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explicit-tae · 8 months

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Ungodly Hour (2)

You’re encouraged by Chaeyoung, your roommate, to use Jungkook thirst for you to your advantage.

Word Count: 2.314

Warning: smut, dirty talking, thirsty jk as always, also simp jk, facesitting, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, semi-rough sex, jimin and mc are friendemies,

“Bitch.” Jimin murmurs beneath his breath as he passes you and all you can do is roll your eyes.

“So sassy.” you quip, a smirk forming onto your lips.

“Don’t listen to him.” Jungkook pipes in, holding two cases of water bottles in his arms. You furrow a brow, eyes admiring (in secret) how the veins on his arms pulse. “He’s just mad he had to help bring the groceries in.”

Jimin drops a few bags against your kitchen table and rolls his eyes. “I was promised breakfast. Instead I’m walking up three flights of stairs to put food in your kitchen.”

Jungkook scoffs, placing your water gently by the other two packs already on the ground inside the kitchen. Chaeyoung is excited, already putting away the groceries Jungkook - generously - provided. The cabinets were already full enough and she hadn’t even made it to the fridge or freezer. She could kiss Jungkook for the month supply of food - but you were already repaying him.

“Sucks to suck.” you shrug your shoulders when Jimin passed you again with even more bags.

“You would know a lot about sucking.” Jimin retorts.

“You want to fuck me so bad, Jimin.” you laugh and the comment catches Jimin completely off guard. He flushes, but you don’t want to tease the man any more.“You’re just upset, Jungkook kicked you off of his account.” you cross your arms, and this struck a nerve in Jimin.

It was a month ago when Jimin had texted you - getting your number from Chaeyoung - just to tell you that you were everything but a civilized human being. Why? Because you had complained to Jungkook that whenever you were watching something, Jimin also was. And that meant - to satiate you - Jungkook had removed Jimin’s devices from his account and changed the passwords.

“I was binge watching The Real Housewives!” Jimin snaps. “But I suppose pussy is worth our friendship.” the man crosses his arms, eyes glancing at Jungkook.

“You’ll get your breakfast.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. He rummages through his sweats and grabs his wallet. He hands Jimin a black card.

“It’s the least you could do.” Jimin glances your way and rolls his own eyes. He leaves without a second word and all you could do is giggle.

“Do you have anything planned today? Classes?”

You shake your head. You were completely free today and have done so to repay Jungkook for his generous donation.

Jungkook nods. His eyes glance to Chaeyoung who is still happily organizing the insane amount of groceries. She’s humming to herself with a grin on her lips.

“When is she leaving?” Jungkook murmurs, a red tint on his cheeks. He doesn’t want to come across as desperate - but that’s exactly what he was. He had replied far too fast to your tweet (and of course he would, he had your notifications on, afterall) and raced to the Supermarket first thing in the morning.

You stroll towards Jungkook. You wrap your arms around his waist and knit your brows. “I can’t kick Chae out. She lives here, too.”

Jungkook nods, defeated. “We can watch a movie-”

“No.” Chaeyoung calls from the kitchen opening. “I’ll put my airpods in and put the rest of the groceries away. Don’t let me stop you from fucking his brains out.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, flushing even a deeper shade of red. Chaeyoung speaks as if Jungkook isn’t there, her eyes solely on you. “Make sure you go multiple rounds. He bought everything name-brand!”

Jungkook tilts his head.

“Let’s go!” you sing-song, grasping his hand to race towards your room. You open the door and close it behind you and Jungkook.

“You guys must’ve been starving.” Jungkook jokes, his hands immediately on you.

“A little.” you murmur, capturing your lips with his own. Kissing could be considered intimate, but at this stage, you were fucking Jungkook for about anything and for nothing. Sometimes you two weren’t even doing that - you watched movies together, studied whenever needed and just enjoyed each other's company.

“Why didn’t you ask sooner?” Jungkook presses open mouth kisses upon the skin of your neck. He’s already dipping his hands beneath your pajama shorts to feel your ass.

“Just got on birth control.” you respond when he pulls your shorts off of you completely. You fall onto your bed. “Decided to use it to my advantage.”

Jungkook groans, hovering above you. That means that this didn’t have to be a one time thing - he could cum in you as much as you’d let him. “You don’t need to do anything for me, you know?” Jungkook lifts your shirt from your head, discarding it to the side. Your breasts fall freely and he’s already pressing kisses upon them. He does the same to his shirt soon after. “I don’t mind buying you things.”

You wrap your legs around his waist to bring him closer. You never want to admit that his words get to you. Fuck Jeon Jungkook and his good heart (and dick) for making you feel things you weren’t suppose to feel outside of sex .

“You must waste so much money on all these girls.” you attempt to sound unbothered by his words. His tongue is already swirling your nipple with his thumb pinching the other. “Fucking s-simp.” he’s grinding against your heat, the friction perfect.

“You know you’re the only one that has access to me.” Jungkook pops your nipple from his mouth. He proceeds to lick, eyes flickering to you. You press yourself tighter against his clothed cock, grinding against it.

“I don’t.” You do - but it does something to you to hear him say it. Maybe it was an ego thing - a pride. It makes your head big just knowing that Jungkook would do anything you asked and expected next to nothing in return.

“You do, Y/N. You know you’re my girl.” Even if the agreement was to keep things completely sexual, to everyone but the two of you, this was a relationship. You hung out outside of sex far too often for this to be a regular friend with benefit type of situation - but it was like the blind leading the blind. “You wanna sit on my face?”

You nod your head hastily. In seconds, Jungkook was beneath you, tugging your underwear off so you could sit on him like he asked. The first time he requested it, you felt indifferent. You never sat directly on anyone before and you were afraid to suffocate him. However, Jungkook insisted and since then, sitting on his face has been your (and his) favorite position to try.

Jungkook isn’t the one to waste time. He’s suckling onto your clit with ease, hands gripping your thighs in place. He loves it more when you grind against his tongue - he enjoys watching you tremble with pleasure. He has the perfect view of not only your leaking pussy, but your breast and your beautiful face. It was the perfect position for him.

You were a truthful person - you’d give Jungkook his flowers. The man is insanely attractive and whenever you sat on his face, you could never last too long. Jungkook always insisted on watching you - he stated he loved the way you always crumbled for him. How you’d moan while grinding against his tongue.

It’s what Jungkook’s doing now. He locks his eyes with yours. He clenches your thighs as an unspoken response.

“S-Stop looking at me.” you whine. You lift your hips, but Jungkook doesn’t allow it. He pulls you back down against his tongue.

“You’re always so stubborn.” Jungkook muffles between your legs. He’s flicking his tongue between your folds. “I know you’re about to cum, baby. Stop being so embarrassed.”

You mentally groan because of course there it was. That word. Jungkook knew how to fluster you - if he meant to do it or not.

“Fine.” you grumble.

Jungkook slaps your thigh. “Now ride my face.” he says. He closes his eyes to not further fluster you, even if he did want to watch you cum right in front of him.

You do as you’re told, grinding your hips against his tongue. Jungkook holds you in place, silently encouraging you to continue. You can feel the familiar bubble deep in your stomach and your hips pick up the pace. You release a deep moan, eyes fluttering close.

Jungkook takes a peek at you, feeling his cock twitch. So beautiful you were. He could watch you like this for as long as you’d let him.

Jungkook knows you’re going to cum once your moans become high pitched and your hips jerk. He doesn’t take his eyes off of your face as you come undone, his cock basically begging for a release.

You feel tired when you move yourself from Jungkook’s lips. You fall against your bed with a sigh.

Licking his lips, Jungkook hovers above you. “Tired?”

You nod your head. “A little.” you always were after cumming on his tongue. It was inevitable.

Jungkook nods. “You hungry? I can…make us something?”

You groan once more. There he was again being nice and doing things to your heart that he wasn’t supposed to do.

“You can after you cum inside of me.”

It’s hard to ignore the bulge in Jungkook’s sweats.

“You sure. It’s okay-”

You slap Jungkook’s chest, interrupting his speech. “Shut the fuck up, Jungkook.” you hiss. “You’re too nice.”

Jungkook snickers. “You want me to be an insensitive asshole?” Yes you did. It made things easier. You told yourself (and Chaeyoung) that you wouldn’t fall for this nice boy act and become far too gone. He made it hard. Offering to make you cum was different than cooking for you.

“You do.” Jungkook hums. “Is that some type of kink?”

“Fuck you.” you hiss. “Maybe I just want you to be a little rough sometimes.”

Jungkook smirks, understanding your tone. You were closing yourself off because you were flustered - and the only way for you to calm yourself was to insult him.

“If that’s what you wanted, it’s all you had to say, baby.” Jungkook pushes his sweats down and kicks it off. His bulge is entirely too huge inside his underwear. “I’d do whatever you ask me to do.”

Shit. There he was again. Jungkook knew what he was doing.

“Turn around.” Jungkook slaps your thigh. “Since you want to be treated like a whore, I'll do just that.”

You may have turned entirely too quickly, but you couldn’t help it.

Jungkook positions himself at your entrance. “Let me know if I’m too rough, okay?”

“Stop being a pussy.”

Jungkook only chuckles.

Jungkook then enters you, you’re so wet that you take him far too easily. He begins his pace brutally, pushing your face down into your pillows. He keeps one hand tangled into your hair while the other grips your hips.

This was new. No, Jungkook wasn’t technically vanilla. He could be rough when needed - but this? This was a new side of Jungkook that has you clenching around him. With each thrust, he hits a nerve, sending you more and more over the edge.

“No back talk?” Jungkook huffs, cracking his hips to fuck into you deeper.

You want to tell Jungkook to go fuck himself, but then he pulls your hair back in a way that has you whimpering for more.

“You always insist on being a bitch.” Jungkook releases your hair to wrap his arms around you. You feel his lips upon your neck, his hips never halting their abusive thrusts.

“But even if you are a bitch, you know I love it.”

“S-Shut up.” you whimper.

Jungkook doesn’t. Instead, he flips you onto your back so he can watch you while he fucks you.

“No.” Jungkook spits, continuing the same brutal pace. He has your knees touching your shoulders, the new position allowing him to fuck you even deeper than before. “You don’t like it when I'm nice to you. You want me to treat you like some whore.”

Your eyes are rolling now. There’s no way Jungkook could be fucking you entirely this good that you’re unable to form words.

“But you aren’t some whore to me, Y/N. You know you’re still my girl.” Jungkook places a kiss upon your cheek. “So I’ll treat you like a bitch in heat now, then I’ll cook for us, yeah?”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for your response. He leans back and places his thumb upon your clit. He begins to rub, determined to make you cum again.

You’re stuttering, jerking away from Jungkook, the overstimulation completely unbearable.

“Stop running, isn’t this what you wanted?”

So pretty, Jungkook thinks. You could be a bitch sometimes, but it’s what he likes about you. He enjoys the playful bickering he entertains and your feisty attitude. He enjoys it even more when he does entertain you in these little games you play just for you to lose at your own game - much like how you were now.

Jungkook’s thrusts are sloppy once you cum, a twitching mess beneath him. Your eyes are rolling and you’re no longer trying to hide your moans.

Jungkook presses his lips against yours, grunting into it while he gives one last thrust. His cum shoots inside of you, coating your warm walls.

It takes a few minutes for Jungkook to lay beside you. He feels just as tired as you must’ve felt earlier, panting low to himself.

“You still hungry?”

Your eyelids are fluttering closed, suddenly heavy. “Sleepy.” you murmur, laying your head against Jungkook's chest.

Jungkook wraps an arm around you. “You’re also so cuddly after a good fucking.” he teases.

“Fuck you.”

“I will after our nap.” Jungkook laughs. “We have all day for me to turn you into my little twinkie-”

Your body heats up and you slap Jungkook’s chest, but once again, all he does is laugh.

Series Masterlist

#bts smut #bangtanwritershq #btsmasterlist2022 #btswritersclub #bangtan smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #fake tweets #college au #bts college au #bangtanwriters net #btswriterscollective #ungodly hour #explicit-tae #bts fwb #jungkook friends with benefits #jimin friendnemies

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reiding-writing · 5 months

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Omg imagine Reid being incredibly touch starved and literally having this very primal craving for affection to the point it's all he can think about but he cannot for the life of him get over his fear of germs and it's just all this angst and ahh

deprivation [ s.r ]

Summary:

Spencer needs support. He needs it. But he for the life of him just cannot reach out for it himself. And after one particular case, you make an effort to try and quell is emotional rampage.

WARNINGS: germophobia, self deprecation, touch deprivation, emotional breakdown

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: ANGST, hurt/comfort

wc: 2.8k

masterlist!!

a/n: great minds must think alike because i was actually already working on this when the request came in😭

i made this less angsty than originally planned, but i hope it suffices nonetheless the less, thanks for the request! <33

Spencer Reid was exhausted in every sense of the word.

His muscles ached, his head pounded, and he was so burnt out he didn’t even have any thing to say when JJ had incorrectly mentioned a ‘fact’ about a certain sub-species of butterfly that was supposedly native to Oregon.

His exhaustion only proved to get worse as the jet took off for Virginia, but the unfortunate rampaging of his own mind proved any chance of him sleeping on the flight home impossible.

“Hey… Are you okay?” Your voice seems to echo across the silence of the cabin despite you practically whispering to avoid waking your teammates, and Spencer’s eyes flicker up towards you, clearly not having expected you to be awake.

You stand up from your seat, walking down the aisle to take a seat on the sofa next to Spencer, his head resting in his hands as his eyes followed you. “You’ve been really quiet since the case ended,”

“I’m fine…” He said the words, but it wasn’t reflective of his tone of voice. There was something there. Something more, something beneath the words.

A sadness.

An uncertainty.

And if you listened to his voice, not just to his words, you’d hear a hint of pain, a deep seeded sense of misery that he was concealing beneath the usual layers of stoicism.

“Spencer you’re talking to a professional profiler, which I don’t even need to be to know that you’re not okay.” You can’t help the soft sigh that escapes your mouth, turning to sit sideways to face him properly.

"I'm fine," He said the words again, and this time they held a touch of force. But the words did not match his tone, still pained, wounded, and silently pleading with him to just be honest with you.

And as the words came out of his mouth, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes as if hoping that what he was feeling would be gone by the time he opened them again.

But when they fluttered open through his eyelashes he was still on the sofa of the jet and you were still sitting there and he still felt miserable.

“If you don’t want to talk about it then I won’t pressure you,” You dejectedly resign yourself at Spencer’s insistence, leaning your left side against the back of the sofa. “But just know i’m here for you if you ever want to get something off your chest okay?”

"It's just...It's just-" He paused, biting his lip as if unsure about what he was about to say. He knew it may be dangerous to let himself slip. So he considered his words carefully before he spoke again. "...it's just been hard...I’m so stressed and...I'm...feeling vulnerable. And I don't like it. I don't like it at all."

“Everyone’s gonna feel like that at some point Spence, especially in our line of work,” You tilt your head slightly at him, a soft expression painting your features that matches your tone.

"I know..." He said, " But...I don't like feeling like...like i can't cope. Like I'm scared. That's not who I am. I'm supposed to be the rational one. The smart one." Spencer dragged his palms up his face and back over his hair, leaning back against the sofa with his head leaned back against the wall.

“I don’t like being scared,”

And there, again, in that simple sentence was another hint of the hurt that his apprehension hadn’t managed to fully hide. “I’m meant to be better than that.”

“Spencer just because you are a functioning genius does not mean that you’re not allowed to be scared, that’s a part of what makes you human,” Your face furrows as you become increasingly concerned for Spencer and his mindset.

"I-...I know..." He said the words, but the underlying message was clear. He might know that he was supposed to have emotions and he might know that expressing them is healthy, but there was a part of him that was screaming at him to suppress them.

To bury his feelings and pretend to be the robot that his childhood (or lack thereof) had forced him to be.

He wasn't trying to be resistant, he was just...afraid.

“When was the last time you cried Spencer?” The question blurted it’s way out of your mouth as your concern for Spencer only continued to grow.

"Why would you ask me that?" His tone of voice was almost affronted by the question as if he were a little wounded that you had brought up something so sensitive.

He swallowed back the lump in his throat, and you swear that you could see his eyes glass over even in the dim lighting of the cabin. “Because i want to know exactly how much pent up emotion you’re dealing with right now,”

You make a conscious effort to relax your features as you look at him, sighing softly. “Please answer the question…”

Spencer took a second as he deliberated whether or not to answer your question, staring blankly across the cabin so he wouldn’t have to look at you.

"958 days ago."

He said the words coldly, but you could hear the emotion in the way he spoke them. This is the moment when he finally cracked. When he finally realised that hiding the way he felt wasn't a sustainable solution.

And its was also the point when he started to break down. The tears finally started to flow, and he couldn't stop them as much as he tried.

“Spence…” You reach out a hand towards him, but you barely get it up out of your lap before he firmly stops you.

"Don't..."

The words come out of him sharply, but there's something in his tone that saying the opposite. There’s a note of desperation in them. A plea. A cry for help. Because he wants you to touch him, he needs you to. But he's resistant to the idea, he keeps resisting it. “80% of communicable diseases are passed by physical contact. I don’t want to get sick.”

You curl up your hand into a ball as you let it fall back into your lap, pursing your lips as Spencer uses his statistical knowledge to stop you from touching him.

You knew he had an aversion to touch. That he was hyper aware of practically any illness that could possibly be transferred through human contact. You knew that he kept himself at a physical distance from everyone for a reason.

But you also knew that despite all of that he needed physical comfort. Words just weren’t going to cut it.

“It’s okay to need to be comforted…”

"I can get through this myself." He cuts you off harshly, and if you didn’t know that he was obviously mentally struggling his tone would’ve cut you deep.

He's in pain.

He's miserable.

And he's been alone for too long.

He needs emotional intimacy. He needs the affection and comfort of his friends.

He just can't bring himself to actually say that.

“Spencer, let me comfort you. please.” You bite the inside of your cheek as your eyes follow a tear that falls down his face, leaving a water streak in its wake.

“It’s not healthy for you to ball yourself up like this,” You plead desperately with him to let down his emotional barriers and just let you help him.

"There's nothing wrong with me." His words are still cold, but he's wavering now. His shoulders are lowering, his hands loosening from fists to lying flat on either side of him.

He wants you to touch him. He wants the affection that he's been deprived of for so long. But there's still that part in him that's resisting. The voice in his head telling him he can't.

“There doesn’t have to be anything wrong with you for you to need comfort Spencer,” You attempt again to hesitantly reach out a hand towards you, but your advances are again immediately shot down.

"Please.. Don't touch me." His words come out weakly. He's desperately resisting, but the tears are still flowing down his cheeks and you can tell that he’s trying not to completely break down.

“…Are you sure?” You hand retreats back to your side the second he denies you, but you both know he’s not entirely convinced of his own boundaries.

"I'm sure."

He's lying.

The tears were still streaming down his cheeks, and even one quick look at his eyes could tell you that he was desperate to be touched.

He was craving human interaction. But the words were still coming out of his mouth. He wasn't ready yet, not quite yet.

