speculating away! I’m going to leave Hannibal out of my speculations, because Will does imagine himself killing Hannibal during the honey trap phase of season two, when we know he’s already falling in love with him, but at the same time he still hates Hannibal for framing him and having him dumped in a mental institution. The internal conflict there thoroughly muddies the waters, so I’m going to stick with Will’s visions of killing people like Abigail and Molly, people he only wants to protect.

I would say from the start that stress seems to be a triggering factor for it. Will imagines killing Abigail not long after the first time he kills someone, in the form of her father. We know from what Jack says that Will has been actively trying to avoid killing people, that he left the police because he didn’t want to use his gun. He’s long suspected that killing a person would unleash something within him, and now he’s done it. When Abigail says that she’s worried about nightmares, Will replies, ‘I’m worried about nightmares too.’ The thing that Will had been trying to avoid for at least a decade has finally happened, and he’s scared of where it will lead him. And sure enough, he’s dreaming of murder.

In the Red Dragon arc, the thing that Will has been trying to avoid for three years is Hannibal. He’s put that life behind him - he moved away, stayed out of law enforcement, married a lovely woman, and worked so hard at being ‘normal’. And then the thing he’s been avoiding happens - Hannibal is back in his world. Will tells Molly he’ll be different if he goes; once again he’s scared of where he’s headed. So there’s an obvious parallel there - Will imagines killing Abigail, and later Molly, when he’s having to face up to a reality that he’s been trying to ignore.

On the most basic level, Will imagines killing people because he wants to kill people. He’s known that about himself for a long time, which is why he was so determined never to do it. After he kills Hobbs, it’s not just a theory any more, he knows he likes it, and then the temptation to do it again becomes so much worse.

But in the real world, Will only wants to kill bad people. He wants to kill the murderers, the people who threaten and harm the innocent. He wants to be a protector and an avenger. He would never harm Molly, or Abigail. And I think the fact that he imagines himself doing that is a sign of his internal conflict.

Will Graham is scared of what he wants. He doesn’t want to enjoy killing people, even bad people. He was lecturing in a classroom to avoid any risk of violent situations, because he’s worried about the slippery slope. If he kills one person, he’ll want to kill more (he isn’t wrong about that). And I think that decent, moral part of Will is terrified of how far he might eventually go. If he starts off killing bad people, might he eventually end up killing less bad people? What if his urge to kill keeps increasing and he becomes one of the bad people who hurts innocents? I think it’s all part of his struggle with accepting the reality of who he is.

So any time Will Graham knows himself to be starting down the path of the killer - after he shoots Hobbs, when he goes back to investigating murders and discussing them with Hannibal - his mind shows him the worst case scenario, the thing he fears most in the world. The potential monster inside himself. And in Molly’s case, there’s the added guilt that Will knows he’s placing her in danger, because of Hannibal, a guilt that manifests in her imagined death at Will’s hands.

And so I come to the last part of your ask: I wish his return to Hannibal was more organic and not just because other people were poisoned to him

This takes us back to what is really the over-arching theme of Hannibal. It's clear that Will would never have chosen Hannibal as the love of his life. Will doesn't want to love Hannibal, any more than he wants to love killing people. But the facts don't change because they're inconvenient for Will's moral compass.

The world has effectively been poisoned for Will his whole life. He speaks to Hannibal of his isolated childhood, the boy who never fit in. He lives his adult life alone, surrounded by dogs, with acquaintances, not friends, because everyone around him considers him somewhat odd. His potential 'normal' romantic partner, Alana, has been avoiding being alone with him. With time, he learns to 'pass' as normal better, to the point where he can marry Molly and appear to be a typical family man. But that's what it is - an appearance. Will isn't fulfilled in that life. He wants to be, but he's not.

Hannibal is right for Will because neither of them fit in the 'normal' world, and the way they don't fit is the same. Hannibal isn't a show about Will accepting that he loves Hannibal - it's a show about Will accepting that he is who he is. And when he accepts the things he doesn't like about himself, only then can he accept that he loves someone who shares those traits.

