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strawberrymilkgeorge · 3 years

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Part Ten. Faces

warnings: swearing, hate comments word count: 4.1k (not including pics)

behind the screen (irl dream x f!reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist

A/N: sorry its late!!!! this feels rushed but i was just too excited to get to some parts!!! also i have had some parts written out for SO long that they dont even feel cute to me anymore so im literally praying to every deity rn that you guys think its cute lmao anyway enjoy!!!!

**********

It had been about a week since Karl's slip up but everything was already more normal than Y/n had expected it to be. Of course, George, Sapnap and Quackity were all very understanding and gave her space while simultaneously reassuring her that she was safe with them. She fully believed it too, she knew she was safe with them and they weren't going to tell anyone her name.

The one unusual thing was now she had a heavy guilt, like someone dropped another sandbag in her stomach, every time Dream texted her. If the others knew, it was only fair that she tell him her name too, right? I mean, it's Dream. Dream! The boy who had quickly slipped his way into her life and, though she wouldn't admit it to Karl or Naomi, her heart.

But how? Does she just come right out and say it or wait until it gets brought up? She hadn't practiced telling anyone her name because she wasn't planning on doing it any time soon. Though, maybe she should have been seeing as she was going to see them all in person in a little over a month.

Regardless of the guilt, Y/n had other things to worry about today; Quackity was coming to visit. Karl had picked him up from the airport and the two of them spent all day catching up and doing who knows what but Y/n still hadn't met him. She was scared. She wasn't scared of Quackity, but scared because it was the first time one of her online friends would be able to put a face to her name and voice.

Y/n shuffled across her living room rug and reached for her phone on the coffee table, looking for some sort of distraction while she waited for them to arrive.

Y/n rolled her eyes but smiled, shaking her head as she threw her phone on the couch. Okay, he's right. It's gonna be fine. It's gonna be great. It's just Quackity. If he said anything rude or annoying or anything she could literally just step on him like a bug.

A sharp knock on the front door of her apartment snapped her back into reality. She shook her limbs of nervousness as she made her way to the door, two familiar voices begging to be acknowledged from the other side.

"Let us iiinnn!! Y/nnn!!!!" Karl whined.

After countless times asking the same question, she finally convinced Karl that she was okay with him using her real name in front of Quackity. He clearly still felt guilty about telling the boys her name, asking her multiple times in different ways whether he should call her Y/n or Bugsy in front of the guest. She finally got it through his head that she didn't mind either way.

"Hold on!" she yelled back. She unlocked the door and swung it open to see Karl and Quackity. "So impatient."

"Holy shit, you are tall! Goddammit, I thought that was a joke!"

Y/n laughed shyly at the greeting, looking at Quackity like he was crazy. "Hello to you too. Tried to warn you, dude."

"Yeah but, damn! You're tall and attractive, what the hell?"

"Dude," she said with a warning in her voice. She thought the flirting on Twitter was funny, but in real life she got embarrassed easier and wasn't a fan. "I'm about to kick you out of my house before I even let you in."

This was weird, meeting Quackity before meeting some of her other friends. She loved Quackity, but she had known George much longer and Sapnap even before that. There was no problem with meeting Quackity, she just had no idea how to act since she felt like she hardly knew him.

"Am I allowed to tell people that you're hot?" he asked as he fell on her couch, Karl following right after.

"Quackity!" Y/n yelled, her face heating up at a compliment. "Seriously?"

Karl cackled and shoved Quackity. "Shut up, Alex! No, you're not allowed!"

"Sorry, is that compliment reserved for Dream?" He cackled at his own joke and Y/n's face heated up even more.

"I seriously will kick you out of my house."

"You wanna be flirty on main but not in real life?" Quackity scoffed.

"I'm not flirty on main, you are!" she laughed. "Seriously, don't."

"Okay, sorry, I'll stop," Quackity promised with a laugh in his words.

The three of them fell into easy conversation, mostly because Karl and Quackity were already comfortable around each other at this point. They eventually decided to go to the mall, just to mess around and do something.

*reminder: covid doesn't exist in this fic bc we only want happy things so ignore their masks :P*

Y/n frowned as she unlocked her front door, staring at her phone. She had been so happy with all the fans freaking out about the meetup so she looked at the trending list, expecting to see a flood of keyboard smashes and happiness, but that's not all she ended up seeing. BUGKARLITY was trending, so she scrolled through the tweets and was upset to see not all of them were positive. In fact, when she typed her name in the search bar, lots of the tweets using her name were rather mean.

A few that stuck in her head called her an attention whore and said that her friends only flirted with her because she paid them too. Who on earth would even do that? Some hurt way more than others but she tried to push them aside. It wasn't like this was the first time she had seen comments like this, but they had only gotten worse since her Minecraft date with Dream. She was worried it was cause more hate for her friends and the last thing she wanted was to be the cause of their own hate.

She typed several different messages to Dream, deleting them all after she reread them. She felt like she had to request the same thing from him in a different way. Maybe because she felt like his words meant more, even if he really was just joking like the rest of them. She decided to call him instead of texting.

"Hi!" he chirped happily from the other end.

"Hi, Dream," she said as her chest filled with something warm at the sound of his voice. "How are you doing?"

"Good," he dragged out the word. "How are you?"

"Okay."

"Just okay? What's up?"

"Um," she started, immediately forgetting the words she decided she'd use. "I just... would you mind, uh, not flirting with me so much on, like, Twitter and streams and stuff like that?"

There was a silence before Dream's frantically apologetic words came through. "Yes, of course, oh my gosh. I'm so sorry. If I had known I was making you uncomfortable, I wouldn't have—"

"Wait, no," she interrupted but he must not have heard.

"—said things like... oh gosh. Bug, I'm really sorry—"

"Dream!" she raised her voice, getting him to stop ranting. "You don't make me uncomfortable."

"Oh. Really?"

"Of course not. I actually think it's really..." Cute? Adorable? Endearing? "funny," she decided.

"Oh. Then why...?"

She sighed heavily and explained what she told the others. "So, yeah. I just don't want you guys getting hate because of me so I figure if you stop then... you know."

"Bug..." he said gently. "I'm really sorry. I promise you that I don't—none of us think those things about you."

"I know."

"No, seriously," he said, clearly not believing her. "You need to understand that I..." he paused. "I mean what I say. Always."

Always? she thought. There's a few things he's said that certainly he didn't really mean... like calling her cute?

"I don't joke around like that unless I want to. I wouldn't say things like I say to you unless I really, really, genuinely considered you a close friend and felt comfortable around you. And I do."

Her heart swelled. "Thanks, Dream. I just... maybe don't do it so much for right now? Online, at least," she clarified, not wanting to deprive herself completely of Dream's flirting.

"Yeah, if that's what you want, of course."

"Well, I don't want you to stop flirting with me but, yeah."

He chuckled. "Oh, you do like when I flirt with you?"

She hummed and changed the subject. "Did I interrupt you doing anything?"

"No," his teasing voice dropped and was back to his regular self. "I'm just editing the video we filmed the other day."

"Oh, the 'Minecraft, but you can't touch the floor'?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Oh," she said, not meaning to sound disappointed. "I'll let you get back to it—"

"No. I mean, you can stay on the phone. Unless you're busy."

She smiled and put her phone on speaker and set it next to her foot on the floor. "I was just gonna paint. So I can stay."

Before she knew it, almost two hours had passed of them sitting in comfortable silence, occasionally speaking to share something with the other before going back to their tasks. It was comforting knowing she didn’t need to speak constantly and could just hang out with Dream.

Y/n's phone rested on the floor next to her, Dream on speakerphone on the other end, only the sounds of his keyboard clicking letting her know he hadn't fallen asleep or hung up. She wasn't sure when they started doing this, staying on the phone even when they had nothing to talk about, but they had done it a few times before. They had talked on the phone and Discord many times but it was usually always with purpose, not usually this silently-enjoying-each-others-presence nonsense. Who was she kidding calling it nonsense, she enjoyed it an embarrassingly insane amount.

She repositioned so she was laying on her stomach as she finished sketching an image that was in her mind.

"Hey, you still there?" Dream asked softly.

"Yeah. Sorry, am I taking away from your sitting in silence time with George?" she joked.

Dream chuckled lightly. "Nah, you're more fun. I was just seeing if you ditched me for Karl yet."

"Nah, you're more fun," she mimed truthfully. "But I'm very focused on this drawing."

"Can I see it when you're done?"

"Don't expect too much. It looks bad."

"If you don't tell me what it is, I can't know how accurate or inaccurate it is."

"Very true..." she trailed off, holding the canvas further away to examine it all at once. She wanted the sketch to be perfect before she made permanent choices with paint. She enjoyed the serenity they maintained even when talking, voices low and delicate like they were keeping secrets but not quite whispering. "Are you almost done editing your video from the other day?"

"Sorta. I'm at the part where you and Sapnap almost died laughing because a ghast knocked George into lava and then Sapnap laughed so hard he fell into lava."

She chuckled, remembering the situation vividly. "That was so funny. The way George screams is so funny."

"Let Naomi know that," he mumbled, causing Y/n to gasp.

"Dream!" she laughed loudly and he joined.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry. It's true though."

"Disgusting!"

A distant voice sounded on the other end and she assumed it was Sapnap. "What do you want for dinner?"

Dream responded with a soft, "Nothing, I'm good."

"Are you talking to Bugsy?"

He must have responded physically because the next sound was Sapnap's very clear, much more lively voice speaking directly into the phone. "Hi, Bugsy!"

"Hi, Sapnap!"

"Can you tell Dream to eat some damn food? This man literally hasn't eaten a single thing all goddamn day."

"Dream," Y/n scolded slowly. "Please eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"I'm not showing you my painting until you eat."

A door closed on the other end and she took that as a sign that Sapnap had left.

"I don't wanna see it anyway. It's probably trash."

"Take that back!" she gasped lightly. She looked at the canvas as she grabbed the first paint color and laughed. It was only a sketch and it was already trash. "Fine, then I won't go on the trip if you don't eat in the next ten minutes."

"That's punishing yourself too though."

"Who says I want to see you?" she asked.

"I never said anything about not seeing me being the punishment."

She had been caught. "It was implied."

"Sure it was."

"It's true though. Who says I wanna see your stupid face?"

He didn't say anything, but an incoming FaceTime call lit up Y/n's phone. A FaceTime call from him.

Her smile dropped. "Clay?"

"Answer it," his voice was lower and her heart started beating faster. Was he really about to show her his face to prove a point? Reveal his biggest secret that only a few close friends knew? To her of all people? She made sure she couldn't be seen in the small window and pressed accept, the voice call ending and the FaceTime call starting.

To her surprise, what came into view wasn't his face, but the logo of the hoodie he was wearing, the simple smile of his merch taunting her. She laughed, the anxiety slowly fading away as it was replaced with a heavy feeling in her stomach. Was she disappointed? Maybe a little, but he teased her into believing she would see him.

"Oh, wow! Dream face reveal! He looks just like his icon, no way!!!"

His chest moved up and down as he laughed, not moving the camera away. "You heard it here first, guys! You've known my face all along, the logo is actually my face!"

She laughed and returned to painting, not paying any more attention to her phone since he was now also showing his ceiling, a small corner of his monitor in frame but nothing else. "I mean it though, if you don't eat, I'm going to be so mad I won't even want to be friends anymore. Or you'll die from malnourishment before we get the chance to meet."

"I doubt it. I'm just not hungry."

"Whatever."

"Oh, hey, so you met Quackity today. How was it?"

"Very scary."

"Yeah?" he asked sympathetically, urging her to explain if she wanted.

"Yeah. But it turned out okay! He didn't act any different so it was fine. It was mostly just awkward. He's also so freaking loud. You would not believe how much louder he and Karl get when they're together."

"I can imagine. Aren't they doing a stream right now or something?"

"Yeah, I think so. I don't wanna watch though, I've had enough of them for the month."

Dream laughed. "How will you deal with them together for New Years'? It'll be for like two weeks."

"Who knows if I'll actually go?"

"Wait, what?" he asked abruptly, not even bothering to hide the disappointment in his voice. His keyboard stopped clicking and she could picture him staring at his phone as if looking at her. "Of course you're going."

"Not if you don't eat food! You have, like, 3 minutes to eat something until I officially am busy doing other things whenever the trip is."

Dream groaned and clicked a few things on his computer before the image on the screen became blurry as he walked through the house, still pointing it at the ceiling. She looked away again and kept painting.

"Quackity's really funny though," she continued. "It was super awkward at first but it was fun to have someone else to help me make fun of Karl."

"Wait, Bug," Dream called out over the sound of wrappers crinkling.

"Hm?" She hummed, continuing to paint.

"Bug," his voice was much softer and he sounded nervous.

She looked at her screen and dropped the paintbrush as she focused on what she saw, grabbing her phone and holding it closer to her face so she could see, still making sure she wasn't in view. All the anxiety from the beginning of the FaceTime suddenly came back and hit her like a truck. Sitting on her screen, waiting to be seen, was Dream. His hood was up, tufts of blonde hair sticking out, and he was standing with his back towards a dark room, the dim light from his pantry making his face just visible.

He held up a cookie in front of his actual, real face. "Are you watching?"

"Y-yea... I... Yeah. I'm watching. Is that really you?"

He nodded once before shoving the cookie in his mouth. "There, I consumed food," he announced, his voice muffled by the cookie. "Now you're legally obligated to come."

"I—What? CLAY! WHAT?"

"What?" he asked innocently as he chewed, walking back to his room and still holding the phone up to show his face. His room light was on, making his face much more visible. If Y/n thought he was attractive in the harsh pantry light, he must have looked like a god in his room lighting, even as pixelated as he was due to the quality of FaceTime. He fell on his bed and Y/n could only gape at his features. He slumped against his headboard, surrounded by roughly a thousand pillows, sporting a small, shy smile as he stared at the screen. "Bug, what?"

She opened her mouth but no words came out. Needless to say, he was unbelievably handsome. Part of the speechlessness was from the shock that he showed his face out of the blue, but obviously, the majority of it was that he was pretty much the most attractive person she'd ever seen. It should be illegal for someone to look that good in a hoodie, especially when pixelated.

"Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully. "Wanna take back what you said earlier?" He bit into another cookie.

"W-what did I say earlier?" Why was she stuttering???

"You said you don't wanna see me and that I'm ugly," he teased.

She paused for too many seconds too long before finally muttering, "you arrogant son of a bitch." He laughed loudly at that.

His eyes crinkled and he threw his head back. So that's what he looks like when he wheezes, she thought to herself, pretty.

Dream shuffled his position on his bed and rested his head on one of his hands. He looked so comfy. "Why are you so quiet, weirdo?" he mumbled.

She set her phone back down and touched her cheeks with her hands and looked away for a moment, grounding herself to the real world for a second. She couldn't process her thoughts when she was staring at a man as gorgeous as Clay. "I don't know, maybe because you gave me no warning before showing me your face? Or because you failed to mention that you're incredibly hot?"

She was so glad she had looked back at her phone or else she would have missed the glorious sight of his cheeks turning bright red before he turned the camera back to his ceiling. "Oh my gosh."

"Aw cute, I made you blush."

"Shut up," he mumbled. "You threatened to not come if I didn't eat something!"

"You didn't have to—you showed me your freaking face just to prove you ate a cookie!! DREAM! I would have believed you if you just said you ate something!" she laughed breathlessly, staring at the phone now for a chance to see him again. "I was joking anyway!"

"Sure you were."

"I was."

"Well, oh well. You deserved to see me anyway."

"Oh, I deserve to see you?" She laughed. "How big is your ego?"

"You know what I meant," he groaned. "You got doxxed by Karl and you met Quackity in person. And you've clearly had a bad day because of all the hate and stuff. You've done a lot of stressful things recently and you deserved to be let in on a secret too."

He was so sweet. Like, tooth-rotting, Halloween candy stash hidden under a kid's bed, upset tummy sweet. She also couldn't get over the fact that he was a million times cuter when he was shy like he was being now, his voice soft and unsure. It contrasted vastly with the confident, loud-mouthed Dream everyone usually saw, though she liked that Dream too. She wished he could show his face for just one more second to see what he looked like shy. Probably sickeningly adorable.

This was it, wasn't it? The chance she had been waiting for to tell him her name? He just let her in on his biggest secret, now he was the one deserving to be let in.

"Y/n," she said with a confident, but soft voice.

There was a long pause. "W-what?"

"Y/n."

He understood the second time immediately. "Y/n..." he tested, the smile in his voice clear as day. "I like it."

"Yeah, well, I guess you deserved to know the secret too."

"I would have been content never knowing."

"Really?" She didn't believe him. He seemed like the type to never be satisfied, always looking for something better. Not in a greedy way, but in a motivational, goal-oriented big achiever way.

"Really," he hummed. "I already feel like you're too good to be true so I wouldn't be surprised if you weren't a real person."

It was silent as she tried to collect her thoughts.

"Bug? You okay?"

"Yeah, I... it's just a lot."

"Sorry."

"No, it's not you. Well... I don't know. I just don't know what I'm supposed to say when you say things like that," she admitted.

He paused. "I think you always have the perfect responses when I say things like that."

"What do I usually say?" She smiled shyly, pulling her hoodie up to her lips.

"You usually call me a nerd or say you can't stand me. 'Oh my gosh I cannot stand you'," he mimicked before laughing.

"What? How is that the perfect response to you saying you can't believe I'm real?"

He hummed and she could practically hear him shrugging. "Because it's a classic Bug response. It's a hundred perfect you. So yeah, it's perfect."

She was silent, trying to compose herself before she exploded.

"By the way, check Twitter."

"Why, are you bragging about me calling you hot?" she teased, hoping to make him blush like she had earlier. It worked.

"Oh my gosh, no. Just look."

She clicked her home button and navigated to the app, her feed instantly flooding with the same similar messages.

"Oh, my gosh," she muttered, her fingers flying away as she typed out her own tweet in response to the love.

Dream chuckled from the other end and when she asked him why, he vaguely said that George texted him but didn't explain further.

"Um, I have to go," she said mournfully. "Karl and Quackity are coming over again."

"Booooo," he pouted.

"Sorry, you aren't the only man in my life," she teased before instantly regretting her choice of words. Too flirty, Y/n, she thought to herself.

"Hm, shame. Am I at least at the top of the list?"

She bit her lips, wanting desperately to repeat what she had told him on their Minecraft date. In the end, she gave in. "I always mean what I say too," she started. "You're my main bitch, baby."

Dream made some sort of sound, a mix of a scoff and a whine but Y/n didn't comment on it, just glowing with heat in her cheeks.

"Leave before I don't let you," he said softly and the heat only grew.

"Goodnight, Dream," she pressed, the tone in her voice letting him know he was being a tease. "Thanks for... thanks for your tweet. And for everything you said earlier."

"Of course. Sorry that you have to see those kinds of things a lot."

"It's okay when I have people like you."

"People like me? What does that mean?"

"Just.... people like you." Cute, sweet, kind, genuine people who make her heart flutter.

She could hear his smile in his words and she figured he knew the unspoken words in her thoughts, the ones she was saying without saying. "Okay. Goodnight, Y/n."

"Goodnight."

**********

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seongsangi · 3 years

Text

your girl calls me daddy too

pairing: johnny x reader

summary: the story of getting involved with your professor/classmate's dad 👀

word count: 4.5k

warnings: professor!johnny, dilf!johnny, daddy/sir kink, age gap bc johnny is older in this fic (reader is 21+, we dont do that barely legal just turned 18 shit) straight up smut, that's all we do on this blog

author's note: this took me from 8 pm to 4 am to write. idk if that's fast or not compared to some people but bitch... that's a record for me!

another note: idk if anyone's wondering but johnny is a single dad in this, no cheating or infidelity involved!

No one knows about your relationship with Johnny Suh, certainly not your family or friends, and certainly not his son who is in the same biology course as you this semester. The secret is kept strictly between the two of you, the thrill of hiding it making it that much more exciting.

The relationship began with him being your chemistry professor. The brief glances, lingering touches, and frequent visits during office hours became too much for either of you to deny the attraction. It felt so wrong, the professor-student affair being too much of a cliché that you were hesitant to follow through with it. But after a particular session discussing the assigned homework, you both realized it was now too late to go back.

***********************************************

“Professor, why are you looking at me like that?” you fiddle with your pen in your hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little distracted.” Mr. Suh lets his eyes trail down your figure, eyeing the neckline of your dress that reveals just enough to get his imagination going. He’s thinking about the way you waltzed in here with that damn sundress on, the way you bite your lip when you’re confused on a reaction mechanism, the way your innocent eyes look up at him when he’s explaining the concept. He feels foolish, unable to focus on your question when you’re sitting across from him looking like that, the dress hugging your figure in all the right ways.

“Should I come back another time?”

Mr. Suh clears his throat, giving you another glance up and down before collecting himself. “No, no, I promise I’m fine. Let me check your work right quick.” You hand him the paper, watching as he leans back in his chair examining the mechanism you drew. You let your eyes do the same thing to him as he did to you, taking in the long sleeve black shirt he wore today that hugs his biceps almost too well. It has your hands itching to feel them under your fingers, to take the shirt off and see him in all his glory. Your eyes roam his face, the sharp features drawing you in. You imagine his plump lips doing things to your body that are sure to take your breath away.

He does not fail to notice your lingering stare, or the way you’re fidgeting in your chair. He pulls the sleeves of his shirt up his forearm and grabs his pen, leaning in to show you where you went wrong. As he’s explaining, you lean in too, your perfume filling his senses. You can’t seem to focus on what he’s saying, too busy tracing the veins along his arms and hands. Oh, how they would feel wrapped around your – okay, bitch you have got to chill.

“Miss Y/N, is something the matter?” The way your name rolls off his tongue has you swooning, the added ‘miss’ making your tummy flutter.

You feel your body temperature rising with each second, fiddling with your hands in your lap, your mind going crazy with impure thoughts. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. “Uh, I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Mr. Suh notices your attention is elsewhere, setting his pen down and looking you directly in the eye, making you feel tiny under his intense gaze.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game.”

The statement catches you off guard, your cheeks immediately getting hot. “I- I don’t know, wha- what do you mean?” you stutter, which he finds endearing seeing you all flushed.

“Let’s not act like we don’t know where your mind is at,” he sees right through you. “Cause I’ll be honest, I’m right there with you.” His voice drops a couple octaves, sending a wave of arousal through you at the sound of it. Oh fuck, is this really happening right now?

Your breath gets caught in your throat, unable to respond. What the fuck do you even say to that? Mr. Suh gets out of his chair, his long legs coming around the desk and standing in front of you. He leans down real close to your face, bracing himself on the arm rests of the chair you’re in, effectively caging you in. If you thought you were getting warm before, you’re on the verge of burning up now. He’s smirking down at you, enjoying just how riled up you’re getting.

“Are you gonna tell me you haven’t been thinking of things other than chemistry during our meeting?” He cocks his head to the side, challenging you with a tease in his words.

“Um, professor, I don’t think we should be doing this…” you trail, glancing at the closed door behind you. His face is too close for comfort, looking anywhere but at him.

“Then tell me to stop,” his lips now ghosting your neck, so close you can feel his breath on your skin. He’s watching your chest rise and fall with heavy breaths. Every fiber in your being is telling you this is wrong on so many levels, but it’s making your body tingle in a way you can’t ignore. You’ve been thinking about him and it’s obvious he has been too, what’s stopping you from going further? You open your mouth to say something, but you can’t find any words to say, nothing to let him know you don’t want this.

“You have to tell me you want it then,” he pulls back from you slightly, waiting for your confirmation. If you don’t explicitly say yes, then he won’t push it any further.

You can’t take this any more, sitting up straight and saying “I want it” in one breath before crashing your lips against his. There’s no taking this back, you tell yourself as you let him take control. You sigh into the kiss, his lips feel so right against yours, letting the lust cloud your mind. He cups the side of your face, pulling you up by your waist to get a better angle to devour your lips. His hips push you against the desk, lifting you slightly to sit on the edge. Your hands bunch up his shirt, pulling him even closer to you. He bites your bottom lip as he pulls away, searching your face for any sign of regret. Instead, he’s met with your blown out expression, needy eyes asking for more.

Mr. Suh shakes his head in disbelief, almost chuckling. “You don’t know what you do to me, miss Y/N.” You love it when he calls you that. He steps back, turning around to lock the door. The sound of the lock only fuels your excitement, eager to see what he’ll do next. Your hands grip the edge of the desk as Mr. Suh stalks towards you, like a predator eyeing his prey. Oh, how you want him to eat you up right now. Your thighs press together at the thought, a movement he quickly notices.

His hands trail up the side of your thighs before resting on the curve of your ass. The fabric is soft to the touch but he bets your skin is softer. “What are you thinking of, you naughty girl?” His lips are back on you, letting your head fall to the side as he peppers kisses along your neck. “Just thinking about you,” you pant.

“I know that much. What do you want me to do, hmm?” he presses further.

“Anything you want,” falling further under his spell. He groans in your ear, ready and willing to take advantage of your submission. It’s more like you’ve got him under your spell. He knows this is wrong on a professional level, but fuck that right now.

“Turn around,” twisting your body before you can even do it yourself. His touch makes you so dizzy, bracing your hands on the homework assignment that has long been forgotten. He kisses your shoulder, pressing close to your backside as he admires you from behind, the dress doing wonders to accentuate your curves.

“You look so good in this dress doll,” kneading your ass in his hands. He gives it a tame slap, not wanting to be too rough since there are still other offices around his. “But I bet you’d look even better with it off.” The wetness in your panties is becoming unbearable, desperate for him to touch you where you need him.

“Touch me please,” your sweet voice begging him is more than enough for him to comply. He bunches your dress up over your waist to expose your soft skin, the thin panties you’re wearing showcasing your wet spot off clearly. His pants are getting incredibly tight, blood rushing to his member with each second. He lifts your right knee to rest it on the desk, trailing his fingers over the thin fabric.

“Right here?” he slides his fingers up and down your center, earning a shudder from you.

“Or here?” pulling your panties to the side and coating his fingers in your arousal. You let out an audible moan when he finds your clit, which prompts him to clamp his hand over your mouth. He cranes your head back to look you in your eyes, his hand still rubbing against your bundle of nerves.