Your hand falls to the gap between the two of you on the sofa, a few inches left between his hand and yours as you suppress a sigh at the clear desperation coating his face despite his denial of your touch.

But you don’t want to overstep the boundary, even if he’s not 100% sure of it himself.

He stares back at you, still resisting the urge to reach out for your hand, even though he's not sure why. He knows that he would feel better if he could grab you and put his head on your shoulder, letting the weight of all of his problems wash away.

But there was still the little voice in his head shouting "Don't. Don't touch them. Don't." And he was struggling. Fighting with every inch of his being for self-control.

As the two of you fall into a slightly tense silence, you make a small movement to breaking Spencer’s self made barrier as you edge your pinky finger towards his own, just barely brushing his skin as you keep your eyes plastered on the opposite wall.

His eyes follow your fingers as they inch their way closer and closer to his. And when - at long last - you make contact, Spencer freezes. Time seems to just stand still as his eyes are transfixed on the single point of contact between your fingers and his.

He doesn't move, he doesn't speak. He just watches.

Over 200 breeds of bacteria are passed through people’s hands for every second they’re in contact.

But he can’t seem to pull himself away.

Because this is the connection he seeks. This is the release he needs. And finally, finally he gets it.

You continue to gently bridge the gap as your pinky finger links itself with Spencer’s, squeezing it with a gentle pressure as you try desperately to stop your eyes from averting back to him.

The second your finger links with his, a dam of emotions breaks. The tears flow faster and he lets out a whimper in the back of his throat.

As soon as you touch him, he leans into the feeling and turns his hand over, pressing his palm and his other fingers against your own, wanting more, needing more of this sensation that he's been starved of for so long.

You respond enthusiastically at his acceptance of the contact, interlacing your fingers together and giving his hand a soft squeeze as you finally bring your gaze back towards his face.

“You’re going to be alright Spencer…”

The moment your hand falls into his is a moment of sweet release. The flood gates have opened, the dam has broken, and there are no barriers between him and the overwhelming emotions he's been forced to bottle up.

And as the dam breaks so too does that small, insistent voice telling him to reject contact. That small voice that tells him he can't have physical affection.

Because that small voice is wrong.

And when you squeeze his hand he brings no hesitation into melting into you completely and burying his face into the crook of your neck.

You immediately shift to accommodate Spencer’s weight against your body, breaking the contact of your hands to pull him into a firm but comforting embrace, rubbing soft lines up and down his back as the other held his head against your shoulder.

With tears still flowing down his cheeks and his head buried in your neck, he lets out a soft, contented whimper.

His body relaxes in your embrace, and just lies there in your arms.

He's safe. He's finally safe, and it feels good. He no longer needs to hold himself together. And for the first time in years, he feels loved.

“I’ve got you…” You whisper the affirmation softly into Spencer’s hair as you rest your nose against the crown of his head.

He lets out more soft whimpers, his body relaxing as he leans into the comfort of your embrace, finally allowing himself to just let go.

He takes in big breaths, drinking in your scent as he tries to slow his breathing. He's still crying, but the tears aren't so severe anymore. He's finally started to calm down.

You lean backwards against the seat to support both of your weights comfortably as you focus on soothing Spencer through his emotions, running your fingers gently through his hair and massaging softly at his scalp.

The soft strokes against his head bring a wave of shivers, but they aren't like the shivers that he had felt when he'd been shaking so much.

These are better, these are warm and comforting, and it was like the tension was leaving his body from his head all the way down to his toes.

It feels good, it feels right.

Your touch was healing, and his whole body is relaxing in the gentle massage of your fingers.

“when was the last time you got a full night’s rest Spence..?” The question is soft against his ear as you continue to gently scratch and massage Spencer’s scalp, pulling him slightly towards you with your other arm to secure him safely in your lap.

“I… A while ago…” His words were hushed and sleepy, the exhaustion evident in the slight rasp that was present in his voice. He's been so caught up in the case and the work that he hasn't given a moment's thought to taking care of himself.

He's running on caffeine and willpower. He’s exhausted.

“You should get some sleep…” You carefully adjust the way yo two are sat until you are lying flat on your back with Spencer splayed out on top of you, burying himself in your presence at every point possible.

“I will…”

He's lying.

And based on the fact that his eyes are still squeezed tight against you and the way he's practically buried his body into yours it's clear that even he knows that he's lying.

There's no way that he can sleep right now. Not when he's finally feeling safe. When he's finally found comfort. He plans to bask in it for as long as possible.

“I’ll still be here when you wake up Spencer,” You know that he knows that you know he’s lying. “Get some rest,”

"But-"

He wants to hold this moment, to cling to this moment, trying to delay the passing of time just a little longer.

"I-“

He falters, realising that he's fighting against losing an argument that has already ended. He forces himself to breathe in and out in a slow and deliberate way as he resigns himself to the inevitability of falling asleep.

“…promise?”

He sounds less like a genius and more like a scared child when he says those words. A child who wants to be reassured. Who wants to be told that everything will be okay. That he'll be taken care of when he wakes up from his slumber.

“I promise.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #asks 🫶

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girlgenius1111 · 5 months

Text

i'd give you my sunshine, give you my best

alexia and r post alexia's surgery :)

no warnings!

-----

If your flight from England hadn't been delayed, you wouldn't have missed it. Alexia wouldn't have had to go back for a surgery she was terrified for without you next to her. The universe didn't seem to be on either of your guys' side recently. You wouldn't have gone home for Christmas, content to stay in town with Alexia and be with her before the surgery, but she had insisted. Your girlfriend was never more stubborn when it came to your wellbeing, and she seemed to think you needed to go home for the holidays, so you did.

Alexia's mom had called when you landed, telling you that only that the surgery had gone well, and that Alexia was home resting now. So, instead of heading right to the hospital like you planned, you changed course for your girlfriend's apartment.

It was quiet when you walked in, not that you expected anything different.

"Hola, y/n," Eli said, pulling you into a hug. You were going to ask for more details about the surgery, but Eli was already heading towards the door.

"She's very grouchy, she's been asking for you. Good luck in there," she informed you, before heading out of the apartment.

If Alexia had scared her mom off, you weren't exceptionally excited to see what awaited you in the bedroom. Alexia had been in a seemingly permanent bad mood for weeks, since she'd injured her knee in the first place. It was hell for her, you knew, not being able to play, so while you weren't thrilled with her behavior, you understood it. You headed to the bedroom door, preparing yourself for Grumpy Alexia, before gently opening it and stepping in.

You found Alexia as you expected, reclined on the bed, knee propped up on a throw pillow, staring out the window. Her expression was the same as it had been for weeks; jaw tight, brows furrowed, eyes devoid of their usual spark. What you didn't expect, however, was for her to turn to you the minute you walked into the room, eyes immediately pooling with tears, lip jutting out slightly at the sight of you.

"Ale," you said, walking closer to the bed where she lay. You wrapped your arms around her upper body, feeling her tremble against you. She held tight, hiding her face in your shirt, and you let her. Her hair was in a bun behind her head, and you pulled the hair tie out carefully, beginning to run your fingers through the smooth blonde strands. You hadn't seen her cry in weeks; she'd been the picture of strength since her injury, not allowing anyone, even you, to see how she was really feeling about the whole thing.

The state she was in worried you. Eli had said the surgery went well, but Alexia was acting like it hadn't.

"What did the doctor say?" you asked quietly, guiding her face away from your shirt. You probably could have waited a little longer for her to calm down before asking, but you weren't sure you could handle not knowing for another minute.

"It is fine. He cleaned the area, and there is nothing wrong. I should be back in a month and a half." Alexia said, although her expression didn't really match the news- this was best case scenario.

"That's incredible," you told her, cupping her flushed cheek with your hand. She nodded, but tears still fell. "Why are you crying, love?"

"I missed you," she replied, avoiding your eyes. She was normally not that vulnerable with you, and you were beginning to think whatever the doctor had put her on was making her more emotional than usual.

"I missed you too, so much," you assure her. "This is good, Ale, you're gonna be back. Soon." She pulls back from you, wiping at her face harshly.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "I was just really scared, and now I am relieved, and I am not really sure why I am crying. I just missed you." Alexia looked genuinely confused at her emotional state, and you bit back a laugh.

"That's okay, baby. But I'm here now, yeah? And everything is okay."

"Si, todo esta bien," she replies, almost as if trying to convince herself.

"Do you need anything? Food, water, ice?"

"No. Come lay with me?" She requests, reaching out to tug you closer to the bed by your shirt.

"Of course. Let me change first, I'm all airport-y." Alexia pouts slightly at that, but releases you. You love clingy Alexia; she almost never let herself be like this, only when she was sick, or hurt.

You change, heading back over to the bed, sliding in next to your girlfriend. You're extra careful, not wanting to jostle her knee at all, leaving some distance in between the two of you. Alexia bypasses that completely, shifting over until she's laying half on top of you, head turned to rest her cheek against your chest. You allow her to get comfortable on top of you before you wrap your arms around her. Her hands come to rest over yours, and she sighs contentedly.

You flick the TV on, not really caring what was on, much preferring to watch Alexia drift off. Just when you think she has, though, you hear her soft voice.

"I thought I might be done." You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Alexia was a dramatic person, clearly. No one had ever even considered the idea that she wouldn't be back, except her. Her fears were real, though, and she didn't need to hear that they were irrational.

"I knew you wouldn't be," you tell her.

"How?"

You think for a minute, deciding whether or not Alexia would make fun of you for being gushy. You were pretty sure she would, but she'd appreciate your words regardless.

"I just did. The way I know I love you, the way I know you're the person for me. You just know sometimes. I knew you'd come back, because you're strong, and you don't give up. You fight hard for the things you want. I had every confidence you'd be back on the field with me before long."

Alexia was quiet. You looked down, seeing her biting her lip, thinking hard. You move a hand to run gently over her lip, encouraging her to release it from her teeth, which she does.

"I used to have that confidence in myself. I do not think I do anymore."

You knew this. You'd watched her confidence diminish recently, in the wake of her re-injury. She was more scared than you'd ever seen her.

"I'll have it for you, until you feel it for yourself again. Deal?" Alexia smiles for the first time, looking up at you through her long lashes.

"Deal."

-----

Alexia wasn't out of commission for very long; it was a simple surgery, and she was back on her feet within the week. This had proved to be too long for her, though, because she was practically bouncing off the wall by the time she was given the all clear by the doctor.

She had big plans to cook you dinner, and take care of you for the evening. Between practices and taking care of her, you'd hardly had time to think in the past week, something she was looking to remedy. She'd been sure to thank you, for everything you'd been doing, pairing her words with sweet kisses, letting you know that she really did appreciate all that you'd done for her. It seemed obvious to you that you'd take care of her, and you didn't expect anything in return. You knew Alexia would do the same for you.

Alexia's first day really back to normal was a day you had a double practice. You were exhausted, having been kept up half the night by Alexia's restless tossing and turning, something you didn't dare bring up to her, knowing the guilt would be horrible for her. You returned home, looking forward to collapsing into the couch and not moving until bed, to something you weren't expecting.

Upon walking through the door, the smell of something burning filled your nose. You could hear Alexia cursing to herself, followed by the shattering of some glass, and then some more cursing. You flung your shows off, running into the kitchen.

"Ale?"

She was stood in the middle of the kitchen, a jar of pasta sauce broken on the ground in front of her, a decent amount of smoke coming of the stove. She looks up at you as you walk in, almost helplessly, face flushed with anger.

"Ale, baby," you coo, moving forward to her. She throws an arm out, motioning for you to stop.

"No, amor, there is glass, let me clean it up," she says, clearly upset. She moves slowly over to the paper towels, but you walk around the glass, setting a hand on her arm.

"Go sit down, Ale, I'll clean it up," you tell her, because it looked like she had been on her feet too much, if the way she was resting almost all of her weight on her good leg was any indication.

"No," she tried, but you stopped her.

"I'm not asking, Alexia, go put your knee up," you say, turning your back to her turning the stove off, and removing the smoking pan from it. You heard Alexia leave the room, slowly, and you got to work cleaning everything up. Once the glass and sauce had been taken care of, and you'd opened the windows to air out the room, you followed Alexia out to the living room, looking at your phone.

"What do you want to eat? We can order something," you suggest, thinking Alexia would prefer to not discuss the disaster than had just occurred in the kitchen. Alexia was a good cook, so something must have gone really wrong. Alexia didn't respond, though, and you looked up finally, finding her sitting on the couch, staring at her lap. Her blonde hair fell into her face, blocking you from seeing it.

"Ale?" you ask again, moving forward to take a seat next to her propped up leg. She still doesn't look up at you.

"I am so sorry," she says miserably, voice cracking, and telling you that she was crying.

"Don't worry about it, I've committed worse crimes in the kitchen," you tell her, thinking she was just embarrassed. The blonde woman shook her head though, finally looking up at you. Her lip quivered, and she looked so upset, you couldn't help but reach out and take one of her hands in yours. She flinched, and you looked down, seeing a burn on her palm.

"Shit, Alexia, hold on," you said, moving to go get a cool cloth to put on it. She grabs your shirt though, looking up at you almost pleadingly, and you sit back down. You'd never seen Alexia look at you like that before, like she couldn't bare to be away from you, even for a second.

"What's going on, my love?" you ask.

"I messed dinner up," she says shakily. That may be the understatement of the year, but it doesn't seem like she's in the mood to joke about it yet.

"It's fine, baby, we can just order something, or I'll cook," you tell her. You're still not really sure what the big deal is, and your eyes widen when she responds loudly.

"NO! No. I do not want you to cook," she says. "I wanted to cook for you."

"I appreciate that baby, but really, it's okay,"

"No, it is not okay. You've been so perfect all week, all month, and I try to do one thing for you, and I fuck it up," she sounds so upset at herself, you find yourself frowning at her tone.

"Ale, don't be ridiculous. I've barely done anything." This is definitely not true, but really, it felt like nothing. You'd go to the ends of the earth for the girl next to you, so a few extra chores, taking care of her, seemed easy.

"No, eso no es verdad," she cries, before she inexplicably dissolves into sobs.

"Alexia," you sigh, moving to sit next to her and wrap an arm around her shoulders.

"I am so much work, and I made a mess, and you had to clean it up," she rants, voice muffled from where her face is buried in your shirt.

"Stop that. You aren't a lot of work. I don't mind doing any of the things i've been doing. I'm happy to do them, because it's you. I don't care about cleaning up your mess, I only care that you heal properly," you insist." Alexia doesn't respond, only pushing her face further into your chest.

"Alexia, were you cooking dinner because you felt bad that you've needed me this past week?" you ask tentatively. You get a nod in response. Guiding out from your shirt, you hold her face in between your hands, forcing her to make eye contact with you.

"Love, you don't need to feel bad for needing my help. Ever. I love you, and I'm going to take care of you when you need me, always. You aren't a burden. You don't need to make it up to me. You just need to be you, and I'll be happy."

She looks so unsure, so not like herself. She was ordinarily the picture of intimidation, of confidence. Now, though, she looks up at you with tear filled eyes, listening to your every word like she's not sure she can trust you to tell her the truth.

"Estas segura?" she eventually asks quietly.

"I'm sure, Ale." She gives you a weak smile in response, resting her head back against your chest. You wrap your arms around her, squeezing tight until she laughs lightly against you.

"Sushi?" you ask, and Alexia nods enthusiastically. "Okay, but first, you're letting me treat that burn. How did you even do that?"

"I grabbed something from the oven without oven mitts," she mumbles, and you fight back a laugh. You aren't successful, and her head snaps up to glare at you. "I move slow since the surgery. Everything started burning, and I had no time," she rambles, and you cut her off with a long kiss to her lips.

"I'd eat whatever you burned in that pan if it meant you wouldn't feel like you need to compensate me for taking care of you." Alexia blushes. There is silence for a minute.

"You could not tell what it was?" she asks timidly.

"...Chicken?"

"Garlic and onions," she replies dejectedly.

This time you don't try to fight off your laugh, but Alexia laughs with you, and the sound of it relaxes your whole body, doing more for you than a candlelit dinner ever could.

-----

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

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pathologicalreid · 6 months

Note

could you do a third part to buried alive where the reader finally gets a bit better and goes out into the field for the first time and then the team goes and gets drinks after bc they are so proud of her :) -🌱

back again | S.R.

part one | part two

in which you go back into the field (and kick ass)

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category? angst and then fluff

content warnings: established relationship. PTSD undertones. guns and physical fighting. reader is paired with morgan and kicks ass. usual cm case stuff. going to a bar and alcohol consumption. use of 'ass'. reader is referred to as a girl.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hey anon i love you!!! i never expected people to like this story so much, but im so grateful i hope you enjoy!! thanks for reading <3 don't forget to like and reblog <3333333333

It felt good. Standing outside of a suspect's house with Morgan felt normal to you, having your firearm holstered, felt right.

He was trying to get ahold of the team, but the two of you were far from the town and, apparently, cell service. “The call keeps dropping, but they know where we are. They should be on their way,” he told you, getting out of the car. “If you’re uncomfortable going in, you don’t have to.”

You rolled your eyes and got out of the SUV. “I’ve got your back,” you responded self-assuredly. It was your first case back in the field, and besides, you weren’t about to let Derek walk into the lion's den alone.

Despite your attempt at confidence, you hadn’t planned on going to a suspect's house. The two of you had been on your way back from talking to a victim’s family, meaning you didn’t have vests. “I know you do,” Morgan confirmed, removing his sunglasses and snapping the temples down. “Go around back, I’ll take the front,” he said.

Nodding, you unholstered your weapon and kept it pointed toward the ground, you took a deep breath before wrapping around the white farmhouse.

Paranoid thoughts pelted your brain. Did you remember to shut off your phone’s ringer? What if the suspect had a gun? What if the information you were given was wrong and you didn’t have probable cause?

You shook your head, peeking in through the open blinds, you saw the kitchen. The town you were in was on the smaller side, and the only thing that surrounded you was farmland. You saw movement out of the corner of your eye and wished you had been given more time to prepare, having comms right now would be remarkably helpful.

Approaching the back door, you leaned against the siding before reaching over and turning the doorknob. It was already unlocked, which could either be a good thing or a bad thing. You swung the door open and stepped inside the house, pointing your Glock around the kitchen, you saw Morgan entering the living room in your peripheral vision. “Clear!” You called out, and shortly after, Morgan called the same.

Once you had cleared the main floor, Morgan moved upstairs and you moved downstairs, pulling your flashlight from your belt, you pointed it down the steps.

“Jackson Fike this is the FBI,” you called, making yourself known. You reached the bottom of the stairs, just to see another door, wide open. “Damn it,” you cursed, “Morgan, he’s running!” You shouted, hoping your voice would be able to carry up two flights of stairs.

You pocketed your flashlight and took off running out the door. Distantly, you saw a man fitting the suspect's description sprinting towards the woods. Without a second thought, you followed, expecting Derek to be not far behind you.

Thankfully, it was still light outside, the scent of the damp earth filled your senses, but it didn’t overwhelm you. You wouldn’t let it.