Hannibal isn't the consolation prize for Will, because nobody else will have him any more. Hannibal has always been the only person who can understand him, and Will has known that for years. He just has to stop hating them both for it before he can decide to live with it.

(And it was all written by a gay man, and it's an obvious metaphor for growing up ostracised for being gay, and hating yourself for being gay, and having to accept and embrace gayness before you can accept loving another man, but that can go off on a very long tangent!)

#Anonymous #hannibal #meta #will graham #hannigram

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zeldasayer · 4 years ago

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I transcribed and translated Pedro’s interview from GQ Germany for all of us. I tried translating as good as possible but bear with me, English is not my mother tongue. By @sixties-loser

Pedro Pascal, the star from “Game of Thrones”, “Wonder Woman” and “The Mandalorian” talks about becoming an adult, film, fashion, corona – and a painful surgery in the exclusive GQ interview.

It seems almost eerie how empty the streets of LA are in the sunshine. Meanwhile a new normality seems to be coming to Europe, most people in L.A. are still cutting their own hair. Many have not seen their friends for half a year. The pandemic is out of control. The reaction towards it too. Inviting someone into their garden for a “distance drink” can cause the same distress as suggesting to switch spouses.

Therefore, it was particularly surprising that Pedro Pascal immediately accepted. He accepted the drink, not to switch spouses. He is one of the rising stars and newcomers this year – if it wasn’t for corona sending the whole film industry into a forced vacation, there would most likely not have been time for said drink. After having his skull crushed in “Game of Thrones” followed the lead role as a DEA agent hunting Pablo Escobar in “Narcos” in 2015 and now he is stepping towards big Hollywood films. From the 1st of October onwards the Chilean-born actor will be starring in the blockbuster “Wonder Woman 1984”. Moreover, the second season of the “Star Wars”-series “The Mandalorian” on Disney+ starring him as the lead is going to air in October this year – but he will be underneath a helmet. Well, we all are under a helmet in 2020 in one way or another. We want to meet the man who a few years ago still worked as a waiter in New York, whose parents were political refugees who found asylum in Denmark and settled in Texas and whose son one day signed up for a theatre group in High School.

Then, the cancellation! While we were in the middle of fixing up the house and the garden for the drink with Pedro and organizing the fashion shoot, which was not easy considering the safety measures in L.A., his management called with an unfortunate message: Pedro – no, not sick with corona – had to get emergency surgery because of a damaged tooth and was lying in bed with a swollen face that was hindering him from speaking and taking pictures. The sun is shining onto empty streets. And our empty garden.

A few days later he nonetheless arrived at our front door without a swollen face but still with threads in his mouth. He was not chauffeured by a limo-service but he came with his own car – he even picked up his make-up artist. He is helping her carrying all of her utensils into the house and declares: “I’ve got time today!”. What a celebrity! It seemed like we did not want to ask him how he made it to the A-List of Hollywood but he wanted to ask us how we made it to the A-list. Pedro Pascal! Yes, what kind of a celebrity?

Pedro Pascal: Sorry for messing with your plans. The surgery was an emergency.

GQ: Really? We were wondering whether the swelling wasn’t the product of a secret visit to the plastic-surgeon. Apparently, they are drowning in work because of the quarantine in Hollywood.

PP: I have to disappoint you. A few days before our appointment I was rushing to the hospital with a fractured tooth and the worst pain in my entire life – a hospital in which treats people with severe cases of corona. I was unable to reach any dentist! Right in front of the parking lot a specialist called me back. The pain was hell despite the ten injections I got. The doctor said I was not an exception because a lot of people are grinding their teeth because of all the stress.

GQ: What are you most afraid of at the moment?

PP: How the government is handling the pandemic is worrying me more than the virus itself. This shortage of intelligent management of the crisis is a moral shame. The leadership crisis in this country is turning us all into orphans – destitute and abandoned.

GQ: How did you spend your time over the last few months?

PP: I spent it with frozen pizza and sweatpants in Venice Beach. I live in a rear house that’s in a family’s garden. Actually, there are a lot of good takeout places nearby but for some reason I just love pepperoni pizza from the supermarket.