“You’ll have to be quiet or else I’ll stop. Can’t have anyone around us hearing you.” You nod in understanding, eyes fluttering shut as two of his fingers slide into you with ease. You arch your back a bit more, pushing your hips further into his hand. It’s a good thing his hand is still covering your mouth because you can’t help your moans when his fingers are drilling into you so fast.

“You’re taking my fingers so well doll,” he’s gonna drive you insane with that nickname. You turn your head to get a better look at him, watching him part his lips as he watches his fingers disappear in and out of your core.

He slides a third finger in and you want to scream, the stretch makes you feel so full. You’re soaked now, the lewd sounds of your wetness making you feel self-conscious. Just then, his office phone rings. You gasp, looking at him with wide eyes. He lets go of your mouth but doesn’t pull his fingers out of you, pumping them in even as he reaches for the phone. You try to stay as quiet as you can with his fingers still working your core.

“Hello, this is Johnny Suh.” He looks you dead in the eye, telling you you better shut up without verbally saying anything.

“Ah, Jaehyun, what can I do for you?” Your legs buckle when he hits that spot, almost letting out a yelp. He shoots you another glare, pulling his fingers out and shoving them in your mouth to keep you quiet. He sets the phone down for a second, leaning in to your ear. “Play with yourself while I take this call. And shut up, I mean it.”

You can taste yourself on his fingers, the whole thing making you feel so filthy. Your hand reaches down to your core, rubbing yourself slowly as Mr. Suh picks the phone up again. You lick him clean, getting your own fingers wet now with your slick. He’s listening to the other person on the line but paying close attention to your hand in between your thighs. He likes watching you play with yourself, getting off on the thought of him.

“Okay, all that sounds great. Send me an email of the template and I’ll check it out. I’m with a student right now, so can I call you back later?”

When he finally gets off the phone, he shoves his fingers further into your mouth, almost making you choke on them. “Didn’t I tell you to be quiet? You couldn’t even do that?” You’re so worked up, you can feel your high approaching and you just want him to help you reach it.

You grab his wrist, pulling his fingers out of your mouth. “I’m so close,” bringing his hand back to your core.

“You want to cum? Beg for it,” he doesn’t make a move to touch you.

“Please sir, I wanna cum on your fingers, please please.” You stroke his arm gently, pleading with your eyes, anything for him to touch you again. How could he say no when you’re looking at him like that?

He tells you to turn around to face him, holding your leg against his waist. He watches your face contort in pleasure as he gives you what you want, rubbing yourself at the same time to chase your high. You try to keep your voice to a minimum, your sweet moans fueling him on. If his fingers feel this good in you, you can’t even imagine what else he’s got in store for you.

“Fuuuck, sir I’m cumming,” you cry weakly, closing your eyes and clenching around his fingers as you finally get that release. The sight of you coming undone on his hand is almost enough to take you right then and there, but he holds himself back. Your hand grips his wrist tightly, but he doesn’t stop pumping in and out of you until you open your eyes, worried he’s gonna try to get another one out of you so soon.

He finally stops, taking the chance to taste yourself by licking his own fingers clean. God, you thought sucking his fingers was hot, this is even better. He loves the taste of you, already craving more. Mr. Suh runs his hand along your inner thighs, taking a mental image of the sight of you spread open for him on his desk.

“Miss Y/N, I think it’s safe to say that we should keep this a secret between us.”

***********************************************

And that’s how your intimate relationship with your professor began. You’ve been in his office so many times after that, you’ve lost count, letting him take you on every inch of that desk. Before, during, and after office hours, you both crave each other’s touch. You know to keep your time together to a minimum though. You can’t be coming into his office whenever you want, or else it would start to get suspicious. Sometimes you catch yourself stealing glances at his son in biology class, wondering if he has even the slightest idea of what’s going on between you and Mr. Suh.

One day, when he’s at the front of the class teaching, all you can think about is his lips on you as he takes you from behind, whispering in your ear how dirty you are for letting him fuck you before class started. By the end of class, he passes the homework back out. You see a note written in red at the bottom of your paper.

127 Paradise Lane tomorrow 7 pm

It doesn’t take a genius to know what that means or what it entails. You quickly put your homework in your backpack before any curious eyes can see what’s written on it. You look up to see him steal a glance at you, making sure you got his note. Neither of you say anything as you walk out of class.

***********************************************

When you get to his house the next night, he welcomes you in with a warm smile, which quickly turns devious as he shoves you against the door immediately after closing it, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. You grab hold of his shirt as his hands roam your body, pulling him as close as you can. His hard bulge presses against your stomach, thoughts already wandering to how mind blowing his impressive length will feel in you. You want him, but one questions prods at your mind, pulling away from his lips slightly.

“Sir, what about your son? Is he gonna be home tonight?” You feel weird in your classmate’s house, but the fact that you’re about to fuck his dad as you’ve done plenty of times before is more overwhelming than your qualms about being here.

“He’s out of town with his friends,” running his hand up your back before grabbing your hair, pulling your head back so fast it surprises you. His breath is warm against your lips, “And when you’re in my house, it’s daddy.” You’re so used to calling him sir, knowing it turns him on but the new name in this new setting makes your insides tingle. You can’t hold back your smile, giving him your best “yes, daddy” to appease him.

Mr. Suh leads you to his bedroom, the king sized bed hitting your back as he throws you down. He towers over you, unbuttoning his shirt slowly. You sit up on your elbows, rubbing your thighs together as you eat up the man before you with your eyes. With each button that comes undone, you get more and more excited. He’s watching you intently, thinking of all the ways he’s going to ruin you tonight. He looks delectable with his shirt off, licking your lips at the sight of his well built figure.

“You’re gonna start drooling soon,” he teases, walking to his closet and pulling out one of his many ties. Whatever he’s thinking of doing with that, you have absolutely no complaints. You bite your lip in anticipation as he kneels on the bed, securing the tie around your neck into a makeshift collar. “Is this okay with you?”

You nod your head, but he pulls on the tie quickly, taking your breath away. “Use your words.”

“Yes, it’s ok,” you choke out. He doesn’t let up, asking instead, “Yes what?”

You’re gushing already, the control he has over you making your head spin. “Yes daddy,” you can barely get the two words out. He lets the tie go slack, coughing a bit at the sudden attack. His hand cups your face, “Sorry was that too much?” You nuzzle your cheek into his hand, telling him you loved it.

And that’s what he loves about you, that you take anything he gives you and enjoy every bit of it. You’re too much for him. He sits with his back against the headboard, tugging your arm to straddle him. “Did you wear this little dress for me?” his hands are sliding up and down your thighs, bringing out the goosebumps on your skin. You brace your hands on his chest, moving your hips against his jeans. The friction against your clit is oh so good and feels even better when he flexes his thigh after seeing your movements.

“You should see what I’m wearing underneath,” tugging the hem of your dress over your body, revealing your choice in white lingerie underneath, the color making you look angelic but is a stark contrast to the sinful things that are about to happen.

“Miss Y/N, what am I gonna do with you?” he asks as you pick up the pace of your hips, leaning down to press your lips to his neck. He lets you do what you want to him, encouraging your hips to move faster. Your small whimpers in his ear tell him you’re enjoying yourself, using his thigh to get off. You know not to leave any visible marks, opting for further down his chest to leave hickeys. His jeans feel so good against your core, finding more pleasure in riding his thigh than you thought, but it’s still not enough. “Want you to fuck me,” you moan breathlessly, pushing your chest into his face as you find that perfect spot to keep grinding against.

He hungrily pulls your bra down, attaching his lips to your hard nipple as he rolls the other one between his fingers. Your skin is so soft, he could bury his face in your tits all night. He leaves his own hickeys on your chest, admiring his work as he puts your bra back in place.

“Keep the lingerie on.” He pulls you down by the tie again, kissing you fervently as you fumble with his jeans. You get down on your knees, taking his clothes off so that he’s naked before you. His rock-hard member slaps against his stomach when you pull his pants off. You flatten your tongue against his member, locking eyes with him as you lick him from the base to the tip. You take him in your mouth, using your hands to fondle his balls to add to his pleasure. Using your tongue as much as you can to get him wet, you take him as far as your throat allows.

“You look so good with my dick in your mouth,” grabbing your hair and bobbing your head up and down on him. You let him use your mouth, parting his lips at the feeling of your warm tongue. When he lets go of your hair, you release him with a pop, sliding your hand along his length. “I bet I look even better with it in m—” you can’t even finish your sentence as he grabs you by the chin, shutting you up.

“I knew you’d say some shit like that. Why don’t you be a good girl and come ride this dick then?” He shoves your face away, but the roughness only turns you on even more. You straddle his hips, his hand pulling your lace panties to the side as you position him at your entrance. Both of you gasp as you sink down on him, the stretch quickly filling you up, your tight walls clamping against him.

“Fuck daddy, feels so good,” you whine. When he’s all the way in, you lean back on your hands in the cowgirl position, giving him the best view of where your bodies are connected. You feel so exposed in this position, but he can’t keep his eyes off your core as you move your hips, which makes you feel powerful under his glare. You know he loves it just as much as you do, giving him a show as you ride him.

A thought comes into your head, pulling out but quickly turning around so that your backside is facing him. You slide down on him again, his hands gripping your waist. You can move your hips faster in this position, setting a quick pace and slamming your hips against his. He’s lost in the way your ass bounces on top him. You let out a loud whine when his hand lands a hard slap on your ass cheek.

“I can’t do that when we’re in my office,” he lands another one to the same cheek, “but now I can.” He wants to see you red with his handprints, enjoying your little yelps at the sting. You clench around him each time he spanks you, doing so particularly hard but you can’t deny that you like the pain. By the last spank, your ass is on fire, but his large hands smoothing over them soon makes you forget about the pain.

Suddenly, you’re being yanked back by your hair, thrown on your side as he spoons you. Lifting one of your legs up, he slides into you from behind. The new position introduces a new angle for him to fuck you. “Oh shit, fuck, oh my god,” you can only curse as he abuses your core deliciously. Instead of using the tie, he wraps his hand around your throat to choke you. You grip his forearm, letting him use your body to his content.

“Your pussy is so good baby,” he growls in your ear. “So tight, so wet, I could fuck you all night. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You mumble incoherently as a response, too gone in the pleasure he’s sending throughout your body. You let out a choked scream as his hand that’s holding your leg up finds your sensitive nub, bringing you closer to the edge as he tells you how much he loves fucking you. Your legs shake as the pleasure overwhelms you, but he holds you close to keep you from going too far.

“Don’t run away, I know you can take it doll.”

“Daddy please,” you beg shamelessly but you don’t even know what you’re begging for. You want him to keep ravaging you, but you physically don’t know if you can keep up.

Mr. Suh makes the decision for you, pulling out of you to stand at the edge of the bed. He grabs your ankles, dragging your body towards him. He holds your legs together, pushing them towards your chest. He slides right back in, wasting no time in fucking you again. He loves watching his dick slide in and out of you, loves hearing you moan his name, loves how tight you get for him. You let your legs fall open, sitting up on your elbows to watch him fuck you. There’s something insanely hot about watching you take every inch of him, you can see why he enjoys it so much.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust, which makes him grab handfuls of your tits, pinching your nipples. “Baby, can I take a video of you? I won’t get your face in it, you just look so good in this lingerie right now.” You nod, feeling a surge of confidence at his words. He reaches for his phone on the nightstand, opening the camera and pressing record. He slows his thrusts, sliding into you slowly to show off how wet you are. The camera pans to your bra, giving them a squeeze for the video. He shoves your hand away, pulling your breasts out of your bra. He tugs on the tie, making sure not to get your face but still showing your makeshift collar off.

Without warning, he speeds his hips up again, earning a cry from you before ending the video and throwing his phone on the bed. He’s so riled up, he just wants to use you to finish. “You gonna cum for me daddy?” God, he loves hearing you beg for him. You sound so sweet saying the dirtiest things. “Cum for me please, I want it so bad, want you to cum in my mouth.”

“Oh shit baby,” he pulls out quickly, grabbing your hair and shoving himself in your mouth, his warm release all on your tongue. You swallow every last drop, sucking him off as he groans at the slight overstimulation.

He takes a second to catch his breath, noticing your not so innocent eyes looking up at him eagerly. A playful smile spreads across your face and he knows that look all too well.

You’re insatiable.

***********************************************

The next semester, you’re moving into a new dorm. Your parents are here to help you move everything in. You notice Mr. Suh’s son moving into the same dorm, looking around for a glimpse of him. He’s carrying a box of things from the car to the front entrance, stopping you for a quick “hello Miss Y/N, how was your break?”

He looks behind you, asking if those are your parents. “Maybe I should say something to them.”

“What are you gonna say?”

“Oh, I don't know, maybe something like: your girl calls me daddy too,” he jokes as you storm off, cheeks flushing red.

#nct smut #nct 127 smut #johnny smut #nct johnny #nct johnny smut

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spacedikut · 4 years

Text

starstruck ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: “Can I request some age gap Spencer x reader. Maybe he’s nervous about approaching her for a relationship bc she’s younger, but he’s so goofy for her it’s he’s in love obvious. Pretty pls 🥺💕” 5222 words

a/n: i didn’t specify ages cause i wasn’t sure what people would be comfortable with so i just mentioned an age gap and leave the rest up to you!! i would happily date someone twice my age but i also have daddy issues so :)

masterlist

The day has finally arrived.

Mollie can call you a nerd all she wants, but you know the second she lays eyes on Derek Morgan or Emily Prentiss she’ll change her tune.

This event has been in the university’s calendar since the beginning of the semester. At least two members of the FBI Behavioural Analysis Unit were promised to give a talk about their department, even taking you through a solved case like an interactive documentary, to encourage students to consider joining the academy post-graduation. There was whispers they’d even stick around after to answer some questions.

Your other friend, Jen, the one that understands your excitement, wrote your names down for tickets immediately. You’ve had a countdown on your phone ever since.

“They’ve announced a last-minute guest,” She beams, just as giddy as you. You’re wasting time at the coffee house near the auditorium, waiting for Mollie to arrive.

“Oh, really? Who?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

You almost drop your cookie in shock and stare at her, pupils blown.

“You’re a big fan?” She smirks.

As nonchalantly as you can, you lean back in your chair, “I’m a fan of his work, yes.”

“Oh, his work?”

“Don’t start.”

“I bet you love his work.”

“He’s well-versed and his papers are super interesting-“

“His papers are super interesting-“

“You are a child.”

Just then, Mollie appears, checking her watch. You wish you could kiss her in thanks for saving you from the teasing that would likely never end. “We’re gonna be late for your morbid seminar if you two don’t stop bickering.”

Jen downs the rest of her drink, you shove the last of the cookie in your mouth. Mollie watches your excitement in amusement – your heart starts pumping, whole body buzzing, the same nervousness you felt when you were a preteen right before your first ever One Direction concert. It’s the kind of nervousness that makes your palms sweaty.

Is it evolution or devolution to go from sweating over One Direction to sweating over FBI profilers?

+++

The seminar goes on for an hour, including the questions people ask throughout. It’s everything you could’ve asked for, entertaining and so, so informative and although you weren’t considering joining the FBI before, suddenly it’s all you can think about. Guest speakers have that affect, don’t they? They make you wonder if you should drastically change everything you’ve been planning.

Even Mollie, who you had to threaten to tag along, ended up enjoying herself. “Maybe I learnt a thing or two,” She’d said, rolling her eyes playfully.

You and your friends are some of the last to leave. There’s quite the bustling outside, which you assume is just post-seminar chatter, but you and Jen falter in your steps when you see the exact profilers that had been onstage several minutes ago in front of you, happily interacting and talking to fellow students.

“Oh, man,” Jen whispers, her and Mollie making eye contact across you. “I have to see if I can talk to Emily.”

Mollie encourages her with a frantic, “Go! Go!” while you’re rooted in place. Mollie jabs you with a pointed nail, “You in there, Y/N? I’m sure you have loads of questions for them-“

You stutter and shake your head, “N-no. I’m good. You can try and hit on Derek, if you want.”

You give a half-attempt at a smile, barely lifting the corners of your lips. Mollie recognises that look. She wants to stay with you, check you’re not too overwhelmed, but you shoo her away and send her towards Derek. You breathe a sigh of relief – you’ve been friends with her long enough that she knows when you need space.

There’s something about seeing people you admire so abruptly that totally throws you for a loop. All you had prepared for was seeing them from afar and subsequently talking about it forever, but nothing beyond that. In some circumstances, it’d be a pleasant surprise, but for someone that struggles around strangers and especially around people as admirable as profilers, you are not mentally prepared for this and have therefore shut down.

But then you see him.

He’s shuffling in place in the corner of the room, close to a large potted plant like it’s his only friend. He’s nibbling his lip as his eyes flutter around, never staying somewhere for longer than a second, looking increasingly uncomfortable.

Why is no one talking to him? He’s Spencer Reid.

There’s a couple of people surrounding Emily, fully entranced by whatever story she’s relaying, another few people around Derek, chortling at a joke he just made. Spencer glances between them and their audiences, and you can’t help but wonder why he isn’t right next to them, chatting away, too.

Does he not want to talk to anyone?

You should talk to him.

No. He probably wants to be alone.

Or what if he doesn’t and no one else is talking to him which means you can have a one-on-one conversation? What about that?

Are you insane?

…

You have to talk to him.

Before you can change your mind, you’re approaching him with a tight grip on the handle of your bag, pushing it higher up your shoulder. He spots you and makes eye contact just as you stop in front of him, and you notice he momentarily tightens his grip on his satchel.

Was this a bad idea?

“Hi,” You breathe, “I’m Y/N. A big fan.”

His eyes widen a fraction, which you don’t understand because why else would you be here, but he smiles nonetheless, “Hi, I’m, uh, Spencer Reid.”

“I know.”

“Yes, you know. That makes sense, because you were in the seminar. I saw you.”

Now you’re shocked. For as long as you can remember you never sit in the centre of a room, where most attention seems to go, so how did he-

“I-I always scan the room I’m in its.. it’s not a creepy thing, I swear. I’m not creepy.”

A laugh escapes you at that, making him visibly relax. “I don’t think you’re creepy. There was just.. a lot of people in there, so I’m surprised you remember my face.” You shrug.

I couldn’t forget such a beautiful face.

You don’t know what happens, but Spencer suddenly tenses up. His back straightens and he looks alarm, stiff.

Did he just think that? What.. why did he think that?

You wonder if you’ve said something wrong, so you try to change the topic.

“I-I have a question, if you don’t mind answering.”

Spencer nods with an of course, and when the question rolls off your tongue, his mind is still reeling from subconsciously calling you beautiful in his head. It’s not untrue, but it feels.. inappropriate. He doesn’t know why. But you are beautiful.

As he scans your face, now much closer than in the auditorium, he realises yeah, you are incredibly beautiful.

You wave a hand in front of his face, “Doctor Reid?”

“Sorry, yes, sorry. What are you studying?”

There’s a light in your eyes that Spencer recognises when you say, “Psychology.”

“Thought so.”

“You probably talk to a lot of psychology students. I-um. I almost went to Caltech,” Spencer raises an eyebrow, "After I read your dissertation, it really inspired me to look into it – your dissertation is incredible, by the way.”

Spencer smiles bashfully, a futile attempt to not allow the grin to overtake his face, and thanks you, “I appreciate it. Actually, I was sixteen when I wrote it.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Your eyes widen, “You’re insane! You’re amazing!”

The praise bursts from you, and his blushing face makes you oddly proud. On the other hand, Spencer feels like you’ve set him alight, his blood pumping loudly in his ears, as he’s unable to tear his eyes away from your smile.

He desperately needs to change the topic.

“To answer your question…”

Derek notices you two interacting across the room. Mollie sees him looking and hums, “Oh, that’s Y/N, my best friend. She really likes Spencer.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, “Looks like he really likes her.”

“Don’t tell her that. She’ll collapse.”

They both watch you for a second, Spencer flailing his arms as he explains, you eagerly adding to his rambling, asking a question here and exclaiming some kind of encouragement there. It’s sweet, Derek thinks.

“Hey..” Mollie begins, a scheming look in her eye, “We’re planning to hang out in the campus bar later. It’s open to all and the drinks are cheap. If you and Emily happen to find yourselves looking for something to do and you drag Spencer along.. I’m sure Y/N would like it.”

“I like the way you think,” Derek says, “I’ll see what I can do.”

+++

“She’s getting hit on. Again.” You giggle, gesturing for Jen to turn around and witness Mollie get your drinks paid for by a random guy.

She’s always been a people person – it’s saved you hundreds on nights out.

All Jen does is glance over her shoulder, scoff, then turn her sceptical eyes to you.

“I saw you and Spencer Reid.” She says, twinkling eyes. She’s trying not to look smug.

“I almost proposed to him.” You joke, taking your drink from Mollie with a mumbled thanks.

“Oh, I bet you did,” She laughs, “You two looked sooo good together.”

“Alright,” You slide a shot to each girl, “I know you’re making fun of me, but I’m taking that compliment and cherishing it. Spencer Reid is cute, what of it?!”

You clink the shot glasses with your friends and down them, all wincing at the taste and giggling at Jen when she takes a gulp of her cocktail to wash away the taste of straight vodka.

“How did talking to Derek and Emily go?”

And then Jen starts chattering away.

You miss the bar door opening behind you, But Mollie notices. She’s been watching the door since they got here, conveniently choosing the table with the best view, just in case some profilers decided to stop by.

Derek catches Mollie’s eye and winks.

“Well I never,” Mollie fakes shock, “Look who just walked through the doors.”

You turn and choke on your drink. Emily and Derek look relax, like they’re home, but Spencer?

He looks just like he did earlier: like there’s a million places he’d rather be.

He’s lost the blazer he was wearing earlier, leaving him in a fitted purple shirt with a matching tie. With the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, you can see his firm hands and the silver watch that rests on his wrist – is it possible for a watch to be sexy? Or maybe it’s just cause he’s sexy?

That shot must be getting to you.

“What the hell are they doing here?” You hiss, a sharp whisper piercing the air as you turn and (terribly) try to hide your face.

But Spencer’s seen you. He spotted you the moment they came in – he recognised your clothes and your hair – and the second he did he turned right back around to exit the bar. Derek’s arm stopped him at his chest, like he does to unsubs, forcefully turning him around and laughing when Spencer tensed up.

“What, Reid? Scared of a pretty girl?” Derek teases, much like he’d been doing since he spoke to you earlier.

“I am scared of college girls, yes. Last time I was in a college bar I was twelve and downed shots of apple juice.”

“What?!” Both Emily and Derek stop short, looks of disbelief at the revelation. “You’ve never mentioned that.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“We,” Derek places his hands on Spencer’s shoulders, directing him to your table, “Are just gonna have a few drinks and talk to a few people, and then you’re gonna explain that apple juice story in explicit detail- hey ladies!”

Jen and Mollie look overjoyed at the new company, while you stare rigidly with distinctive what the fuck eyes.

“Would you mind if we joined you?” Emily asks, with a sparkling grin that no one could say no to.

“Of course not,” Jen grins, like it’s the most obvious answer.

The empty seat next to you is taken by Spencer (Derek discreetly shoves him) but right before he’s firmly placed on the stool, Emily calls out, “Spence, why don’t you get us some drinks? You still owe us after you lost that game of gin..”

“I didn’t lose.” Spencer huffs indignantly, “You cheated.”

Despite his grunts, he stands to make his way to the bar, but not before-

“Y/N!” Mollie beams, “It’s your turn to get the round, if you’d be so kind.”

You know that look on her face. You hate her, you realise, but you also love her because being alone with Spencer sends a thrill through you.

Alone with Spencer. What the hell are you supposed to say to him?

You follow him to the bar. He leans against it with an awkward smile.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey.”

“It’s uh.. it’s been a long time since we’ve seen eachother.” It’s a half attempt at a joke, followed by instant regret. But then you giggle and everything feels right in the world, even Spencer’s sucky joke.

“It has been a while, Doctor Reid.” You say. The bartender approaches, takes your orders, then you turn to Spencer, “What brings you to a college bar, of all places?”

“Well,” Spencer glances over your shoulder to your table. He makes eye contact with every single person there, all watching you two interact, and they all sharply turn and try to play it off like they’ve been talking casually. Spencer’s brows furrow a little. “Derek said the drinks are cheap and our hotel is only a couple blocks away. I don’t know, maybe Derek likes college girls.”

You laugh again, and Spencer has to take a second to realise you’re not laughing at him but at what he said about Derek. “Yeah, Derek seems like a real ladies man.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” Spencer grins, “We once timed him to see how long it would take to get a girls number and he did it in five minutes. And he said he was having a bad day.”

The drinks are placed in front of you. Neither of you notice.

You unconsciously lean closer, saying, “Have you timed it to see how long it takes for a girl to approach him? That’s gotta be, like, maybe ten minutes?”

“Eight minutes and twenty-three seconds.”

“Well damn. Has he always been so…” A hand gestures in the air, looking for the word.

“Promiscuous?”

“I was gonna say free.”

“Free?” Spencer giggles, “That’s very nice of you.”

You shrug, “I don’t judge.” Spencer agrees, and it slips out, “What about you?”

You wish you could shove the words back in your mouth. Even more so when his expression changes. You can’t entirely make out what it is, but even in the dimly lit bar you can see the flush of heat that spreads through his cheeks to his ears.

“Are you asking me if I’m free with the ladies?” He murmurs, suppressing a grin.

You give an awkward laugh, wondering if you’ve overstepped a boundary, “Yeah. But that’s kinda weird to ask, so-“

“I’m so popular with the ladies it puts Derek to shame.”

You can’t hide your surprise. “What? Really?”

Spencer caves. “No. Is it that hard to believe I’m a ladies man?”

“Compared to Derek? Yes.”

Spencer scoffs.

+++

“As adorable as they are, it’s been thirty minutes.” Emily sighs. “I want my drink.”

“They’re bonding,” Jen sends a wistful look, “I’m so proud.”

“I’m guessing Y/N isn’t the most social either?” Derek asks, proudly watching you interact.

“She’s the best, just a little shy sometimes.” She smiles at you, even though you can’t see, “She’s an idiot, but our idiot, you know?”

Both Emily and Derek laugh airily, nodding with a, “Yeah, we know.”