You skidded to a halt in the forest, keeping your back to a tree so you could be attacked from behind, “Jackson Fike, you can’t keep running like this. You know as well as I do that the road ends here.” You spoke loudly, hoping he heard you from wherever he had disappeared into the woods.

His choices here boiled down to giving himself up or being on the run for the rest of his life. Based on the profile the team had put together, he would never be able to leave this town. Not by choice, at least.

The snap of a twig gave his location away, you twisted your body in the direction of the noise. Your ears perked up like a bloodhound. “Jackson, if you come with me and tell me where the girls are, maybe I could see about keeping you close to home. Close to your house, that’s what’s important, right?” You tried to negotiate with him. You didn’t know if he was armed, but you did know that suicide by cop wasn’t in his profile. It was also less paperwork if you cuffed him without a fight.

“You can’t make me that promise, agent,” he responded. His voice was gravelly despite only being in his late thirties. “Why would I negotiate with a fed when I could just kill one instead?” He asked.

His question sent a chill down your spine all the way down to where your handcuffs rested on your back. “You’re right,” you ceded, “You’d be worshipped in prison for killing a fed, but why take that chance?”

In a flash, the UnSub smacked your wrist, causing a misfire into the trees, and making your weapon hit the ground.

That was fine, your marksmanship was good enough to pass your qualifications, but hand-to-hand was where you really excelled. He charged at you, but you jumped out of the way.

Closer to the farmhouse you heard voices, but you didn’t let yourself get distracted. Instead, you used your one boxing lesson with JJ and kicked. The inside of your foot provided enough surface to daze your opponent, he stumbled around, and you made sure to keep both of your feet firmly planted to the ground.

He swung back, but you ducked just in time to feel the breeze of his swing against your face. In response, you swung back, hitting him across the face.

Jackson retaliated, using both hands to push you into a tree, crushing your shoulder but not doing anything to stop you from throwing another hit, striking him on the head, and causing him to fall to the ground. He groaned as you crouched down and pulled your cuffs out, fastening them around his wrists.

As you read him his rights, the local police and the rest of your team approached you. Emily looked at you warily, Spencer was searching for injuries, but Morgan was grinning. He was like a giddy little kid who had heard the ice cream truck turn on his street.

Handing off the UnSub to a local, you eyed Morgan suspiciously, “What are you smiling at?” You asked, rotating your shoulder in a failed attempt to make it feel better.

“You took that guy down,” Derek said, gesturing to where the police officer was now taking the UnSub.

Confused, you shrugged, “Yeah, and?”

He laughed again, “Oh, you are so back, pretty girl.”

A flight later, you were hunched over takedown paperwork, something you certainly hadn’t missed during your time away from the field. At the desk adjacent to yours, Spencer was flipping through a book, waiting for you so you could go home.

After initialing each page and signing the last one, you placed the papers into the confidential file. Going up the stairs to Hotch’s office, you knocked on the door, “Come in.”

You stepped into the office and reached over to hand him the file, “My takedown paperwork for Jackson Fike.”

He nodded, the stern look on his face fading as he looked at you, “You did impressive work today, Y/L/N. By taking the initiative to arrest Fike, you saved the three girls he had captive.”

Shrugging, you fiddled with his nameplate, “I just did what felt right.”

“Other agents would’ve shot him, and it would’ve been justified, but you didn’t,” Hotch said, raising his eyebrows. “It’s good to see you out in the field again,” he told you in that fatherly, parental tone of his.

You looked out the window of his office, “It’s good to be back out, sir.” Watching as the rest of the team gathered back into the bullpen, “I thought everyone had already left?”

Hotch set your file down and stood from his desk, “I believe they were all waiting for you in Garcia’s office.”

Confused, you walked outside of the office and down the steps, “Hey?” You said cautiously, looking around at everyone, “What’s going on?” You looked at Spencer, but he just shrugged like he didn’t know any more than you did.

“We,” Derek said, “are going to O’Keefe’s,” he said, grinning as you reached over your desk to grab your bag and your coat.

Shoving your arms through the sleeves of your coat, you looked at the team curiously, “I’m getting the sense that I don’t have much of a choice in this outing.”

Grinning, Penelope excitedly walked towards you, looping her arm through yours and leading you out of the bullpen, “you don’t!”

You laughed, looking back at Spencer, who was just smiling at you. It wasn’t in your nature to turn down what Emily called ‘team bonding’, so the lot of you went to the familiar bar, a place you hadn’t been in nearly four months.

At the same table as always, standing room only with the eight of you, Rossi paid for all of your preferred drinks. Something you had learned to not protest over the years, as long as he was there, he’d never let you pay for your drinks.

Casually, Spencer had his arm around your waist, the two of you were more affectionate outside of the office. “How’s your shoulder?” He asked, gently skimming the pad of his thumb over the sensitive skin. Naturally, Spencer didn’t say anything in front of the team when you mentioned being shoved into a tree, but behind closed doors, he had asked to take a look at it.

You hummed in response, leaning into his touch, “Better, just bruised a bit.”

He dropped his hand back down to your waist, “good,” he whispered, ducking his head, and pressing a kiss to your cheek, causing you to smile.

Grabbing your attention, Derek cleared his throat and raised his glass in your general direction. “Tonight is about you, pretty girl,” he said, causing everyone else to turn to you. Your cheeks burned, “not only did you kick some UnSub ass, but you threw yourself back into the field after months on the sidelines.”

At your side, Spencer squeezed your hip, you were grinning like a fool.

“It has been an honor to be able to watch you reclaim yourself. I, for one, am proud of that accomplishment,” Morgan continued. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, too.”

You nodded enthusiastically, “Thank you. All of you, really.” You reached forward where everyone was clinking their glasses before taking a sip. Setting your glass down, you turned and looked at Spencer, “I love you,” you whispered to him.

He dropped a kiss to your lips, earning a whoop from Garcia. When he pulled away, he smiled at you softly, “I love you too.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid whump #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid angst #david rossi #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #written by margot #margot's asks #criminal minds angst

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goldsbitch · 5 months

Text

That second flight

part 4 to That one Christmas flight

summary: What happens when people stop lying to themselves? Sometimes, you get a good night out of it.

warnings: cheesy af, swear words and alcohoI guess, cliche probably, typos most definitely

Do not fuck it up, do not fuck it up, do not fuck this up.

Hey you? What kind of a message even is that? Ugh. She ruined it. Now she will have to move away and start her life again.

The weather forecast predicted high levels of overreacting for today.

He must have liked the cool girl vibe she somehow gave of on the plane. Y/N prayed for the gods of cool vibes to bless her again.

Lando was just about to start an interview for Sky Sports when he received her message. He imagined this was how it felt to win a podium. On the top of the world. He gave an absolutely charismatic, energetic and funny interview. One that would surely create lots of gifs on the socials. PR manager even high-fived him when they finished. To be honest, he could not wait for a moment of solitude so that he could reply.

"hey" he started. "so I broke the rule, ups" Her reply came instantly.

"I've noticed. But then again, you radiate speeding tickets vibe from miles away. So no surprise."

He smiled, well aware of how efficient the Italian ticketing was running.

"paid one last week, so you got me there" "so, how's your cool student life going?"

"Trying gain some wisdom, as people just feel free to call me dumb on social media these days."

"compliments come in a variety of forms, don't discriminate"

From now on, there was no way back.

The next few days consisted of constant texting. Joking around, sending pictures capturing their daily life - both of them keeping in secret that lots of the information shared was nothing new. They were careful, somewhat distancing themselves from any real deep topics. But, days felt like blur, waiting for the next text to come and somehow managing to live the real life in between that. Y/N stayed in most evenings, almost making her friends concerned.

It did not take long enough for famously patient Lando to getting sick of it. They had a week between the next three week round of races. It was now or never. He missed one chance by being mr. mysterious, so mr. direct it was now.

"so, lady. what are you doing this weekend?" he asked out of the blue.

"I dunno. Probably studying, I guess."

"well, you're smart enough, you can skip that. let's meet up."

Y/N pretended to herself that she was second guessing. She headed out, to the bar where her friends were hanging out before they planned on heading to some faculty party. She felt joining them suddenly. Sat quietly, listening to their usual chit chat. Her charade lasted about seven minutes.

"Yes. Let's." she texted and threw her phone deep down to her bag. She was nervous, heart racing and mind quite not catching up yet.

"I need to tell you guys something," she interrupted them and almost demanded immediate attention. Questioning looks followed. "Uh, so I met this guy on a plane. And I'm gonna see him again this weekend."

Saying it like that, she realized that it was all kind of real and that she probably could not explain it in words how bizzare it all felt.

"Aw, that's cute! Tell us more!" Teresa clapped excitedly, the whole weird vibe surrounding her friend making more sense now.

Y/N expected her friends to be more shocked. "Um, yeah. It's just this guy. I don't really know how it's gonna happen, but yeah."

"Is he coming here? Can we meet him?"

Y/N kept the information that they already did to herself. Just in case she is left stranded alone and disappointed.

"I don't...I don't know actually. Yeah."

"We will do as we always do - sharing location and staying by if needed, honey."

Y/N missed a text notification. "great. i'll fly you out to somewhere where we can be alone, not to sound too creepy."

She landed an hour after him. Lando sent a picture of him waiting at the airport cafe.

He booked the best hotel room he could find. Well, technically he booked two rooms. Just in case she wanted to keep her distance or if by any chance he fucked up so royally, that she would refuse to share space with him. At least, he could walk away from this like a gentleman.

Since she last him, she forgot just how hot this guy was in person. Seeing him, sitting casually sipping coffee and glued to him phone, she took a moment to study him. It was as if he was tailored specifically to her taste. His clothes covering his godlike body, not too muscular but enough for the sight of his arms sending her to different dimension. The origin of her audacity she had to be the first one to talk to him on the plane was unknown to her. There was no more panic left in her body, as she had done nothing but panicking the whole flight.

She walked and sat opposite to him.

"Hey," he smiled.

"Hey yourself," she replied. There was a moment of awkward silence. Turns out there was a bit of panic left in Y/N after all. Last week she though she'd never see this guy. And now she was staring in his eyes.

"Do you want some coffee?," he asked innocently. He looked her up and down, excited to see her. All of his worries he refused to acknowledge were gone. After all, she got up and flew here just to hang out with him. The reality of this filled him with confidence.

"Yes. A small tiny espresso with no milk."

"Great. Let's grab that and hit the road."

Lando's car might have as well run on butterflies alone present in his vehicle. There was absolutely no way for him to drive some random rental car, so he called up McLaren people to provide him one for the night. It came up in the same conversation when he requested personal time off. Both things came to a certain level of surprise, as he had never done this before. Y/N knew she had to work on a group project for one of her minor classes. Just like him, she had done something she would not have dared - and completely ghosted her group for this weekend.

"You look nice, btw," he commented casually.

"Well yeah, when you're not on an overnight flight across half of the world wearing airport attire, it makes thing easier."

"Hm, I would say sweatpants have some magic to them."

It was hard for Y/N to get the image of him out of her head.

"So, where is my lovely kidnapper taking me?"

They discussed prior to this that the vibe they would like out of this was a casual dinner and then finding the shittiest club possible and have some fun, trying to remain as private as possible yet within the vicinity of the small Italian city.

"My assistant found this lovely little place in the centre. Don't get mad, but I had him completely book it out. You know, the privacy thing," he said with more insecurity than one would expect.

Y/N picked up on that and tried to lighten up the mood. It seemed a bit excessive to do that, but he probably knew what he was doing.

"Your assistant," she gagged over dramatically. "Jesus, am I not worth enough for you to google on your own? Mr. Busy man. Was he also the one who found me online them?" she joked?

"I'm sure I'd have to hire a special person to that if I planned on outsourcing it."

"Creep."

"You love it."

And she did.

He parked in front of the restaurant, without a care for the world.

"So you're telling me we're making a big deal about keeping a secret that you're here, yet you decide to park like a proper asshole?" she remarked while he opened the door for her. Jokes were making her focus on something else than the fact she was falling for him too hard.

"Oh, you're going absolutely hate my plan," he laughed as they were entering the full on empty restaurant.

"Wow, look at that. I invited all my friends!" he whispered to her ear before addressing the owner.

"Hello, you must be Dario?"

This Dario person smiled brightly at him. "Ah, mister Papaya!" Lando nodded and Y/N rolled her eyes. Dario then started speaking Italian without a care of the world. Language wise deaf Lando did not count for the fact people just did not speak English in this part of Italy. A tiny crack in his plan. What was he suppose to do, call Carlos? But, Y/N having spend a good year or two studying there was there to ease the situation. She whipped out her B1 Italian and greeted the man. Dario's happiness filled up the room.

He seated them and immediately brought local red wine and giving a long talk about where this wine was from and how his grandma used to pick up the grapes herself and how the notes did this and that. Y/N tried to translate at the beginning, but Dario looked like was ready to give a TED talk. She started to loose the grasp of the story, which Lando observed. And like good gentleman he helped her out. No, of course not, when he saw her getting lost, he put on a super interested face and asked about seven follow up questions. Y/N was super annoyed. The kind of annoyed that creates a smile on your face.

When this showdown finally ended, Y/N nearly gulped the wine down. "So rude, Dario just said, you're suppose to sit it and let it roll," said Lando and with too much affect sipped his wine. "Aah," he took a deep breath and the bit his tongue. Y/N stuck her tongue out completely like a five year old child. "Yes, I can your red tongue, that's also one of the reasons why you sip it."

They sat, talked and laughed. He seemed genuinely interested when she blabbed a little bit too long about her latest projects. And then he asked her for a feedback on his latest merch, which by sheer coincidence included lots of photos of him. It was hard to admit how much he enjoyed the idea of her looking at him.

"So, um. I'm not sure I understood Dario correctly. But it looks like he insists on getting us the local speciality," she said hesistantly.

"Well, only if his grandma would approve. But why is this strange look on your face?"

"I must have gotten it wrong. Because burnt pasta just sounds wrong. If I wanted that, I could have stayed and have my roommate cook for us."

"Hm, that is an interesting idea." Lando pretended he did not know her roommate's name.

Once Darion brought out the burnt pasta, the couple had a hard time not to laugh.

"When in Rome...well not in Rome, but you get the idea."

"Why is this good?" Y/N proclaimed with her mouth full to the limit.

Lando laughed. "Ah, we have a lady at the table, I see. I mean yeah, I am not supposed to be having pasta now, but this is so weirdly good."

They finished their strange pasta and the bottle of wine. Said goodbye to Dario, Y/N tried not to think on how much it cost to close a restaurant down.

"Wait, what are we going to do about the car? We can't drive now."

"Not to sound like a complete asshole, but I'd like we remove the WE from any sentence including driving now at the beginning, if that is ok. And like I said at the beginning, you're gonna hate this."

"Go on, Lando boy. Tell me."

"Yeah, the car was provided by my employer. And they really need me, so I'm just going to leave the car here to get towed and inform them later."

"Jesus, why!"

"Well, I figured we'll get a taxi in the morning. I want to enjoy all the time I have with you. Dealing with the car is not on the menu today."

There was nothing for Y/N to reply. She was having too much fun to be thinking.

They found what seemed to be the shittiest bar playing 80's and 90's songs, weirdly colored lights swinging out of the rhythm and with people there consisting of old papas and few probably underaged kids. They brought their own wine bottle from Dario, Lando paid 100 euro for two glasses and for the bartender leaving them alone. It did not take long for Y/N to break out to the dance floor. Lando watched her clumsy yet somehow elegant moves for a moment, before he joined her. They danced, as if they were the only people there, laughing and completely ignoring the looks they were getting. And to the tones of remix of Brother Louis, they kissed again. And this time, they kept kissing until late hours, hand roaming around each other, as if they were two teenagers making out for the first time.

part 5

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Tagged all those who like to suffer: @prudyhoo @anuksunamon @sagestack @esquerkaren @ushygushybaby @ilove-tswizzle @thehufflepuffavenger1 @superlegend216 @mehrmonga @lovely-blackinnon @mylifeihate1029 @lausdigitaldiary @tswizzleismother

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rizsu · 8 months

Text

intended error ! gojo satoru.

sum. co-workers! — following the higher-ups order of a double mission, you make gojo book a room for two at a hotel. gojo sees this as the perfect opportunity.

don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh.

gojo's on the verge of cackling. in order to save himself from a harsh smack on the head, he covers his mouth with his palm. his eyes shift over to you — you're just absolutely hilarious. nothing is funny, yet everything is funny.

the urge to laugh doesn't cease either. his stomach tightens each second he forces himself to not open his mouth.

"this is—" he stops, letting a laugh escape before disguising it as a cough. "AHEM! this is a small ass room."

"don't. i'm going back to the receptionist," you pick up your previously-dropped-in-shock purse to ready yourself for negotiating and complaining.

after being shoved on a twelve-hour flight with gojo, you're not gonna fit yourself on a queen-sized bed with him. maybe you shouldn't have taken on this double mission with him.

"wait," he turns on his heels, grabbing the hem of your shirt. "we can work this out."

you sighed, lifting your purse to your shoulder so you can fold your arms to express disappointment.

"how can we, gojo? that bed can barely fit you — far less for the bathroom."

"i'll take the floor. see? no problem."

"don't be an ass," irritated with his problem solving skills, you revert back to the original plan of meeting the receptionist. only this time gojo won't be able to stop your actions.

he chooses to back away from you. it's totally not because you shot him an ominous glare. he can only hope for the best with the receptionist.

ten-minutes later, you re-enter the room only to be welcomed with an already asleep gojo. there's a high possibility that it's the motherly part of you that's acting right now, but you can't just leave him sprawled out. half his body is on the bed, the other is dangling off the edge. he looks like an abandoned ragdoll.

"psst, gojo," you whispered, gently patting his head.

he doesn't budge.

"hey, gojo," you tried again.

he doesn't move a muscle.

"free all-you-can-eat dinner in thirty-minutes for all new guests."

his eyes automatically open. the pure excitement on his* face ignites a small flame of guilt. you lied, unfortunately, but it was for his own good.

it doesn't take him any longer to realize you told nothing but a sweet lie. this fact is known by his exaggerated groan and turn of his body. now he's face-flat on the pillows.

"is lying all you know?" his muffled voice speaks, though the annoyance isn't missed.

you hum, giving him two pats on the back before gathering your luggage. the noise of your bags aren't unnoticed. the familiar sounds immediately gather his attention to you.

"where are you going?" he asks, running a hand through his bangs.

"i got another room. it's the last one on your left down the hall," you educated him, jiggling your room keys in his direction.

gojo doesn't like this. not at all. this is on the same level of accusing him of murder! the sight of your keys holding another room number introduces pure irritation within his bones. rolling off the bed, gojo takes giant steps to you. once close enough, he snatches the keys when you weren't focused on it.

"where's my pho— HEY!" you gasped at the thief, immediately reaching your hand to take back what's rightfully yours.

"finders keepers, losers weepers," he recites an old saying, raising his arm higher to tease you.

the fight for the keys go on for seven-minutes. it consisted of you jumping like never before and gojo having the time of his life. unlike him, you aren't exactly built for jumping continuously. it was only a matter of time before exhaustion creeps in.