GQ: That does not really sound like movie star-lifestyle. What does it feel like being suddenly stopped from top speed to zero?

PP: Regarding what is going on around the world one should hold back one’s own mental turmoil. I would be lying if I was saying that I am not disappointed. The whole team put a lot of heart and work into the production of “Wonder Woman 1984”. We had a lot of fun on set. I wished to travel around the world and introduce the film with the same lively energy.

GQ: You come from a politically engaged, socialist family that fled from the Pinochet-regime in Chile. What do you remember from that time?

PP: My sister and I were born in Chile but I was only nine months old when we first found asylum in Denmark. From there we quickly came to San Antonio in Texas where my dad started working as a doctor at the university clinic.

GQ: Texas is not known as a socialist utopia. How did you assimilate?

PP: San Antonio is not a Cowboy-town but very diverse with big Asian, black and Latino communities. I remember it as a romantic place, culturally open. The culture shock only came as we later moved to range county in California. There the atmosphere was suddenly white, preppy and conservative.

GQ: How were you received in California?

PP: I’m still ashamed of the fact that I did not correct my classmates when they kept on calling me Peter. I am Pedro. Even if I didn’t grow up in Chile the country and the language are still a part of me. I was very unhappy in that environment. However, I was fortunately able to go to another school close to Long Beach where I felt more comfortable. Through the theater group at that school I found my way.

GQ: Were you able to visit Chile as a child?

PP: Yes, when my parents made it to the list of expatriates that were able to travel to Chile without consequences. First, there was a big family reunion and then my sister and I stayed there for a few months with relatives while my parents went back to Texas. They likely needed a break from us. They got us when they were very young, had a buzzing social life and my mother was obtaining a PhD in psychology.

GQ: Was your mother a typical young psychologist who wanted to apply her theoretical knowledge at home?

PP: You mean, whether I was her guinea pig? For sure! I remember strange tests and sittings that were disguised as games where someone was watching me react to different toys. I cannot have been older than six but I was already aware of the dynamic. My favourite thing was being questioned about my dreams. That was a wonderful opportunity to come up with fantastic stories.

GQ: Was that your first performance?

PP: Of course! My mother worried about my strong imagination because I was living in my own fantasy world rather than reality. I hated going to school. I was always categorized as the troublemaker. At one point, the topics at school became more interesting and my grades also went up. There are so many kids that are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that school can be abhorrent. Why is it so accepted to be bored in class when there are so many stimulating ways to convey knowledge?

GQ: Considering al that has happened this summer around the world: Do you believe that we can seriously demand social change now?

PP: I Hope so. After lockdown, the first time I went out was to protest for “Black Lives Matter” on the streets. The energy was peaceful and hopeful until the police provoked severe conflicts. Nevertheless, we cannot run from problems like we used to this time and we cannot distract ourselves from them either. It seems like the pressure of the pandemic led to a new clarity: We cannot go on this way.

GQ: The “Wonder Woman 1984” Trailer revives the optimism of the 1980’s. From today’s point of view, it seems almost nostalgic.

PP: That’s right. You really are happy for two hours. The director Patty Jenkins created a film full of positive messages. We shot in Washington D.C., then in London and Spain – this sounds like I am talking of a past time.

GQ: Do you miss traveling?

PP: I’m just now realizing the privilege of just packing up one’s stuff and being able to fly anywhere. An American passport used to guarantee unlimited travel. And that’s why it the small radius of our lives is actually unimaginable. Over the last years I often retreated for a break after shootings because I was constantly on the move and overstimulated. My friends were already complaining I had become too comfortable. We all took social contact for granted and are only realizing now how dependent we actually are on human contact. Over the last weeks I often longingly thought about all the parties and dinner invitations I declined.

GQ: In L.A. people spend more time at home or nature than in other metropolises that are more geared towards public life. Could this city become your second home after New York?

PP: My Real Home are my friends. I have been a nomad since I was little and I do not have a place where I have put down roots. Up until not long ago my physical home was a place in between departure and arrival. Therefore, it was something I did not want to complicate through the accumulation of stuff. On the contrary: Without having read Marie Kondo’s book I have freed myself from excess baggage over the last few years and I lived relatively minimally.