At once, three phones vibrate throughout the bar – Emily, Derek and Spencer. They’re instantly filled with disappointment; Derek can’t watch Spencer attempt to flirt with a girl he’s obviously interested in, Emily still hasn’t got a drink, and Spencer has to leave you and he can’t think of anything worse.

He’s clearly hesitant when he looks at his phone. How does he say goodbye? Does he ask for your number? Would that be weird? That would be weird.

“Uhh…”

You channel every ounce of liquid courage you have in your body and offer, “Would it be weird if I gave you my number? Just.. for anything. Anything at all.”

Spencer nods, a gentle look in his eyes and a smile on his face, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You mumble an alright, accepting Spencer’s phone and creating a new contact for yourself.

Please text me. You think. Please text me.

+++

He doesn’t text.

It’s been a week. A week. You know how cases are, some take longer than others and some are solved in literal hours, but it’s been a week, Spencer goddamn Reid, so why haven’t you texted me.

That’s when the doubt creeps in. Your friends keep telling you he’ll text, that he’s just busy (“He’s an FBI agent, Y/N. If you start dating you’re gonna have to get used to lapses in contact.” To which you’re too distracted choking at the mention of you two dating), but you can’t help but wonder if he took your number simply so he could leave quicker. He had a case to get to, after all. He had people to save.

Now you feel guilty. You forced your number on him, didn’t you? Oh God, he hates you. He hates you and you forced your number on him and he hasn’t texted you because he’s filing a restraining order against you because he hates you.

Mollie tells you you need a nap.

+++

Spencer spends the time on the jet back from the case staring at your number. He has it memorised, of course, and has had it memorised from the first time he read it, of course, but he can’t bring himself to do anything with it.

All he’s done is change your contact picture from the standard first letter of your name to a cute picture of a frog Garcia sent him. It reminds him of you.

Derek lowers his headphones, “You texted her yet, Pretty Boy?”

“Huh? Uh, no. I don’t think I will.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer shrugs, locking his phone and placing it face down. “I don’t think anything would come from it.”

“Kid,” Derek leans forward, eyebrows furrowed, “You two talked for well over thirty minutes in the middle of a college bar about God knows what. Maybe I’m easy to impress, but that seemed pretty special to me.”

“How is talking in a college bar worth anything?”

“Because you’re Reid, who, most of the time, has to be physically dragged into a bar. You hate talking to strangers about anything other than work. Y/N? A stranger. What did you two talk about?”

“We talked about you a little.”

“Uhuh. About how good I am at my job?”

“God, no,” Spencer scrunches his nose, “We talked about your charm with the ladies.”

Derek falls back in his chair and scoffs, “I’m flattered, but that doesn’t sound like work-talk to me. So you’re comfortable with her. I saw you laughing, so she makes you laugh, too. Sounds pretty great to me.”

Spencer stares. Derek’s right, but..

“So what is it, Reid?”

Spencer licks his lips. “Do you think she’s too young for me?”

Derek rarely looks taken aback, but he does now, “Too young?”

“She’s in college. I’m-I’m-“

“A legal adult. As is she.”

Spencer slumps. “A 2014 Current Population Survey found the average difference for a heterosexual couple is two-point-three years, with the man older than the woman. Even if you double that, that’s still less than me and Y/N-“

“Four years isn’t a lot, Spence,”

“You just.. you don’t think it’s weird?”

“No. Do you?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

Derek’s conviction gives Spencer some reassurance, but he can’t help himself when he thinks that.. maybe.. you’ll find him boring. Most people seem to, with all his statistics and figures and facts, but with the added element of you living it up at college.. how could he compete?

“I think you’re worrying over nothing, Reid. You haven’t even texted her, and you’re already worrying about stuff like age gaps?” Derek crosses his hands and looks at Spencer with determination, “She gave you her number. She initiated it. She knows who you are, so she knows how old you are and it doesn’t seem to make her uncomfortable. So, why should it make you?”

Spencer just grunts.

“Are you worried people will say things?”

“I guess.”

“People always say things. You know that better than anyone. So screw ‘em.”

Spencer feels a smile creep onto his face.

And Derek relaxes. He’s planted the seeds, that Spencer is fretting over nothing, now all he’s got to do is wait for Spencer to let it sink in and allow the flowers to bloom and, next thing you know, Spencer’s gonna have himself the perfect girlfriend.

And Derek will take too much credit for it.

+++

“Heeeeeeeeey my precious Doctor…”

Garcia looks like her hand was caught in the cookie jar.

Spencer’s back straightens. “What did you do?”

She looks embarrassed, fiddling with the fluffy pen in her hand. She smiles awkwardly. “Derek may have told me about a pretty little college student that captured your heart, and then he told me you also haven’t texted her yet, so I did a little digging and…”

“You cyber-stalked Y/N?” Emily asks, casually. JJ seems unphased at the discussion. Does everyone in the office know about you?

“I did. I’m guilty. I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.” She’s speaking a mile a minute.

Emily spares Spencer a glance, “Did you find anything?”

“Well…”

Concern fills Spencer. “Did something happen?”

“I just found some stuff she’d probably only tell a close friend and I feel really bad about it.” Her shoulders are by her ears as she tries to fold in on herself out of guilt, “But other than that she’s a genuinely sweet girl who volunteers at pet shelters and the college library in her free time and we have really similar music tastes so I think we’d make great friends.”

They all look to Spencer, waiting for his reaction. What? Is he supposed to be surprised that you’re the epitome of perfect? He’s not. He studied you the entire time you spoke.

“She’s also written several incredible papers on child development that I think are revolutionary and I totally emailed them to you because I think you should read them. She’s also a genius.”

Spencer’s hand twitches. He ignores the sudden need to check his email.

It’s silent as they just stare at him. He doesn’t say anything and tries not to react, but he does. They notice how his eyes flicker to his phone, how his leg fidgets, the longing in his eyes.

Emily brushes her hair back calmly and asks, “Hey, Pen, when does Y/N work at the college library?”

Penelope doesn’t catch on at first, casually replying, “Oh, basically every day from five pm onwards. They’re a twenty-four hour library and she combines working and studying.” When she sees Emily pointedly look at Spencer, she goes ohhh.

“Good to know,” Emily nods, “Good to know.”

+++

Spencer finds himself at the college library that night.

He wants to say it was an accident, or that he just happens to know there’s a special edition of a specific book here, but he’d be lying. He read your papers between reports, and found himself having a deep appreciation for the way you write – he wants to ready everything you’ve ever written. Every essay, every note, every formal and informal piece of work you’ve ever done.

He’s already fallen in love with the way you write. He doesn’t think he’s far from falling in love with you.

He wanders around the lower floor of the library. It’s impressive, he must admit, and he’s disappointed in himself for not visiting earlier. There’s students everywhere, but he notices some other people mixed in too – professors, businesspeople, as well as parents with their children.

He feels a little less weird for creeping around now.

Not that’s he’s creeping. He’s just.. there. To see a certain someone under the guise of looking for a book.

He moseys for a while, from the fiction section to the non-fiction to comics to autobiographies. You’re nowhere to be found – not between the rows of books, not working on any of the desks, not at the centre reception desk.

Until you’re suddenly behind him.

“Spencer?”

He jumps, looking up from the book he’s reading. Your voice is as calming and smooth as always.

“Y/N. Hi.”

“Hi,” Your brows are furrowed, but you’re not disappointed by the unexpected visitor. “What are you doing here?”

He lifts the book he’s holding, an Arthur Conan Doyle, giving a light lipped smile. “I’m just looking. I didn’t realise the college library was so plentiful – did you know the oldest library in the world dates from the seventh century BC?”

“I do, actually.” You point to a poster behind him, which displays that exact fact, “I thought dotting facts around the library would be interesting for the kids. They seem to like them.”

“Learning in young children is socially mediated, so good quality learning environments outside of their schools is crucial for children’s development. So, in a way, you’re enriching their lives beyond understanding.”

You’re flattered at his somewhat far-fetched attempt at complimenting you. It makes your heart flutter.

Why didn’t you contact me, you dimwit?

You open your mouth to ask another question, ask if there’s something he needs help finding, when he beats you to it.

With a firm grip, he slams the book he’s reading shut and says, “I’m lying.”

“Oh?”

“I didn’t come here to.. look around. I came here to see you.”

“Oh.”

Spencer doesn’t know what to make of that. You haven’t awkwardly looked away, or stepped back to increase the distance between you. That means something good, right?

“You didn’t text me, so I assumed you weren’t interested.” Your brows twitch, and you back-pedal, “Unless you purposely didn’t text me because you actually weren’t interested and you might be here to see me but for something book-related rather than me-related and I’ve totally humiliated myself.”

“No, no. You’re right. You’re right.” He fiddles with the book in shame, “I should’ve texted you. I just didn’t know what to say and.. Well, it’s stupid.”

Your head jerks a little to the side, something he’s noticed you do a lot, looking patient and too pretty for him to handle. “I’m sure it’s not stupid.”

Spencer thinks back to his conversation with Derek, specifically the reminder that you gave him your number which means you initiated this so yes, you are interested in him.

It’s just.. when he looks at you, he struggles to believe it a little. You’re breath-taking.

“I’m worried I’ll bore you.” He starts light, easing you into what’s been troubling him. He’s emboldened by the fact you’re clearly frustrated he didn’t text you.

You give him a look of horror, “The first time we met I told you I loved your dissertation on geographic regression. I definitely do not think you’re anything anywhere near boring.”

“Okay,” He nods, “What about our ages?”

You’re confused. “What about it?”

Spencer mirrors your expression. “It doesn’t.. bother you?”

“Does it.. bother you?”

Usually, answering a question with a question is a sign of deflection, a sign of hiding something. However he doesn’t know why, but Spencer trusts you with his life. Maybe not his life. Maybe his heart.

“Does that silence mean yes?”

He shakes his head, “No. It doesn’t bother me. I just worry that, you know, college years are the so-called best years of your life and I don’t want you to regret being with me, someone older than you, and resent me for it, or something-“

“I think you’re getting way in your head, Spence.” You laugh a little, “We haven’t gone on a single date and you’ve convinced yourself of so much already. For the record, no, your age doesn’t bother me in the slightest. It never has and I doubt it ever will. I think you’re the most fascinating and interesting person on this planet, and if anyone is getting bored with anyone I’m pretty confident it’ll be you getting sick of me. And,” You take a breath, “I think I’m old enough to know what I want, who I want, and what I want is you. If you want me, too.”

Spencer shoves the book back into the bookshelf with a satisfying sound, then turns and quickly places a kiss onto your cheek. It’s completely unexpected and, quite frankly, not something you’d expect from Doctor Reid, but you blush and there’s a definite red colour to Spencer’s cheeks, too.

“I will never, ever, get sick of you.” He says, voice small but firm. “But I don’t want you to regret being with me. Promise me you won’t.”

You give him a look that tells him you think he’s ridiculous. “I promise that I won’t regret being with you. I’d like us to last as long as possible, if I can be picky.”

“I’d like that, too.” He murmurs. The thought of you wanting him for as long as possible almost sends him into a frenzy. He wants to kiss you all over.

You stand close and talk quietly for a while, a little more discussion on a possible date that weekend and a constant stream of compliments from you to Spencer and vice versa, before you realise the time.

“I should probably go. I have a paper to finish.” You smile sadly, a tiny pout forming.

“I understand. Do you think I could read it? When you’re done?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Do you know how terrifying the idea of the Spencer Reid reading my work is? But yes, anything for you.”

Anything for you. Are you trying to kill him?

You turn to leave, refusing to admit how sad leaving Spencer makes you feel, when you stop, “One more thing.”

Spencer hums. He’s not fully paying attention, praying to whatever Gods exist that killers take a break on the weekend so he can take you out on the sweetest date.

“If age is a sore area for you,” There’s mirth in your eyes and Spencer prepares himself, “Does that mean the nickname old man is off the table?”

His lips purse and move towards his nose as he narrows his eyes, giving you a look of faux annoyance, “I am not an old man.”

“Sounds like you’re sensitive, old man.”

As you walk away, you jokingly blow him a kiss to add insult to injury. His pretend glare lasts until your back is turned and he feels his gaze softening to something akin to love.

Spencer thins if the rest of his life is this, you teasing him with that twinkle in your eye and smile on your face, then life is truly the most beautiful thing.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #mine

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singtotheskiies · 3 years

Text

to the rescue // teen! ben hargreeves x reader

summary: when it’s your turn to be parenting experiment of the week, ben decides to take matters into his own hands—or, rather, tentacles.

request (by a lovely lovely anon💕): Hi I adore your writing❤️. Can you do a Ben Hargreeves x reader where the reader is restrained in a cell by Reginald and Ben comes and saves the day. Thx

words: 1893

warnings: emotional manipulation (it’s prick of the year reginald hargreeves, what do we expect), imprisonment

a/n: i feel like this one is right shit bc i wasn’t in a really good groove while writing it but ANYWAY please enjoy our bb boy:))))) (also!! empath!reader)

✖️✖️✖️

Dad stands in your doorway, intimidating as always, light glinting off his ever-present monocle. “Number Eight,” he says—crisp, harsh, and clear. “Come with me. Today we have a different form of training for you.”

“Where are we going?” you ask him. He’s not leading you towards the usual training room, and you’re without a partner—something you’ve never trained without due to your empathic abilities.

“Never you mind,” he says bluntly. You sigh, looking down at your feet. Trying to get information out of Dad is unnecessarily difficult sometimes—and you can’t read him as easily as you can your siblings. He’s scarily good at hiding his emotions.

He leads you down a few corridors before pausing and taking a blindfold out of his coat pocket. “Turn around.”

“Why? Where are we going?” You’re a bit worried now. “Turn around, Number Eight,” he repeats, harsher this time. “I do not have time for your questions.” You’ve got no choice, so you do as he says. The blindfold is tight—a bit too much so, but you know it’s pointless to bring it up. The two of you walk in silence for several minutes—you don’t think you’ve left the house, but your steps haven’t followed a route you’re familiar with. The Academy is big, though—maybe you’ve misjudged and you’re really just being led in circles to confuse you. Dad’s voice cuts through your thoughts, telling you to watch your step. You carefully move into some sort of space, confused as to why you’ve stopped. His hands come up to the nape of your neck, untying the blindfold from around your eyes. The fabric drops away to reveal a dark, metallic room with no furnishings. You’ve never seen it before or heard Dad talk about it—it almost looks like some sort of prison, and anxiety begins to push up into your chest. “Uh, Dad? Where are we?” you ask, fear making its way into your voice. You silently curse yourself for it—Dad hates any display of weakness. He doesn’t answer, instead busying himself with a huge hydraulic lock on the outside of the door. This does nothing to help your growing panic. “Dad?” you ask a few more times, voice rising with each repetition. “Dad!” “You will stay here until I let you out.” He finally answers, still not looking at you. “Goodbye, Number Eight.” He steps out of the chamber, locks hissing as the door seals itself behind him. Your brain enters full-blown panic, and you bang on the door, screaming for him to come back. You no longer care about showing weakness—tears spill over your cheeks as Dad’s back fades away and your banging grows weaker and weaker. When your voice gets too hoarse to yell and you’re convinced no one can hear you, you sink to the ground in a miserable heap. After a few minutes of crying, you sit up weakly and attempt to clear your head. You’ve never seen this chamber or the hallway it’s situated in before, but it logically has to be within the Academy somewhere. Maybe it’s underground or in a wing you’ve never been allowed access to? You instinctively close your eyes, reaching out to see if you can pick up on anyone’s emotions. Usually, you can sense your siblings from across the house, but the impenetrable walls of your cell and your admittedly less-than-functional mental state don’t help your case. You give up after a few minutes of mental searching and rest your forehead against the cold metal of one of the walls. And, since you have literally nothing else to do, you think. Clearly, this is one of Dad’s experiments—probably not too far off from when he’d lock Klaus in the mausoleum or when he’d throw dangerous weapons at Diego to see if he could save himself. They historically haven’t gone so well, as both siblings have ended up scarred—Klaus emotionally and Diego physically. You’re a bit worried as to what he has in store for you, but you’re not about to let yourself get hurt if you can help it. It’s likely that Dad’s locked you up to see how your abilities react to not being around people and their constantly-changing emotions. Maybe he thinks you’ll wither away. Perhaps it’s the opposite, and he’s examining the possibility of you tapping into your own feelings. Whatever the case may be, you resolve to try and remain as positive as you can about the situation, so you push down your fear and focus on happier things. Inevitably, almost embarrassingly, your thoughts roam to Ben. He’s the quietest of your siblings, always nose-deep in a book or sitting in silent contemplation. Despite his antisocial nature, the two of you have formed a close bond over the years. You find the contrast of his visceral power with his shy nature interesting, and he’s been perfectly content to sit and listen to you babble away about everything and nothing.

There’s also the fact that the two of you usually get paired together for training, since you can’t read him as easily as you can your other siblings. Dad says it’s likely because of the alien presence underneath his skin—the tendrils block his human presence somehow. And so, to create the biggest challenge for you, Dad’s made you spend hours on end with Ben, studying what feelings you can discern in order to strengthen your abilities. While some would become frustrated by the lack of ease you’ve experienced, it only eggs you on. You find Ben absolutely fascinating—a feeling that’s deepened over the years until you’ve come to accept the fact that you’re crushing on him, hard. Despite wearing your heart on your sleeve at all times, you’ve desperately tried to keep your feelings hidden—you can’t have any way of knowing if he returns those feelings, and your embarrassment would be supreme if he found out and didn’t feel the same.

Your cheeks heat up as your mind drifts to his jet-black hair, fine features, and adorably shy nature. There’s nothing better to do, so you let your mind spin scenarios of the two of you together—holding hands, going on small dates, cuddling on the couch. The thoughts stir a fluttering warmth in your chest that makes your present circumstances slightly more bearable. You hardly notice your breaths evening out and your eyelids blinking slower and slower as you daydream away.

You start awake an indeterminate amount of time later. You can’t remember falling asleep, and you have absolutely no way of knowing how much time has passed since Dad locked you up. Your crooked perception of time pales, however, to your all-consuming thirst. There’s no compartments or nooks anywhere that could be hiding a water supply—just smooth metal walls. Sinking back against the door, you try your hardest not to think about the dryness in your throat crying out to be lessened.

You judge it to be a few hours later when you see movement out of the corner of your eye. Instantly, you sit up, hoping it’s Dad come to let you free—but what you see instead is a million times better.

Ben’s sprinting down the hallway leading to your cell, face overtaken with concern. When he gets close enough to see you, he visibly softens. He tries to say something, but the thick hydraulic door blurs his words together. You shrug, pointing to your ears and shaking your head. He tries again, pointing to you with questioning eyes. You okay?

You nod, secretly thinking yes, now that you’re here. His brows are still knit together with worry, so you smile to reassure him that you really are okay. His eyes roam over your face for a few moments before he blinks and takes a step back, motioning for you to do the same. You’re not sure what he’s going to do, but you trust him completely.

He doubles down on himself before flailing his limbs out and arching his back. His tentacles erupt out of his stomach, lashing out and latching onto the huge handle of your cell door. The metal and glass shriek at the new pressure before slowly but surely bending from the force of Ben’s attack. When they’re broken enough to satisfy him, his tentacles retract and he scrambles forward to open the door separating the two of you.

As soon as you can slip through the door, you rush into his arms, wrapping him in a fierce hug. He hesitates for the briefest moment before returning the embrace. After being by yourself for so long, his arms feel so good around you, and your heart leaps in your chest as you catch a whiff of his smell—comforting and exciting all at once. Even though you could stay right here in his arms forever, you pull away slightly after several moments.

“How’d you know I was here?” you ask, grinning at the look of relief on Ben’s face.

“I thought it was weird when Dad didn’t schedule me to train with you like we usually would. No one knew where you went, so after a few hours, I decided to try and find you. Earlier I saw Dad coming out of a doorway I’d never seen anyone use before, so I used that as my starting place and, well—he’s got a bunch of charts monitoring how you’re doing. I knew I was in the right place. I’m just glad you’re okay,” he says, voice getting quieter. “I was really worried.”

“We’ve been through worse,” you laugh, but his eyes don’t brighten at your joke.

“This is different, though,” he answers, voice rising again in anger. “He literally locked you up, I mean—that’s actually insane. No father should ever do that to their child.”

“I’m sure he means well,” you say weakly, but you both know it’s not true. Dad really only cares about himself. There’s a beat, then Ben speaks again.

“You sure you’re all right?” His eyes are sad and searching as they look into yours.

Summoning your courage, you say, “I am now that you’re here.” Ben’s eyes widen immediately, scanning your face almost hopefully. The corners of his mouth tilt up slowly, almost hesitantly—as if he’s afraid to let himself go completely.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t,” he breathes, and you notice that the distance between the two of you is narrowing. Just a few more inches and your foreheads would be touching—and so you take it upon yourself to both reassure and thank Ben in one motion. You tilt your head forward and gently press your lips to his.

His breath hitches at the contact, body freezing for the briefest of moments before his hands come up to cup your jaw. You smile and whisper a thank you against his lips before drawing back a fraction. Ben’s eyes are slow to open, and his cheeks are flushed when they finally do, gazing at you with so much half-lidded admiration your heart swells. You press a soft kiss to his cheek, and you don’t need your powers to tell you that somehow, Ben is just as smitten with you as you are with him.

And when the two of you are given an inevitable harsh scolding in Dad’s office, you can’t bring yourself to care much—you’re too focused on how Ben’s fingers are laced gently around yours.

#ben hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves imagine #ben hargreeves #tua #tua x reader #tua imagine #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy x reader #umbrella academy imagine #justin h min #justin h min x reader #justin h min imagine #fanfic #x reader #reader insert

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leia-imogen · 3 years

Text

aaron & the family he's found all by himself; vol. 1 // vol. 2

( ft. the first meeting & the first family game night )

okay, rundown of his first meeting w the vixens!

the vixens don't really like the foxes. they cheer at their games and all, but outside of that, they mostly stick with the football players

bcs, well, the foxes are,, intimidating and most of the vixens don't get how or why katelyn started dating one

especially one half of the terrifying duo that is the twinyards. like these tiny blonde angst goblins have absolutely zero chill, and this is the backliner one, the one that shattered the nose of a dude basically twice his size

they may be short as fuck but they're scary, and the vixens are worried that he might break katelyn's heart

but katelyn's sure about aaron minyard, and when cleo softly asks, "is he worth it?" she knows her answer is a yes

savannah and the rest of the girls aren't convinced tho, so she asks aaron if he'll meet them for one of the afterparties they have after games

he agrees after seeing the hopeful look on her face

and surprise, surprise, it isn't a complete disaster!!

see, aaron has a habit of mirroring the nature of the person he's with. in the book, we mostly see him as an asshole bcs it's from neil's pov, and neil, as much as i adore him, is an asshole

i think that when he's with nicky ( someone he loves and trusts ), he's like, nicer. it's not in his nature to be cheery or anything but he's less,, hostile? and way more relaxed

and katelyn's been nothing but sweet and polite to him, bcs katelyn's sweet and polite till you give her a reason not to be

so he's sweet and polite back, or at least, sweet and polite as aaron minyard can get.

yeah, he's definitely interesting enough, clever and quick-witted enough, respectful and loyal and insanely talented enough, that katelyn decides he's worth it. doubts he'll ever get boring

and yes, she knows this is a big risk, bcs she knows the foxes' rep, knows how fucked up he must to secure a place on the psu foxes, notices how aaron flinches when she makes any sudden movement

but you know what? fuck it

so when aaron tells her his strange, twisted little deal with his brother, katelyn's willing to fight for him

and after nearly 2 months of this, she drags him to the vixens with their fingers interlocked and a hope in her heart that they'd play nice like she's asked ( practically begged ) them to

aaron's buzzing a bit with nervous energy. it's very endearing, how his eyes had lit up at the sight of her, then how she felt her anxiety about the night melt away into excitement

sav tries, bless her, tries to engage aaron in half-hearted conversation about exy ( which she hates ) and aaron tries back, but that fizzles out bcs for someone on a full-ride exy scholarship, aaron doesn't like exy at all

thank god that marissa, who's been trying to be less of a bitch all night, bless her too, lets it slip that sav detests exy

"okay, i can't anymore. minyard, savannah actually hates exy and she hates the foxes too, but we're hoping that you're an exception."

aaron, holding back a laugh: honestly? same.

sav: oh thank fucking GOD we have something to talk about then

"yeah, the entire sport sucks, doesn't it? i literally play it at college level and i still have barely figured out the goddamn rules."

"exactly! and my entire family's fucking obsessed for some reason, it's so annoying! ugh and the foxes suck even more, they're all so goddamn rude for no reason. except maybe the cute goalie."

". . ."

"eww not your brother, i meant renee walker,, and maybe you're not too bad either, minyard."

"you flatter me."

katelyn watches their exchange with more than a little amusement. aaron's not smiling, but his features have softened and he's flushed from the alcohol he'd had and she can't rly believe that this is the boy who they all thought would break her heart

bcs later when aaron comes up to her with a cookie dough cupcake ( her favourite ) she didn't even know was served at the party, leans into her so his face is buried in her neck, whispers "thanks for taking me", when she takes in all her friends laughing and chatting and waving at her, when sav gives her a thumbs-up and nods to aaron, she's never felt more whole

like she was part of something bigger than herself

then aaron starts hanging around them more! yeah he saw the look on katelyn's face and he was going to TRY for her or so help him- usually just with katelyn, sav, and cleo

she invites him to the "family game night" sav is making them have, and he's like "sure why not."

he knocks on the door of sav and cleo's dorm and sav lets him in

"yo, minyard! glad you make it, katelyn's out on a donut run but she'll be back soon."

okay,, okay. so he'll,,, what? interact w people?? hell fucking no

then he realises that it's only cleo in the dorm, plugged into her headphones, playing mario kart, and thanks katelyn for ensuring there would only be ppl that like, he didn't mind

the other vixens were okay, but way too LOUD, and aaron wasn't rly up for spending a whole night w them

cleo hands him a controller, an invitation to play, and he takes it gratefully. he and cleo hadn't talked that much at the party, but she was perfectly tolerable so far, which was a good sign

and mario kart was a part of his childhood, one of the only few that nicky's parents had owned, so he and his cousin had spent hours curled up in front of tv trying to beat each other

even tho he beats nicky most of the time, cleo absolutely destroys him. he mentally tries to brush it off as him being rusty ( which he definitely is ) but damn, cleo's good. still, she brushes off the compliment when aaron blurts it out

okay so then katelyn comes back with like way too many donuts and they start playing monopoly gathered around the coffee table

sav insists on putting on some music. wannabe starts playing. she winks at aaron and aaron winks back, still not smiling. cleo snorts and katelyn kisses his cheek

listen, cleo is a monopoly master. soon, she owns over half the board and it's pretty clear she's gonna win, someone ( savannah riley jameson, everyone ) flips the board

"jameson, what the actual fuck."