"you tired?" he tilts his head, keeping his eyes on you in case you fall forward. with the way you're hunched over, it's probably best that he moves you to the bed himself.

"c'mere and sit," he orders, positioning one hand on your back as the other holds your shoulder. the keys are still safely secured, though.

gojo's eyes scan your body. just like your case prior, he feels a little guilty for making you jump around. this may explain the sudden switch in his personality at the moment, but those keys will not be given.

"okay, i'm fine now," you inhaled a deep breath, vocally exhaling as you slap your palms together. "my keys, sir."

"what keys?"

"my keys. the one i got like twenty-minutes ago."

"i think i kinda lost it..?"

all hell breaks loose. it didn't take you a second before your voice raised ten octaves higher. gojo mentally prepares himself for the scolding of a life time. even the higher-ups don't scold him the way you do.

"my KEYS, GOJO. I HAVE TO RETURN IT SOON," you begin, eyebrows furrowing at the thought of loosing the keys.

gojo shrugs, "just stay here, then. we can find it later."

"there is no later," you facepalm, desperately trying to settle down.

"there is now! it's late, we need to shower," he claps, standing up and then pulling you up to him.

the look of defeat fuels him. it's satisfying how easy you give up sometimes. a part of him wants to tell you that the keys are in his pocket — too bad that's for "later." right now he can go back to the original plan of sharing a room and one bed with you that was truly not his doing.

#+ rizsu: jujutsu kaisen.#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru drabbles #jjk fluff

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aperrywilliams · 18 days

Text

Douchebag Falls Short in This Case (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Part 1: If Anything I Find it Educative

Part 2: It Was Horrible Until It Wasn’t

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Spencer and Reader can’t have their scheduled lunch, but they keep talking by phone and texts. After Spencer returns from a case, they can see each other again. If Spencer hadn’t been mesmerized with Reader, now he is, and maybe is more than that.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Some strong words. Description of Road Rage Disorder. Talking about bad experiences at high school (nothing explicit). Emily is the best older sister to Spencer.

A/N: The prospect of them having a date was too tempting not to do it. This one is part 3 of “If Anything I Find It Educative” (Part 2 of “It Was Horrible Until It Wasn’t”). Let me know your thoughts!!! I’m here to read you guys.

-----

Spencer's POV

-----

Me: Are you free on Saturday at midday? We could go to lunch. Let me know. Good night. S.R.

Heimlich Master: Yeah. Lunch sounds great. Let's talk about the details later. Good night :)

My face hurts from the big smile I sport right now. Smile that doesn't fade once I get to my apartment.

How did I manage to text her right away? I would never know, but I thank that moment of confidence.

Now I can't wait to see her again on Saturday.

---

I should have known making plans wouldn't work for me. It's Friday afternoon, and I'm on the jet about to take off for a case in Los Angeles.

There goes my lunch with (Y/N).

I grab my phone to type a text to let her know.

Between last night and today, we have been texting back and forth about what time on Saturday works for us and whether I had a place in mind. I did, but I told her it was a surprise.

Now I must cancel, and I can't stress enough my disappointment.

Me: Hey. I'm so sorry, but I'm leaving for a case in L.A. Can we reschedule our lunch? Please don't hate me.

Heimlich Master: Oh, it's okay. Don't worry; of course, we can reschedule.

Heimlich Master: Let me know when you come back. And don't be silly; I don't hate you.

Heimlich Master: Can I ask you for something, though?

Me: Sure. Anything.

Heimlich Master: Can you prevent Morgan from kick-down doors this time? The bureau budget would appreciate it.

I can't contain the snort that leaves my lips, gaining Emily's attention. Bad luck of mine; she is in a seat just in front of me.

Me: I'll do my best. Promise.

Heimlich Master: Thank you. Have a safe flight :)

Me: Thanks :)

Look at me! Even using emojis.

Penelope would be proud of me.

I set my phone on the table to exchange it for the book I chose for this flight. Emily's voice stops me before I can do that.

"So, are you going to tell me why you are so smiling?"

And here we go.

"Me?" I lift my eyes to Emily, who has a smirk on her face. I hate that she already knows what's happening, not even knowing what's happening.

"Sure, genius. I don't see anyone else here so amused and focused on his texts. Not to mention the grin that could illuminate the whole D.C."

"No, I'm not!" I defend—a poor attempt to keep the transparency of my face at bay. Emily scoffs, and that's all it takes to know she doesn't believe me.

"I understand you don't like to talk about your personal life. I get it. And I won't bug you as Morgan would, yet knowing it is related to your love life. But don't try to fool me. It's insulting," she says, the last part faking hurt. That makes me chuckle.

"That being said, I just want you to know I'm here if you need to talk. It's not always good to keep things to yourself."

Not waiting for my response, she picks up the folder with the current case details to read.

I have known Emily for a few years now, and even if we didn't start on the right foot - entirely my fault - she's proven very supportive. Gosh, once she endured a whole beating from an unsub only to keep me safe.

Beyond that, she knows how to talk to me without treating me like a kid. Sometimes, I can't say the same about the rest. Of course, I don't blame them; they've always seen me as the team's baby, but I appreciate Emily doesn't.

"That's the thing. This," I point my gaze where my phone is. "I don't know what it is," I sigh. Emily's eyes are back to me. She sees how confused I am.

"What do you think it is then?"

I don't want to betray (Y/N) 's trust by spilling details about her life, so the specifics of our talks are out of the table.

"I can't deny there is a connection between us. We only met twice—both by chance. But they led us to talk for hours. And I ask myself, am I reading this wrong, and she only sees me like a, I don't know, potential friend?"

"Why would she? She told you she was only looking for a friend?" Emily asks, her hands resting lightly over the folder on her lap.

"No, she didn't. It's a deduction of mine, though. I mean, she recently ended a relationship —a very serious one."

Just remembering the reason that led to that breakup makes me sick.

"Okay. That could be a thing, but not necessarily. Maybe things ended precisely because she wanted something different. That's not bad," Emily hypothesizes. I shake my head.

"I'm not so sure. Let's say she wouldn't have ended the relationship until something big happened. Big enough for her to realize the guy was a total -"I trail off. What would be the right word?

"A douchebag?" Emily offers.

"I think douchebag falls short in this case," I point out. Emily's eyes widen.

"That bad, uh?" I nod.

"She is vulnerable right now, and I don't want to take advantage of that. But at the same time, I want a chance with her. Am I a bad person?"

"What? No! Spencer, don't say that," Emily rushes to stop my spiral. "Far from that. You are considerate enough to see she's in a complicated situation. Most of the men don't even care about that. Cut her some slack, though. She is a grown-up woman, and if she wants to get to know you, why not let her? If she hasn't already, I bet she will see the great man you are. And not only as a friend."

My eyebrows furrow.

"Do you think so?"

"Sure. And for how you describe her, I don't think she is the type to play with people's feelings. Although, I strongly recommend being honest with her. That will prevent false expectations."

I take in Emily's words, and they make perfect sense.

"Thank you, Emily. I didn't think about it like that," I

muse. "Can you do me a favor, though?"

She nods, anticipating what I'm going to say.

"I know. Not a word to anyone. Got it," Emily confirms with a reassuring smile.

---

The heat in Los Angeles for the last three days has been overpowering. Just as catching this unsub has become extremely frustrating.

I'm in the meeting room they lent us to work in, reviewing the details of the case over and over again. The rest of the team is outside the precinct following our latest leads.

My head started to hurt, and I had to close my eyes for a moment.

As I focus on breathing, my phone pings. I open my eyes and see a text from (Y/N).

Heimlich Master: How are you? I read that L.A. has a heat wave; I hope it's not hitting you too hard.

I can't help the smile that pushes the corners of my lips upward.

Me: I'd like to say it's not affecting me, but I don't want to lie. I will survive, though. Please tell me how nice the weather is in D.C., and I'll aim to finish this case as soon as possible.

Heimlich Master: I thought our lunch was enough incentive for you to do that. Now I feel bad.

Oh, fuck. What did I do? Of course, it's an incentive for me. It is THE incentive, actually. I have been thinking about that since Friday when I came here. Now she's assuming I don't care.

How can you be such an idiot, Spencer?

I must fix this immediately, so I hit the call button—a confused (Y/N) answers on the other end.

"Spencer?"

"Hey. I - uh. I decided to call because I needed to explain myself. Please, don't feel bad. Of course, I want our lunch to happen. I wasn't saying it like if I don't. I mean, the heat is fucking insane here, but it's not-"

"Spencer, hey, don't-" she tries to make me stop. Still, I am so determined to say everything necessary to explain myself that I continue my rant.

"What I'm trying to say is-"

"Spencer, wait!" (Y/N)’s firmer voice halts me in my failed attempt at an apology. It's sufficient enough for me to shut up.

"Sorry. What were you about to say?"

"I'm sorry for stopping you, but it sounded like you would run out of air and pass out. Now I feel awful because the last thing I wrote was only to mess with you. I didn't want you to feel like I was accusing you of something, much less that you owed me an apology."

"Oh," I mumble, now making sense of the whole exchange. My cheeks heat up realizing I went from 0 to 100 in seconds. (Y/N)'s voice sounds anxious now.

"Please, forgive me if I worried you that way. That's why I hate texts; I can't control my teasing tone as I do when I talk to someone."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I don't want (Y/N) to think she did anything wrong, though.

"No, don't say that. I'm not good at - literally - reading social cues. I should have noticed. I just need some practice," I chuckle. I can hear a chuckle on the other end, too.

"Well, since we already cleared up our first miscommunication problem. How are you?"

That sentence shouldn't make my heart skip a beat, but it does.

Get your shit together, Spencer.

"With the heat and the lack of progress in the case, it is a bit frustrating. But we'll make it. How about you?"

"Good, actually. Not the load of paperwork I had last week, and my boss just asked me to prepare a lecture for the trainees in forensic accounting."

"Wow, that's amazing!" I chirp, excited.

"I'm a bit nervous, though. But I'll live," (Y/N) sighs.

"You'll do it great. I didn't know you were into teaching," I muse, remembering our prior conversations.

"I didn't, either. But I've had some previous experiences, and they have been okay. So, the case? That bad, uh?"

That brings me back to L.A. and the case. I was very comfy with my mind in (Y/N).

"He's taunting us. I mean, the police force. But we have a strong profile. One more piece, and we have him," I assure, trying to be convincing enough.

"You guys know what you're doing. You'll catch him, Spencer." (Y/N) sounds like she has no doubt. It fills my heart with warmth because although she doesn't have to put that amount of trust in me, she does it anyway.

"Reid?" I turn to see Morgan and J.J. walking into the room. She hears it, too.

"They need you. You have to return to work," (Y/N) concludes. I let out a sigh.

"Yeah. I have to go," I mumble apologeticly.

"Of course, you're working. It’s okay," she affirms with understanding.

"I'll let you know when I'm done here. Take care, okay?" I whisper into the receiver.

"I will. You too, be safe. Bye."

I can see Morgan's smirk and JJ’s curious look when I hang up.

I know they're dying to ask me questions, but now is not the time, and I don't want to either. So before any words come from their mouths, I hasten to speak.

"Did you find anything? I was examining what we have so far, and I think we are missing something. Look at this," I tell them, pointing to the scattered photos on the table. They look at each other and hesitate to interrupt me or play along. Thank goodness they opt for the latter.

---

Me: Did you know L.A. has an abandoned underground tunnel network? If they are put together, it will stretch out 17 kilometers. They exist due to the Prohibition. When alcohol was banned in L.A. in early 1920, 35,000 gallons of wine were poured into its sewers. But, far from eradicating booze, prohibition pushed its use underground, literally.

Heimlich Master: Wow. I didn't know that. But I'm afraid to ask why are you telling me this. Are you trapped in one of those tunnels, and this is a call for help? [see attached photo]

Me: Ha Ha Ha. Let's say I've been studying those tunnels all day. Good thing we have Morgan and Prentiss to do the dirty job, though.

It's my fifth night in Los Angeles, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry. The only things that have kept me at least in a decent mood are the texts and short calls I have shared with (Y/N). I've never been very fond of using technology, including my cell phone, but thanks to (Y/N), I haven't even questioned it.

We've been sharing fun facts and memes. If you had asked me a week ago what a meme was, I wouldn't have known what to answer. The word was familiar to me thanks to Garcia, who often mentions them, but now I can say that I know more about them than I would have expected to. (Y/N) is a regular, and I can understand more of her sense of humor because of that. She especially loves the ones with a philosopher dinosaur and those where a woman yells at a cat.

Heimlich Master: How is the case going?

I'm about to reply when hard knocks shake my hotel room door. I hear Morgan's voice on the other side. "Reid! There is a break in the case! Move your ass right now!" Before leaving the room, I texted (Y/N).

Me: Hoping to wrap it up tonight.

Two hours later, we have the unsub in custody, not before running into a frantic chase for L.A. streets. Now, completely wasted, we are packing our things to return home. Usually, when we wrap cases at this hour, we stay until the next morning and then take off. But everyone is so drained that Hotch called to the tarmac saying we’re flying back tonight.

Being already on the jet, I feel like writing to (Y/N), but it doesn't seem appropriate, considering it's 2 in the morning. I refrain and try to catch some sleep, knowing exactly what I want to do first when we touch down in Virginia.

---

It’s the first time I've put foot on the third floor of the Quantico Headquarters. It doesn’t look too different from the others I do know. A bunch of people walking in and out, agents perched at their desks, deep in folders or computers. Phones are ringing, and the sound of copy machines is unmistakable.

But none of that matters right now. I have a mission to accomplish.

After navigating between several desks, I find the one I’m looking for.

“Good morning, agent (Y/L/N).”

At the sound of my voice, (Y/N)’s head whips up.

“Hey! When did you come back?” she asks, seeming confused. The last time we spoke was last night before the unsub takedown, so for her, I still could be in LA.

I check my watch. “One hour and fifteen minutes ago.”

“I hope you slept on the jet.”

“I did. A bit.”

I won’t tell her how I barely closed my eyes, excited about returning to Virginia.

“So, to what do I owe the honor of having you here, Dr. Reid?”

“A crucial matter that can’t wait.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh-hu. I have an announcement and a question for you.”

“Oh yeah? Okay, shoot.”

“Morgan didn't kick down any doors during this case.”

(Y/N) snort a laugh. What a beautiful view it is to see her laugh.

“It's what I needed to start my day with the right foot.”

“You're welcome.”

“Okay, that was the announcement. And the question?”

“Yeah, about that. What do you say if we switch our failed lunch last Saturday for having dinner tonight?”

(Y/N)’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Tonight? Are you sure? You just came back.”

She’s inspecting my face, looking for certainty. I nod solemnly.

“Yeah, tonight. Unless you already have plans. If that’s the case, it’s okay. We can do something another day.”

After pondering my offer for a second, a smile creeps in (Y/N)’s face.

“You’re a lucky guy. Did you know that?”

Is it too much to say I’m feeling a lucky guy since I met her?

“I’m realizing now. Pick you up at seven, then. Is that okay?”

“Perfect. I’ll text you my full address.”

After saying our goodbyes, I take the elevator back to BAU. As the doors open at the sixth, I go face-to-face with Garcia.

“Oh, there you are! Everyone was looking for you to start the debriefing. Where were you anyways?” Penelope says, worried about my whereabouts.

Shit. I forgot Hotch wanted to do that quickly so we could finally get over this case.

“Uh. I had to use the bathroom.” I try to sound normal to avoid making a big deal.

“On another floor?” She asks, visibly confused.

Sometimes, my IQ gets lost in my odd way of doing synapses.

What the fuck I was thinking when I said that?

“Did you know the men’s bathroom paper toilet in the seventh is better quality than here?”

Oh, Spencer Reid, please stop.

“Really? I always knew they had more privileges than us. But the paper toilet? It’s infuriating,” Garcia huffs. And I know doing this is not very kind of me, but I promise to explain to her. Not now, though.

“Uh. I’m going to the conference room now. The others are waiting,” I announce, and Garcia nods, ushering me there.

“Yes. Go, go!”

Aside from the looks of 'Where the hell were you?' no one commented on me being late. Once we debrief, Hotch officially closes the case, instructing us to finish the paperwork and head home at lunchtime, which is perfect for my plans. It gives me enough time to prepare for dinner with (Y/N).

I know I look like a teenager, but I don't care.

Around three in the afternoon, I am already in my apartment and have made a restaurant reservation.

I decided to take a quick nap, although I didn't know how much sleep I would get given my nerves. It's not that being with (Y/N) makes me anxious per se; It's the anticipation of being with her.

Maybe I'm expecting too much from this date.

Shit. 'This date' Is this actually a date?

I feel like it is, but for (Y/N), will it be the same?

I invited her to dinner but never told her it was a date. Derek would tell me it is, but I don't want to assume.

Now is when Emily's words ring in my ears: 'Be honest with her to avoid false expectations.'

With her words in mind and the tiredness from the last days catching up with me, slumber finds me after a while.

---

It’s seven pm sharp, and I’m knocking on (Y/N)’s door. I can hear some rustling from inside before the doors open, revealing her frame greeting me with a smile.

“Hey! Just in time!”

“H- hi,” I say, almost breathless after taking in her appearance.

It's true that the first time I saw (Y/N), she was dressed to the nines. It's also true that when I saw her on the terrace that night, I couldn't help but think how beautiful and captivating she was.

The next time was at Quantico. She wore a classic and elegant office outfit, with black formal trousers, a white silk blouse, and a fitted maroon jacket. The image of all the confidence and resolve I bet she has at the job.

But now? My jaw shamelessly drops.

She's wearing a sleek, form-fitting black dress that accentuates her curves and black heels that elongate her legs. A beautiful cardigan wraps elegantly in her upper half. Her hair is styled in loose waves cascading over her shoulders, and she's accessorized with long silver earrings and the same necklace with the compass I saw on her the first time. She looks sophisticated, alluring, and just perfect.

“Let me get my purse, and we can go, okay?” (Y/N) says, jutting her thumb to the inside.

“Su- yeah, sure.”

Great. I’m a stuttering mess.

The drive to the restaurant is filled with light conversation. I talked about the last heatwave in Los Angeles, and she annoyed me by telling me about the rain in Virginia last week.

Now I ask (Y/N) if she has a car. It happens that she owns a car but doesn't like to drive.

“I just discovered years ago I don't like it. But I kept the car only for emergencies, which is stupid if I think of it,” she prefaces.

“Why?” I ask, stealing a glance at her.

“Because now all emergencies I can think of entail myself incapable of driving.”

Her laugh fills the car now, and I can’t help but join her.

“Okay, okay. But really, why you don’t like it?” I ask when our laughing fades. (Y/N) clears her throat.

“Uh - are you familiar with the term road rage?”

I nod, not peeling my gaze from the streets ahead.

“Yes, I do. Colloquially known as ‘angry driver disorder,’ it is aggressive or angry behavior exhibited by motorists. These behaviors include rude and verbal insults, yelling, physical threats, or dangerous driving methods targeted at other drivers, pedestrians, or cyclists to intimidate or release frustration.”