GQ: Is there nothing you collect or something you just can’t throw away?

PP: Books! I even still have the literature I read when I was a teenager and when I was in college. Recently, I stumbled upon a box full of old theatre manuscripts and materials from my time at the New York University. I also cannot part from art easily, just like I cannot part from lamps or old photos. On the other hand, I can easily get rid of furniture and clothes.

GQ: Do you remember roles that were really only completely defined through the costume?

PP: Yes, I am particularly thinking about “Game of Thrones”. At that time I understood for the first time what it meant to be supported by a look. This is thanks to the costume designer Michele Clapton. She created very feminine robes and brocade coats for my character that nevertheless looked masculine when worn and I felt very sexy in them. Of course, Lindy Hemmings power-suits and Jan Swells bleached hairstyle for the tycoon-villain in “Wonder Woman 1984” were very important as well. At first I did not really see myself in the role because the cuts and colors of the 80s do not really fit my body. I’m more the 70s type.

GQ: Do you incorporate those inspirations into your personal wardrobe?

PP: In my free time I choose comfort over a cool look these days. Sometimes I miss the times when I expressed myself through a certain style. It is hard to imagine that I went to Raves as a teenage in the 90s; I was a real club kid with ridiculous outfits: overalls, balloon pants, football shirts and a top hat, like in Dr.Seuss’s “Cat in a Hat”. Later in New York I was hanging out with a group of people that felt it was very important to have a certain style. The fact that I am basically only wearing sweatpants everyday is actually tragic.

GQ: whoever plays roles in comic book adaptations becomes a bodybuilder and eats ten chicken breasts a day. You don’t?

PP:My body would not agree with that. It is hard enough to stay in shape normally. When you’re in your mid-forties you have to live with a lot more discipline. Up until before my tooth-incident I worked out with a trainer in my garden multiple times a week to keep the quarantine body in check.

GQ: Apart from the personal trainer, are you in a steady relationship?

PP: I am not ready for that yet. Maybe at some point I will be but until then I’ll let it be. I can’t even offer you absurd corona dating stories.

GQ: What would annoy you the most if you were your own roommate?

PP: I can be quite controlling. I have to conjure all my humanity to prevent myself from going through my entire film collection. When I don’t want something I cannot keep it to myself or be passive-aggressive, I always have to take it to the frontlines. Other than that, I tend to have tunnel view: when I am not feeling well I cannot imagine to ever feel better again. I have trouble relativizing my emotions or to wave off problems. Method-acting would really not be for me. This is why I try to only work on projects that feel good, where there is mutual support and encouragement.

GQ: When we were trying on the clothes earlier you spoke of a lack of self-confidence. How does that get along with a career like yours?

PP: Isn’t it interesting how these characteristics and circumstamces relate? Self-worth comes from inside but it is also influenced by what society values because we often internalise the public gaze. I have lived in New York for 20 years, I studied there and made a living by working as a waiter until my mid-thirties because the theatre and film jobs I got did not pay the bills. There were so many times I was almost there. The disappointment of having missed the perfect role or opportunity by a hair’s width can be crushing. When should you give up and what is plan B? That is a question that is not only on many actors‘s minds but also on many others minds who struggle for a living – no matter how much potential they have or how close they seem to be to the top. We are seeing now how our narrow definition of success destroys society. At the same time, we are realizing that where we come from and the color of our skin still decide whether we can exist with dignity.

GQ: What are the positive aspects of a relatively late success as leading-man?

PP: I feel like I can decide over my own life without the pressure of having to accept projects or to have to present a certain identity on social media. This is for sure also because I am a man. Regardless of age, Women have to try harder to stand out.

GQ: Life always consists of risk management – now more than usual. For what would you risk losing something?

PP: Generally, when you never risk something you might never get ahead. That is for friendship, love, work and creativity. I have to be ready to take risks for the things that really matter to you.

#pedro pascal #THANK YOU MY LOVE!#submission

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