"shut the hell up, minyard."

"come on, sav, i was winning!"

katelyn's trying to pick up all the pieces and aaron bends down to help her, shaking his head at sav, who pouts and joins them while cleo grins, headphones slung around her shoulders while she perches herself onto the arm of the settee and hums to wake me up before you go-go

next, sav begs them to play twister. cleo's great at most games, but she has a particular dislike for twister, so she's out quick

katelyn is super bendy, bcs she took gymnastics for years, and aaron holds his own surprisingly well, considering the fact that he's short as fuck

sav: katie, right hand red

katelyn, ending up right on top of a blushing aaron: okay, you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

sav: i stopped spinning like 15 turns ago, i'm surprised you didn't notice sooner

eventually aaron collapses and katelyn is hailed as the queen of twister and they spend the next 10 minutes just calling out random spots for katelyn to try

she gets all of them, and aaron is actually smiling now and it doesn't matter that it's only a tiny quirk of his lips, it's something and katelyn cherishes it

they play some sort of surgeon simulator thingy next, and aaron "gonna be a future neurosurgeon" minyard is awesome at it, bcs duh

katelyn's not very good at this. her hands get SHAKY okay

cleo also sucks at this, bcs she keeps getting nervous and having muscle spasms. sav's just doing the dumbest shit bcs it's bringing aaron closer to the edge of cardiac arrest

aaron: jameson holy shit what are you DOING

sav, slicing open the spinal cord: okay so what if i take out the lungs through the back haha

and now sav is sulking over the fact that she hadn't absolutely murdered the others at a game

so she brings out the ultimate game. the game of bastards, one that tears families apart, sets friendships on fire, starts wars too gruesome to be started by anything other than this wretched, cursed artefact. . .

s c r a b b l e

aaron's already having war flashbacks. katelyn groans and goes to make popcorn, bcs this shit's gonna take FOREVER and she knows it. cleo, an english major, is preparing herself for battle with the force of nature that is savannah

"the fuck do you MEAN fergalicious isn't a word???"

"savannah, please."

"no, here, listen to this."

"sav, we were listening to that!" katelyn complains. sav sighs and switches the song back to her "90's bops" playlist, then changes it to "hell yeah feminism" which instantly starts playing run the world ( girls )

katelyn happily starts singing and aaron's not even reluctant to hum along

sav and cleo are still arguing. this has been going on for so long. sav looks ready to flip over the board again, so cleo does it first

katelyn: cleo what the heck

cleo, the tired mom friend: don't fucking curse

aaron is also tired, but in a good way, in kind of that soft lazy droopy way

he falls asleep leaning against the sofa and katelyn's shoulder, with god is a woman playing in the background while sav and cleo continue arguing. cleo is standing on the coffee table. it's true anarchy

he wakes up on the sofa with a blanket thrown over him and sunlight streaming in through the lacy curtains and katelyn making a complete mess of the kitchen in a futile attempt to make breakfast. sav and cleo are draped across each other on the floor

katelyn, struggling to pick up burning toast: morning babe, how did you sleep?

aaron, calmly using a pair of tongs: pretty well. who wants pancakes?

sav, instantly shooting up: DID YOU SAY PANCAKES

so he makes pancakes! nicky taught him as soon as he'd gained custody of the twins, so he's pretty much an expert. he tries to teach katelyn, but then just gives up bcs she's clearly not listening in favour of staring at him

and they all gather around the coffee table and cleo's humming along to the song on her headphones and wow these pancakes are rly good omg

while aaron is chatting to cleo about what video games they should play next, sav whispers, "kate finley, if you don't marry this boy just for his god-tier pancakes, i will."

"sav, you're a lesbian."

"not anymore, i've decided that i am pancake-sexual."

aaron hears all of this btw, bcs cleo stops when she hears them talking. he blushes, and smiles, just a little bit

( if anyone actually cares about this, tell me! shoot me an ask if there's any particular ask you want to see with these characters, or just the foxes! )

#aaron & the family he's found all by himself #yes i’m aware that no one cares #and that this is horribly written but i’m exhausted so. . .#i pinky-swear the next one will be sort of better #hopefully #aftg headcanons #aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #aaron minyard headcanons #the vixens #aaron minyard #andrew minyard #twinyards #nicky hemmick #katelyn aftg #katelyn finley #sav jameson #cleo magdalene

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blossom-hwa · 3 years

Text

fashion major!kevin

ANYWAY THERE WAS LIKE ONE PERSON WHO CALLED FOR A FASHION MAJOR KEVIN SPINOFF OF THE COLLEGE MODEL JUYEON AU I JUST POSTED (linked below) anyway! hope you enjoy, please reblog if you did, and check out my other dumb overly long blurbs in the stream of idiocy tag on my blog <3

pairing: kevin x gender neutral!reader

wc: 2.5k

genre: fluff, university!au

triggers: cursing

college model!juyeon

TBZ Scenarios Masterlist | TBZ Drabbles Masterlist

kevin moon is known on campus for two things: 1. his bright personality literally everyone loves him and if you don’t you’re jealous of him like sorry not sorry i don’t make the rules you know i’m right and 2. his.... unorthodox fashion sense. like eric thought his snake patterned shit was weird as hell?? but there are weirder things in kevin’s closet i swear to you. anyway this unorthodox style is what got him accepted into the fashion program at the university and even though there are a few assholes who stick their noses up at kevin’s work the vast majority of people are cool w his outfits even if they personally wouldn’t wear them and kevin is v well-liked in his major and on campus in general bc he knows everyone and is nice and polite and really a v cool person to be around when he’s not being a fucking idiot

and on campus there are fashion shows a few times every semester to show off the fashion majors’ work, and let’s just say that this university if p well know for its fashion major so some famous people sometimes come along to these events so EVERY TIME a fashion show rolls around the fashion majors get nervous as FUCK and there’s a lot of speculation on who will get noticed and whatever and everyone is secretive about what they’re working on and just. everyone goes fucking haywire and kevin is always v happy when the stress winds down after a show

(no one knows it but kevin has gotten offers from several companies to work with them after he graduates. he hasn’t told anyone except a few friends like juyeon/jacob and his family)

anyway you are also a fashion major who secretly really admires kevin’s stuff?? like you just think he’s so daring and creative and all of his work is absolutely amazing even if it’s a little weird and honestly you don’t even feel overshadowed by his talent and hard work you just feel in awe that you can be in his presence at all. you’re p sure kevin has no idea who you are bc even though you have a lot of the same classes you’re always too shy to sit or work near him bc even though he seems so nice and approachable he’s also just.... god he’s so good

BUT THEN. one of your professors announces that for the next fashion show they’ll be modeling projects that he’s assigning right now. which is weird asf bc usually you’ll all take your best clothing and like fix it or tweak it for the next show, like sometimes people will make something completely from scratch but that’s nerve-wracking and not many people do it unless they’re in a real pinch but it gets even WEIRDER bc this is not a regularly scheduled fashion event?? it’s like a smaller event apparently that they’ve organized just for this project AND THE WEIRDNESS TAKES THE CAKE when your professor says that YOU ARE GOING TO BE THE MODELS. YOU ALL ARE GOING TO PICK SOMEONE IN THE CLASS TO MAKE CLOTHES FOR AND THEY WILL MODEL YOUR OUTFIT

and this SENDS EVERYONE FREAKING THE FUCK OUT??? bc oh god you can’t rely on the models you’ve been using all semester now??? and you have to make flattering clothes for someone you might not even know v well and it’s just. holy fuck holy fuck holy FUCK

meanwhile you already know who you want to create for (/ahem kevin moon/) but you’re also chicken so like??? you’re just sitting in your seat looking over at him but not saying anything until your friend chanhee just pushes you out of your seat in kevin’s direction and is like GO ASK HIM BEFORE YOU LOSE THIS CHANCE and you’re like JESUS FUCKING CHRIST CHANHEE but kevin’s noticed your movement and he’s looking over with a smile on his face and you’re like jfc i can’t do this but chanhee shoves you again and so you kinda smile (you really hope it looks like a smile) and your voice is LITERALLY shaking when you go over and ask if it would be ok to use him as a model for this assignment and he’s like.... oh my god yes

because what YOU don’t know is that kevin has been ogling your designs all year?? like he enjoys his own style and is comfortable in it but he loves your work as in LOVES IT. he thinks your designs are absolutely flawless and original and you combine styles so effortlessly that he just wants to look into your brain when you come up with ideas bc what the fuck?? you may have different styles but kevin knows how to admire art AND YOUR DESIGNS ARE ART.

so you’re reeling a day later bc now you have kevin moon’s number and he has yours and he’s now texting you on when you think you’ll have the first preliminary designs ready and when you can meet up so you can get each other’s measurements and all that and when you eventually meet up your hands are shaking so much that you can barely take his measurements and kevin is screeching in his mind as well bc oh my god you’re going to model his clothes YOU’RE GOING TO MODEL HIS CLOTHES

most people are again being secretive about their designs and even though someone in their class is modeling for them this time so there’s a bit less secrecy they’re still working alone so you get a shock when kevin asks if you want to coordinate your outfits. like work on designs together and maybe make something that matches a little though ofc retaining your own styles and you just shriek when you get the text and poor childhood best friend younghoon spills his coffee (you have been friends since basically birth and there are no romantic feelings whatsoever ok it’s strictly platonic like you watched younghoon vomit after eating too much bread when you were like 10 and he watched you get tangled up in a soccer net when you were 13 there are no romantic feelings stemming from any of that)

needless to say you reply yes yes ye sYES and kevin is grinning so wide on the other end that juyeon wonders if he’s gone slightly insane (which he has but we’re not gonna dwell on that) and both of you show up to the work rooms nervous as all hell (i’m not a fashion major i have no fashion sense i still think t-shirts/leggings are the way to go so idk how any of this works do not sue me) but kevin has a natural ability to defuse any tension in the room so within minutes you’re comfortable and laughing with him and wondering why you were so scared to approach him before and THEN YOU’RE REMINDED WHY when he shows you his design for you because... oh god.... it’s unbelievable. like it has a distinctly kevin feel to it but he’s clearly been paying attention to what you wear and what you design because it’s something you would like to wear and something you even think you could look good in. holy shit

and you just blurt out like kevin what the fuck this is so good did you like stalk my designs or some shit?? and you mean it as a joke ofc but kevin just goes beet red and mumbles something about how he really likes your work and how it’s so sharply elegant but also insanely creative and you’re just. open-mouthed like. dude i’m in love with your work too oh my god i’m gonna cry my fashion idol just said he likes my designs i’m gonna screaM

kevin stops you from screaming though even though he also feels like he’s gonna scream and this is the start of a very productive partnership between the two of you like most of the fashion majors are friendly despite the competition but you and kevin are on a whole other level?? and you start hanging out more and more often even when you’ve finished designing and are actually sewing (you ask him if this part can be secret bc you want to add a few things as a surprise - he ofc says yes and winks and tells you he has things he wants to add too which just makes you want to scream out of excitement)

and it’s a week before fashion show day and you and kevin are finished with putting together the designs and you’re excited as all hell and kevin is literally about to burst from his own skin and you insist that he goes first and when he pulls the outfit from the bag you’re just. in absolute awe. the colors match the design you made, it looks like it’ll fit, and even though it screams kevin moon it also has a distinct vibe from your own fashion style and you just yell KEVIN MOON YOU GENIUS as you snatch it from him and go change

(you don’t know obviously but kevin is blushing like a tomato while waiting for you to finish changing)

it fits almost perfectly, kevin marks a few places to fix and is debating whether or not to compliment you bc??? that sounds like he’s complimenting his own work and that’s egocentric as hell but then you say something like does it look fine and he just blurts out more than fine. you look great

AND YOU’RE SO FLUSTERED THAT YOU ALL BUT THROW YOUR OWN BAG AT KEVIN and are like GO CHANGE

so he takes out the clothes and goes silent and you’re like.... oh my god does he hate it i mean we worked on the designs together and he said he liked it then but what if he changed his mind but then he looks at you and his eyes are sparkling and he’s like y/n this is perfect. literally perfect and he rushes to go get changed and when he comes out your eyes are bugging out of your head bc holy hell you pictured kevin in these clothes obviously since they were made for him but he looks so much better than you ever imagined

and then you blurt out something like holy shit you look beautiful

and kevin blushes again

anyway you both take your measurements and run out and then the day of the fashion show rolls around and both of you are freaking out backstage but the instant you two go on it’s like you both are literal gods bc you feel so confident in each other’s clothing and the crowd can feel it THEY CAN FUCKING FEEL IT and they go nuts when you two walk out!!! and even though it isn’t like a huge major fashion show, it’s just for this one project that your professors cooked up, you and kevin are both beaming like the sun when it’s over despite the fact that it wasn’t an important event bc holy shit you two had fun and everyone’s complimenting your clothing and it’s great it’s just great

finally all the chaos is over and the clothes have been put away and the makeup removed and you and kevin are now standing outside the venue in a kind of stunned silence that all of it’s over. it’s all over. and then you suddenly thrust out the clothes you made that kevin wore and tell him to keep it. it’s a present. and kevin takes it but he also forces you to take the outfit he made for you. and then there’s silence again

but if there’s anything you’ve gained over the past few weeks it’s a bit of courage. courage that let you talk to kevin, courage that let you design clothes for him, courage that let you become friends (and maybe something more) with him. you’ve also learned that kevin is a massive dork and a lovely human being and you’d really love to at least stay in contact so in that the moment you smile and say ‘if i asked you on a date, would you wear that outfit?’

poor kevin looks like he’s about to have a fucking aneurysm and you start to lose confidence but then he’s nodding like there’s no tomorrow like yes ye sYE S OH MY GOD YE S and omg you now have a boyfriend whom you like very very much and kevin has a partner whom he likes very very much

you two may not be a pda couple but you ARE that couple that matches every outfit they wear, you make jewelry and accessories for each other and also make each other clothes every so often. everyone is jealous of your combined fashion sense bc even though the outfits might look outrageous, you two both manage to pull them off and look fabulous at it, but also they can’t even be that jealous bc you two are the sweetest couple and are absolutely lovely

both of you do wear the outfits you made for that show on your first date which is to like a musical or smth bc theatre kid kevin is something you can pry out of my cold dead hands and everyone’s staring but you two are in your own little world and it’s amazing

kevin admits at one point that he was afraid to ask you out bc he thought younghoon was your boyfriend and you just snort and tell him everything stupid younghoon’s done and by the end younghoon is done with you, kevin is about to vomit he’s laughing so hard, and you are smirking like no tomorrow

for the end of year fashion show you and kevin fix up and accessorize the outfits you two made for the show that brought you two together and there is absolutely no surprise that several different fashion companies scout both of you (and a couple modeling agencies too since you and kevin decided to model your own clothing again - younghoon whines that you’ve replaced him but you shut him up with chocolate bread)

kevin’s a sucker for romance (you CANNOT tell me this isn't true) so your first kiss is on the roof of the fashion building at sunset when kevin does the cheesy thing where he says you look more beautiful the view and you almost slap him but you’re laughing so hard and kevin’s cackling and somehow it turns into a kiss

you are a dork and kevin is even more of a dork and it just works out beautifully bc you’re so absolutely in love that it makes people fake vomit from the sides (looking at chanhee right here) but it’s also really sweet in that you two trust each other completely and would do absolutely anything for the other except murder. kevin made that v clear but really only bc blood would stain his clothing and he doesn’t need that. you agree wholeheartedly (younghoon/juyeon are looking from the sides like what the fuck is this couple do they need help and you two are like just go away and let us be the weird couple we are ok). the conversation ends in a v soft v sweet kiss and just. ik i said it with juyeon but kevin moon is also best bf ever ok you cannot convince me otherwise.

and that’s how it goes :)

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for this weird-ass couple)

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krewbies · 4 years

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I'm so glad to see Bolin fics bc your girl has had a crush on him for awhile. Can you write something where Bolin proposes? Timeline wise, sometime after saving the city in book 4? 👉👈

awww i love this :( i hope you enjoy!!!

••••••

The last month had been absolutely insane. You and Bolin had both been busy- the Earth Kingdom was pulling itself together again, Republic City was still recuperating from Kuvira’s attack, but there was still a sense of peace. For now, everything had been resolved.

Bolin. Boy, was he thankful for you. You had supported him, rooted for him, since the days when the two of you had just been two clueless teenagers in a big city. Sure, you gave him a hard time about unknowingly working under a fascist regime, but that was quickly forgiven after he helped save the Beifongs. And, sure, sometimes you could be overbearing, you didn’t want him to hurt himself after all!

It was so daunting for him, standing in a flashy jewelry store. He had grown up poor after all, he was used to just scraping by with Mako. But Mako wasn’t there, and neither were you, but the memory of a wedding- Varrick and Zhu Li’s- was fresh in his mind.

It was standing there, seeing you in the crowd, sitting with his brother and closest friends, glossy eyed and awe stricken, that he realized how ready he was to let you know just how much he appreciated and adored you.

The ring he picked was small and modest. Big and expensive wasn’t exactly something that either of you enjoyed. Your relationship had always been surrounded by chaos and dramatics and other people’s conflicts, and deep down, you both just wanted simple after all these years. You weren’t teenagers anymore, and there were no more wars to be fought, and there was finally room for peace.

“It’s so pretty.” You sighed, glancing up at the evening sky. Bolin turned his head to admire you, his eyes following the curve of your nose and examining the color of your eyes as if he hadn’t already memorized his favorite color a thousand times.

“Well, I think you’re a lot prettier.” His voice cracked. That always happened when he was nervous. And he was wringing his hands. You decided not to ask. Instead, you laughed, trying to ease whatever was running through his mind. He wasn’t one to hide anything he was feeling, so he’d tell you when he was ready to.

“Y’know, it’s so weird that we met here- wow, it’s been 5 or 6 years now.” You swung your legs and ran your hands over the wood of the bench. It was nostalgic, and reminded you of when things were simple, and you reached out to take his hand.

Now or never. Now or never. His hands were oddly sweaty too. Huh. He stood up abruptly, back turned to you, leg shaking slightly.

“Um, okay, so, I’m, uh, usually good at talking, but I’m not right now because I love you so much and I don’t want this to end badly, I feel like you feel the same way but I’m not sure and-”

“Bo!” You stopped him in the middle of his speech, turning his body around and taking his face in your hands. He glanced at you as you stroked his cheeks, taking a deep breath. “What’s wrong?” You continued after a few long seconds of silence. He looked down at the ground and hesitantly opened his mouth again.

“(Y/N), I just... I love you so much. And, and all of the stuff that’s happened in the last few years has made me realize how lost I would be without you. You laugh at all my jokes, and you’re always there whether things are going good for me or not, you always make sure I’m okay,” He took a deep breath and shot you a sweet smile, and reached a hand up to twist the piece of hair on his forehead. “And Mako likes you! That’s so great! I’m saying so much, I don’t even know where I’m going. At... At the end of the day I just want you to be safe and happy, and I want me to be happy too, and I would be happiest if,” He slowly knelt down, taking one of your hands in his, and proudly showing you what he had picked out. “If you would just be mine forever?”

Your heart raced. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be. You wanted to cry. You had never entertained the thought of him asking you; it had always felt too good to be true. That he was so perfect, and he only wanted you. A million thoughts ran through your head, but one was louder than the others, and it helped you utter a simple response.

“Of course.” You stared at each other for a moment, hearts racing and the cool night air surrounding you. Finally, finally, a smile sprung on his face as he picked himself up, placing both of his hands on your shoulders.

“Really?” You stopped yourself from giggling at his shocked expression,

“I’d be an idiot to not want to spend the rest of my life with you.” You replied, tears threatening to spill. He engulfed you in one of the best hugs you’ve ever had, warming you up inside and out. This was it. This is what all of that was for.

He kissed you softly after he pulled away. “Wait! We have to go tell everyone!” He was so giddy, rocking up and down on the balls of his feet, shaking you. “This is so exciting. I get to marry you.” Every reservation you had ever held in your life was gone, and they were replaced by the knowledge that he would be yours and you would be his.

i hope you enjoyed!!!! i just wanted to say, thank you guys so much. I made this blog thinking it would just be a fun past time but you are all so kind, my inbox has been flooded with the kindest things, i spent like an hour crying over it earlier. i’m sorry its been a few days since i last put something out, ive just been insanely busy and ive been jumping between writing things because i have a ton of requests. i just wanna give you all a hug! i feel like i hit 100 followers overnight and now i’m at around 140, its surreal. thank you. ps, this can perhaps be read as a sequel to the hcs i did about the airbender? but its up to u ;)

#bolin x reader #krewbies writes #bolin #lok x reader #lok imagine

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alyss-spazz-penedo · 3 years

Text

@w1lmutt So tbh I probably could’ve had this ninth part of the unedited v!Wind fic out earlier; I already had it mostly written. But on the flip side, I’m sure you’ll be happy know that the whole story's going to be a bit longer than previously expected!

I only took my eyes off them for like a DAY, where did all these new plunnies come from aiieeee

I don’t want to promise the next part will also be out soon bc that feels too much like jinxing it, but, um. *side-eyes the pages and pages of Stuff I've already scribbled for the next few parts*

TW: The ending scene made me cackle evily when I first thought of it. That's it that's the warning

<<First Part 8 Next>>

Twilight climbs the ladder to the lookout post the newest Link first greeted the traveling heroes from. The kid’s perched there now, kicking his heels in the open air, head resting on arms folded against the railing—just like the first time they’d met.

Such a difference a single day makes.

“Food’s ready,” he announces himself, though there’s no way Phantom hadn’t heard him making his way up. The boy doesn’t respond. Twilight musters up his patience, makes an effort to keep his voice even and nonconfrontational. “Wild made enough stew for everyone. He’s a pretty darn good cook; you’re missing out.”

Phantom doesn’t move. “Don’t need it.”

Twilight frowns. He climbs all the way into the lookout and approaches the slumped form, stopping just outside of striking distance. “You haven’t had anything all day. You need to eat, kid,” he coaxes.

“Fuck off. Don’t patronize me.” There’s no bite to the words. Twilight folds his arms, trying to project sternness. Phantom lackadaisically flips him off without even looking his way.

Twilight sighs. “...Enjoying the view?” He prods instead, changing tack.

“...A little. I’m mostly listening. I’d... forgotten what it sounded like.” A stilted pause. Phantom sighs, so quiet it’s nearly lost on the breeze. “The village, I mean. While it was awake.”

Twilight, who hadn’t meant to provoke such honesty with his offhand comment, finds himself momentarily derailed. Phantom seems to take his silence as an invitation to continue—or perhaps he’s not talking to the other man at all, anymore.

“Aryll hugged me back today,” he says, blank. “And. Everyone’s awake. I... don’t need to sweep the porches, or trim the grass, or make sure the water in the rainbarrels is still fresh. I...”

One of the seagulls hops closer. Link holds out a hand to it automatically, but it flaps away. He stares down at his empty hand for a long moment before he seems to realize there’s no bait in it.

“It shouldn’t be this hard. It’s not anything new—I should be able to do this, greet my friends and talk to my sister and help out where I’m needed. I used to. I know I used to.”

The silence stretches.

Twilight finally sighs, breaking through the tension that had settled gauzy and ill-defined over them. “I came up here for a reason. I need to talk to you.”

Phantom finally deigns to look at him, giving the other a droll look from the corner of his eye. “Of course you do. You wouldn’t be here alone otherwise; you guys have been paired off all day.”

Smartass. Twilight hisses a breath through his teeth. “Look, it’s about Time.”

Phantom tenses.

“You’ve been hurting him. You’re going to stop doing that,” he informs the kid.

Phantom’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not going to attack you guys again. And I apologized for the-”

“I’m not,” Twilight grits out, “talking about a physical wound.”

The boy doesn’t understand. How can the boy not understand? Twilight wants to pick him up and shake him.

“As far as I can tell, your only impressions of him come from legends that reverie him, and memories that hate him. He’s not whoever it is you’ve built up in your head, Phantom. Try opening your damn eyes for a change.”

Twilight stares the younger boy down. He needs the kid to understand: he is deadly serious about this.

The little hero is wide-eyed with confusion, uncertainty grinding away his usual guard. Phantom visibly chews over his words, slow, like they might make sense the third time where they didn’t the first. Skepticism paints his face. He still doesn’t get it.

But he nods. Agreement, however reluctant. Twilight will take it.

"Now come on," Twilight huffs. He stalks away. "Wild's made food; the least you could do is not let it go to waste."

~o0o~

Phantom picks at his dinner. Like he'd told the Hero of Twilight, he doesn't need it—hasn't bothered with food for a long time, frankly—but refusing to eat after it'd already been doled out to him would be terribly rude. He's not so far gone that he's forgotten all his manners.

He and Aryll sit back-to-back in a ring of people, surrounding the roaring beach fire one of the visitors had made to cook with. It's still odd, feeling something moving and breathing so close to him, but... it’s not so bad when no one’s trying to grab him. He’s fine as long as nothing's moving too quickly in his personal space.

Pressed against his sister now, he remembers the times he'd hug the statues or lean on them for comfort. He throws a few token comments into the soft evening conversation, just to hear those real, actual voices respond to him, and this alone is leagues better than relying on his memory and imagination to fill the silence.

Listening to Aryll’s excited chatter, to the gentle shifting of over a dozen living bodies gathered on the same beach... he realizes how much he’d missed this.

It’s not perfect. But for the first time in a very long while, Phantom finds himself held in the grip of a feeling that could almost pass for peace.

~o0o~

They send Grandma out to sea that night.

Dusk is not the appropriate time for someone to set sail on a long journey. But for her last voyage... the darkness will see her safely to her destination. That’s what the villagers say, at least.

Phantom’s lost his share of people over the years. He hates that he should be used to goodbyes—hates hates hates that this time is different.