A sigh escapes (Y/N)’s lips. “Yeah. That.”

Using the chance a red light gives me, I look at her with an eyebrow furrowed.

“So, do you have RRD?”

She averts my gaze, focusing on the windshield instead.

“I thought I had it. At first, I didn’t give it any importance. I said it was just me trying to adjust to the jungle. Who hasn’t yelled as driving? But there were times when I freaked out of myself and feared doing something more than screeching or honking like crazy. So, I stopped driving for a while. I did my research and learned techniques to get it under control. But since then, I never enjoyed it again.”

A nervous giggle escapes from (Y/N)’s lips.

“Jesus, you are going to think I’m a society threat.”

I shake my head without a second thought.

“Of course, you are not. Furthermore, I find it admirable that you realized it was unhealthy and took action before living a worse experience.”

I see a blush creeping (Y/N)’s cheeks from the corner of my eye.

Not five minutes later, we are at the restaurant parking lot.

Descending from the vehicle, I hurry to (Y/N)’s door and open it for her. Once she is out of the car, I offer my arm so she can lace hers with it.

The hostess greets us at the entrance, and once he checks our reservation, he leads us to our table.

It's the first time I’m here. I chose it because Rossi once said it was perfect for a date.

Again. A date. Something I still don't know if apply here.

A waitress approaches us as soon as we sit, handing us two menus.

“Miss, sir. I’m Emma, and I’ll be at your service this evening. Can I offer something to drink?”

After Emma leaves us with our orders, (Y/N) turns to me.

“Spencer, this place is amazing.”

And she is right. The soft lighting from the small lamps creates a warm atmosphere. The decor includes cozy tables spaced apart for privacy, with comfortable seating and plush cushions. Soft and muted deep reds and browns fill the interior, with classy artwork on the walls. It's really nice.

But above all, the company makes it even better.

Our conversation flows as easily as in the car. It's so comfortable as we have known each other for a long time. And we just met less than two weeks ago.

“Okay, let me get this straight. So you are from Vegas and couldn't bear the L.A. heatwave?”

“I have lived in DC for almost eight years, so I adapted better to this climate.” I shrug and (Y/N) hums.

“You don't get to go there that much? I mean, do you have family there?”

“Just my mom. And no, I don’t see her very often,” I confess—a tint of guilt in my voice.

I see (Y/N)’s face, and I know she wants to ask, but she is respectful enough not to. Not everyone is.

“I’m an only child. And my dad left us when after my tenth birthday. With no siblings, it is only my mom and me. But even if I don't see her often, I write her letter daily.”

I look at her again, expecting the same face everyone gives me when I talk about my family, the one that screams pity. But no, if (Y/N)’s face screams anything, it’s understanding.

“Old school, uh? I’m sure your mom loves your letters,” she says, sipping her glass of wine. I nod,

telling (Y/N) more about my letters to my mom and how detailed she likes me to write them.

“And I think it helped us not to break the bond.” I shrug, taking a bit from the fork. “What about you? Did you say you are not from DC?”

“No. I’m not. I’m from Minneapolis. My parents settled there at a very young age. They were born in the South. I have two siblings: an older sister and a younger brother. My parents are still in Minneapolis, and my brother is, but he lives with his boyfriend now. My sister left for Chicago when she married her fiancee years ago.”

“Do you see them often?”

(Y/N) shakes her head.

“Not quite. Just in holidays or major events. But we call each other often. I always know what happens there, and they know what happens to me here.”

(Y/N) tells me she is not that close with her sister, though. Since she started dating his current husband, they distanced. And that only worsened when (Y/N) moved to DC.

“I’m sorry. That must have hurt.” I don’t know what having a sibling is, but I see in her eyes that she is not okay with how things turned between them.

“Yeah. But neither of us has done something about it. And here is where I need to clarify that stubbornness runs in my family,” she chuckles.

I pull a face, faking surprise. “Yeah, that’s so you can realize who you're dealing with,” she says, pointing her fork at me.

Our conversation bounces from topic to topic until we land on the school phase.

I tell her about what it's like to be a child prodigy in a public school in Las Vegas. The bad things and the not-so-bad ones, because believe it or not, I can see something positive from that time at this point in my life.

“Clearly, I didn't have it as difficult as you, but I am sure we all felt out of place at some point during that time,” she muses, cutting a piece of her dessert with the spoon.

“Did you?”

She lets out a chuckle. “Let's say I haven't been very ‘typical’ in my life, especially in high school. I mean, if following a stereotype was required, mine was quite different from the other girls my age.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “How is so?”

“Well, while my friends dreamed about having a Mr. Darcy-Elizabeth kind of love, I found Heathcliff and Kathy's relationship more appealing,” she stops from her explanation with a snort escaping her lips. “Ha! I should have known it would be a problem later.”

Why do I think other people would know what she is talking about while I don't?

Of course, she sees the confusion written all over my face.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” I pull a face, shaking my head.

“At risk of being disrespectful, uh, no. I don't.”

“Don’t worry. You don't have to, I guess. But if you read Wuthering Heights someday, you will know.”

I will—first thing in the morning.

“But the main idea is that I never expected life would be something close to a fairy tale, you know? I just didn't believe it, and my friends hated that of me.”

Jerks.

It's fair to say that we are so caught up in chatting that we don’t realize we are the only ones left in the restaurant. We do when Emma approaches to ask if we need anything.

After paying the check, we left the restaurant and headed to my car. The ride is mainly silent this time. I don’t want this night to end, and I think (Y/N) doesn't either because of how she bites her lower lip with her eyes trained on the road ahead.

We begin a light conversation for a few minutes after arriving at her building. With the car in parking, I reach her side of the vehicle to open the door for her. I offer her my hand, and she takes it, giving me a warm smile.

“I'll walk you to the door.” She nods softly, “Okay.”

The three floors to her apartment are pure agony in my head. I want to be honest with her, but I also don't want to scare her into thinking I'm a creep or whatever. If she notices my internal dilemma, she doesn't mention it. We reach her door, and (Y/N) takes her keys from her purse. I don't trust my hands and keep them in my pockets as she opens the door. She turns to face me now.

“Thank you, Spencer. I had a great time tonight.”

I see it in her eyes. She is genuine. And my heart skips a bit.

“Me too. Thanks for accepting my invitation.”

My hands feel clammy, so I take them out of my pocket and dry them discreetly on my clothes.

“Of course.”

We remain silent without taking our eyes off each other. Emily's words reverberate, and I know what I must do.

Okay. Here we go.

“Can I - can I ask you something?”

I wish I could speak without stumbling over my words.

“Sure.”

“Would you say that tonight, that is, our dinner - would you say it was a date? I mean, would you classify this as a date?”

(Y/N)’s eyes are trained on me as if trying to follow my train of thought.

“A date? Why wouldn’t I?”

She is still careful but curious about where I’m going with all of this.

“It's just that I never said it was a date when I talked about dinner.”

“So, you didn’t want it as a date?” (Y/N) asks for clarification, and I feel like the stupidest human being on earth.

“No! I did. I do. It's just - I thought you maybe thought of it like something different?”

She narrows her eyes at me. This is not working. I take a deep breath before starting over.

“The thing is, I don’t know if I’m reading this wrong. From the times we have seen each other and what we have talked about in these two weeks, I feel that there is something that feels so good between us, and I wonder if maybe you don't feel it or if you see it as something similar to a friendship. I know things in that part of your life have been messy lately, and I would understand if you wouldn't want anything to do with me, but I can't stop thinking-“

My rant is halted when I notice (Y/N)’s palm caressing my cheek. There is a glimmer in her eyes that makes my heart stop.

“Spencer. You are not reading this wrong. I feel the same way you described it as ‘right,’ even if I’m unsure what it is exactly.”

I let out a dramatic sigh I didn't know I was holding. That makes (Y/N) giggle. I join her with a chuckle myself.

As the giggle subsides, I hold her hand and place it over my chest near my heart. My other hand softly tilts her chin so I can look into her eyes.

“You are amazing; did you know that?” I whisper, and her breath hitched. I flick my gaze between her eyes and her lips. She does the same. And that's what I needed to get the courage and lean in. Slowly, the distance between us gets short, and I swear my heart is going to burst out of my chest. I can feel her breath fanning my face as her eyes flutter close.

And then, our lips met for the first time.

It's slow, and I can taste the sweetness of her lips.

I've never felt something like this kissing someone before, but now that I know what it's like, I never want to stop feeling it.

Her hands go up my shoulders, seeking a grip on the hair at the back of my neck. My hands fly to her hips to pull her closer to me as our kiss deepens. I sweep my tongue over her lower lip, and she parts them to grant me access. One of my hands leaves her hip to cup her face to get a better angle for continuing our kiss. Her arms tighten around my neck, pulling me impossibly closer.

I don’t want it to end, but the need for air is too much. After breaking the kiss, we are both panting with our faces flushed and lips swollen.

“Wow.”

“Jesus.”

We breathe out at the same time, followed by a fit of giggles.

Her laugh is definitely my new favorite sound on Earth.

I cup her cheeks and lean again to steal a quick kiss from her lips, and when I’m about to part again, she tightens her grip on my suit jacket lapels and brings me to her lips again.

After two or three more kisses, we lose the hold of our hands off each other, with a wide grin spread on our faces.

“I think we already give my neighbors enough of a show for tonight,” (Y/N) points out, biting her lower lip and peeking at both sides of the hall behind me.

“Yeah,” I mumble as I stroke her cheek, gaze focused on her eyes. “I should get going.” (Y/N) nods. “Text me when you are home?”

“I will.”

After another quick kiss, I muster the will to say goodbye. Wishing me goodnight, (Y/N) enters the apartment and closes the door. I linger there for a few seconds, excited like a child after the best day of his life.

I feel like it is.

Right now? I'm beyond grateful to Hotch for making me attend that stupid gala.

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

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

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #amanda perry williams #aperrywilliams #doctor spencer reid

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ellephlox · 10 months

Text

Muted Dawn

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader

Summary: You get mugged in the middle of the night, but Matt isn't there to save you.

Warnings: mugging, canon-typical violence, swearing, injuries, physical/verbal assault

In mid-summer, the midnight air of New York had a surreal balminess to it. You wore a tank top and a thin red jacket on top, your suitcase rolling loudly behind you as you hurried down the sidewalk. Every crack, every pebble, every sewer grate — they were all thunderclaps compared to the otherwise quiet evening. The luggage was too heavy to carry, though, so it would have to roll behind you.

It was a long day. You'd flown out to visit family, and your return flight was supposed to be midday. It had been cancelled, though, leaving you to scramble for a layover that could get you to New York by morning. It was a complete shit show, and you'd had to sprint to your gates at the airport with this stupid shitty suitcase that you were half-tempted to just dump in the garbage.

Matt still thought you'd arrived in the evening. He texted you earlier that he had a case to work on with Foggy, and that he'd be up in the office plowing through work, probably until early morning.

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you'd actually touched down in New York at eleven p.m. because that would be a surefire way to pull Matt out of work to meet you at the airport. Dragging him from his responsibilities — which were already too numerous — was the last thing you wanted.

So, solo travel in the middle of the night was your only option. You took the airport train to the nearest station, and from there took a train, and from there took another train that deposited you at 50th Street. Matt's apartment was only a ten minute walk, tops, from the station. Just a short walk. Too short to justify calling an Uber, mostly because you didn't exactly have a lot of money left in your wallet and your next paycheck wasn't for another few days.

Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump—

"Shit," you said aloud, staring between your luggage wheels and the sidewalk, which had switched from mildly smooth to practically cobbled. That didn't bode well for your plan to walk quietly back to the apartment. You snapped the handle down and tried to carry the suitcase again, but managed only to go a few steps before your arm felt as though it were going to break off. "Come on."

"Need some help?" The voice that came from the shadows was most definitely not Matt's, and goosebumps ran down your arms immediately. You didn't bother answering; it was always best to ignore anyone who tried talking to you on the streets of Hell's Kitchen. To regain some speed you pulled your handle back out — no sense in trying to be quiet now — and continued on your way, the thumps more rapid this time as you picked up the pace.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump—

"I asked you a question, darling." To your horror, mingled with the sound of your suitcase wheels smashing along the sidewalk were now footsteps, and a figure appeared in the corner of your eye.

"You gonna answer? Not very nice of you." He jogged in front of you, blocking your way effectively, and now you could properly see him. He was pale — practically pasty in the moonlight — and wore a sweatshirt so stained it might as well have been a used napkin at a greasy fast food joint. He had a beard, untamed and straggly, and despite the wild look to him that suggested he was hungry, he was big. Most definitely someone you didn't want to try taking on in a fight.

"Get the hell out of my way," you snapped at him.

"I want to see what's in that suitcase. It's making a hell of a racket."

"Sorry to disappoint." You tried to weave your way around him, but he stepped in front of you again.

Damn it. You suddenly regretted not texting Matt about your late arrival. If you had, you wouldn't be alone on the street right now — Matt would have been beside you — and this wouldn't be happening. Fear, potent and throbbing, swirled in your stomach like a dense fog. You felt like a wild animal, ensnared in a trap with nowhere to go. You glanced behind you; the street was just as empty and silent, with the few streetlights flickering menacingly as though about to burn out.

"Look, bitch, you want to do this the easy or the hard way?"

"I said, let me get by. I don't want any trouble."

"Trouble?" he said, then laughed, scanning you from head to toe. "You look like little Red Riding Hood. What're you going to do?"

"I can scream. People will come and you'll be in deep shit."

"You're a fucking idiot if you think that. These back streets of Hell's Kitchen are the furthest you can get from help, darling."

"Unless the devil hears me," you breathed out, depending on the hope that this man had heard of Matt's other persona. "Then I have a good feeling your legs will get broken. You heard of him?"

Except the devil wasn't out tonight. He was instead filing paperwork, far away on the other end of the Kitchen, and probably wearing a suit. Unless the man in front of you fell for the bluff... you were thoroughly screwed.

But the man pulled out a gun, which you had not been expecting. "Devil ain't out here. No one's seen him in a few days. Hard way it is, then. You scream, darling, and I'll shoot you between the eyes."

You froze. Never had you felt so helpless in your life. Your heart was banging against your chest like a frantic bird, trying to escape, and yet your limbs wouldn't move, for fear of that black weapon pointing directly at your head. "Please," you said finally, the word coming out in a rasp. "I just want to go home."

"And you can, once you gimme what I want." The man pointed the gun at the suitcase. "Open it up."

You trembled slightly. Should you try fighting him? Sure, Matt had taught you some basic self-defense, but this man had a gun. What could you do against that? Maybe you could try grabbing the gun, or kicking it from his hands, but... that was ridiculous. You had hardly any training. Most likely you'd end up falling on your ass, and then the guy would put a bullet in you.

No, your best chance was to comply. Slowly you bent down and fumbled with the clasp of the suitcase, your hands shaking so hard that it wouldn't open up.

"I said open it!" the man demanded, jabbing the gun against your temple. It was cold and hard, and against your volition you yelped, squeezing your eyes shut. When the bullet didn't come, you slowly opened your eyes, and resumed your struggle with the clasp, finally popping it open. Shame grazed your face as you opened the luggage to unfolded laundry and toiletries haphazardly thrown in; not that this man cared, but somehow you felt as though your last shred of dignity was chewed up and spat on.

Maybe Matt would finish his paperwork early and put on the suit. Maybe he could hear you, right now, and he was on his way, leaping across rooftops. But no one was coming, and you stepped back, allowing the man to root through your belongings. He stooped over the suitcase, his gun now dangling at your side. You eyed him. Though you weren't exactly fast, especially compared to Matt, maybe you could make a break for it, and at least get away. Your suitcase was a lost cause at this point, but frankly, you didn't care.

Do it. Now. While he's distracted. Before you could lose your nerve, you took off, terror burning in your veins and making you pump your arms as hard as you could. You were only a few blocks from home, not far at all —

But footsteps rang behind you, heavy and faster than you. You chanced a look over your shoulder, and hardly had time to react before the man behind you overtook you entirely, tackling you to the sidewalk. Pavement slashed and gnawed against your skin, burning white hot — your cheek, your knees, the palms of your hands.

"Never run away from me like that before I'm done," the man said, in an almost childish way, as though a toy had been taken from him. He grabbed you by your arm and pulled you roughly to your feet. "I'm not finished with you yet."

By this point, tears were flowing down your cheeks, and all sense of shame was gone. Nothing mattered now except surviving, leaving this man and getting into the safety of home. Desperately you thought of the couch, and the shower, and bed, places that had seemed so close just ten minutes ago and now felt impossibly far away. "Please," you begged him. "Please. Take whatever you want, I just want to leave. Please."

He wrenched your arm in response, twisting it back much farther than it wanted to go. You shrieked, thinking that your arm must be broken, but then he let go and slapped your face, right across the cheek that still burned from the fall.

"Quiet!" he said roughly. "Let me finish." He kept his grip on your arm as he bent down to return to the suitcase, and you were yanked off your feet, falling to the ground like some absurd doll in the hands of an aggressive six-year-old. You didn't watch closely what the man took, because your vision was too blurred, but a dazed glance downwards told you that your laptop, earbuds, and jewelry were gone.

"Where's your wallet?" he asked, turning back to you. You didn't question him at all and reached into your pocket, your fingertips searching obediently for the wallet. Where are you, Matt? The man wasn't patient, though, and plunged his hand into your pocket to take over. You stayed stock still, the feeling of his hand against your thigh more disturbing than you could have predicted, as he extracted the wallet, then your phone, and pushed you away.

"Now here's what's going to happen," he said, pulling the gun out again. "I'm gonna let you live, because bodies are hard to take care of. But if you try squealing, if you go running off to a cop — if you tell anyone at all, I swear I'm going to find you and kill you." He took out your license and read it aloud — your name, your height, your weight, your address. "See, darling, I know everything about you. And if I get a whiff that you've tried telling someone about this little exchange we had tonight, I'll come to your address, and I'll slit your throat. Got it, darling?"

You nodded violently.

"Now get out of here," he said, and shoved you one last time. You didn't hesitate, and ran.

He could have taken more. Your clothing, your bracelet from Matt that you wore, your body, your life. All those you still had. The things he'd taken were meaningless, just trinkets. Things you could buy again.

But this reasoning didn't comfort you at all, and the moment you were in the safety of the apartment, with the door locked, you broke down altogether. You could hardly breathe, and every two seconds you ran to the window to check the street, certain that you'd see that stained sweatshirt ambling along the sidewalk, or hear a sudden knock at the door. Your phone was gone, so there was no way to call 911 if you needed to. And Matt wouldn't be able to reach you, either. You wished, like never before, that you could have his hearing. The ability to know when Matt was on his way back, and to hear him coming down the sidewalk, would be infinitely comforting; even more so would be the assurance that you'd hear that man who mugged you if he decided to come to the apartment.

But all you could hear was the whir of the refrigerator and your own shallow breaths.