(It’s not even that she’s family; he was old enough to remember his parents, after all. No, the difference between Grandma and everyone else he's lost is that he is so much more directly responsible for her death.

He might've loved and missed some of those others comparably, but Grandma... Grandma is one of his mistakes.)

~o0o~

Tetra finally comes to him in the morning.

She’d been avoiding him, and he’d been letting her have her space—no matter how much he ached to have her back again. She had every right to be angry at him, after all.

(He’d failed her. In every way that mattered, he’d failed her.

All that strength and he still couldn’t keep her safe; all that resolve and he still couldn’t get her back before Bellum had dug it’s claws in deeper than he could pry out of her; all that time, and still no Hyrule to show for it. He couldn’t even avenge her, in the end; the traveling heroes had robbed him of that killing blow.)

So of course she’s angry. Of course she’s disappointed in him, of course she's been avoiding him, of course of course.

There is a time and place for regrets, Phantom knows. That time is not now; that place is not here. Not when he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with Tetra—his best friend, his partner, his anchor—finally, finally awake.

And yet. And yet.

She stands next to him without a word. They watch the dawn like that—together, with neither able to bear looking at each other.

~o0o~

The sun is fully up by the time her idiot speaks.

He fingers the mark on the back of his hand in lieu of looking her in the eye. “Do you think the power of the gods could bring her back?” He asks. He doesn’t look at her as he says this, gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “Not forever. Just... just for a little longer.”

She feels cold. “I thought we’d agreed never to make a wish.”

“...Yeah.”

Tetra scowls. “How seriously are you asking? Is this the grief or the insanity talking right now?”

“I... I don’t know.” His eyes belie this—calculating, intent. He’s looking out at the ocean, but she can’t tell what it is he's actually seeing.

“I heard the story from those other heroes. How long?” She grabs him by the arm, yanks him around until he’s forced to look at her. “How long has it been?” She demands.

Link rips himself away from her touch. “I don’t know,” he lies.

She punches him on the arm for that. He winces but she can tell it’s entirely for her benefit; he’s not hurt at all. Her blows don’t reach him anymore.

She probably hasn’t reached him for a long time, now.

“Give it to me,” she demands—suddenly, inexplicably furious. He regards her warily. She barely recognizes him anymore. “This has gone on for long enough. I never should’ve let you try to carry this power alone. Give me the Triforce, Link.”

Link’s eyes narrow. For a moment, Tetra is convinced he’s going to refuse—that she’s going to have to enlist her crew and maybe those outside heroes to hold the idiot down so she can pry the corruption from his hand.

But no. Link deflates and, for once in his life, makes things easy for her. “Okay,” he agrees, all wilted and sad and nothing like the spunky kid who once demanded a ride to the Forsaken Fortress from her on this very shore.

She lets him twine their hands together, goddess marked to goddess marked. The symbols glow together, synchronized in a way their bearers used to be, and when they open their eyes Tetra has an extra golden triangle on her hand.

The Triforce of Power is a trip. Link’s eyes are blue again, and they widen in alarm when she pins his wrist, when she seizes him by the collar and drags him around like it’s nothing. “That’s not enough,” she growls. “I said, give me the Triforce. All of it, Link.”

“Tetra- what are you-”

“Give it to me!” She shakes him a little. “Now!”

“No! Have you lost your mind-”

She backhands him. It's the easiest thing in the world.

He goes staggering, one hand flying to his cheek and the other reflexively dragging that terribly familiar sword from thin air. He freezes before he can raise it against her. "Tetra...?"

"Fine." She cracks her knuckles. "The hard way, then."

"What are you doing?"

He looks frightened. Of her. Is this what they've come to, now? Tetra could almost laugh, could almost cry. She draws her blade instead of doing either.

"Making sure something like this never happens again," she vows, eyes burning gold, and strikes without holding back.

#Vinked Universe #my writing #mwahaha #I couldn't resist one last cliffhanger #...lmao 'one last' listen to me #so you know how I mentioned last time that this fic is almost done?#so that was a fucking lie #I figured out how the PH stuff would've gone down and I swear the wordcount just exploded on me #me @ my brain: but y r u like this 😥

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notmrskennedy · 4 years

Text

Eight Seconds

Howdy! I’m honestly freaking out bc this the first Spencer Reid anything I’ve written and bc I try not to out myself as country too much bc well the world right now. (I honestly wish there was more people out there who had a thing for cowgirls/boys as I do.) I hope at least one person enjoys it as much as I liked writing it.

Summary: Spencer Reid meets the cowgirl of his dreams...

Warnings: I think I swear like twice? other than that it’s fluff

Word count: 4.5k

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He doesn’t think that it would be Penelope Garcia to catch him. Sure, she’s a genius and a tech wizard and an overall queen at gathering gossip. But she isn’t around him as much as JJ. Or Emily. Or Morgan.

What gave him away to her and not everyone else?

Because he knows he’s given something away when she texts him. Urgent. Batcave now! He’s hopeful. Optimistic. Maybe Penelope’s got some burning question about Star Trek. Or Doctor Who. Or when the next convention is. Maybe it’s a serial killer.

But he isn’t that lucky. Spencer Reid never is.

He knocks hesitantly, worried for exactly what’s to come. Her gaze snaps up from her tablet. Snaps to him in an incessant kind of ‘I know what you did’ way. It’s a look for scolding children. Not a pleasant, let’s have a tea time chat, gaze.

Spencer settles into the extra chair and waits. There’s a storm brewing behind her eyes and when she finally speaks, she doesn’t disappoint.

“What’s her name?”

And he can’t stop it. Lovesick smile, starry eyes—Penelope doesn’t have to be a profiler to see it before he sobers up. Her mouth opens into a toothy grin. An insufferably contagious grin and he knows he’s caught for sure.

He leans back in the desk chair, stares up at the ceiling and breathily whispers, “Shawn.”

“Oh!” Penelope gasps. He can hear the mental scolding. There’s backtracking with no end in sight. “Well, I didn’t mean to presume and it’s—it’s okay if Shawn is—or you’re—and I just didn’t know—you never said anything—“

“Relax,” he chuckles and grins at her softly for good measure. “Shawn is a girl. Her legal name is Shawna if you’re that curious.”

And he knows Penelope is curious. She’s grinning and waiting and listening. He can tell she wants to prompt. To ask questions. To dig through every tiny detail she can. Is it bad to make her wait? To not want anyone to know about the girlfriend he’s kept hidden for so long?

“Tell me more,” Penelope buzzes, bouncing in her seat, monitors—work—forgotten. “Where did you love story begin?”

He smiles to himself. It’s not a matter of when, but how long.

It took eight seconds. All of eight seconds.

At first, he wasn’t even sure it was eight seconds. He’d been running, running harder than he ever had. Chucks flapping against the hard packed dirt. Horse trailers flying by him as he jumped hitches and slipped through patches of mud.

It was five minutes of burning lungs and dust caked nostrils before those eight seconds. Quick glances between trailers. Got to keep moving, Reid, got to keep up. Because Morgan’s chanting was getting distant, too distant. The last time they’d split up—

Five minutes of a maze he hadn’t learned. Five minutes of being utterly lost, following the sound of Morgan’s thundering boots and desperation. They were all desperate. It was a desperate move to keep running, not to find solace in an empty horse trailer on the killer’s part. The bastard thought he could lose them, shake the FBI agents off his tail.

Reid knew better, but he was getting desperate too. His lungs were burning. It’d only been five minutes.

“FBI! Stop!” Morgan shouted from behind him. Reid skidded through a patch of horse shit into the main thoroughfare. Thank god. No more trailers. A walkway, a solid walkway, a clear line of sight. The man was running. Why do they always run?

Reid picks up his lungs in his desperate hands and pushes on. Grits his teeth, clenches down on every spare inch of fortitude left. Morgan catches up easily but doesn’t surpass. They’re both tired. They’re both panting. They’ve both got weapons drawn, but who could make a shot at 50 yards with a moving target?

Not Reid. He knew better.

But Morgan tried one more time. Shouted and called and screamed. The man didn’t look back. Prison was on his heels and he was desperate enough to keep running. A coward. There wouldn’t be a standoff. Smart enough to not get cornered, not smart enough to keep from getting caught.

They both pushed harder. This was their eight seconds. They were getting close, they reasoned to themselves, hearts panting to the same rhythm. They could keep it together for these last seconds. He’d get tired—they were getting tired—he had to be tired by now.

He was racing in snakeskin cowboy boots. How could he be keeping that pace in those shoes?

Reid hoped his lungs would give out. Save the heroic work for Morgan. Morgan could get the bad guy. Morgan could get the girl. He could have anything he wanted. Reid just wanted to fall face first into the dirt and let the fresh mud extinguish the flames in his lungs. In his throat. In his mouth.

But then the eight seconds came.

In the first second, he realised his heart didn’t gallop. It didn’t have the imprints of hooves. It wasn’t the two thousand pound animal gaining momentum behind him. His heart was clogging his ears that badly. Thankfully, with his wits about him, he looked back.

In the second second, Reid saw the animal. Mid-step, perfect stride. A plastic figurine of a race horse, nostrils wide at the end of its long face. It took only the second second to see the crazy in the horse’s eyes. How they focused and blinked and bled the insanity. How it was more beast than domesticated pet. Reid was convinced the black stockings on its legs were dripping grease from its gears. He could see the muscle in its shoulders and flanks. Muscle groupings bigger than him. An animal that could crush him. A machine running with a single thought: faster.

He saw the rider in the third second. One he didn’t expect. Maybe it was his own memories of cowboy movies, but cowboys weren’t supposed to be dipped in glitter. Weren’t supposed to be such overtly female. But there she was. Her dark curls billowing behind her. Sun glinting off the gold of her hat. Glinting off the impressive amount of glitter on her eyelids. And the rhinestones on her black button-down. She was stunning. Furrowed in her concentration. Elated in her grin.

The rope came in the fourth. It was twisting in her hand, coil and reins held precariously in her other. It loops over her head, slack enough to swallow her whole. Slack enough to get caught on her. Get caught on the horse. She keeps perfect control and the hand comes around and around until she—

In the fifth second, the rope releases and Reid slows his feet to watch it. The horse has gained on the man, so close that teeth could get involved. The man doesn’t seem to know, or is too desperate to change direction. Because he’s gone straight and the horse has followed and the rope is sliding through her hand like it’s meant to be there forever. It goes and goes and goes. He thinks the loop is bound to catch her foot, a hoof, something. But it doesn’t. It never does.

With six seconds down, the man finds he doesn’t have feet anymore. The loop of the rope tightens around his legs and he’s falling. He doesn’t have feet under him. Barely hands to save his face. Reid hopes the fall is harder than it needs to be. But he’s not focused on the man, he’s focused on the girl. The girl who expertly catches the rope in her hands. Who expertly ties the end around the saddle horn. Who’s horse pulls the rope taut and the man goes down.

At seven seconds, the horse is still backing. It knows. It’s practiced. Reid can see the elation on both rider and animal. Their pride is palpable. He doesn’t know it, but this is the best run they’ve done together. Not the fastest, but the best.

Eight seconds is when the girl turns to them. Grinning, hollering, hands up in the air. Reid watches as they catch up, slowing down to match the horse’s speed. The man tries to flip himself over, dragging on his back towards the federal agents. Reid can feel his heart and he wonders if it’s beating harder from the run or the thrill.

He’ll never admit it but he’s always wanted to be a cowboy. This girl has his other dream in her hands, wearing it as her favourite belt buckle.

Eight seconds later and she’s smiling down at the agents, still hollering some form of yeehaw! Reid grins, dragging his aching limbs forward to help Morgan flip the man onto his stomach and cuff him. The dragging discontinues and the horse knickers his anger that the trial is over.

Reid loosens the rope from the man’s feet, working the fray between his fingers. He moves to hand it to the cowgirl but she’s already snapping it from him and coiling it back up. She latches it back to her saddle, chest heaving with the excitement of it all.

“Bitch!” the man spits as Morgan hauls him to his feet.

The girl just smirks and tips her hat back. Reid can’t help but watch her pretty red lips as she says, “I’ll stick my foot so far up your ass, you’ll taste my good leather if you don’t shut your goddamn mouth.” Vulgarity has never sounded better off of anyone else’s tongue. She’s got the first sermon he’s ever wanted to listen to sitting on her lips and he wonders if this is why people believe in God. If pretty girls have always made men believe in things they shouldn’t.

Her drawl is thick, sticky, and unsweet. She’s got more threats bubbling up in her chest, sitting precariously close to her heart. She comfortable in sliding off her horse, landing softly in the dirt.

He won’t admit it, but he can’t ignore how round her ass is in those tight jeans.

She pats her horse, sliding her rough hands under its harnesses and it’s mane. Reid knows enough about horses to distinguish several muscle groups and bone structures from others. He feels out of his depth. He’s drowning being so close to a dream he can never have. He wonders if he should ask her to stay. Tell her there’s reports. Witness statements. Paperwork. Anything to get her to stay longer, to prolong the closeness to the dream. The closeness to her.

The horse gives a bleated scream as Morgan passes with the handcuffed man, both human males looking equally frightened of the animal. It settles into a role of domestication as the girl lets the horse throw its head into her shoulder begging for pats.

Spencer knows he supposed to follow Morgan, but he can’t move. She’s everything in that moment. And just as he gets the courage to thank her, thank her for stopping the burning, she meets his eyes and drops her jaw.

“Well as I live and breathe!” she shouts. It’s too rough for a squeal, more of a whistle of her words. “Spencer Reid, not even a day’s difference. How in the hell are you?”

Is he breathing? He doesn’t think he’s breathing. She knows him. She knows him. She knows him. And he has no idea who she is. He searches her beautiful face. Running over the ruby lips. Over the pink blushing cheeks. The glittered eyelids and the long eyelashes.

She’s so unfamiliar it hurts.

Morgan stops in his tracks. There’s blood in the water for the first time in ages. The last time these waters were chummed was a bartender who called him exactly once.

And it gets worse. Her face falls. Emily and JJ are rounding the corner. Everything in him sinks to the floor. Every details about himself becomes apparent. He’s gangly and uncoordinated. His hair’s too long and he’s got circles under his eyes darker than the grease stains on her horse. He’s so unperfected and this girl reminds him of the girls in high school he could never have.

He wonders for a moment if she’s from high school. She can’t be though, he thinks as he fights the bile in his throat. She’s younger than me.

“You know boy genius?” Morgan asks, handing the killer off to Emily. He’s strutting. Ever the first impressionist. The girl barely glances at him, still studying Reid with a crestfallen little smile perched on her perfect lips.

“Not really,” she settles on, getting a better grip on the reins she’s holding. Getting a better grip on herself. “We met once. In Vegas. I was 15 and I’ve done my growing up since.”

Reid still hasn’t moved. He’s not sure he can. His feet are putty from the run. Putty from her smile. Just ask for her name, he screams at himself, but he can’t. There’s no guarantees. There’s no ‘of courses’, only ‘what ifs’. The what ifs can consume you and he’s worried he’s going to let them.

Morgan extends his hand in the stretching pause. And she shakes it. All crimson lips and pearly teeth. “I’m Agent Derek Morgan. You obviously know, Dr. Reid.”

Her eyebrows raise for half a second. She’s surprised. And impressed. And Reid’s heart warms for no longer than she answers. “I’m Shawn, Shawn Healy.”

“Shawn? That’s an interesting—“

Everyone pauses at the sound of hoofbeats. Whips around to see another girl, a blonde in even more glitter, ride up on her own horse. Shawn swings back onto her horse and spurs him off, following the other girl. Spencer doesn’t see the flags they’re carrying until it’s too late. Until she’s already apologising for leaving. She’s late.

Spencer wonders if he’ll ever see her again. Black curls bouncing over her shoulders. Stained lips. Sun glinting off every inch of her.

In another eight seconds, she’s gone. Eight seconds to win his heart. Eight seconds to ride off with it.

He gives Penelope some condensed version of the story that she’s hooked on anyway. She’s leaned forward, elbows on knees, perched on every word that leaves his mouth like it’s from God himself. It’s comical, he thinks. Spencer’s never really been invested in anyone else’s drama, not for longer than five minutes.

Penelope’s going to be invested, heels sunk in, holding on for dear life. She’s invested for life.

“So, how’d you get her back?” she asks. Starry eyed. Concerned. This is her white whale and she’ll go down with this ship. “She could’ve been anywhere! How’d you two get together?”

And he knows this part isn’t complicated. And it’ll be enough to tide her over.

The quick answer is that he googled her. Read every newspaper article, column, and paper mentioning her. Shawna Healy had been mentioned more times for winning rodeo competitions than he had papers published. She was accomplished in her culture, in her part of the world. She’d won up to regionals while in college. Even boasted to being the first girl on the UT Dallas Rodeo Team. Currently employed at Montgomery’s Cattle Ranch just outside of DC. The same ranch who was hosting a For-Charity Bull-riding Competition.

Spencer hadn’t known what to do with the information so he sat on it. For a month. Until he couldn’t wait any longer. The competition was that weekend. He had to go.

He just kept repeating to himself, this is for academic purposes. This isn’t stalking. You might not even see her. This is for—

And he stops thinking. There’s no reason to think anything other than: I’m sorely underdressed. He’s sinking to the bottom of the deep end of the pool, lead weights tied to his ankles. Every man, woman, and child here is nothing sort of their earned Country label. There’s boots and buckles and ball caps. There’s dust and dip and drawl.

And he’s in a cardigan. Why was that a good idea? He doesn’t know, but he’s tempted to shrug it off and disappear. To run right back out of gates. To get swallowed by everyone staring at him. Gawking at him. He’s back in high school again and he wants to drink bleach.

He’s almost to the bleachers, past the makeshift bar, just at the corner of the dirt arena. Spencer knows he should just go home, shake it off, and dissolve into wishing the world takes pity on him. He’s too out of his depth. These other people belong. He most definitely does not.

And just as he’s about to turn tail, pussyfoot out of every bit of confidence he’s ever had, when he sees her.

She’s on a different horse. One not quite as beastly as the other. This one’s mellow, waiting on the edge of the arena, while she’s chatting absently with another man on horseback. She looks different. She’s far, but there’s no glitter. No outstanding colours. No glinting under the fluorescents. She’s in a cowboy hat, tipped forward over her loose braids. She’s traded her button down for a flannel, rolled up to the elbows and he finally understands why Penelope said it was such a turn on.

There’s no words as the announcer suddenly comes on and a bull bursts from the chute. It’s one of the most terrifying things he’s ever seen. A tiny man holding onto a two ton absolute beast with one hand—it’s absurd! But he can’t stop watching. Can’t stop being impressed. Waits on bated breath for the man to get bucked off after his nearly eight second run.

He does and Spencer has had falls like that. They aren’t pleasant.

The bull bucks and kicks for another few seconds. Shawn and her friend lazily canter forward, guiding the animal back to the other side of the arena and through a gate. She whistles and the gate closes behind it.

The pair retreat back to their corner and the process starts all over again.

“You look a little lost, honey,” a sweet voice chirps beside him. He startles, head caught up in Shawn and every single perfect What If. This girl reminds him of a movie star he can’t remember the name of. Big blonde curls. Big eyelashes. Big smile. Tiny waist.

She’s amazingly beautiful. Amazing doll like. Amazingly…not his type.

Spencer still nervously smiles and clears his throat. “I kind of am.”

“Cardigan gave it away,” she giggles, turning him towards the edge of the stadium seating, dropping them onto the bottom row seat. “I’m Kaley Montgomery. My brother and my sister are this shift’s pick up riders.” Spencer nods along like he knows what she’s saying. “I tell ‘em I’m here to support them and my daddy—he put this whole thing on you know—but I’m just here to pick up cute cowboys.”

“I’m not a cowboy,” Spencer blurts. Her laugh is slick like the sugar in a Venus fly trap. He tries not to get drawn in, but she’s all encompassing. Bright perfume. Colourful clothes. Soft skin and warm empathy. There’s nothing uninviting about her and he wants to move back.

“No, honey, you aren’t.” Kaley pauses to look him over. Whatever she sees makes her softly grin. “Why are you here anyway?”

There’s no judgement. She’s safe and alluring and exactly the opposite of what makes him nervous at that moment. The confidence surges for a moment and he answers, “I’m actually trying to find this girl I met a while ago.”

“Must be a special lady. What’s her name?”

“Shawn Healy,” Spencer sighs. It’s wistful. It’s longing. It’s half desperate. It’s been a month since he’s seen her. A month since he snuck back to see if he could catch her at the rodeo one more tine.

Kaley snorts. Her lady-like instincts kick back in and she covers it was a giggle. “Honey, you met the right girl. Shawn’s like my sister. Her shift ends in a few rounds, and she’s meeting me here if you just wanna stick around for a second.”

And he does. Kaley keeps him laughing, has him singing the high praises of Rodeo sports by the end. It’s maybe another ten minutes. Ten minutes of calming down, easing into the world. Kaley looks like she has whiplash with all of the questions he’s asking. And she’s a little dazed when he blinks at her sheepishly.

“Told he was smart, didn’t I?” a voice says behind him and Spencer jumps out of his skin. He’s desperate to slip it back on without seeming desperate. Without seeming nervous. But it all melts. Shawn’s in front of him. Shawn’s grinning. Shawn’s even more beautiful without the glitter.

“How did you recognise me?” he blurts. There’s stumbling as he tries to backtrack. Shawn’s eyes are green this close up and she smells like leather and oats and apples. His sentences lose traction as she peels her hat off, and sits down next to him.

There’s nothing soft about her. She’s callused. Rough. Nothing like any other girl he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting. Spencer doesn’t need more than ten seconds to know that Shawn’s never worn glitter more than the one time and never will again. To known that Shawn is simple and complicated and every grey area he’s ever wanted to explore.

Shawn’s eyes are still and focused. She follows Kaley as the girl stands and leaves. Returns the gaze to Spencer with a glint he can’t categorise. There’s a pause. Lead up to another eight seconds of life changing to be done.

“You were sitting by yourself at a sorting event at the South Point,” she breathes, brushing a piece of dirt off the hat in her hands. Setting it beside her on the bleacher. She gives him plenty of time to stare. To appreciate her.

There’s plenty of time, Spencer thinks and he keeps her gaze with a nervous grin.

Shawn brushes a hand over the frazzled bits of her hat hair. “I came and sat next to you because you looked so lonely. You were so afraid.”

His brain fires and spits and roars to life. He can remember the strange girl who came to sit by him, a sea of empty spaces around him. He’d just committed his mom. Was just about to leave for MIT. He’d been swimming in a sea of self-hatred when he’d been greeted by braces and pimples and too much dark hair. She’d explained every second of the calf sort, almost unprompted, and sussed out every single one of his questions.

It had been as close as he ever dared get to being a cowboy. A decade later and she was every introduction to this world he’d ever had.

Shawn’s got two seconds left on the clock and she doesn’t disappoint. Her fingers are delicate as she places a precarious hand on his knee. There’s a soft pressure to his patella. Shawn’s touching him and he can’t help the shock.

“I had one of those day long crushes. You were the smartest man I’d ever met.”

And no words are suddenly good enough. He wants to tell her that he’s fallen in love now. That he can’t help it. That all he wants is to listen to her drawl on for the rest of his life. That she’d made that last week in Vegas bearable. That she’d been everything. Still was.

But there’s no good way to articulate that. And maybe she knows that. Maybe Shawn Healy was a profiler in a different life because she lets go of his knee and switches subjects. Leans back against the seat behind her, stretching out into the spot of sun.

“It’s my lunch break,” she announces, her boots drifting closer to touching his chucks. The eyes don’t matter as the bleachers stare. What matters is Shawn’s tricky smile. “Have lunch with me.”

He nods and doesn’t think he could bear to disagree with her. Shawn disappears for a moment long enough that he’s worried she isn’t coming back, but she plops french fries into his lap not a second later than the worry begins to fester. Shawn’s not one to back out of commitments, he learns, and ends up hearing enough bad stories that Spencer isn’t sure how they’re getting along so well.

Because they’re getting along so well. Too well. Like they’ve never stopped talking since she was 15 and he was 18. Three hours is too early to say I love you, but he’s thinking it as she talks through a basket of french fries. As she sneaks them to some tiny kids in even tinier cowboy boots.

He’s thinking it every time she laughs.

He’s thinking it as she shoves his shoulder and demands to know why he doesn’t own a pair of jeans.

He’s thinking it even as she stands and apologises and stuffs her business card in his shirt pocket. “We’ll get you cowboy’d up one of these days, Dr. Reid. Now, don’t you forget to call—I’m late again.”

She runs off and he can’t stop thinking I love you so much as she waves at him over her shoulder and once again when she’s in the arena, back on a new horse.

Penelope is near tears at the end of Spencer’s story. He relaxes into the new world he’s entering. The one, two years later, where he’s wondering exactly how much he can keep to himself. How much Garcia will suss out and how much he’ll tell her himself.

Penelope folds her arms and suddenly frowns. She’s got a bee in her bonnet and Spencer’s afraid of what it means.

“Shawn,” she murmurs to herself. “Spencer Reid is shacking up with a cowgirl. I can’t—I’ll see it when I believe it.”

This is her attempt to get Spencer to show her pictures, or call Shawn, or even bring her around. But he doesn’t. He just smirks. No matter how much he actually can’t work the phone in his hands, he doesn’t want to. Shawn’s worried enough about meeting the team, she doesn’t need one Penelope Garcia tracking her down and tackling her.

“How ever much I love this chat we’re having, I have to get back to work,” Spencer announces. He stands. Walks off before Penelope can ask more questions.

And despite all of her yelling and protests and shouting for him to just come back here and tell me if she’s your girlfriend, Penelope knows she won’t get anything more. She’s determined anyway, and plans to corner JJ later on.

She finds doesn’t have to ask JJ, cornered or not. Because not four hours later, does Penelope find one Dr. Spencer Reid admiring the diamonds on the wedding ring he’s holding up between him and the coffee pot. He’s quick to shove it in his pocket as Penelope enters the little kitchenette. Quick to stir sugar in his coffee like nothing’s happened. Like Penelope definitely didn’t see the ring he’s waiting to give Shawn.

“When did you get the ring?” she asks, quietly opening the box of tea.

“Promise not to think I’m crazy?”

Penelope nods, turning just enough to see just how love stricken the poor boy is. “I’d even pinky promise, my love.”

He smirks and softens and says almost so quietly she doesn’t hear, “It was about two weeks after our first date. It took about eight seconds to find the right one.”

#pls I'm doing my best #i've also got anxiety to the moon and back #spencer reid #oc #criminal minds #dr spencer reid

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chrisevansgoodgirl · 4 years

Text

feels like we're dreaming, we're tripping and reeling

summary: requested: andy barber being obsessed with the thought of reader being pregnant and wanting nothing more than to be a dad. being the most doting, caring man throughout the whole pregnancy, rubbing reader's feet and going out to get all her cravings and rubbing her stomach constantly. crying when he feels the baby kick. painting the whole nursery himself and spoiling the hell out of their little bundle when it arrives. andy barber being domestic and soft as hell in general gets me so weak.

warnings: some smut. pool smut. not the same pool bc that was a public pool but it needed to happen so. andy being cute, as cute as i’m sure he was when his wife was pregnant. (my proof: that smile every time someone asks him if he’s jacob’s dad)

word count: almost 10,000. honestly, i was going to keep going but jesus 10,000?!

pairing: andy barber x reader

How many brands of pregnancy tests existed in this world?

Honestly, beyond 5, what the fuck was the point? They measured the same shit, did they not? You didn’t care enough to find out, but during the period of painful silence, you thought about googling the answer.

You were in the tub, wrapped up in one of Andy’s hoodies, just watching him. He was at the counter, looking at the timer. He’d gone out to pick up the tests for what you guys had decided would be your new routine.

You’d always had sex a lot, but lately, Andy didn’t want to go a night without. Not because he was under the impression that would be a more effective method, he just literally could not keep his hands off you anymore. He asked you that morning if you wanted to make Friday night the test night. It made sense, he had his weekends off and that meant he could skulk around the house if it didn’t happen.

Most tests took 2 to 3 minutes. Some took 15 for whatever fucking reason. He wanted to wait for all of them, so for a quarter of an hour, you were just stuck there. Waiting. With him. Which shouldn’t have been so stressful, but it was.

The day you told him you wanted to try for a baby, he didn’t let you out of bed. Even though he knew it wasn’t going to happen for a while since you needed to finish your last week and a half of birth control. He had just been so happy, any attempts made to hide his obsession with you getting pregnant were tossed out the window immediately.

He’d thought about it before you, he’d wanted it before you, but hearing that you finally wanted it too just triggered something. He bought parenting books because he figured during your pregnancy, he wouldn’t have that much time to read. He bought this huge ass book of names and after he fucked you, he liked to bring it out and try to talk you into names he wanted while you were in such a blissful state.

Every second of trying had made you fall in love with him more. Yes, you wanted kids, but honestly, babies didn’t much appeal to you. You understood that to get to kids, you had to deal with the babies and you were okay with that, but mainly, you wanted to make Andy a father. You knew he would be good at it, possibly the best in the world.

And even with all the wanting, he never put pressure on you. The morning you told him you were done with the birth control, he sat you down and had the longest talk with you just to make sure that he hadn’t done anything to make you think he was losing patience with you. He wanted a baby, but he needed a happy wife. He didn’t want any part of something that you weren’t completely on board with.

But with wanting to try, you needed to make some changes. You were always fairly active since Andy had his busy days and you didn’t like just sitting and doing nothing while you waited for him to get home. With trying to conceive, your workouts had to be a little more basic. Longer, but less intense runs, some yoga. Andy had read that cardio was important, you thought up swimming. The very next day, he was already making plans to expand the house and add an indoor swimming pool. When you gave him a look, he pointed out that the kids would love it when they were old enough to swim. How could you possibly say no?

Caffeine was next on the chopping block. Andy, the sweetheart that he was, knew how much you loved coffee and tried his hardest to cut it out as well. He wanted to show you that you weren’t in this alone. It was your body, yes, but he would make sacrifices, too. The first time you caught him falling asleep at the dinner table, you had to tell him to end his noble support. With a job like his, he needed his coffee. The compromise was that he wouldn’t drink it in your presence.

He also did insane amounts of research. Even after you stopped the pill, he insisted on using condoms for a month after so you could start getting some folic acid before ending up pregnant. That was quite the sacrifice. One of your favorite things on this planet was when he finished inside you. Not a fucking condom. But you were trying this thing where you didn’t express negativity because with Andy as your husband, there was no way not to feel like a brat. How was someone so perfect?

Your period hadn’t returned yet but that didn’t mean you were incapable of getting pregnant. Hence the random, shot-in-the-dark pregnancy test Friday plan. You didn’t feel pregnant and you knew that was stupid. Some didn’t know they were pregnant until they were giving birth. And you’d never been pregnant before, so how would you know what to look for? You just couldn’t stop thinking about how you didn’t feel it. You also didn’t want to tell Andy because you hoped you were wrong.

It had been a week short of two months without the pill and three weeks since he stopped wearing condoms. The chances of it just falling into place were slim—you didn’t have research to back that up, just some deeply-rooted cynicism. Maybe it was your defense mechanism, act like you saw it coming and you wouldn’t be disappointed. Right?

Wrong, which you discovered when you saw Andy’s face after he turned over one of the tests. You wouldn’t cry because it had been a total of 5 seconds and some people had to try much longer, and you didn’t want him to have to put aside his feelings to then console you. You did, however, want to cry.

“We should see a doctor,” you said.

He scoffed. “We haven’t really been trying that long.”

“But we can, why not?”

He finally turned to you, forcing his expression into something that didn’t break your heart just to see. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. Andy, I told you that I’m ready.”

“I know, and trust me, there’s nothing that I want more. I just also think there’s still some romance in being old fashioned and just letting it happen.”

“Google is your new best friend, Andy. Why not consult an actual professional?”

“We can, if you want, but like I said, it hasn’t been that long. Besides, until you start your period again, it’s probably just a waiting game. Not always, but it can be. We should be realistic about this. I don’t want to waste a visit down to the doctor just so they can tell us what my new best friend already has.”

“Okay,” you shrugged, “if that’s what you want—”

“None of that. What do you want?”

“I want to be the mother of your children.”

He sighed, crouching down to your side. “You will be.”

“You don’t know that—”

“No, I do,” he insisted. “Because I’m not going to stop fucking you. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll go see a doctor. If there’s a problem, we will fix it. If we can’t, we will adopt. Are we clear? There is no way, Mrs. Barber, that you will not be the mother of my children one day. And because I damn well know that I deserve it, I will have the great honor of being the father of your children.”

You sighed and melted, but you hoped that much wasn’t apparent. “You’re so lame.”

He smirked. “Wanna get out of that tub so we can have sex?”

“Why can’t we have sex in the tub?”

“Do you want to?”

“Maybe, but no water.”

“Okay, that’s weird.”

You shrugged. “Fine, I’ll get out of the tub.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He went to stand up but you caught his arm before he could. He took one look at you and was already shaking his head. “Don’t even say it—”

“I am, though.”

“I don’t want to hear it. Ever.”

“I feel bad.”

“You shouldn’t. It could be me. It could be nothing. Baby, it is too soon to start worrying about anything. Avoid stress, that is what you need to be doing.”

He could say it a million different ways, you were still sorry.

It was troubling how excited you were to get your period back. Honestly, when the birth control had finally taken it away, you cried. Tears of joy. To have the same reaction over getting it back felt weird.

Andy also seemed excited until you outlined just how inconvenient the whole thing was. Okay, that was being negative, but you were kind of in a bad mood. Something he was not at all bothered by. Because of course. He hadn’t been bothered by a single thing since you told him you wanted to start trying.

Officially, four months into wanting a baby and the only thing keeping you holding on was your beautiful, loving husband. He always knew when you were feeling down, so he would talk about the future and how nice it would be when you could finally take the kids out on family trips. How great taking them to school would be. All the fun things you would get them into, dance, sports, anything that you both could go and support. You were completely lost on how he was so positive all the time.

You needed to keep going, though. Like he said, you guys had options. It was better to know sooner rather than later, so you pushed forward. Sadly, your periods were irregular so you would probably ovulate irregularly. And you weren’t even aware of when you were ovulating because Andy still wanted this to be “natural”.

The second Friday with negative results was clearly taxing on both of you. He decided to end it immediately. That was why you had taken to sneaking pregnancy tests any chance you got. You didn’t like not telling him but you always felt like a failure every time it came back negative. But life went on, that much he made sure of.

The pool was finished and he seemed to like it more than you did. In fact, your liking it extended only as far as getting to see him wet and shirtless. But you were still in there 4 to 5 times a week for 30 minutes after you got home from work on weekdays and early on weekends. Because you did everything you were supposed to do. Because you didn’t want to feel like this was your fault, like there was something you were doing that would prevent this.

He came in one Saturday morning just as you were getting out. “Done?”

“Yeah, I served my time,” you joked. “I should get started on lunch. Any requests?”

“No, whatever sounds good to you.”

You went inside, fully intending to make lunch. But something that just didn’t make sense was how much you craved sex with Andy. It seemed like the more you had, the more you wanted. You guys were always sexual. At the start, after a month or so, every date ended with sex. When you moved in with him, it was more nights than not, even after you got married. But this was every day, numerous times a day.

He was turned on by the idea of getting you pregnant. He was insatiable for that reason. Sex this often wasn’t normal and it probably wasn’t raising your chances of conceiving since you weren’t being too methodical about it, but you were thrilled with this change. You worried about how much sex you would have once you were pregnant anyway, you figured you should start preparing for the long months ahead.

You were only in the kitchen for three minutes, trying to find food that would interest you more than what was currently on your mind. It didn’t work.

You returned to Andy. He was swimming his laps, completely oblivious. You stripped out of your bathing suit where you stood at the edge of the pool. He only made it three more times back and forth before he must have sensed you there.

He turned up, brushing his wet hair out of his face. When he saw you naked, his eyes widened. “Here? Now?”

“Well, unless you want me to wait for you to finish. I could just sit and watch, take care of myself until you can.”

“Here,” he decided. “Now.”

You smirked, sauntering off to the right where the stairs were. He made his way to you just before you descended the last step. He wrapped his arms around your waist and you took your cue to jump up and wrap yourself around him.

He carried you further into the water, lips moving against yours. You clung to his shoulders and your legs locked around his hips. “You are wild and demanding,” he accused.

You scoffed. “Me?”

He pretended to think about it. “Well, I guess it was me who stopped dinner last night, me who couldn’t wait until we left the grocery store, me who had you pull over while we were driving a few days ago, and me who came in here naked—oh, wait—“

You laughed. “Well, I’m just trying to prepare myself for when we’re hardly doing this anymore.”

“When we retire?”

You snorted. “No. You know, when I’m pregnant.”

He scoffed, pressing you against the side of the pool. You felt a hand moving between you, working his shorts out of the way. “You think I’m not going to fuck you when you’re pregnant?”

“Well...I assumed, yeah.”

He nudged your chin with his nose until you tilted your head back, offering him your neck. He kissed you softly as he indelicately pushed into you.

You clutched at his shoulders harder, whining his name.

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to be able to refrain from touching you. Especially while you’re pregnant.”

You angled your head so you could see his face. He looked downright amused at what you were saying.

The pace and pressure of his hips immediately became punishing. He held you tight, hands on your hips as he fucked you. “You don’t even know how hard I get thinking about you carrying my child.”

Maybe it was what he was saying, maybe it was that you had wanted him inside you since you woke up, but it wasn’t taking long to get you there. You brought one hand up to the edge of the pool for a little more support.

Andy began kissing your neck and nipping at your chest. “I think about how beautiful you’re going to look, I think about how I’m going to have you riding me every day.”

You could picture that. Fuck. You were rarely on top now because you loved being underneath him and he loved pinning you down to the mattress, but when you got bigger, you would have to adapt. It didn’t sound as boring as you’d had yourself convinced it was when he said it.

“Every morning before I go to work, I’ll wake you up with my mouth between your legs.”

You let out a shaky breath. “What’s stopping you from doing that now?”

“You,” he promised. “I can barely open my eyes before you’re telling me to get inside you. You’ll be slower when you’re pregnant, less of a predator, more of a prey.”

You scoffed but it became a moan. If he kept talking like this, you were going to come soon.

“Some women are more sensitive when they’re pregnant,” he asserted. “I bet you will be. You’re already so sensitive. I’m going to spend every weekend fucking you until you’re begging me to stop.”

“Andy.” You turned your head toward him and he kissed you. You whimpered when you felt his hand at your cunt, fingers pressing against your clit so gently.

You finished first but he was close behind, turning his head down to groan into your shoulder.

He rode out his high slowly, kissing any part of your skin that was in his reach. He lifted you out of the water, onto the tiled floor surrounding the pool. He kissed both of your knees, then your calves, all while keeping his eyes on you. “Sound like a plan?”

You smiled, rolling your eyes. “Really, I should make lunch.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You headed out, back to the kitchen.

“You’re not getting dressed?”

“Nope.”

Four months, one week, and six days later, you were pregnant. You’d felt weird, it was 3 in the morning, Andy was asleep, and you knew you weren’t going to be able to rest until you found out.

Technically, you hadn’t missed your period yet. Sometimes you started on the 17th, others the 22nd through the 24th. Oh, but there was also the wonderful time you had started on the 5th. That time, you did cry. He might have too, but never in front of you because he was trying to be the most positive man on earth.

You only took two tests, the ones with the least amount of wait time. The results came back positive and for a moment, you just sat there. You had been terrified that it wasn’t going to happen. You worried about how much that would hurt Andy. You also stupidly worried about the possibility that he would leave you over it.

But that didn’t matter anymore. You were pregnant and he was going to be thrilled. After being a little annoyed that you took the test without him, you assumed.

You weren’t sure how to tell him. When to tell him. It was 3 in the morning and he had to work. Maybe after he got home. If you told him when he woke up, he was just going to want to stay home.

Logically, you knew false positives were not the same as false negatives. But it was just like when you were in junior high and you didn’t get your period so you were convinced you were pregnant even though you were very much not having sex. Yes, you were paranoid but you just wanted to be sure. The only thing worse than not getting pregnant would be getting Andy’s hopes up.

You waited until he was at work and then made an appointment. This would also annoy him because he wanted to do extensive research when selecting a doctor. You weren’t robbing him of that, you just wanted to have confirmation. The second you did, you would tell him and start looking at doctors.

You had it scheduled four days out, Thursday. You could get in on your lunch hour. It was odd going and explaining to the nurse your thought process and why you couldn’t schedule a follow-up appointment after the confirmation. She must have thought you were an idiot, you possibly were, but you were a happy idiot.

That night, when Andy arrived home, you were waiting on the couch for him. Once again, unclothed. You’d gotten quite used to being nude, having him undress you every time either of you wanted sex was just ridiculous. There wasn’t a word said as he laid over you on the couch, not bothering to get undressed. He just moved his pants and then he was inside you.

He didn’t move at first, instead, he rubbed your clit until you finished around him.

You draped a leg over his ass. “Andy, fuck me.”

“Not yet, baby.” His fingers circled over your clit again, his eyes fixed on yours and wanting to see pleasure on your face. He was in a mood and that meant the sex was going to be exhausting. Worth it, but very unlike the easy and quick routines you’d gotten used to in all of the chaos of trying to get pregnant.

When he would join you in the shower because usually, you woke up earlier than him even though you went to work later, he would wrap his arms around you all sweet then shove you against the wall and make you come with him. When he would find you making dinner and fuck you over the counter. When you were up later than he wanted so he would just fuck you wherever you were until you were so exhausted that he had to carry you upstairs. No other married people had as much sex as you guys, you were almost certain.

You’d made a complete mess of his pants but he didn’t seem concerned about them. He sat up and set you on his lap, holding you in place as he thrust his hips up. There was always something amazing about sex with him still in his suit. It wasn’t like his clothing left much to the imagination anyway, you could see and feel the muscles in his arms and chest.

He continued fucking you until he was close, then he settled you flat against him and used his fingers to make you come again and again. Until he was sure he had come down enough from his almost-finish. Feeling your pussy move around him, the way you would tighten when you orgasmed, the way you continued to get wetter and wetter, he was addicted.

You grabbed his free hand and placed it on one of your breasts and he closed his mouth around the opposite. Again, he held you up so he had enough room to drive his cock into you, hard and deep, and so painfully slow. It must not have been the best day. He loved being in absolute control of you when he couldn’t be at work.

Once more, just as he was about to finish, and you could tell because his hands would tighten and his hips would start to stutter, he sat you on his lap.

You curled your hand under his jaw, pulling him from your breast up to your mouth. The kiss was sloppy, all tongue and desperate moans from both of you.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he directed as he pulled away.

Your fingers instantly dropped to your clit and you began drawing yourself toward another end. He wouldn’t let you stop, not after the first, the second, the third. Your hand was shaking, you were shaking, he had to hold you by the shoulders otherwise you would have fallen back. The entire time, he remained buried in your cunt, hard and not doing a damn thing about it. He was using you to edge himself and that made you impossibly wet.

He repeated this, more times than you could count. He didn’t say a word either, just led your hand down to your clit or used his own when he knew you couldn’t. Sometimes the sex was like this, he was working through something and he didn’t want to talk at first. It was about proving to himself that he had enviable control, and he definitely did because it wasn’t like you made it easy for him.

When he laid you down on the coffee table, he began pounding into you. You could tell when he was almost there because he was getting louder, grunting into your skin, or groaning as he bit down on your shoulder, your breast, your neck.

He pulled out before then and you felt inclined to put a stop to this madness.

“Andy.”

His hand made its way back to your pussy as he stroked his cock with his opposite. Moments later, he was spilling out onto your skin. As he continued fucking you with his fingers, you ran your hands over your stomach, spreading his cum along your body until you reached your breasts. You loved having his cum on you and he loved seeing it on you.

After your orgasm, he sat back on the couch as he worked to catch his breath. “Sorry, that was kind of a waste.”

“Not really.” You continued teasing him with your hands on your breasts and these small mewls that you knew he was already getting worked up over again.

He probably didn’t even realize what you’d said, too focused on watching you pinch and pull on your nipples.

You turned down a few minutes later, meeting his eye.

He kept his eyes on your hands as he spoke. “Wanna get in the shower while I make dinner?”

You moved off the table, legs shaky as you made your way to him. You caught his hand before he could sit you on his lap and sat down on the couch at his side. Leaning over, you took him in your mouth.

“Jesus,” he hissed.

After swallowing as much of him as you could, you set one of his hands on the back of your head. He knew what you wanted.

Holding you in place, he began rolling his hips. It wasn’t too forceful but you could feel him in the back of your throat. He was hard again in a matter of a few moments.

“God, your mouth is fucking perfect, baby.” He was losing his steady pace, his hips jerkier, slower sometimes. “All I could think about today was you. Your beautiful cunt, your fucking mouth. I’ve wanted to see you covered in my cum for so long, but...” he didn’t finish his sentence, you knew why he hadn’t.

You weren’t satisfied until you’d swallowed every drop of him. As you pulled off, he grabbed your hips and brought you onto one of his thighs. He kissed your forehead and began running his fingers through your hair.

“How was work?”

He shrugged. “You know.”

“Rough day?”

“It usually is,” he attempted to dismiss.

“Sounds like you could use good news.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You have good news?”

“Well, I’m pregnant.”

He blinked slowly, then abruptly sat up straight as his hands dropped to your hips. “What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, okay,” he blurted out. He moved you onto the couch, standing and tucking himself back into his pants. “Do you want to take a test?”

“I already took the test.”

“Without me?” he demanded. “How many?”

“I took two, but I went to the doctor to get it confirmed.”

“Without me?!” he repeated.

“Don’t be mad, I just wanted to make sure.”

“I am mad.” But then he leaned down and started kissing you so you figured he was going to get over it fairly quickly. He pulled away, both hands coming up to your face. “I can’t believe you. How long have you known?”

“I took the test 4 days ago. Went to the doctor today.”

“4 days?!”

“Andy, I didn’t want to get you excited if I wasn’t actually pregnant.”

“Well, can you take another test so I can see it? We have a billion upstairs.”

You scoffed. “Do you want me to? I will.”

“Yeah, kind of. I know it’s stupid—“

You shook your head. “It’s not, I can do it.”

He got on his knees on the floor, gently pressing you back to the couch. “I knew it would happen, I just didn’t think it was going to happen this soon.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re still okay? You still want this?”

“Of course.”

He leaned forward, kissing your throat all the way down to your stomach. You shivered at the sensation of his beard prickling against your skin. He continued kissing you and you ran your fingers through his hair.

He turned up to you, lips still pressed just below your navel. “It’ll be a girl.”

You scoffed. “Andy, you don’t know that.”

“I do,” he insisted.

“You never said you wanted a girl.”

“I want any baby you can give me.”

“Even if it was a demon baby that turned out to be a cannibal?”

“As long as it had your smile, yes.”

You snorted. “And your eyelashes!”

“And your cheekbones.”

You ran your finger along the bridge of his nose. “Your nose.”

“Is it red like all the other demon babies?”

“You’re in too good of a mood.”

“Impossible, no mood is too good considering you’re carrying my daughter.”

“Stop,” you scolded half-heartedly. “Look, you have a total of at least 15 weeks before you find out whether it’s a boy or a girl.”

“You have 15 weeks.”

“Andrew Barber,” you scoffed, “stop.”

“Let’s bet.”

“No!” You laughed.

“Scared?”

“Don’t even try that with me.”

He shrugged. “You sound scared. I never knew that the woman who gave me a hand job in a movie theatre would be such a baby—“

“Andy, if you don’t stop talking, all of this pregnant sex you’ve been fantasizing about is not going to happen.”

With a small smile, he shut his mouth.

“Upstairs? You want me to take the test?”

He scooped you up off the couch and headed toward your bedroom.

The next day, Andy was already working on all those grand promises he’d made. You woke with your calves draped over his shoulders, his lips wrapped around your clit, his hands folded over your hips to hold you down, and his beautiful blue eyes looking up at you.

Then he wanted to go shopping. He’d already called into work, not even bothering to lie about being sick. He was thrilled to let Lynn know that you were pregnant and apparently, she knew how big of a deal that was so she let him off the hook after making him promise to take pictures of what he was intending to do to the nursery.

He wanted to paint. You had wanted to leave it white. Gendered colors were stupid anyway. He’d said the same at the start, but he was currently waving pink swatches in your face.

“Andy, what if it’s a boy?”

He shrugged. “Then he’s going to have a pink nursery. Pink sky or pink pearl?”

You spared the colors a glance. “Pink pearl. Why can’t we just do one of those gender-neutral colors?”

“Because yellow is ugly and purple is loud.”

“Green.”

“Reminds me of spring.”

“Orange.”

“Pumpkins.”

“Red.”

“Blood.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, why not dark blue? I was kind of hoping we could do, like, a constellation theme.”

He thought for a moment. “Let’s do both. But instead of blue, we’ll use pink.”

“Okay,” and you were excited again. “You are insane, though. Just so you know.”

“Hardly. Do you know how behind I am? I wasn’t expecting this to happen so soon. I haven’t found the doctor yet, I’m just barely starting on the nursery. We don’t have a name, we don’t have a crib. Essentially, we have nothing.”

Was he seriously already stressing about this? And that probably wasn’t even a fourth of what was going through his mind.

You reached over, finger tapping on the only pink color you’d seen that you liked enough to put on the walls. “We have a paint color. If you like it.”

He glanced between you and the color twice before nodding. “Okay.”

Walking through the aisles, you decided to take over. You threw all the tools he could possibly need in the cart and didn’t stop until you spotted the glitter. You stared straight at it until he got curious enough about what you were so focused on that he made his way to you. Adding glitter to paint was difficult, you knew because you had attempted before. Your friend’s sister’s kid was turning 7 and wanted to redesign her bedroom and you tagged along because glitter. It ended in tears and Andy buying you ice cream to make you feel better.

He sighed. “You want the glitter?”

“I simply cannot live without it.”

With another sigh, a much more resigned one, he started tossing in bags of the glitter additive. “You know you’re not helping, right?”

“What? Because of last time—?“

“No, because you’re pregnant.”

“Andy, it’s not even a baby yet. It’s a fetus. Can’t I just do what I would have always done up until the point that I can’t get an abortion?”

“That is not funny.”

You snorted. “It kind of is. Stop worrying.” You rolled onto your toes and kissed the tip of his nose. “Otherwise, you’re going to look like a grandfather instead of a father. And hey, I’d still be pretty attracted to you but we have more kids to make, so calm down.”

He banned you from the house. Yep, you had a total of one friend who was currently married and interested in children. That was the friend he wanted you to focus on, not the others, he said, that they meant well, but couldn’t possibly be supportive at a time like this. In reality, he never liked most of your friends. You kept them out of college and he always thought they liked to go out and drink too much.

Your friend was excited when you asked if you could stay with her for a bit. Andy wanted to paint immediately and then make sure all lingering traces of the paint were adequately gone from the house before you returned.

Painting took two days. He called you both mornings, brought you lunch at work, took you out to dinner, and made sure to call you before you went to bed.

Then he checked you both into a hotel for 3 days. You had to force him to go to work on Monday, pointing out that he really needed to be making money. You loved your job but it wasn’t as if the salary was sufficient to raise a baby on.

Andy let you revel in the beauty of the nursery up until the weekend. The constellations were a soft champagne color and the glitter was mixed in perfectly, evenly. It looked professionally done, but you weren’t surprised. He was perfect and everything he did for you and his child would be perfect as well.

Next, his mission was to find a crib and pick the doctor. Something that kept him on his laptop most of Saturday while you slept soundly next to him. You were already beginning to feel tired and you weren’t sure if that was because of him or your baby.

Time went by in a blur. He’d fallen into a routine effortlessly. He would wake you up as he told you he would, eating you out, then he would get you in the shower with him, and make sure you ate a good breakfast before he headed off to work. He would call at lunch, just to make sure you weren’t too exhausted to be at work. You always felt inclined to tell him stories about working pregnant women every time. He would come home and fix dinner and wouldn’t let you lift a finger to help. At night, after he thoroughly fucked you, which honestly didn’t take much, you would fall asleep together. It was a great first two months.