It was therefore a heart-wrenching shock when you heard the deadbolt unlock, maybe an hour later. Maybe two hours later, or three. You weren't sure; time was a vortex, or even a black hole, with an event horizon so monstrous that everything was sucked into it.

Matt's home. As if you were dropped into an icy bath, you suddenly leapt to your feet. You hadn't showered. Your clothing was torn at the knees, and that man's scent was probably all over you, not to mention blood was smeared across your face and hands from the scrapes. Not good. Not good at all.

You ran into the bathroom just as the front door sprung open, and you only caught the smallest glimpse of the storm cloud of emotion already on Matt's face before you slammed the bathroom door shut and locked it.

Why, exactly, you were hiding from him, when there was no doubt he could smell the man and blood either way, wasn't clear to you. Maybe it was the shame of him seeing you like this. He was so capable, so responsible, and to sense you on the floor like a puddle... it made you feel even worse than you already felt. Yes, you'd wanted Matt to save you, but it was too late now, wasn't it? Now you were just going to be another thing he had to take care of.

So, a shower it was.

Matt's fist pounded on the door. "Y/N? What happened?"

"I'm showering."

"It's two in the morning. I can smell your blood and your heart is flying. What happened?"

This time, it wasn't Matt asking, but the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. You could hear it in the low growl of his voice, the restlessness that simultaneously wanted to defend you as well as throw a punch at something.

"I'm okay, Matt. I'm okay. I just need a minute to clean up," you told him, starting the water. "Please."

"Y/N, if you don't unlock this door, I'm going to knock it off its hinges."

The thought made new tears spring to your eyes all over again. Your money — all gone. You'd have to cancel your credit cards now. And while you'd spent most of your money while visiting family, you'd had at least two twenties in your wallet — forty dollars, now gone, and forty dollars less to fix a broken door with.

Matt must have sensed the tears, because his next words were much gentler. "Whatever happened, you can tell me. I can—"

He fell silent. You peeled off your jacket, examining the scrapes on your hands briefly. Those would sting in the water, undoubtedly. Taking care of them was an imperative. Matt had a case to work on, and a city to save. The thought of him being preoccupied with your damn hands was enough to make you want to throw your fist into the wall with anger. Anger with yourself. How could you have let yourself get mugged? If you'd just called a fucking Uber from the station, then this would never have happened.

Matt said something on the other side of the door, too softly for you to hear.

"Didn't catch that," you said, as casually as possible. Priority number one was making sure Matt didn't know the extent to which you were freaked out.

"I said, who did this?"

"I don't know," you said evenly. It was harder than you thought it would be to keep your voice steady, when every instinct in you wanted to say it with a sob, and to curl back up on the floor. Standing was too hard, listening to Matt was too hard, simply breathing was too hard — every time you closed your eyes, the feeling of the gun against your temple returned to you.

There was a sudden click, and the door swung open. Matt had unlocked it, somehow, and you didn't have the energy to question how he'd done it.

His presence was like a live electric wire as he stepped into the room. You could feel the tension rising within him, threatening to spill over if you didn't give a name or a hint of what happened. You crossed your arms, wishing you'd left your jacket on, even though it didn't make a difference for what Matt could sense about you. The scrape on your face seared angrily and the fleeting thought passed through you that Matt could probably feel the heat of it just as clearly as you.

"I said I was fine," you said finally, keeping your voice controlled. "I told you I needed a minute."

"That doesn't matter when you're hurt. I need to know how hurt. Let me just feel—"

"Matt, please." You were shaking now, and torn between collapsing into his arms and never letting him know the extent to which you were absolutely petrified. Matt froze.

"Do you need me to leave?" he asked softly.

"I... no. I don't know what I need. I need..." A thrill of horror raced through you at the realization that you hadn't checked the window in awhile. What if the man was coming up the street now, on his way to break in and finish the deed with a bullet in your head? A bullet in Matt's head? You brushed by him and hurried to the window, squinting out at the dark.

Matt followed, and this time he didn't wait before coming up right behind you and cupping your cheek with his hand. It was gentle, but not a romantic act — you could feel the way his fingertips grazed over the scrape, accounting for the grit and sweat and blood that adorned it. Unable to bring yourself to move, you stood like a deer in the headlights as his hands then moved to your temples.

"No concussion," he said, but his jaw remained just as tight as he lowered his fingers to your own hands, breezing over them gingerly.

"These scrapes need to be cleaned." His face tensed as his hand hovered near your thigh. "Did he—?"

"No. No, I was just..." Mugged. It was too embarrassing to admit, and the word lodged in your throat. "Just some things were taken. Phone. Wallet. Suitcase."

"Jesus, at seven in the evening? Did anyone see? I want a name. A description. Anything. I'll find him and—"

"It wasn't seven in the evening." You dipped your head, tears welling again. "My plane was delayed."

You feared that he was going to be pissed, but instead he simply looked bemused. "Why didn't you say anything? I would've met you at the airport."

"Because you had work," you said, more stiffly. "And I know that me getting robbed looks bad, but I don't want to be your burden. Foggy needed your help tonight, not me."

"Not you? That's bullshit, Y/N," Matt said, and the electricity that had been buzzing in his movements finally exploded. "The reason I put on the damn suit anyway is because I care about people, including you. And you — you're above the rest, because I love you. Don't you see that? I need this, I need to find whoever did this, because if I don't, then I've failed you. I've failed myself, I've failed the city, I've failed my faith."

"Matt, it's not that serious. I overreacted, that's all."

"Like hell you overreacted. How do you think I felt when I left work and heard your heartbeat from two blocks away, racing like you were staring death in the face? When I got into the apartment and could smell your blood? When I came in here and could taste your fear?"

"I didn't ask you to sense those things," you snapped, and the moment the words were out of your mouth, you regretted them. It wasn't as though you could have simply elected to not see Matt that time he'd arrived at the apartment, torn up and bloody, or simply turned your head when you'd heard him yelling in the hospital as Claire stitched up his guts. In fact, it was impossible to not pay attention even more at times like that. Your mouth was dry as you shook your head. "I'm sorry, Matt. I don't mean that."

Still, he didn't get mad at you. "I know."

And it was that, his patience despite the energy palpitating in his fists that made you sink onto the couch, placing your face in your hands. "Shit, I'm so sorry. I... I can tell you what happened. It's just that admitting it makes it so much more real. It's humiliating."

Matt sat next to you, just shy of touching you. Waiting for your permission, likely. "Who was it?"

"Bearded man. Stained sweatshirt, really large — probably six foot four."

"Where?"

"Three blocks directly west of us."

"How did you get the scrapes?"

You closed your eyes. "I tried to get away. He tackled me. There was a gun, too. He kept it pointed at my head, and — Oh, God. He said if I told anyone, that he'd come here. He's got our address because of my license. He said he'd come here with the gun and—"

"Pointed at your head?" Matt's voice dropped to a dangerous low again, reminiscent of the devil. "You could've been killed." He got to his feet, stalking to the cabinet and unbuttoning his shirt.

"Matt," you said weakly, unsure of how to make the request for him to stay. He wanted to leave. He needed to let out the energy and protect, as was his standard, but you needed him to protect from here. The thought of being alone in the apartment was unbearable; you wanted him by your side, keeping you safe with his presence, not the mask.

"I wasn't there for you." Matt's fists were clenching and unclenching rhythmically as he stood in front of the suit, shirtless. Contemplating, or strategizing? You weren't sure. "I — if he had shot you — I can't—"

"Matt," you said again, louder this time. "I need—"

You were about to say "you" but the energy broiling in Matt's stance made you fall short. He needed to do this. You could be alone for a bit longer, you told yourself. "I need the bandages," you finished. "They're... not in the bathroom."

"They're under the kitchen sink," Matt said, and suddenly he turned around, his expression softer. "Let me help."

Inwardly sighing, you sat on the armchair, hugging your knees, while Matt cleaned your scrapes with a steady hand. He didn't say a word as he worked, his eyes darting about uncharacteristically. You still couldn't get a read on exactly what he was thinking. There was no chance he'd be angry at you, but that didn't preclude him from being disappointed.

How many other people would have been able to hold their own against that man? Everyone else in Matt's circle would have been capable. Frank, Jessica, Danny, Luke — they wouldn't have been even fazed at all. Elektra would have had a field day with him. Even Karen and Foggy had proved themselves quick to react in dangerous situations, and you couldn't help but think anyone in that situation other than you would have walked away unscathed. Your cheeks burned at the thought, as much as you willed them not to.

"What is it?" Matt said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper.

Of course he'd notice the shift in your temperature.

"Maybe I deserved it," you said, a bit bitterly. "I shouldn't have been walking out there. Like you said, I could've called you. And I didn't. I could've learned more self-defense over the past few years, and I haven't. It's my own stupidity that's got me where I am."

Matt stilled. "You're blaming yourself?"

"I'm blaming my lack of foresight."

He resumed dabbing at your hands, and was silent for so long that you thought he wasn't going to answer. Finally, he said, "With that line of reasoning, then it's my fault Elena Cardenas was killed. I should have done more."

"That's not the same, and you know it."

He ignored you. "It's also my fault that Foggy got shot, that time we were in Reyes's office. If I had been listening more closely to what was going on down the street, then I would have heard the threat coming sooner."

"Matt, come on. You know what I meant."

"And it's my fault that Fisk got out of prison. If I had the wherewithal to kill him the first day I met him, he would never have—"

"Stop it!"

"Do you get it?" he whispered. "It's not your fault. We could preoccupy ourselves all day with the ifs that might have changed what happened. But you can't beat yourself up over the ifs that you couldn't have predicted. The bad people in this world don't get to benefit from your own self-degradation. Never take the fall for something they've done."

You let out a short laugh through the tears that caught in your eyes. "You give great advice, Matt, but you're terrible at following it yourself."

"Touché. Take off your pants for me?"

You smiled. "You really know how to sweet-talk a girl."

Matt brushed his thumbs over the corners of your eyes, exactly where they were still damp. "Well, maybe once your knees are cleaned up, I'll show you how it's really done."

You pulled off your pants and tossed them onto the couch. "You're not... heading out onto the street?"

"I'd rather be here."

You hardly dared to believe it. "You sure?"

"Positive." He didn't hesitate as he bent down onto the floor, methodically poring over the scrapes with the washcloth. "You're my priority."

A warm glow flushed through your cheeks, this time out of relief, and the smile that tugged at Matt's lips told you that he sensed it. You let him finish bandaging up your knees before you grabbed his arm and pulled him next to you on the armchair. There wasn't much space, but you lifted your knees so that he was partially underneath you, squeezed next to one another so tightly that you could feel his heartbeat.

"Hey," you said, after a moment. "How'd you unlock the bathroom door without a key so quickly?"

"It's an easy trick. Stick showed me years ago."

"Can you show me?"

"A good magician keeps his secrets," Matt said. At your frown, he laughed. "I'll show you tomorrow."

"I love you," you said, resting your head on his shoulder.

"I love you more than you'll ever know," he answered. You fell asleep to his hand running through your hair, the billboard outside rotating between hues of violet and cobalt, and the faint thrum of the muted air conditioner in the apartment above.

When you woke, you were in bed. It was still early; the dawn outside was muted. Matt must have carried you into the bedroom, because you had no memory of moving in there yourself. For a moment you feared he had taken to the streets, but feeling the warmth on your left, he was still there, and had been for some time. You shifted, trying to get nearer to his warmth. He said nothing but tugged you in even closer, his arms and legs thrown over you protectively.

What if you had been shot and killed? The thought was eerie. This bed would be empty. Matt would surely be out for the man's blood. And all this... you wouldn't ever get to experience it again. It was far too easy to take each day for granted. Far, far too easy.

One day at a time, then, you decided, and closed your eyes again as Matt's hand crept over your own.

#matt murdock #reader insert #matt murdock x reader #marvel #daredevil #daredevil x reader #reader #mcu #x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #hurt/comfort

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icallhimjoey · 8 months

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Lost & Found

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader Summary: You take a little break, a week away to somewhere warm to relax and calm your senses. So does Joe – same flight, same hotel, same travel plans and, worst of all, same suitcase. What was meant to be a lovely trip to the sun starts off on the wrong foot when you find expensive designer outfits belonging to a man in what you thought was your suitcase. CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, lots of swearing, we get a little spicy but nothing too bad, 18+ just in case though! Author’s note: I asked for requests and then used 0 of them – sorry – this is one of those things that started in a whatsapp chat and started living its own life fairly quickly. Wasn't meant to become a five-parter but, big sigh, here we are... I hope you enjoy this first part! Wordcount: 3.4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Of course. Of fucking course.

Something always had to go fucking wrong, didn’t it? Couldn’t just be smooth fucking sailing for once, could it?

Jesus fucking Christ.

Joe massaged his temples as he let his breath escape through flared nostrils.

Typical.

He’s just flung his suitcase onto the bed, ready to charge what needed charging and to change what needed changing. The heavy bounce of it should’ve told him something was off.

That wasn’t his.

It wasn't his suitcase that he'd just flung onto his hotel bed.

It looked enough like it, but his three-digit code didn't unlock it, and upon closer inspection, this one had a lot of marks on it that suggested it had been used a lot more and for a lot longer.

Not his suitcase.

Same brand. Same colour. Same model. Not his.

He'd taken the wrong suitcase. Like the day hadn't been long enough already.

The warm breeze had felt glorious when he'd stepped off the plane, the temperature balmy enough to really make him feel the difference when walked down the stairs onto the tarmac. The sun had been out, and he'd felt how it immediately relaxed his shoulders. It was exactly what he needed, why he even booked the trip in the first place, he thought, slipping his sunglasses down from the top of his head onto his nose.

Sun. Warmth from up above that clung in the air that surrounded him.

Was nice.

Lovely.

He'd gotten what he'd thought was his suitcase from the conveyer belt no problem, finding it quickly. Then it only took a minute to wait for a taxi that took him to his hotel. He'd booked a room in the kind of place you didn't need to leave at all if you didn't really want to – nice hotel restaurant downstairs, nice hotel rooftop bar upstairs, big pool surrounded by sun loungers outside and a view of the beach just behind it. Not quite a resort, but, kind of a resort, if you asked his mum.

It was exactly what he'd needed. A few days away from the hustle and bustle of daily-life-sludge Joe felt he'd had a hard time wading through. Just a quick break to get his sun-starved skin some much needed vitamin D. Make the freckles that hid underneath his skin show up. It was the time of year when temperatures dropped fairly quickly once the sun went down, but the days were gorgeous still. The type of hot where you could sit in direct sunlight in the middle of the day without feeling like you were melting but still get tanned all over.

Joe should've felt lucky, because that was what he'd been announcing to the world a lot lately. "I feel very lucky," over and over until it caught up with him.

"Quick few days away will sort you out," his mum had told him over the phone, and mother's always knew best, didn't they?

So he'd just gone and booked it. Went, fuck it, this looks nice, I want to go there.

And now he was here.

He had five full days all to himself, travel days not included, in which he’d get to truly switch off a second. Enough time to listen to his favourite podcast for however long he wanted without being interrupted halfway through an episode. Enough time to finally get past page five of this book he’d started reading three times already. Enough time to work through his inbox at a leisurely pace. Have whichever drink whenever.

Joe was meant to feel all lucky.

It was just that... he'd just flung a suitcase onto his hotel bed that wasn't his, and... now what? The good bits felt all fucked up, the positive twisted, leaving him with just the negative frustrating shit.

Trip fucking ruined already, and he'd not even been there two hours.

All he had on him were his passport, his phone, a pair of wireless headphones that were running low on battery and his bank cards. He'd foregone bringing a backpack as carry-on, checking in his suitcase, and feeling very free as he'd walked through the TSA screening with barely anything on him.

Now he regretted every single decision he'd made that lead up to this moment.

Unbeknownst to him, you were just two floors up, in the same hotel, in a room that looked identical, also stood by your hotel bed. Difference was, you'd just opened what you thought was your suitcase, only to be met by a bunch of stuff that wasn't yours.

You didn't own anything pinstriped. Or, um, Dior.

You checked the code that you hadn't changed to open it – that wasn't what you'd set it as.

That wasn't your suitcase.

“Um, what the fuck?”

Whoever the suitcase belonged to had shut it but then hadn't run a thumb over the numbered wheels to make sure anyone without the right combination couldn't open it – an idiot, you thought.

And idiot with... very expensive clothes. Men's clothes.

For a moment far too long, you just looked at what was in front of you and processed what this meant.

You didn’t have your things.

Your stuff.

No dress to slip into. No bikini to wear underneath.

Shit.

You'd have to phone the airline, let them know you'd taken the wrong suitcase. Yours had probably been brought over to lost and found, the owner of this one probably hoping his would be there too. Except it wasn't. It was a 40-minute taxi ride removed from lost and found, up on the 11th floor of a nice beach hotel. With you.

Shit.

You looked down at your own top, the stains from the bottle of coke that had sprayed everywhere upon the first cap-twist still evident.

Fuck.

This first evening you'd booked a table downstairs for dinner, and then were planning on having drinks upstairs to really make sure you'd knock yourself out cold until at least 10.30am the next morning.

You threw an arm up and smelled an armpit.

Rank.

Yea, no way you were going to do those things in the outfit you currently had on.

"Hi, I have a question regarding baggage claim? Is there a service agent I can talk to? It appears I have taken the wrong suitcase by accident."

Joe sighed as he got put on hold for a minute, only to be told later to please return the suitcase to baggage claim. He hoped they'd be able to give him any other information that didn't involve him traveling back there. Also, maybe a little info on whether or not his suitcase had been left behind and was now in lost and found, or if someone else had taken it.

"Please find the baggage claim customer service desk, and we'll be able to help you locate your luggage from there."

All right. Fine.

Was he going to do that tonight? After just getting to the hotel, now hungry and tired and in need of some good food and a good night's sleep?

No.

Probably not the nicest thing, since, you know, someone else was likely also trying to track down what he was storing in his hotel room right now, but Joe had a dinner reservation for one he wanted to get to. Had scanned the menu online beforehand and was craving the steak tartare now. It just sucked he was going to have that in the same outfit he'd worn traveling there, as well as the rest of the night and the next morning.

Deep breaths, Joe. Big gulps of air. Take a step back. Zoom out a little.

In the grand scheme of things... this was just annoying. Not the end of the world.

He'd fetch a spare charger for his phone from the front desk, have his meal, have a nice drink, and do his very best not to think about all the things that frustrated him for the rest of the night.

But, that was easier said that done.

Especially when, halfway through dinner, a pretty girl walked in wearing what looked suspiciously similar to one of his shirts.

Nah.

Couldn't be.

He was probably just seeing things. Was just looking because she was pretty. Was too tired. Had one drink too many.

Was grumpy about the fact that the only charger the hotel had for him didn't fit the outlets here, and they didn't have a plug adapter for him to make it work.

Was more grumpy about the fact that you'd sat down in his direct line of sight. You know, since he couldn't just burrow himself into his phone for fear of the battery dying on him.

Was most grumpy that the shirt looked better on you than it did on him.

For fuck's sake.

And he wasn't even sure if he even packed that shirt at all!

For his own sanity, he convinced himself he didn’t pack it.

Lots of people had shirts like it. Faded orangey colour. Striped. The one he owned probably wasn't quite as pink as this one. Or maybe it was... but, even so, it could be the exact same one, still didn’t need to be his.

It was a little more difficult however, when upstairs at the bar, after the first sip of his gin martini, he saw you walk out in a jacket that he knew for a fact he’d packed.

That was his jacket.

Stop it, Joe thought. You've gone mad.

Just a coincidence.

Big coincidence, though... wasn't it?

“you’ve overworked me, i should get another week” he texted his agent, blaming the fact that he was seeing things on that, and received a “lol no” in return.

Joe was still annoyed the next morning when he climbed into a taxi, phone about to die any second now.

Had you been out the door about twenty seconds earlier, you'd have run into him.

Somehow, traffic turned the twenty seconds into over ten minutes. Joe was already standing by the baggage claim service desk, your suitcase on the floor next to him, patiently waiting as the lady behind the computer typed away with eyes stuck to a computer screen Joe couldn't see.

You walked up, eyes on your phone, occasionally looking up for signs that pointed you in the right direction. You didn't even notice Joe, or your suitcase on the floor next to him.

"At airport now, fingers crossed" you texted a friend, and got a quick, "it's there, it's GOT TO BE there" from her in response. It wasn't until the guy in front of you turned around, gave you a polite smile, and then did a double take for you to see it.

Your suitcase.

"My suitcase!"

"My jacket."

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You were standing in front of the guy whose suitcase you'd gone through the night before. Whose suitcase you did your best to pack so it didn't look like you'd gone through every single thing that was in there. Whose pinstriped jacket you'd thrown on because it was the morning still, a little chilly for... just his T-shirt that you wore underneath.

You immediately forgot how to function as a normal humanbeing.

Error 404: cognitive function not found.

"Um, I–I..." you faltered, blood heating your cheeks, and you saw how the brow of stranger in front of you slowly furrowed as his eyes scanned down your body.

Fuck.

Now, you see, in your defence... you were left to your own devices, just, all alone in a hotel room, unsupervised, with a suitcase that was full of special, unknown things. Lots of treasures and, expensive designer clothing... how was anyone to expect you to be sensible and not snoop?

Of course you were going to be snooping.

You snooped.

Were a tried-and-true snooper.

It was just that... you hadn't just snooped, had you?

Hadn't just let your eyes roam.

You'd gotten your hands in there almost instantly.

You'd called a friend, and explained your situation, and had then switched the regular call to Facetime to go through the whole thing together. Toiletry bag and all. Every single item had passed your grip, and you'd tried on more items than you dared admitting to anyone – the boyfriend-fit of every single item had made you consider maybe just... keeping a shirt.

"Fuck me, that looks good on you. Keep it." your friend only egged you on.

"I can't keep it," you said, checking yourself in the mirror before asking your friend to google for prices, wanting to know how much this had cost the owner of the suitcase.

When she told you, you took a moment to let that sink in before you said, "Yea, maybe I should keep it."

That jacket, or perhaps the one pair of jeans. Claim you'd just found the suitcase like that. He'd left it unlocked, anyway.

"Look at this, this... this is clearly someone on a business trip, there's suits, but then, look, he's got two-in-one shampoo and conditioner in his toiletry bag," you held up the bottle close enough to your perched up phone to show it properly.

"Who takes shampoo on a business trip? Surely you just use whatever they have at the hotel?" your friend made a good point.

"Especially two-in-fucking-one," you tossed the bottle onto your bed, next to all the other shit you were fishing out. Razor, nail clippers, a moisturizer of which you didn't even recognise the brand - very fancy.

"Men are insane,"

"Even the rich ones, apparently,"

"Especially the rich ones."

It'd been a good half hour of giggles before you'd decided you were just going to wear one of his shirts to dinner. Why not? You could fold it up nicer than the way you'd found it in there. You'd be fine.

He just... he wasn't meant to actually see you in his clothes. You were wearing literal proof of what you were desperately wanting to hide.

How were you going to talk yourself out of this?

Were you just going to be honest?

Look at him.

Of course you weren't going to be honest. This man would've made you nervous even if you hadn't shown up in his literal clothes, revealing you'd not just opened the suitcase to see it wasn't yours - you'd gone through it and were now wearing what was his.

"Oh, excellent!" the lady behind the desk stood up and peered over the desk at the floor, at the two similar suitcases. "This will be a lot easier now," she stepped around with a little scanning device, scanned both labels that you, thank God, both hadn't touched. Imagine if you'd have ripped that off. You'd no idea what that would've meant, but surely it would have made the whole situation a lot more complicated.

You were contemplating pretending to be crazy. Or stupid. Just really, really, really stupid.

Shut the fuck up why did he not stop staring at you? Could he look away for just a second, maybe?

"I didn't mean to– I only opened it this morning, I didn't have anything to we–" you rambled, stumbled through little white lies and stopped when you saw the faintest little hint of amusement on Joe's face.

"Are you going to sue me?" you winced.

"No," his smile grew, but he held out a hand. For the jacket, you presumed.

"There, all settled." the baggage claim service agent smiled. "This one is yours, and this one is yours."

"Thank you," Joe smiled at her – she'd done her job. You saw it was just him being polite before his attention turned back to you.

"Um, I won't sue you. But I would like my clothes back..." his hand was still there and you realised that you fully understood the body language, but hadn't actually moved to take it off yet.

"Yes, of course! Sorry, I was– the plan was that I'd fetch my own suitcase from lost and found and then would change into my own stuff, and–" you squeezed your eyes shut, letting the jacket slide from your shoulders, knowing that you sounded absolutely insane. "You weren't meant to find out." you huffed a laugh, hoping that finding humour in the situation would make him copy it.

"Not exactly a water proof plan," Joe gave you a nod and looked at you a little apprehensively, head tilted down, as you handed over the jacket that he folded over his forearm.

"Well, had you not been here yet, I would've gotten off scot-free," you joked lightly, confidence creeping in a little as you raised your eyebrows at him just before kneeling down next to your suitcase and tipping it onto its side to open it.

"Ah," Joe nodded, all understanding, but his face quickly twisted in exaggerated confusion. "So... that wasn't you in my shirt last night?"

Your neck cracked with how fast it snapped to look back up at him. Deer in headlights, eyes wide in shock, blush deepening. Had you ever felt sweat prickling in your pits before?

"I–"

"And red jacket?"

Fucking fuck shit. You were such a fucking idiot.

"Red?" you focussed entirely on the wrong thing, but, what else was there to do in a panic? "No, t'was more of a brownish sort of–"

"Burgundy." Joe cut you off.

You looked at each other for a long moment where it took you a smidge too long to close the mouth you'd left hanging open.

My God.

You'd really worked yourself into a corner here, hadn't you?

"Is that... is that my T-shirt?"

It got worse fast, though.

You looked down to see for yourself, eyes still huge, and for what? To check if you were still wearing the black T-shirt? You knew you were wearing his T-shirt. It was why you'd opened your suitcase in the first place, to fetch something of your own to change into. To take into a toilet stall so you could give him back what belonged to him, and if you were quick, give it back without pit stains.

When you looked back up, you felt how the blush was now making your neck and chest break out in hives. There really wasn't a way out of this. Caught red-handed, you had no other choice but to surrender and admit to every single wrong choice you'd made. Not willing to speak the actual confession into existence, you let your arms move on their own accord and just... moved to take the T-shirt off. One of your arms disappeared into the T-shirt, out of the sleeve, and you were about to pull the whole thing over your head when you were stopped.

"No– no, stop, don't–" he laughed. Planted a hand on your shoulder – the one of which the arm was stuck inside the T-shirt now.

You stopped, listening to his instructions from your kneeled position on the floor.

Joe wasn't going to let you undress into just your bra in the middle of an airport. This was a weird beginning to his trip but, was it really that bad? He'd gotten his suitcase back. That was what he'd wished for ever since finding out he'd taken the wrong one, and now, it had been returned to him.

He'd gotten what he'd wished for.

So what if a pretty girl borrowed some of his clothes for a second? It probably only meant that some of it smelled nicer now. She looked like she felt bad enough about it, too.

No big deal.

"Are we staying at the same hotel?"

"I... I think so?" you sat unmoved.

"If you could leave that at the front desk, I'll just... it's fine, I'll pick it up there," the frown that graced this man's features earlier seemingly had been sarcastic. Or, he'd just turned friendly. Either way, everything about his face told you not to worry about it.

Well, tough. Fuck him. You were worrying. This was so awkward.

You very slowly moved your arm back into the sleeve of the T-shirt and then moved to close your suitcase.

"Okay," your voice had never sounded thicker with hesitation.

"Okay?" Joe laughed.

"Yea," you sighed. "Yea, all right. I'm sorry." you winced as you clicked your suitcase shut and got back up onto your feet.

"It's fine." Joe waved a hand, dismissing the whole thing. You thought that was just to make you feel more comfortable, because you were very clearly going through it. For good reason. Had you been in his shoes, you would've told yourself off for the shit you'd pulled.

"Looks better on you, anyway,"

And like you weren't red in the face enough already, the snort laugh that escaped you turned you purple whilst simultaneously breaking any and all tension.

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddie-joe-munson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frogers, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @ohmeg, @paola-carter, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thefemininemystiquee, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @yelyahcardella

taglist currently full, sorry

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #rpf #icallhimjoey #lost & found #lost and found

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4drianaaaa · 22 days

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Just the two of us :: Hamzahthefantastic

hamzah x fem reader! wrd count; 1,200

NSFW [18+]

🌊| you, hamzah, mandy, and martin were going on a quick vacation to Curacao. Obviously it was a very warm and humid place which made you pack a bunch of sun dresses, bikins, and skimpy shorts.

you and your boyfriend Hamzah decided to have a start up and going a day earlier than Mandy and Martin. You wore sweats and hoodie for now during the flight to also beat the chilly-ness of Canada as well as your boyfriend. "Where in the world can we get something to eat?" he looked around the airport as you pulled his arm "C'mon we got to find C4!" you looked at your boarding passes as he smirked looking down at you "Y/n we have all the time of the world chill out babe" he wrapped his arm around you as you tried to not stress yourself either.

Finally you both were sitting inside of the airplane. You getting the window seat obviously as he got the isle seat. You both quickly fell asleep until the flight was eventually over.

You both made it out the plane and picked up your luggage's smoothly as you took your first step in the humid weather, "holy shit we were not made for this!" hamzah groaned as he took off his hoodie as you did as well but in your head you were already planning many outfits with the cute tops you had bought.

you both arrived to the beach house as you noticed how beautiful it looked on the outside, "Let's go inside asap!" you almost screamed taking out your luggage as you ran to the door almost busting the door down. the white marble floors complemented the whole house and you noticed the glass stair case next to you spirling to the next floor "hamzah it's beautiful!" you jumped up and down. Both of you picked the master bedroom and unpacked all your clothes as you realized how hungry you were as well as hamzah so you both quickly decided to put on appropriate clothes for the weather to go grab something to eat. you wore a black bikini set under a white small sundress.

hamzah knocked on the bathroom door and opening it after, he looked at your revealing dress as his jaw dropped “what?” You questioned fixing your hair as he was dazed by your dress “babe you can’t wear this- I- wear this when it’s just us” he said looking at how short the dress was. If you were to even pick something from the floor it would be a show for everyone “babe stop over reacting! Plus it’s so so hot” you pecked him on the lips walking out of the bathroom back to your luggage that was thrown on the bed grabbing a few pins for your hair as suddenly you felt his hands wrap around your waist as you smirked “your such a tease y/n” he groaned placing kisses behind your ear making you giggle “Hamzah!” You squirmed under him as you turned to look at him as his cheeks were red and hot “I’m not even hungry anymore baby I just want you” he whined kissing your neck as his hands were traveling down your ass lightly causing you to whine as well “Hamzah” you whimpered as he picked you up as you wrapped your legs around his waist as he threw you on to a free space on the bed kissing your neck down to your exposed chest “I need you so bad m’y/n please” he said in between kisses as you ran your hand through the curls of his hair as you nodded. His lips parted from you as he lifted up your dress as your black set was more visible which made him thirst over you even more, with out hesitation he took off his shirt throwing it somewhere else in the room as he finished planting hickies onto your neck making sure they're visible for anyone to notice. he smirked as he left a trail of kisses down to your bikini bottom, the way his begging eyes looked at you for permission made you heat up. you nodded your head once again. his lips kissed your clothed heat as you whimpered under him, his hands grasped onto your thighs as he laughed "m' your so precious" he teased as he hooked his finger under your panty sliding it over as your heat was now in front of his face "my god your so pretty y/n" he praised as he began kissing your clit making you squirm all over the place, he licked his lips as he licked along your slick as you moaned loudly gripping onto his hair much harder "fuck hamzah- please!" he began slipping his tongue into your wet cunt.

his mouth did magic on you as you bucked your hips every time he'd hit your spot. he'd work faster whenever he would hear your pornographic moans which was music to his ears "hamzah! I'm so fucking close!" you cried out as he parted from your wet cunt, he got up as he sat onto the board of the bed as you crawled on top of him "your so fucking sexy baby" he cursed as his hands gripped onto your waist, you began grinding your self on to his tent as he grew under you it hurt. your lips connected as he pulled his shorts down slightly. you got the hint as you pulled down his boxers as his shaft sprung up as you almost drooled, you aligned your self onto him as his tip rubbed against your dripping cunt "fuck oh my god!" he whimpered as you fully sat onto his length as you left scratches on his back from the amount of pleasure "feel so m'good" he whined as you began slowly moving back and fourth as his hands followed the motion from your waist

as you got used to his length you began slowly bouncing on his cock biting your lip in the process as he couldn't keep his eyes off you, how your face said it all. It drove him insane.

your bouncing became sloppier as you felt yourself reaching your climax, "fuck!" you hissed as one hand grabbed onto the low of your waist as the other pulled off the strings of your top as it fully fell onto the bed. he began going in and out of you as you saw stars, you dug your nails into his shoulder as he messaged your tits with one hand. "fuck Hamzah! Don't stop-" you screamed as you felt him reach your spot "come all over me baby" he groaned as you both reached your high "holy shit!" you flopped onto him as he wrapped his arms around you as you panted on top of him "You did so good princess, wanna take a bath and order food?" he questioned as you nodded.

You both walked over to your shared bathroom as you both got cleaned up in the huge tub, changing into clothes, and ordering food waiting for Mandy and Martin to arrive the next days and question the marks and scratches all over your bodies.

˚ · • . ° .

me when I’m ovulating 🎀 (I really wanted to keep this fic short bc I didn’t want yall to get bored LMFAO but pls lmk if yall want longer ones!)

#slushy noobz #hamzahthefantastic #hamzah x reader #hamzahsmut #hamzah x y/n #4drianaaaa

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sayruq · 26 days

Text

"I did not expect that the fact that I am an Israeli who visited Israel a few weeks ago would be a red flag that requires questioning," Neriya Ashwal told Walla. Israeli student Neriya Ashwal landed at an airport near Nottingham last Friday and was detained for questioning by the anti-terrorism unit, according to Walla. Neriya is an Israeli student studying in Barcelona. Last weekend, he had an unpleasant experience when he went on a short visit to Britain for a few days, landing at the small East Midlands airport outside Nottingham on Friday. During questioning at the border control, he was asked if he had recently visited Israel, and he answered yes. He was then forced to undergo a more in-depth questioning by no less than the anti-terrorism unit. After the border control officer asked the usual series of questions, Neriya was asked if he had recently visited Israel. "I answered yes and said I had visited family and friends three weeks ago. The border control officer called someone on the phone and reported that they had an Israeli who had visited Israel recently," Neriya told Walla in a phone call from Barcelona. "He nodded, hung up, and asked me to sit and wait on the side. The passport remained with him. "He continued, "After about a quarter of an hour, three uniformed police officers arrived, talked to each other, looked in my direction, and after another five minutes, two more people in civilian clothes arrived and escorted me to an interrogation room. "The most senior of them told me, 'We are from the anti-terrorism unit. You have nothing to worry about. You are not detained. We just want to have a short conversation. You may go if you choose, but if you choose to go, we will detain you.' "They started by asking the usual questions again: Who am I? Where did I come from? Why did I come? Where do I plan to stay? What exactly do I plan to do? But then it took a left turn. "They started asking, 'Were you in the army?' Were you a combat soldier? 'I told them that I had diabetes and that I was not a fighter but in intelligence." They continued: 'Were you in the field?' I answered no, while it seemed to me that I already understood what they were looking to hear and what they weren't. They continued with questions about the visit, 'When you were in Israel, did you have any role in the army?' I answered 'no' to that as well." Neriya says that at the end of the questioning, they asked for proof of all his plans for the weekend, a return flight ticket, booking a place to stay, and a bus ticket to London. "They tried to be nice, and when the most senior of them left the room, the junior said to me: 'We don't have a problem with you, but because you come from this region, we just want to make sure. There are simply others who come here with other intentions, you know.' "The senior officer then returned to the room and said that I was allowed to go but that they wanted to check my bag first. Another policeman arrived and completely turned my bag over from end to end. He found nothing. Of course. In good time, after an hour, I was free again." Following the incident, Neriya addressed a letter to Israel's current ambassador to the UK Tzipi Hotovely and mentioned the similar case of Nova survivors, the Sharabi brothers, who were detained at Manchester airport about a month ago. He also mentioned that he is bringing his case from last week to the attention of the Foreign Ministry because, according to him, "If there is an instruction/policy/or even a local initiative by the border control officers to detain and interrogate any Israeli who is leaving military service or an Israeli who recently visited Israel. This is a disturbing phenomenon that Israeli officials need to recognize and deal with through the official channels."

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza #great britain

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nattblacklupin · 1 month

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Invisible string

Pairing: Cassian x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Nothing, just fluff

Summary: Cassian and Y/N celebrate their anniversary

Masterlist

Being mates with Cassian was one of the best things that happened in your life. Never would you have thought that you could ever get so lucky. Cassian was the kindest man you ever met. Never did he do something to hurt you - unless you wanted him to, of course.

At the same time, you're pretty sure that you two are really made for each other and were supposed to happen in every life. Both of you went through hell and back, yet came stronger than ever before. Remembering the times before you even knew that you were mates, you had a special kind of bond with each other.

Cassian was always with you. It didn't matter if just sitting next to you or on battlefield. If he wasn't with you, something was wrong. No one can easily force him to leave you alone. If it, of course, wasn't your wish. But even then, he would wait close to where you were in case you needed his help. He would manipulate the mountains to move if they were keeping you away from him. And mother help anyone that dares to hurt you, let's just say they never tried to do it again. Cassian gave them a big piece of his mind. No one will get away with hurting you, not when he's here.

Today was the day that marked your three year old anniversary since you officially accepted the bond. You were still freshly mated compared to your friends, but it didn't make your relationship any different - it's not like you two weren't already acting like a mated couple for nearly two hundred years.

"Hurry Cass, we aren't going to make it on time!"