At the start of your 3rd month, you were already showing. It seemed like it was the best day of Andy’s life. In fact, he wanted to start a scrapbook. He wanted to document everything and you didn’t have the heart to tell him he was absolutely crazy. Besides, it was pretty cute.

It was around this time that you had the most absurd craving for almond butter. He loved almond butter so it was always in the house and you never once wanted any part of it. Randomly, you thought apples and almond butter sounded great and you finished the entire jar before he got home. Something that amused him greatly, he promised he would get more on his way home the next day. That new obsession lasted for a week and a half, and you had yourself convinced that it was going to be the worst of it.

No. Swap out apples for Cheetos. Seriously, you wanted to eat Cheetos and almond butter. You were downright ashamed so you didn’t even ask him to get you anything, you just snuck out to the store before he got home one night and bought yourself a sufficient stash that you kept hidden in the very back of the pantry. This wouldn’t work for the entire pregnancy but until you were further along, you intended to hide these horrible cravings.

Well, as well as you could. He was anticipating more after the almond butter so he always texted and asked if you wanted him to bring something home. So far, your genius combinations had been tacos and chocolate, macaroni and cheese and sour patch kids, cashews and Doritos, French fries and hot chocolate, and orange chicken and lemonade. Andy drove everywhere at any given hour. If there was a store open, he would go. If it was closed and you couldn’t wait that long, he would go to a 24-hour fast food place. He’d started stocking your favorites as well, and hiding them until you really needed them.

The day before you were set to find out the sex of the baby, he went shopping. You were far too tired to try to leave the house, especially since Andy could shop. You thought he would come home with more for the nursery. Since he’d found the crib, he’d started looking at bedding and the other matching furniture. You knew it would be extreme since you weren’t there to stop him. What you did not expect was that he would sneak in and take full advantage of your unconsciousness. If he hadn’t dropped something, you never would have caught him.

When you found him in the nursery, he was in the closet. Hanging up clothing. Pink clothing. For a girl. “Andy.”

“We are having a girl,” he stated simply.

“Oh, my god,” you muttered to yourself.

“Sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be, I’m glad I’m witnessing this insanity.”

He gave you a flat look, fully turning to you with a tiny black bodysuit with white hearts printed on it. “This could be for a boy, I don’t know what you’re so upset about it.”

You smirked. “Anything can be for a boy if you try hard enough. Look, if you wanted a girl so bad—“

“I wanted a baby.”

“Andy, you bought girl clothes!”

“Because we are having a girl.”

“You’re going to have this child alone if it doesn’t stop making me crave the most ridiculous things.”

He hummed. “Is that why you’re up here?” Smirking, he made his way to you. As usual, his hands went straight to your stomach, he had to feel any movement and it was driving him crazy that he hadn’t. “What do you want?”

You scoffed tiredly. “A lot of things. Yogurt, peach and blueberry. Something lemon, lemon squares, lemon cake. A lot of pasta, I really want spaghetti. And despite your incorrigible behavior, I want you.”

“You do mean sexually, right? Because I read sometimes pregnant women want to eat things that aren’t food—“

You placed your hand flat over his mouth. “I take it back, I just want the food.” You turned away to escape from the room but he was right on your tail. “Andy, I’m hungry.”

“I’ll get you the food,” he promised. “Let’s just make a quick stop to the bedroom first.”

You didn’t put up much resistance as he began leading you that way. He had been correct about one thing, you were so sensitive. You’d given up on wearing bras or underwear, and your clothes had to be loose. Especially given the dreams you were having. Much to his simultaneous joy and dismay, you would send him pictures and videos of certain sexual situations at least twice a week just a couple of hours before he got home.

That cocky bastard was correct. A fact that had him beaming the remainder of the appointment, all the way home, and even in his sleep. You weren’t upset that you were having a girl. It wasn’t that you thought you had a right to be picky, but very simply, you wanted a girl more than you wanted a boy. You weren’t even sure why. Gender wasn’t real and it wouldn’t upset you if someday in the future that little girl told you that she wasn’t a girl at all. Logically, you knew there was no point. But you didn’t have to be logical, not while you were carrying a baby.

Even though Andy was annoyingly smug about the whole thing, you were excited. You finally got to take a look at the closet and discovered yesterday was not his first time buying clothing. You wanted to be mad at him but he had the softest look on his face. This was everything he wanted and you liked that you were able to provide it for him.

At 5 months, he absolutely needed to feel her kick. If he wasn’t fucking you or feeding you, or shopping, or at work, his hands were on your stomach. One of his favorite things, when you got out of the shower, was covering you in lotion, something you were supposed to do to prevent stretch marks, not that either of you much cared. During that time, he would speak to her, try to get her to give him any kind of movement. Or sometimes, you would wake up and he was just level with your stomach, whispering things to her.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you’d felt what you presumed were “flutters” and maybe one good kick a couple of nights ago, but you weren’t certain. You sort of enjoyed that she didn’t just give in to his murmurings of “come on, baby, give daddy a kick”, or “if you kick, I’ll never tell you no”. That line was dropped from rotation after you pointed out you would be holding him to that when she wanted to start dating.

She seemed to like his voice, you could admit. Sometimes it wasn’t him that woke you up, it was her responding to him. They weren’t fast movements, they weren’t particularly forceful either, but they were there. You didn’t understand how he’d yet to feel anything. And since you were still telling him you hadn’t really felt anything, he brought it up at the next appointment. The look of pure horror on his face when the doctor told him the likelihood of fathers never feeling any movement was sad, in a funny way. Kind of. Being pregnant had made you a little meaner.

He was pouting about it all night but you told him you were sure he would feel something. You told him you wouldn’t have her until she kicked for him. He knew you couldn’t control that, obviously, but it made him feel better.

At 5 months and 2 weeks, it happened. You were failing at staying awake and trying to read a book when you felt an abrupt tap. You startled awake, discovering the book on the floor. That had to be it, you just dropped it on yourself. But then it happened again, a bit harder and a tad painful.

“Andy!”

He bolted to your side in a matter of seconds. Seriously, he had to have broken world records with that trick. “What? What’s wrong?”

You grabbed his hands, pulling his arms over the back of the couch, and placed them over your stomach.

“Are you okay? Do we need to go—?”

“Shut up,” you ordered.

After a couple of minutes, he sighed. “You felt an actual kick?”

“Sorry, she tends to move more when I’m so still.”

He moved around the couch and sat on the floor. “It’s going to happen. I’m not going to feel her.”

“No,” you argued. “Are you working?”

“No, just scaring myself with more books.”

You held your hand out to him and he helped you up. You crouched down to pick up your dropped book and handed it off to him. “Read it, she seems to like your voice... I’ll fall asleep, see if that works.”

You were settled in bed next to Andy, his one hand pressed to the side of your belly as he read the book aloud. You were trying to keep still but also trying to stay awake, you wanted to see his face when he felt it. That was out of the question, Andy’s voice was like honey, or a fall morning, or the feeling of being home after a long day. You were out after a few paragraphs.

When you woke up, you weren’t sure why. You saw Andy hovering over you fully with wet eyes and the softest smile you had ever seen. “Baby?”

“I felt her.”

You scoffed. “I told you that you would.”

He kissed all over your stomach, lingering each time. “Maybe she finally knows I’m her daddy.”

“She always knew.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Truth?” He glanced up at you and you explained, “I’ve been feeling her for a while now. That’s why I knew she liked your voice... I have some bad news, Andy. It seems like she already knows you’re wrapped around her finger and she is going to enjoy making you jump through hoops.”

“Just like her mom.”

You smirked. “Guess so.” You reached out to touch his face. “What are you thinking?”

He shrugged. “Every morning, I wake up and I’m so sure that my life couldn’t get any better but every day, it does. I didn’t know it was possible to love as much as I love you and as much as I love her.”

You turned to mush instantly.

“I didn’t have this growing up, you know. I didn’t have a dad but I’m going to do it right. I’m not going to be like him. I don’t understand how he could just walk away from his child, I would never do that. I could never do that. Or from you, my beautiful wife. For a long time, while we were trying, I just hated him so much. More than usual. I hated that we had to try so hard and that he was given a family that he just tossed away.”

“Well, he was an idiot. You are truly the best man I will ever know, possibly the best man that there is. And you’re going to be the best father, too... Okay, maybe second best after Ryan Reynolds, but still pretty high up there.”

He scoffed.

Feeling her kick was another addition to his day. Lips and fingers brought you to orgasm before taking you to the shower where he carefully wrapped his arms around your shoulders and fucked you from behind. He would dry you off, lay you out on the bed, and cover you in lotion and pay a lot of attention to your feet. His hands all over your body never failed to make you want him, but he had to go to work. You both knew if you started, he was going to end up being late. After breakfast, he would say goodbye to you, then he would lean down and ask his little girl for any kind of movement. She’d began to indulge him at least twice a day, when he was leaving and when he would say goodnight.

He’d always let you sleep in on Saturdays and even stayed with you for a great deal of it. Mostly because he knew you could sense when he wasn’t in bed and that would wake you. But with time, you were becoming less tired. Not entirely, you still were out like the dead at 9 every night, but sometimes you woke up actually feeling rested.

Saturdays were what he intended them to be. This particular Saturday had him wrapped around you, hands flat to your stomach, chin atop your head. You had another fantastic dream, one where you weren’t pregnant.

You loved your baby and you loved that you were able to carry her but you missed how hard he fucked you sometimes. You just couldn’t wait until he could pull your hair, choke you, spank you, tie you up, all of the things he loved to do to you. More importantly, you couldn’t wait until he was on top of you, pinning you down and leaving bruises.

Those dreams were why you woke up wet more often than not. Why you never hesitated to take his hand and slide it lower but you didn’t need that today, you just needed him. For you, he’d adapted to sleeping without clothes. It was easier that way and he’d never complain about you doing the same. Besides, the heat was getting the best of you the bigger you got.

You reached back with your heel, tapping his shin several times. “Andy?”

He hummed.

“It’s Saturday. Wake up.”

He scoffed, eyes still closed. “Yeah, it’s Saturday. Sleep in.”

“Fuck me,” you whined.

“I wish I could say that wasn’t enough to get me hard.”

“You were already hard,” you assured. You could feel him against your hip.

He grabbed your thigh and draped it over him. “You know, my love, when you’re not carrying our baby, I am going to have a lot of fun making you wait for it. I am indulging you now simply because you are giving me the greatest gift anyone could. But when I can tie you up, when I can fuck you, that is what I’m looking forward to.”

You moaned as he unhurriedly slipped inside you. “I miss your hands around my neck, that’s what I’m looking forward to.”

“So, I suspect you’ll continue being a brat long past your due date.”

“Yes, and there’s nothing you can do about it,” you taunted.

“Not right now, just you wait. You’ve been bad ever since you told me you were pregnant. Laying on the couch, naked. I know you had been touching yourself. I’ve been keeping track and your ass is probably going to be getting spanked up until you’re pregnant again.”

You snorted, turning your head back slightly. “Oh, and is that going to be immediately after?”

He kissed along your jaw. “Up to you.”

“You want another girl?”

“Yeah,” he admitted somewhat sheepishly.

You scoffed.

“But I wouldn’t be let down by a boy,” he promised. He started delicately rolling his hips, one hand coming to your center to rub your clit.

Watching you fall apart like this was something else. Andy found you utterly beautiful, your cheeks would flush, your eyes would fill with such desperation for him that made him feel wanted. The moans that spilled from your mouth were sometimes animalistic, inspired only by how much you needed him to give you what only he could.

Now that you were pregnant, he could cover you in his cum. He always loved doing that, an interesting discovery he’d made very early in your relationship. After you decided you wanted to try for a baby, he would often come inside you and tell you to leave it there, which was pleasing as well. But this. This was simplistic, classic beauty.

He pulled out, fingers filling you instead. Your hips moved frantically, seeking the pressure of his palm against your clit. Angling your head back, his lips hungrily met yours. You reached down and took him in your hand, he turned his head slightly to hiss a curse.

Once he looked at you again, you pretended all you wanted was an innocent kiss. Something you kept up until he was just about to come, and then you bit down hard on his bottom lip. He had no idea how to retaliate and seeing the frustration play out on his face was almost as satisfying as your finish.

You laid next to him patiently as he came down, anticipating his reaction. It was always funnier when he had time to dwell on the situation. For several more weeks, you had complete permission to be as bratty as you wanted. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t been taking advantage of that more.

He turned his head to you and you smirked. “That’s going on top of the list. You will regret that.”

“The look on your face was so worth it.”

“Teasing is also going on the list,” he warned.

The day your water broke was just a normal day. Of course, not your due date. No, this baby had been torturing you since the very start, why stop now? You expected it was just something in the Barber blood. Strong-willed, complicated, and the tendency to be a complete pain in the ass.

Regardless, your husband was at work. If everything went well for him today, there was one last case that he was going to tie up, and then he was yours and hers until he was ready to go back. You figured that wouldn’t be for a long while and that was exciting.

You would think that this would have been too much by now. You guys didn’t really have your friends, or regular company that you kept. No one had been in your home, save for Lynn who you insisted he invite over so she could see the nursery in person.

She’d also given you a gift and you wanted to receive it from her in person. You knew there was a special friendship she had with Andy. A woman in a position of power, you figured she didn’t have time for many. And Andy wasn’t a typical friend, a low-maintenance guy who was kind and smart. They just went together well, and you wanted to encourage him to let her in at least a little.

He answered your call on the first ring because he’d been glued to his phone for these past three months every time that he had to leave the house. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Are you busy?” you worked to keep your voice level. No need to rile him up before he could get home.

“No, not really. I just stepped out of a meeting with Lynn. We were talking about the last case she thought of giving me. She’s wondering if three days is—”

“She should give it to someone else.” You had taken to rubbing your stomach, mentally pleading with your baby. Please, baby, just wait for your daddy. I’ll never hear the end of this if he doesn’t see it.

“Are you okay?”

“Well, I’m fine…but my water broke—”

“What?!” he yelled. You distantly heard him yelling then, “Lynn, I gotta go! My baby is on the way and she was a bit of a jerk at the start, wouldn’t kick for me. I think she’s missing all those times she killed my soul and I’m terrified she’s going to show up before I make it.”

You could only imagine the look on Lynn’s face. Or the look on his face. A cross between terrified and thrilled, he probably looked like a serial killer.

“Can you wait for me to get home?”

“Did you just call our daughter a jerk?”

He huffed. “Baby.”

“I think so. I haven’t started having any contra—nope! No, there it is.”

He talked you to through breathing until it subsided. “Okay, listen, this is very important. I’m across town right now and there’s going to be some traffic at this hour—”

“Please don’t drive crazy.”

“I won’t, I promise. But first, I need you to get the timer…where are you?”

“On the couch.”

“Great, get the timer under the table.”

“There isn’t a timer under the table.”

“There is, I taped it there.”

“For what?” you pressed.

“This, obviously.”

“But why would you tape it?”

“There are about twenty timers all over the house, hidden so you couldn’t find them and move then.”

With a deep sigh, you leaned forward slowly to search under the top of the table for the timer. Yup, he was being serious.

“Okay, just keep track of them. And now, the second thing, I need you to promise me something. The neighbors, if you need them to drive you, they will.”

“What?”

“I’ve been creating these backup plans ever since you told me you were pregnant.”

“Oh, come on,” you complained. “I thought you were being nice to them because you liked them.”

“I mean, it’s not as if anyone in our neighborhood would ever say no to taking you. I just had to make sure that they were good drivers.”

You didn’t know how to respond. You had hoped that having a child was making him see the importance of social ties. These people lived by you, they were all having kids, most of them would probably end up in the same school.

“Honey?”

“I thought you wanted them to be our married friends. She just had her baby 8 months ago—”

He snorted. “Yeah, in addition to that other one.”

“Are you talking about Charles?”

“I know he’s 5, but he’s evil—”

“Andy!”

“Baby, listen. I’m getting in the car now. If you need to get to the hospital before I make it there, go left first. If they are not home, then go to the right. Left then right. Left first, right is the second resort.”

“You dragged the Johnsons into this, too?”

“Dragged ‘em all in, baby. Gotta go, stay calm and don’t move unless you need to. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You hung up and laid back against the couch. It felt like all there was to do was wait for your next contraction, something you did not enjoy the first time. They were just going to get worse, you needed your husband here.

You heard Andy pull up a little over half an hour later. He charged into the house like a maniac, showing up at your side, hands immediately going to your stomach. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve had a couple of contractions,” you reported. “They don’t last long and they’re pretty far apart.”

“Okay, let’s go.” He helped you off the couch, bringing the timer along with him. He let you control the pace to the car. You’d gotten bigger than you thought you would and walking three steps was nearly a minute-long ordeal.

Halfway there, you noticed the bag over his shoulder. “Don’t you have a bag in the car?”

“I packed the car bags sometime last week. Who knows what state of mind I was in? I can’t trust my competence.”

“Are you implying that there has been a moment during these 40 weeks that you haven’t been out of your mind?”

“I’m going to pay for this neighbors bit, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” you promised.

Labor wasn’t a long process. Painless as many women had told you it was? Fuck no. It hurt, a lot. But Andy was there and he was all you needed. He talked you through the breathing, he never stopped touching you, your arms, your face, your stomach. He liked to make plans when neither of those things worked. He reminded you about all the great things you guys would get to do with children, and it was enough to get you through it.

You thought you knew what love looked like, because you loved Andy so much. But when he saw your baby for the first time after she’d been set in his arms, he looked at her in such an intense, breath-taking way.

Any uncertainty you might have been playing with in your mind was gone in that second. You’d gotten a bit paranoid over time. Wondering if you guys were just going to have the same marriage as everyone else. Like, you started in love and ended with affairs and really hurtful words. But you knew then that this was not a normal family. This was true, unconditional love.

#andy barber x reader #still writing i swear #another coming up soon #my writing

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angeltrapz · 3 years

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ALSO your takes on this lil Strahm/Adam thing we’ve been discussing?? hi???? tht dynamic makes me insane i love it sm + am very excited 2 hear more of ur thoughts 💗

I'm answering this one first bc!!!!!! It makes me insane too like I cannot stop thinking abt it. I am Trying 2 put together a fic abt it!!!

Okay so. I think that Adam and Strahm are similar in several ways, and yet not at the same time. Adam is accused of being apathetic by Jigsaw, right? But we're obviously shown that it's not exactly the case; if anything, Adam's supposed apathy is a shield to protect who he really is: someone who cares deeply, maybe more than he should; someone intensely thoughtful, someone willing to keep things from people if he knows it'll hurt them while also functioning as self-preservation (not showing the polaroid to Lawrence, hiding the fact that the trash bag contained both the hacksaws AND the pictures he took), someone who altogether simply cannot truly be defined as apathetic at his core. His projected persona, however, is a completely different story - Adam is angry, bitter, jaded. And yes, he is angry, bitter in regards to his circumstances, jaded in a way that comes from a life spent living paycheck to paycheck if he could even manage that regularly. We've seen his apartment. This dude struggles. Apathetic, no, but angry? Oh, absolutely.

Strahm is... slightly more complicated. HIS projected persona is one of cool indifference, no nonsense, someone purely analytical and maybe a bit of an asshole about it. The thing is, though, is that deep down, Strahm also cares deeply - just look at how he reacted to Perez being injured + having to call her mom, when he destroyed that office room - it's just harder to get out of him. His projected persona hides someone whose emotions run just as hotly and strongly; his are just more well-hidden. He is impulsive, intelligent, result-seeking. Strahm doesn't seem like someone who allows himself to just feel things very often, and when he does, the blowout can be a fucking mess (for example, showing up to the packing plant BY HIMSELF, operating on adrenaline and rage alone).

I think, other than Perez perhaps, Adam just may be the first person to understand Strahm in a way that no one else has even attempted. Adam might be the first person who manages to see past that indifference, who embraces the writhing emotions underneath it because he gets it. And Adam is absolutely one of the very first people to look at Hoffman the way he and Perez did - after all, Adam is present in Strahm's hospital room when Hoffman pays him a visit and tells him to back the fuck off, and after the man leaves, the first thing he says to Strahm is "It's him, isn't it?"

Because he sees it too. He'd been in Hoffman's presence for all of around five minutes and he'd seen it too.

And just how world-shattering can that simple revelation be? For the first time, Strahm has someone other than Perez on his side. She's gone, there's nothing he can do to bring her back, but here is someone else who sees what he sees, feels what he feels, in a strange echo of the test that brought Strahm and Perez into this whole fucking mess. Here is someone who has no reason to agree with him, no prior pressure put upon him and someone who Strahm feels wouldn't simply agree with him on that basis anyway (as you've touched on before), and yet Adam sees it too.

I feel like, in the tensely energized space the two of them share in that room after Hoffman leaves, that is one of the very first times Strahm feels seen. He doesn't feel the need to keep his shields up, and it's liberating, in a way. He feels like he can breathe around Adam. For reasons even he isn't entirely sure of, Strahm feels safe here. He can be himself, even if that self is angry, bitter, jaded. Who better to understand that than Adam Faulkner-Stanheight?

It's a feeling that only increases after they're discharged from the hospital. There's no real reason for the two of them to stay together, no obligations (except the fact that Strahm saved Adam's life, but Strahm doesn't hold that over him & Adam doesn't stick around purely because of it), and yet they do. It's two weeks after they're sent home that Adam shows up at Strahm's apartment, shaking softly and looking so fucking miserable that Strahm couldn't even dream of turning him away - after all, he gave him the address. An unspoken agreement, an offering of companionship.

Adam has been thinking. He and Strahm, they're tied together in more than one way, aren't they? Not just their shields and safeguards, not just the similarities in their true, deep-down emotions, not even having been targeted by Jigsaw and surviving things they shouldn't have - they've both lost people. Strahm is never getting Perez back, and Adam? Adam bonded with a man in that bathroom who shot him and told him he'd come back, but never did. He never looked back. His other potential saviour, Amanda Young? Her idea of rescue was a plastic bag over his head, but even she couldn't commit to the idea. She left him there, too. He's not getting Lawrence back, he knows that. Jigsaw took something, someone, from both of them. So, he proposes, what if we did something about it?

(Strahm still thinks about when they first met, when Adam told him he loved him. He can't help it, of course he thinks about it; knowing Adam was delirious with blood loss and a dizzying combo of dehydration and starvation and infection didn't cut into the feeling the earnest declaration gave him, even if it should've. Adam stuck around when he didn't have to. He wants him here.)

They've lost everything. Adam, his peace of mind, the uncertain semi-stability of his life, functionality in his arm, one of the first people he'd made a genuine connection with. Strahm, his best friend, his colleagues' trust, the safety that came with observing the case from a distance. They have nothing and yet they have each other. They both want Jigsaw to pay for what he's done to them and the people they care about, and the innocent people they never even knew. Why shouldn't they?

Like you said, I don't think they get in the coffin. I agree with you and I think that Adam is the catalyst there, the one voice of reason that drags Strahm away from certain death before he even has the chance to get ensnared permanently in Hoffman's web. They don't even listen to the tape. They just hightail it. And it's outside of that building, chests heaving and hands shaking, that it all kind of sets in for Strahm: he could've died. Hoffman could have killed him like he wanted and he would've walked right into it had he been alone. Adam, completely unconscious of the gravity of Strahm's revelation, had turned around and saved his life, repaid a favour he didn't really owe but wanted to fulfill.

And again, like you said, it's not really a favour, is it? Not when instead of laughing in an expelling of nervous energy Adam leans up and drags Strahm down by the lapels of his jacket and kisses him hard, grip white-knuckled and short breaths huffed through his nose. No, there is the same kind of reverence to be found in the way that Adam cradles his face in his trembling hands and breathes out "You're alive," as the kind that could be heard in that first I love you. There's nothing else that Adam has to say for Strahm to understand. He just pulls him close because he needs this, too. He has spent so long living his life as someone who doesn't need tenderness, doesn't need people to care about him, feels safer in isolation than anything else, and now he doesn't feel the need anymore. He is changed, in this way, but Adam accepts it readily, and though Strahm can't say it back when Adam finally slumps against him and breathes out "I love you" against his shoulder, no fever or delirium to compromise the meaning, he feels it all the same.

They understand each other, hold each other. They have work to do, and lots of it - Hoffman's going to be rampaging in a blaze of enraged glory soon enough, knowing that Strahm (and, by extension, Adam) got away, and they're going to need a plan - but right now, they can breathe. Right now, all either of them needs is knowing the other is alive, that they'd made it through something that for all intents and purposes was meant to kill them. Strahm can't just walk away. Adam knows this; he doesn't think he can, either. Two people who are more similar than they could've ever dreamed, brought together in one of the worst ways imaginable and yet in a way that has served as a lifesaver - not Jigsaw, fuck that. They want to live. For themselves, for each other, for everyone who didn't make it out. For the people they can't get back.

It's a kind of understanding that's entirely foreign to both of them, but as they hole up in Strahm's apartment after, huddled close on the couch because neither of them can sleep and they're trembling for reasons other than just the caffeine buzz of coffee, it's one that they can learn to adapt to. They can do this. They're going to save lives. They're going to do this hand-in-hand. They have each other's backs, without the shadow of a doubt.

And, really, is that not love?

#strahm #adam #asks #THANK UUU god this dynamic makes me lose it!!!#I am so so glad I'm not the only one thinking abt them the concept of these 2 together has been in my head for so long!!#I hope this was. coherent lmao I ramble a lot #long post

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Note

I'm obsessed with the famous singer with Calum universe and imagine your about to realease your first album and you ask them to come into the studio and listen to it and they all just give there genuine opinion on it while your head is on Calum's shoulder and your just break all the songs down for them and what they mean to you. But what if it was like Clairo's album bc that shit just SLAPS ok gn

Thanks for the suggestion! I tweaked it just a little bit. I hope you enjoy.

Here are parts one, two, three, four, five and six. This is the Distance series on my masterlist!

If you have any other suggestions for this series, please send them to me! I’ll use as many as I can while still progressing this story along!

_______________________________

The flight is no doubt long for Calum and he sleeps like a log on her couch, cuddled up with her dog. He’ll admit to missing Duke, but it’s nice to have another furry body around to curl up with. She manages to him wake up for food. Watching him sit at her tiny dining room table, with his eyes constantly blinking from sleep lingering, she can barely keep a grip on his plate. She wants to hate what Calum is doing to her. But for a fleeting moment she lets herself linger on the thought that maybe she can have this one day. As the plate settles with a soft thud, Calum smiles up at her. “Thanks,” he says, voice thick and deeper than normal. Her spine shivers, toes curling. It’s not like she hasn’t experienced this before while she stayed with him. But this--this just feels different between them now.