You yelled at Cassian while putting on your high heels. On this special day you choose to have a date in your favourite restaurant in whole Velaris. It was where you found out about the mating bond, and since then, it became a tradition to go there on special occasions.

"No need to hurry, pretty girl. We got enough time."

You looked his way and were left breathless. Cassian really did go all out with his look today. Dark red tuxedo matched your dress like you planned. It wouldn't be you two if you didn't match in any way. He even slicked back his hair. You loved when his hair was wild and free, but this slicked back look surely did suit him too. Before you could decide to stay home and enjoy your anniversary in your bed - by doing some more pleasurable things that dinner - you quickly stood up and grabbed his hand.

"Let's go, big boy"

The flight there was fast and peaceful. You always enjoyed flying with Cassian. The comfort his arms brought you mixed with the freedom you felt when wind ruffles your hair, was something you could never get enough and you hoped with all your heart that it wouldn't go away, not now, not ever.

You sat in your favourite spot, with cassian opposite to you. He took your hand in his and smiled at you with a look in his eyes that let you know everything he was feeling. Love flowing through the bond, nearly overwhelming you with how much of it there was. But you're basking in his love, enjoying every moment of it, like it could be your last.

"Hello, what can I get you?"

Cassian and you quickly order without even paying much attention to the waiter. Both of you were too busy looking at each other like it was your first time together. The looks she gave Cassian didn't go unnoticed by you though. Being used to women giving your mate unwanted attention, you ignored it. Hoping that she would get the hint and stop before you would have to step in.

She didn't get the hint. She was insulting you while flirting with Cassian, and you don't plan on letting her go away with this. That's how you got in this situation in the first place. You stand tall in front of Cassian, holding his hand while arguing with her. You held your head high, not backing down from an argument with some fae woman that wants your mate.

"Mates don't always have to be together. He can choose someone like me. No one would probably even blame him"

"No one would blame your mate for not choosing you with how you are acting. But that's what happens, you know. Mates don't always have to be together"

With that, your hold on Cassian got tighter, and you started walking away from the restaurant. You are too busy thinking about the audacity of that waitress to even notice what's happening around you. That's why it took you by suprised when Cassian pulled you into his chest and kissed you deeply.

"Isn't it just so pretty"

You looked confused at him, wondering where still will lead off. "What?" Your voice quieter than whisper.

"To think," his lips slightly brushed yours, "that all along there was some Invisible string, tying you to me." You were the one to close off the distance first. Kissing like there was no tomorrow, like you didn't see each other for years. But there was enough time - enough time for you to fulfil all your dreams and do everything your mind thinks of.

"One single thread of gold tied me to you"

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar x you #cassian #cassian acotar x reader #cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian x you #cassian fluff #acotar fluff

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engeorged · 7 months

Text

Please Feed the Bears

Words and concept by @fillthattank and @engeorged

Artwork by @badoobers

Having spent four years in teacher training college and 8 years working in shitty schools, Dan was done being a teacher. Like most of his colleagues, he loved the kids and teaching, but the red tape was killing him. He was still spending hours and hours every evening lesson planning, marking and setting goals. Even just engaging with parents through the new app the school had imposed took an hour a night now. He was done.

The job had taken his whole life. He didn’t have a social life any more, he didn’t have time for friends, let alone dating. He used to be hot! Six pack abs and thick biceps left over from his rugby days, but late night pizza orders and rushed meals whilst sat in his sofa marking had put an end to that. He wasn’t unfit as such, (he still cycled to work!) but he had a definite little pot belly now with a jiggle when he walked and his ass was forcing him to buy jeans two sizes too big.

He’d begun to put aside a little money each month to go travelling and it was now time to cash in. He gleefully handed in his resignation and booked his tickets. He was going to fulfil a life long dream and tour America. His money wouldn’t last long but he’d be able to get a little cash in hand job every few months and settle down for a bit and that should last him. All his mates did it when he was training and he was beginning to feel like he had missed out, so now was his chance. The morning of the flight came and he felt so free and so excited! He’d sold everything he had accumulated in his shitty flat, gotten rid of his bike and the keys to the flat. All he had in the world was shoved into his backpack. The world was his oyster.

Three months later

The bubble burst two weeks into the adventure when he was robbed on a metro in New York. All his cash and bank cards were gone. When he had phoned his insurance company, they had gone bust overnight and so there was no payout. He refused to phone his parents. He was 30, that would be so humiliating. And they wouldn’t be gracious about it, they had already told him this was a childish idea to go travelling on a whim like a teenager. They’d probably give him money to come home, where he’d end up living in their house for a few years whilst he did supply teaching jobs in horrific schools. No thank you, he’d sort this out himself. He got a job for a few months, cash in hand with no questions asked, doing deliveries for a pizza place in New York which gave him enough money to travel west and a constant supply of free pizza. Sure it was on the bus, and sure he’d put on a few more pounds but at least he’d done it himself. He arrived in what the bus driver called ‘Butt Fuck Nowhere’ ready to work.

He booked himself into a cheap and sleazy hotel. He had enough money for one night which meant he needed to find himself a job fast. After making a few enquiries he found the only real place to work for foreigners was in a massive theme park just on the edges of the town. He hiked his way there and found the employment office and made his case. In lieu of a formal interview, the guy looked him up and down and made his assessment. Dan was 6’5 and so being tall, tall, he would be the park's main mascot, Buster. Buster was a big bear and the costume was huge, with loads of room inside. The only upside was that his face wouldn’t be entirely covered by the costume. Instead there was a little hat with bear ears he would have to wear.

He would have to do a trial before he was offered the job for real, and the eventual pay would be $15 an hour, which didn't seem like a lot. Whilst Dan signed the contract, the boss called for his helper who was a short burly guy in his late twenties called Mitch, with a gravely voice that made it sound like he smoked 40 a day. Mitch’s eyes perked up when he saw Dan.

‘He’ll do!’ Said Mitch, his eyes hungrily taking in Dan’s face and height.

‘Hey!’ Said Dan, holding out his hand. Mitch shook it enthusiastically.

‘Hope you’re hungry!’ Said Mitch

‘What?’ Said Dan, a little confused but he began taking off his clothes ready to get into the costume. He was about to pull it on when Mitch stopped him and pushed him over to a pair of scales. ‘Step on’ Mitch encouraged him.

‘I’m a little husky at the moment!’ Dan replied nervously

‘That’s not a bad thing.’ Mitch replied as he took the reading from the digital scales.

‘Hang on? Why did you need that?’ Dan asked, realising that that was weird.

Instead of replying, Mitch just held out the costume. Dan slid it on, pulling his arms through the holes. It wasn’t as heavy as it looked and was a little baggy round his middle but it seemed to fit ok.

‘Why did you need my weight?’ He tried again as he did the zip up, but he was bundled out of the office and into the park without an answer

It was early, but already, Dan could see people walking around. He wasn't entirely sure if they were fellow employees or visitors. They weren't wearing any uniform, but they looked like adult men. Way more adult men than he'd expect at a theme park.

Years of teaching had killed most inhibitions and fear of embarrassment within Dan, so he jumped up and down, danced a bit, acted like he thought a man in a bear-suit was expected to act.

"Hey, it's Buster Bear!" he heard someone say.

Dan turned round, and waved. It was a group of guys, six he counted, looking around 30. A big variety of heights and builds, though they all looked pretty hairy.

One of the guys came running towards him.

"C'mon guys, let's bust the bear!' he said, to the others.

When the guy arrived, Dan didn't even have time to talk. The guy shoved a hot dog right into his mouth. Dan was a bit shocked, but started chewing. It wasn't a bad hot dog.

No sooner had Dan swallowed that another guy shoved a hot dog into his mouth. Dan was even more surprised, but hey, the customer is king, and he was kinda hungry anyway, so he chewed and swallowed.

The six guys proceeded to shove a hot dog each into his mouth. He wasn’t expecting that at all but as he was on probation he didn’t want to challenge it. His minder stood to the side happily watching and not saying a word. Was this a thing here? It didn’t take long but he ended up eating six hot dogs in a short space of time.

This first guy moved to feed a second one but Mitch stepped in. ‘You know the rules, big guy. Let someone else have a go. Move along now!’

Admitting defeat the six guys moved on laughing and patting each other on the back. When they were at a safe distance he turned to Mitch ‘What the hell was that?’

‘Did no one tell you?’ He laughed. ‘It’s just a cute thing we have here. When you see Buster bear you have to feed him something. It’s just for fun! You’ll get used to it!’

Dan was so confused. It was one thing giving the bear a small thing but he’d just eaten six whole hot dogs and he’d been on the job for 15 minutes! Also why were they grown ass men? Theme parks are for kids right? He wasn’t even sure what question to ask first. He opened his mouth to ask something and found a churro in it. Two young bearded guys had snuck up behind him. They happily began feeding him a big churro each. Dan was starting to feel pretty full already but he really needed this job. He’d have time to ask questions in a moment. So he played along. Rubbing his furry tummy and chewing he ate a churro from each of them.

As they walked away, clearly happy he heard one of them comment about how hot he was which gave him a little rush of pleasure, followed by a touch of embarrassment.

Turning to Mitch he formulated his question ‘Where are the kids?’

Mitch looked at him like he’d said something crazy inappropriate and just shook his head. ‘Dude this place is for adults only! Now look lively. Here comes another group of customers.

Totally confused, Dan turned and saw four guys coming towards him with huge bellies and carrying buckets of loaded fries. Before he could say anything, a chubby hand stuffed a fist full of fries into his mouth. They were hot and salty and covered in bacon and cheese and so good. He could ignore the full feeling with fries as tasty as this. A few fistfuls in, and the dudes started fighting over who got to feed him the next lot.

‘Bro wait your turn?’ The lead guy said in a thick southern accent.

‘This is my turn dick face?’ Replied a guy who looked like he could be his brother, shoving him out of the way with his fat ass.

Dan found himself amidst four angry fat guys who’d clearly had a few too many beers and his teaching skills suddenly kicked in.

‘Boys, there’s plenty of room in my tank, now just keep the fries coming!’

It calmed the situation a bit but still was a little tense. A few of the guys were squaring up to each other and getting riled up. Guided by Dan the fries were soon put away turn by turn into his filling tank. Pacified and pleased with themselves the men staggered away punching one another on the arms as they went.

The four buckets of fries on top of the hotdogs and churros suddenly weighed heavy on Dan's stomach. He belched loudly and gave his belly a rub. ‘How come you didn’t intervene man?’ He asked Mitch

‘You seemed to be handling those dumb asses pretty well yourself?’ Mitch laughed back

‘I thought it was one thing per person? You said that was the rule?’

‘Yeah but they had the golden buckets. They paid extra. They can feed you the whole lot if they want!’ Mitch explained. ‘Let’s keep going, bud!’

Dan uncomfortably followed on behind Mitch, feeling the heavy food settling as his stomach set about the task of digesting. Over the next hour or so they encountered several more guys, all keen to feed something to Buster. Dan played the part, eating up the burgers, candy apples and handfuls of popcorn. All the food they seemed to serve at this place was full-on junk food. It didn’t hurt that it all tasted so good. The pace was fast but not too bad. He felt like he was keeping up. He’d always had a big appetite and would often find himself eating his feelings when he was back in school. And he needed this job. He couldn’t bring himself to contact his parents. There were just two more hours of the trial left, he could do this. He was beginning to notice that the costume was feeling a little claustrophobic. It felt super roomy when he put it on but he was feeling the material clinging to his skin a bit now. It was super hot inside too. He could really do with something to drink. He would look for some dudes with beers or something if that was allowed.

The next encounter he had was two good looking college bros with backwards caps and muscle tees. Unfortunately they didn’t have beers but they fed Dan a funnel cake each. He’d never seen one of these before but the sweet dough tasted amazing. Afterwards though he began to feel a little uncomfortably full. The last few bites were a little hard work. He could feel grease and the pressure of food in his packed stomach reaching a slightly more painful place. When they had gone he asked Mitch if he could take a ten minute break. Mitch reluctantly agreed but said he couldn’t take the suit off. He took him behind one of the rides where they found a little bench. Dan eased himself down and instantly regretted sitting. The pressure reached a peak which made him wince and stand back up. Tentatively, he sat back down and leant back on his arms. Under the suit, he arched his back to give his belly space to expand. Mitch grinned. ‘Ready to give up yet?’

‘No man, I’m good’ Dan lied.

‘There’s pockets!’ Mitch offered smiling still

‘What?’ Dan was feeling a little light headed with how full he was feeling and he didn’t really know what Mitch was talking about.

Mitch leant over and pulled a small zip down on the side by Dan's hip. ‘If you need to give your belly a rub, there’s a small pocket. Trust me on this. You need all the help you can get before the lunch rush!’

The prospect of a lunch rush was something Dan would need to deal with in a few minutes but for now he eased his hand into the side of his costume and felt the warm flesh of his distended furry belly. He couldn’t trust himself to think back over how much food was in him, it would just make him queasy. For now he just closed his eyes and gave his tight belly a good rub.

‘Come on buster!’ Mitch said after a too short amount of time. ‘You need to be back on the tarmac!’

Begrudgingly Dan stood, admittedly feeling a little better after the rub. He could almost feel the food redistributing itself as he moved.

‘Hang on, What did you mean lunch rush?’ He asked his guide as they walked.

Mitch just smiled. ‘Happy hour!’ He repeated cryptically.

Leading the way, Mitch took Dan back into the park where they made their way to an area set up next to a steep roller coaster. A little food hut decorated to look like a large picnic basket was serving food to a long queue of guys, all who started cheering as they saw Buster Bear approaching. This made Dan's stomach lurch a little. That was a lot of guys buying food. ‘Should we keep moving?’ He asked Mitch nervously.

‘Why would we do that? This is your chance to prove you deserve the job.’ He pointed at a large wooden throne just next to the clearing. ‘Take a seat’

Reluctantly Dan shuffled towards the chair and sat down. It was surprisingly comfy and the position of the seat meant that he was nearly stood up which put no extra pressure on his already packed belly. He gulped as he realised that the design was probably on purpose.

One by one the men left the queue and joined a new one in front of Dan. They all had their fast food clutched in their hands ready to feed Buster. Mitch leant in and whispered into Dan's ear. ‘If you can survive this, the job's yours. And did you read the small print?’

Dan shook his head nervously. ‘No?’ He admitted, looking to find a way out of this. There was no way this was worth $15 an hour.

‘At the end of the day we weigh you and you get $50 per pound you put on. You get a bonus for the more food you eat!’

That changed things for Dan. He really needed that cash. He’d nearly used up the last of his money staying at the motel in town and without this job, he’d not have enough for the next few days. A few hundred dollars could really come in handy right now. He could eat a lot? What’s 10 lbs of food look like? That’s $500 dollars. Surely that could be doable? He set his jaw and nodded to Mitch ‘let’s go’

The stream of food that followed was unreal. Each guy shoved one thing into Dan's open mouth and he chewed and swallowed like his life depended on it. Corn dogs, tacos, hamburgers, onion rings and fries all disappeared down under the fur of the costume into his hidden but rapidly expanding belly. He didn’t allow himself time to consider how much food there was or how he was going to feel afterwards, he just kept the thought of the dollars ringing in his ears. Ice cream and donuts, beers and sodas all sucked down into his filling tank. The guys queuing were loving it and Dan was fully playing the part of a greedy bear. Growling and snarling as their sweaty palms pushed the calorific food into his mouth. Mitch’s face slowly turned from a smiling sneer, laughing at Dan's fate, to one of admiration. He’d been with a lot of Busters and Dan was eating like one of the best. He’d spent many an afternoon with a sorry dude in a bear costume throwing up into a bin after a shift but this guy seemed to be an absolute eating unit. Towards the end of the happy hour though he started being a little worried. This guy had eaten a lot. Like, too much. Even with the bear costume on he could see that his gut was beginning to push against the fabric.

As Dan was being fed a large chicken tender the bell went to signal the end of happy hour. Dan looked a little confused as he snapped out of his feeding frenzy. The rest of the guys in the queue all shared a collective groan as Mitch told them that the bear needed to head back to his cave for his nap whilst Dan looked on, totally dazed. As Mitch shooed away the queue, the volume of food inside Dan’s belly suddenly made itself very known. He felt the skin over his belly stretched and tight and the pressure that had built up inside him became very apparent. He had never in his whole life felt as full as he did right now. In the distance he heard Mitch talking to him. He wasn’t sure what he was saying but he nodded and allowed Mitch to help him to his feet. The new weight in front of him made him stagger a little at first as he felt the food lurch inside his belly balloon. A large belch escaped and he found himself laughing. Mitch led him through the park round the back, fortunately not encountering any more punters eager to offload some more food into his aching gut.

Coming round a little bit he found himself back in the offices, just him and Mitch, who was looking at him in a concerned way. ‘I said are you ok bud?’

Dan belched again in response. ‘I think I’m ok? I ate a lot.’

‘Yeah. You did.’ Mitch nodded in agreement. ‘You wanna take off the costume?’

Dan nodded. He went to undo the zip but found the fabric was restricting his movement. Mitch fished around under his neck and pulled the zip down to the bottom of his ribs. The rush of cool air was like heaven as he peeled his arms out of the costume. He went to pull the zipper down but his bloated midsection was now an obstacle. Pulling it out, he managed to get the zip to slide down to the underneath of his belly which pushed itself through. Dan looked up into the mirror on the wall opposite. Shocked, he saw the full extent of his four hours of being stuffed by random strangers. His belly was enormous. The furry skin stretched tight over the mass of food contained inside. Round and expansive, his belly looked like it had been photoshopped. His gut had completely filled the baggy costume.

‘Holy fucking Mac and cheese balls’ Mitch exclaimed reaching over to give his belly a poke. Even his heavy handed push hardly made a dent in it.

‘It feels like I’ve swallowed quick drying cement!’ Dan complained. ‘Help me out of this fucking thing!’

Mitch pulled the costume down round his ankles, headbutting his engorged stomach by accident. ‘Shit man, sorry!’ He said rubbing his head

Standing there in just his pants Dan couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. He was enormous. His furry belly and body made him look like he was still wearing the fat bear costume.

Mitch nodded at the scales. ‘Wanna see how much we owe you?’ He asked

‘I’m gonna bankrupt you!’ Dan managed to joke as he stepped on.

Mitch whistled, clearly impressed. ‘Fuck me man. You’ve done well there today! I’d have to check but I’m pretty sure that’s a company record!’

‘Tell me man!’ Dan pleaded.

"We owe you $850 man! You’ve eaten 17 lbs of food!!’

Dan nearly passed out with shock. Taking another look in the mirror his distended belly looked like he was pregnant. Sticking out from under his ribs it rolled down in a wide curve till it tapered in where the ghost of his Adonis belt framed the underside.. All he wanted to do right now was sleep this off

‘You’ve definitely got the job!’ Mitch reassured him. ‘See you again tomorrow?’

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If you want to continue Dans story yourself you can head here where you will find a chat bot programmed to be Dan at the end of this story!

#belly expansion #gainer fiction #gay gainer #stuffing #belly fiction #gainer stories #male gaining #stuffing art #gainer story #gainer artwork #big bear

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