“No problem. I still can’t believe you just hopped onto a plan for me? That’s so insane.”

“Of course. I just wanted to help. I’d do it again too if I had to.”

“I have to go into the studio the rest of the week. I’m sorry about that.”

Calum takes her hand, across the coffee table, fingers gently grazing her skin. “You say that like I don’t understand.” They laugh, gently only cut across by the sound of her dog’s paw across her hardwood floors. “You gotta work. I’m just here to help out.”

The jetlag isn't as major as Calum thought it would be. It helps that he managed to sleep on the flight and his nap definitely aided. Her apartment is unmistakably small, but it’s cozy with the hanging plants and the sunlight that she lets come even once the sun has settled and night has fallen thickly over the city. “Only one bed, but if it makes you uncomfortable, we can figure something out. I can take the couch.”

Calum, throwing an arm over her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her temple, steps through the threshold of her bedroom door, keeping her in toe. “You are not sleeping on your own couch. If anything, I would. But I’m comfortable sharing a bed if you are.”

She nods. “I’m okay with that.”

And she is, but she can’t help her heart from fluttering when Calum returns from his shower, no shirt and just sleeping shorts. She peels back her covers, patting the empty space next to her. When he settles, albeit with a lump in his throat, he turns onto his stomach, clutching the pillows into his arms. “This is the point where we tell each other ghost stories,” he teases. He’s hoping his laughter doesn’t shake. He hopes she can’t detect how his body is shivering as the scent of her detergent and the mixture of hair products and lotions climbs into his nostrils.

She slips down under her covers, the lights in the room clicking off as she finds the switch for the bedside lamp. “I don’t have many of those. Generally, I try not to mess with ghosts.”

“Understandable.”

Turning onto her side, she goes to reach out and hesitates. She can’t believe it. He’s really here, across the globe for her. “I’m pretty sure you might be a ghost right now.”

Calum shakes his head. “Nope, I’m very much real.” He reaches out and takes her hand. He noticed it, how she retreated. Their fingers glide over, before she threads her fingers. He tugs her hand close and kisses over each of her knuckles. “I’m very much real,” he whispers into her skin.

Her morning routine starts earlier than usual, but only by a half an hour, as a phone goes off at 5:55 in the morning. “Fuck, sorry,” Calum straightens up, reaching across her to turn off his phone alarm. “I’m sorry.”

She laughs, wiping at the corner of her eyes. “It’s alright.” She hums as she stretches.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He falls back into the sheets, welcoming the warmth it brings. “It’s just--it’s a thing I do.” He’s trying to remember for a moment where he put his wallet.

One hand on his chest, she kisses his cheek. “Whatever you need, just let me know.”

“My pants,” he grumbles, wiping at his face.

She nods, and slips out of bed, finding his pants laying across his duffle bag. “Incoming.” Calum sits up and catches his pants, patting the pocket, and there in the back pocket is his wallet. He fishes out the wallet and photo, his mother’s grin making him smile in return. She spies something small that he pulls out and the warm smile. She wonders what it is, but she doesn’t push it before walking out into the hallway.

Their morning is quiet, Calum joining her to make a quick breakfast after taking her dog for a walk. The morning’s a bit breezy, though not overly so. Calum watches from the passenger side of the car as she rolls down the streets. “Sorry again about my alarm.”

She waves it off. “I’m an early riser anyway, Calum. Really, it’s fine.”

“It’s just a thing I do. I have this picture of my Mum and I. Makes my whole day better starting it out like that.”

Paused at a traffic light, she looks over with a soft smile. “That’s really sweet.”

“So, uh, what’s on your agenda today.”

“Laying vocals for one last song. And god knows, I’ll be laying them for hours.”

Calum remembers her previous rants about needing to get things exactly the way she sees them in her head out on tape. He’s excited to hear more music from her. The two singles are amazing, a bit more bluesy alternative than what he was creating, but the way her vocals reminded him of melting chocolate and she managed to teleport the listener, like sitting in a dark room with an old record playing in the background. It’s awe inspiring and a thing he always went back to when he felt like he was missing a home that he had never really been to.

The studio is cozy. It’s really just her, the producer and a couple other people. It’s close and intimate. As Calum settles onto the couch outside the recording booth, he keeps to himself but is polite as he’s introduced. “I didn’t expect a partner in crime for today, but uh, this is the famous Calum I probably don’t shut up about.”

She admits it so freely and Calum can’t help but gape. He’s not sure his ears are working. “She really don’t shut up about you, mate,” the guy introduced as Paul laughs. She steps away and lower, Paul adds on, “I’m not attempting to be big brother here. But that girl’s basically a sister to me. And she hasn’t smiled nearly as hard in about a year than she smiles about you.”

Calum watches the door, waiting for her to be just around the corner. When she’s not there, he turns back around. “I’m not going to lie to you. I’m a goner. But it’s, hard. The living situation right now.”

Paul nods, pulling his hair back into a bun. “I get it. I do. Shit’s not easy right now. But, I’m happy she’s happy. And I’m rooting for this. You seem decent. Literally flown across continents for her. That’s mad, but also, really genuine.”

Giggles signal of her arrival, that she’s just down the hallway but Calum chews over what Paul says, as he settles into the seat in front of the mixer and she slides into the booth. This thing went deeper that he realized. Through the speakers, everyone catches her vocal warmups, and Calum sneaks a cheeky video of her, making faces. “I see you, Calum!” She signals him out through the glass. They can only laugh before she returns to her work at hand.

Halfway through the day, they take a break and as the group leaves to gather lunches, she waves for Calum to join her at the desk. He slips into the second rolling chair. “Hopefully it’s not too boring?”

“No, it’s really not. It’s amazing to see you work.” He can feel the emotion anytime she does a take and it’s always more and more each time she goes. He worried for a second she’d loose her voice but Paul’s always there to reel her in.

“I wanna play you something.” He watches her click around and soon through the speakers, Calum hears the crooning guitar, wailing and setting the tone before her voice accompanies it. Her voice swells in his chest and he thinks for a second, he might be crying. But he can’t be. Not until she gently takes his chin, guiding him to look at her and her thumb comes up to wipe away gently at the corner of his eye.

“God, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Maybe if you stopped singing like an angel, I wouldn’t.”

She laughs, fingers dragging down his cheek, across his moles. “Don’t know what I can do about that.” And her voice is still singing around them, she’s still wailing along with her guitar. Calum just listens, part of him wishing he was listening through headphones to catch every tsk of the drums and listening to the creaks and breathes.

As the break comes around, her guitar crying out more and slightly out of the melody established, Calum bops along. His head dipping and shaking with the frets. “God, that sounds so dirty, but somehow so emotional at the same time,” he compliments. And as the tracks play on, he listens to each one, fingers picking out the keys and notes over the wooden desk. The guitar sounds like it was laid all at once, not much fuss what layers around it. Just like it was a moment that was just her and her guitar. He compliments each track, gives small suggestions here and there for production, but overall, he’s blown away by her craftsmanship and the way she’s been able to communicate with her team with what she wanted for each song.

“I want to write like you someday,” Calum teases over his plate. “What’s the secret?” The last twinkling of the bass and piano play out around them. And Calum’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to pick his jaw up off the floor.

“Being insane,” she returns with a soft laugh. “And having a really great team of course.”

“You’re the mastermind behind it all,” Paul addresses. “We’re just the minions. The pawns in her games of chess.”

She scoffs, working down the last scoop of soup. “Let’s be honest. I’d be lost without you.”

“Nah, you really wouldn’t, babes. You know what you want. I just happen to be able to translate it for you.”

Picking up a napkin from the table, Calum cleans away a little bit of soup that’s dribbled down her chin for her. “And a messy eater, clearly that’s needed in the recipe for creative genius too.”

“Fuck off,” she huffs throwing the plastic her spoon came in at his chest.

The session ends soon and as they all climb out, taking hallways back to civilization, Calum slips his hand into hers. He pulls them to the side, letting the crowd continue on. “You’re really talented, you know?”

“Nah, I’m not that--”

“No, you really are,” he interjects. His fingers come up to her chin, dancing across her skin. “You really, really are.”

Her cheeks are hot. She’s not sure how to hide the smile, if it’s okay to smile and for the moment all she can focus on his him, and the way his exhales are soft and his lips are such a pretty pink. “Thank you,” she breathes.

Calum dips his head, inching and inching closer. “Is-is it okay?” His lips are so close to her and instead of verbally answering, she meets him. They’re lips graze properly and briefly. She pulls away, body flooding with embarrassment and before the words can vomit over her lips, Calum pulls in for another kiss. This one longer, lips actually tasting the other. She thinks she could kiss him forever.

There’s a soft echo as their lips part. Her eyes are still closed, inhaling deeply to still her rapidly beating heart. “Yeah,” she says, then clears her throat. “It’s okay.”

Calum smirks at her answer, laughing as he kisses her again. This time without fear, without hesitation. Her fingers clutch around his shirt, he can feel her pulling at him like she can’t get close enough. But there is nothing, no inches, no centimeters, no millimeters between them hardly besides the cotton of their clothes.

There’s desperation, all the I miss you’s and I really could use a hug from you right now’s and all the almost spoken signs of affection pour themselves out into the kiss. They’re not handsy, not dying to cave into hedonism. Just unsure of how to use words to express the concern, the love, the care for each other. Calum cradles her face, pulling back just a little for air. “I’ve wanted to do that for like, so long. And it’s a shame how giddy I feel doing that.”

“No, never a shame. Because like my guts feel like they’ve been folded over like pastry dough right now.”

Laughing into each other, they linger for just a moment longer in the hallway. They share breaths, trying to find the steady established rhythm that they innately have, but getting so lost in each other’s gaze. She’s never really noticed just how deep the brown goes in Calum’s irises until now. “I have lyrics brewing in my head right now and like, it’s embarrassing,” she confesses.

“No, never embarrassing.”

“You cannot use my own sentiments against me.”

“I think I just have.”

-H

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petersasteria · 4 years

Text

Internet Friends - Peter Parker

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Requested? Nah. I thought of this while washing the dishes the other day lmao

Peter Parker Masterlist || Ultimate Masterlist

Tagging @tommysparker bc they said dO iT cOwArD HAHAHA lmao

* * * *

How do you feel every time you make friends on the internet? Do you feel happy? Do you feel scared? Do you feel accomplished, because you finally and successfully made a friend even though it's not in a face to face interaction?

Peter Parker felt all of those things when he made friends with you on Tumblr. He felt excited and scared, but the good outweighed the bad and now both of you are good friends.

He has a Star Wars fan account called "yoda-one-that-i-dream-abt-leia" and he's really proud of his username. He has a couple hundred of followers and he posts random video edits that he makes on his free time. He sees your account when one of his mutuals reblog your post about Spider-Man. It's not anything bad, but as soon as he sees it, he smiles. He knew he had to see what else is on your account.

"webmeupspiderdaddy" Peter reads your username. He chuckles at the username and stalks your account. He sees all of your Spider-Man edits and memes and he finds it entertaining. He even finds your fanfiction and he didn't know what to feel.

He saw every fanfiction that you wrote. Angst, fluff, and even smut. Peter blushes after reading one smutty one shot of yours. "This is insane." he mutters under his breath. He didn't know that people out there are writing about his alter ego. He didn't know they were fantasizing about Spider-Man; fantasizing about Spider-Man having sex with them.

Sure, Spider-Man gets girls by just swinging around and stuff, but he didn't expect some fans. Judging by your videos, you seem to be around Spider-Man a lot. So, Peter follows you and sends you a DM.

To: webmeupspiderdaddy Hey!! I love ur acc. I'm a fan of Spidey too and I was just wondering where u got ur videos of him?? u know, from ur edits?

Peter sends the message and he's surprised when you reply immediately.

To: yoda-one-i-dream-abt-leia

Hello! Thank you <3 I'm from Queens and he's around a lot and he coincidentally swings near me whenever I'm out. I'm convinced that we're meant to be lmao

Peter giggles and blushes. No one has ever said that tom him before. Well, technically, this is about Spider-Man. But him and Spider-Man are the same.

From that moment on, you and Peter have been talking non stop. You talk after school, during the weekends, after his Stark internship, and sometimes during class hours.

One night, you're talking about Queens and you immediately had a thought that you just had to absolutely share.

To: yoda-one-i-dream-abt-leia dUDE WE'RE BOTH FROM QUEENS... WHAT IF WE BUMPED INTO EACH OTHER BEFORE WITHOUT US KNOWING??

Peter reads your message and thinks about it. There's a possibility that you two might have ran into each other. You could be anyone.

To: webmeupspiderdaddy

MAYBE WE HAVE. MAYBE WE HAVEN'T. Where do you go to school? Lmao we've been talking for like months now. We could at least know that. We both know each other's nicknames. Your nickname is Mickey as in like Mickey Mouse because you love hotdogs and that's Mickey Mouse's catchphrase.

Peter knew it was a long shot, but hey, if it fails at least he tried.

To: yoda-one-i-dream-abt-leia

I go to Midtown :)) wbu

Peter's heart stopped beating for a second and he could've sworn he could've died right there and then. Then there IS a big chance that you guys have bumped into each other or maybe sharing a class.

To: webmeupspiderdaddy

yO SAME. I'M NOT KIDDING SKSKS

To: yoda-one-i-dream-abt-leia

OH YEAH?? PROVE IT.

To: webmeupspiderdaddy

THEY PLAY CAP'S VIDEOS AT GYM AND DETENTION LIZ ALLEN IS THE POPULAR AND SMART GIRL MICHELLE JONES IS VERY VERY OBSERVANT AND MR. HARRINGTON IS A SAD MAN

To: yoda-one-i-dream-abt-leia

WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE FROM MIDTOWN SKSKSK BUT WE HAVE TO SLEEP NOW BC SCHOOL TOMORROW. GOOD NIGHT AND SEE U HOPEFULLY.

Peter smiles at his phone and sends you a 'good night x' before yawning and going to sleep himself. The next day, he does his morning routine and catches the train to school. After a few minutes, he arrives at school and walks to his locker to get his things. He pulls out his phone and checks out your DMs from last night. He really likes you.

Just as he re-reads the part of you telling him that you're from Midtown, he bumps into, well, he bumps into you. Both of your phones on the floor.

"Ugh, watch where you're going, Parker!" you hiss. Peter rolls his eyes at you, "Good morning to you too, Y/N."

Both of you don't know that the other is your internet friend from Tumblr. However, you know each other at school. For some reason, you and Peter hated each other's guts. You were popular, a cheerleader, pretty, and smart. He was just smart.

Peter hated that you were perfect. You were basically a female version of him except that you're more popular and more attractive.

You hated that Peter was loved by the teachers and you hated that he had real friends. You envied that the most.

The mutual hate started years ago, but your ever growing love for the other's alter ego is present. Both of you just didn't know that you're standing in front of each other.

You glare at each other and both of you kneel down to pick up your phones. You take a peek of his screen and your eyes widen. He takes a peek of your phone too only to see his Tumblr account there. His eyes widen in shock.

You both stand up and stare at each other.

"Am I seeing things or is that my DMs with yoda-one-i-dream-abt-leia?" you whisper.

"Depends." Peter whispers. "Is that my account you're checking out?"

"Depends." you mock. Pete rolls his eyes and shakes his head, "Prove you're webmeupspideyrdaddy."

You stare at him intently and sigh, "My nickname is Mickey because I love hotdogs. Prove you're yoda-one-i-dream-abt-leia."

"...."

"Well?!"

"Mr. Harrington is a sad man." Peter says softly.

Your features soften and crack a small smile, "It is you."

"All this time, we've been in one place." you chuckle and he chuckles too. The hate on each other beginning to disappear.

"C-Can we start over, then? In real life this time?" Peter asks shyly. You giggle and nod, "Hi, I'm Y/N."

"Hey, I'm Peter." he smiles, the crinkles of his eyes, showing. It was then that you notice that Peter Parker is actually really cute.

"Quit staring." Peter blushes. You smirk at him, "Make me."

As if on cue, the bell rings and you just remain in the hallway as everyone scrambles to their classroom.

"So, uh, I'll see you later or talk to you later or something." Peter says nervously.

"Sure!" you grin before walking to your classroom. Peter just stands there with a stupid grin on his face before walking to his class.

* * * *

yuh yeet

#peter parker #peter parker imagines #peter parker one shots #peter parker blurbs #peter parker imagine #peter parker blurb #peter parker one shot #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #in-a-lot-of-fanfoms-tbh

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notgonnarememberthis · 3 years

Text

find your way (back to me) - chapter eleven

I was initially going to hold back on this update until Sunday but y’all already know my impulse control is nonexistent and with the encouragement of new friends (hey naomi and elena!!) I had to go ahead and post. Tried something a little new with this chapter and it focuses a lot on Malcolm and I learned I actually like writing in his POV a lot so that’s new. It also features more Edrisa bc I love her and she’s my best friend’s absolute fav so I had to do them some service after the help with the last chapter which got some of my most insanely complimentary comments. Like one of y’all really commented how I wrote Martin well and I didn’t stop smiling the entire day. That’s fucking insane. Hope y’all enjoy the update and are staying safe!

Gil steps out of the room, exhaustion settling into him. Immediately Ainsley sits up leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

“How is she? Is she ok?” The drive back from Claremont had been the worst. Jessica had jumped with every siren sounding and in New York? It was a lot. Ainsley held her hand the entire time while Malcolm rocked, his brain firing off at a million miles a minute. Nobody said a word but it was Jessica’s silence that was the most concerning to them.

What the hell happened in that cell?

“She remembered what happened, didn’t she?” Malcolm casts a glance at Ainsley who doesn’t meet his gaze. Gil can only shrug.

“She still hasn’t said anything but something in there definitely got to her. I called Dani and JT. They agreed to be the new details until we can sort out why she got so uncomfortable when we passed the guards on our way out and the drive home.”

“We should go get mom’s things.” Ainsley says. “She only packed clothes. She left all of her products and things she’ll probably need. Who knows how long this stay will last, we should at least make her comfortable.” But she shifts her eyes to the door where Jessica was sleeping, or at least pretending to. She feels guilty for leaving her twice, it’s written all over her face.

“I’ll go.” Malcolm offers. “I feel like we missed something that night. It’ll give me a chance to look again.”

“Hell no.” Gil protests immediately. “I’m not comfortable with you going alone.”

“I’ll bring a detail.” His retort is interrupted by the sound of movement from the other room, like someone shifting around in the bed. Jessica is listening and for whatever reason, she doesn’t like that.

“We can go tomorrow. Right now I want all of us under the same roof.” Malcolm tips his head back, annoyed then rises again with an idea.

“What if I bring Edrisa? She’ll be able to help me look around and we’ll be back before you know it.” No more sounds of ruffling interrupt so Gil has to give in.

“Fine, but I want updates. And if you get even a whiff that something is wrong you two get the hell out.”

“Deal.” Gil sighs as Malcolm rushes off to text Edrisa.

The Whitly’s are going to be the death of him.

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“This is so exciting.” Edrisa practically bounces with every step up the driveway. “I’ve never actually got to be a part of the actual investigation.” She pauses, a thought interrupting her excitement. “Should I have brought something to defend myself?”

Malcolm smiles, her enthusiasm is refreshing after his day. Honestly, part of him just wanted to talk to her to get some of the weight of the world off his shoulders. For a brief moment this case isn’t a killer threatening his family. It’s just him and Edrisa. “Edrisa, we’re just getting clothes.”

“Are you sure cause I have pepper spray in my car.”

“Yes I’m sure.” He holds the door open for her gesturing to enter. “And besides, you’ve got me.” She beams at that, her pep coming back in full force as she bounds to the kitchen. He follows with a shake of his head.

“Ok, so what are we looking for?”

“Well, my mother drinks tea like most people drink water.” He points to the cabinet where they usually keep it. “It’s her comfort but Gil doesn’t keep tea in the house.” If Edrisa is curious why, she doesn’t show it. His tone is enough and he’s absolutely certain she read the casefile from that night.

Tea was how the surgeon sedated his victims, Gil was almost one of them.

When Edrisa opens the cabinet her eyes widen. The shelves are stacked with bags of tea, neatly sealed with tight creases. “That’s a lot.” She chuckles.

“It’s everyone’s favorites. Chai for Ainsley, the black is mine. She has every worker’s favorites, I think she even managed to get JT’s but don’t tell him that.”

“My lips are sealed. Matcha is my favorite, by the way.” She winks.

“Oh, she knows.” He grins at the wide, starry eyed look she gets. She blushes and clears her throat before turning back to the task. “Mother’s is the earl grey supreme.”

“What’s the difference between that and the earl grey?”

“Honestly?” Malcolm shrugs. “Price, probably.” Often she falls into the trap of the more expensive the better, it makes for an interesting Christmas and a pain in the ass to get gifts for her when she just buys anything she could possibly want on a whim.

Edrisa stops for a second, her posture straightening, and then getting on her tiptoes to see better. Even from behind he can tell she’s got something on her mind. It’s confirmed when she reaches inside pulling out a smaller, black bag. His head tilts because his mother never bought small bags. Even for people that rarely passed through she wanted to make sure they were prepared. Then the label catches his eye, it’s a completely different brand then what she normally buys from. A brand he hasn’t seen in years.

The brand his father likes.

“Where did you find that?” He asks, on edge and looking out the door. The house is silent other than the two of them but that doesn’t mean that can’t change at any second.

“It was on the bottom shelf and it’s open. All the rest are sealed. Why?”

Just like that it all pieces together.

His mother had asked him that night if he made tea. He’d told her no and that made her seem more agitated. At first he thought it was because the killer had made her tea, had been in her room. No, it was much more than that. With Freddy’s connection to Claremont, the ability for the killer to find her bedroom and the kitchen so quickly, and the tea that his father used to make.

“The surgeon. He knows who the killer is.” The rush of emotion the punches him in the chest makes him stumble back against the counter. Edrisa runs to him, one hand on his elbow to steady him. Her presence isn’t enough to tamper the anger thudding in his chest with every heartbeat. He knew. He knew when she was missing. He knows now that her life is being threatened.

He was the one who got her to remember.

“That’s why she’d gone to him. She recognized the tea and didn’t say a word about it. Why didn’t she tell us?” Anger clashes with sadness burning at his retinas. He shuts his eyes tightly pressing the heels of his palm to them trying to get himself back under control.

“Malcolm.” His own name sounds unfamiliar in Edrisa’s voice. She’d always called him Bright. Never Malcolm. “Let’s get her stuff and go. They’ll get worried soon.” Her calmness has him taking a deep breath and nodding. “Good.” She extends her hand to him, it’s an almost childish offer in its innocence. Her hand is something to ground him to the world. It gives him something different to focus on rather than his feelings.

Wordlessly, he takes her hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Malcolm and Edrisa arrive the house is more crowded than before. JT is by the doorway with Ainsley and Dani sharing the couch. Gil has made coffee for everyone, certain that it will be a long night all around. They all look relieved to see them but Gil reads it on his face before anyone else.

“You found something.”

“Hooooo, did I find something.” Edrisa lingers next to him, unsure if she should stay or go. She decides on the former when Ainsley scoots on the couch leaving room for her to sit on the end closest to where Malcolm still stood. “Is she awake?”

“Bright, is this a good idea?” Dani asks sitting up a little straighter. He notes that she’s in much more casual clothes, probably looking to rest before trading shifts with JT.

“Nope. But I think she knows who the killer is. And if I’m right?”

“Go. We’ll be right out here.” Ainsley nods, making the final decision.

He shifts the bag over his shoulder opening the door to the bedroom slowly. In the dim light streaming between the curtains he sees his mother sitting on the side of the bed, she’s got something in her hands but it’s too dark to make out.

“Mom?” Her head turns to him, her expression isn’t the blank unreadable one from earlier. No, she looks relieved that he’s back. The news twists uneasily in his stomach as he shuts the door behind him. “Can I ask you a couple of questions?” He doesn’t really expect her to answer. But when her breathing doesn’t pick up or really make any uncomfortable movements he takes it as permission.

He grabs a chair sliding it so that he can sit across from her. Closer he can see how tired she is. Her breakdown likely didn’t help but she definitely didn’t fall asleep at any point in time since she got back.

“Stop me if you need to, ok?” She blinks at him so he continues. “Why did you go see him?” He treads lightly, testing the waters first. An annoyed expression passes over her face but she doesn’t shift or startle. He digs in the duffel he brought along pulling out the bag of tea. “Is this why?”

When her eyes land on the bag she takes a shuddering breath, it’s confirmation enough.

“This was the tea he used to make.” She blinks back the tears, correct again. “This is why you visited him. The killer made you the same tea, you knew he had something to do with all of this.” Her lower lip wobbles but she holds herself tightly wound. “He knew who did this.” The first tear that slides down her cheek makes him feel like the worst. “Do you want me to stop?” She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. Her hand unfolds and in it is a crumpled note. He takes it, slowly as not to startle her into shutting back down.

Just like you like.

“Did the killer write this?” A nod. Malcolm takes a breath trying not to be frustrated that she kept this from them. Had they known they would have questioned his father so much sooner. The information she knew, it’d be common knowledge. “Thank you.” He says instead, taking her hand and enclosing it in both of his. She’d held his shaking hand like this countless amounts of times, her fingers stroking the back of his hand in the same way he mimics now. “I need you to tell me what he told you.” She starts, but doesn’t pull away. “Please.”

Her voice is deep, more tonal than he’s ever heard come from her. He almost thinks he imagines it. It’s too low to understand what she says.

“What?”

“He’s a cop.” Her eyes meet his, glassy from unshed tears. He smiles at her sadly, too caught up in the fact that his mom is back before the gravity of her words hits him full force.

Oh.

Shit.

#prodigal son #gil arroyo x jessica whitly #jessica whitly x gil arroyo #gilssica #gilica #jessica whitly #gil arroyo #malcolm bright #edrisa tanaka #Ainsley Whitly #prodigal son AU #kidnapped au #notgonnarememberthis fics #find your way (back to me)#find your way (back to me) chapter 11 #you'll take my whitly family parallels over my dead body #fanfic

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