#i haven’t read the second one yet if i’m wrong about that don’t attack me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aquaquadrant · 5 months

Note

Hi there. I’m going insane and it’s your fault. Like I discovered your absolute emotional masterpiece of a fanfic the other day and it’s all I think about anymore I’m so obsessed; I downloaded tumblr bc of you and I don’t really know how this site works but I do know how to click the ask button so that’s your problem now. I got words for you

First off: HOLy the writing and the voices are so good??? Like the characters say things the way their irl counterparts would say it? How?? Teach me your ways? Actually tho what did you do to learn to do that, is it innate, do you practice?

Second: “He wouldn’t have known the sight of Tango’s pale skin flushing bright red all the way down his chest.” That sentence just kinda stuck out to me from the last chapter… for some reason... anyways (idk what my point is here but it sure has got me thinking thoughts :P )

Third: I said I was obsessed, and I think it was an understatement. I didn’t study for my chem final because of this (still got an A tho so dw) and I went to bed for three days straight thinking about it and I woke up every morning thinking about it. (It took a solid hour to snap myself out of it when I actually needed to get work done lol) And on the plane ride home for break I drew some things so I’ll just leave these here if you don’t mind (umm ignore the tango faces on the first page and his left hand on the second, there's something Wrong™ about them I gotta practice, ok?)

idk if the formatting is good or whatever but here they are

As you can see I love love love the scene after the nightmare. If I remember correctly, Tango started wearing the gloves to protect his claws so they could heal after he escaped, and then when Jimmy gets hurt he just instinctively gives them to him?? Hello, the symbolism??? Tango just surrenders his own protection, both physically, because he would rather protect Jimmy, but also emotionally bc it immediately reveals what he considers a flaw in himself, monstrous, hideous. And Jimmy sees him throw the walls up again, “He quickly shoves the gloves at Jimmy, moving to get up. “I’ll uh, I’ll get another pair tomorrow-”” but Jimmy won’t let him, instead looks at what could be considered Tango’s entire soul —his trauma, his Hels origin, the feral, blaze side of him, the side that lies and hides and lashes out at any who get too close, the “ugliest” parts of him —and loves him despite it? Even sees the beauty in him? Yea, no, I’m normal about that—

Anyways idk how long these things are supposed to be but I have a couple more thoughts so you’re still stuck with me. Ummm let’s see… I adore your impulse design. So I’m taking that, thanks. (If that’s ok) also was thinking about how Jimmy would wear shirts with the wings getting in the way (see bottom of 2nd pic), and then thought maybe that’s why he’s so good at embroidery or sewing in general, cuz he has to make custom clothes. And then I thought what if he made some *cough* outfits and had Tango judge them… or asked for help putting on/taking off a particularly difficult shirt... haven’t had time to draw that yet but ya know… one day. Aaaaand the blaze rods could theoretically make a pretty cool fire crown when Tango's angry, also blazes do damage when you touch them, but I don't think you get set on fire? So it must be the blaze rods themselves doing damage, so I imagine when Tango's fighting they swirl around him both to attack whoever gets too close and to block any incoming projectiles (see middle left of 1st pic). +gradients on the blaze rods :]

Last thing, I showed my sister the fic last night and she’s already read through it twice so you’ve infected two of us. We were theorizing on what’ll happen next chapter. We both think that the others will piece together, to some extent, Tango’s backstory before they figure out how to remove the collar, what with the cuffs he wears, the comments Atlas made about a farm, Atlas’s mentioning about using Jimmy that way for his feathers, etc etc. and the comment that Tango can hear everything? Yea, no, when that collar comes off he’s gonna be distraught, I’m wagering that everything immediately bursts into flames around him or something (cuz that’d be cool). I think he'll probably try to run away, too, but we'll see

Anyways, that’s not all my thoughts but this is getting pretty long, so maybe I’ll send another ask later if that’s alright. Have a good day! Post again soon! Please. Please I'm begging you. For my sanity plea-

(actually tho take ur time. quality is worth it, and this is nothing but quality)

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! omg welcome. this was genuinely SUCH a lovely ask to read, but i wanna take the time to properly answer it so i’m gonna continue under the cut cause boy can i ramble

first off: HELLO, you got a tumblr bc of HTP?? incredible. i’m honored that this gay angsty little block man au was your introduction to the hellsite (affectionate). and don’t worry, i welcome asks no matter the length (tho i might not get to everything in a timely manner)

second of all: i’m SO happy you enjoyed my character voices. that’s definitely something that’s taken a bit of practice, especially for more understated characters that don’t have super obvious or unique vocal traits/vernaculars. i find it helpful to a) have spent a decent amount of time watching the source material and b) always go over my dialogue with the character’s voice in my mind, and see if it sounds like something they’d actually say. ofc, sometimes liberties can be taken based on the plot/setting of a fic but generally i spend a lot of time and effort on getting character voices right, so i appreciate the appreciation <3

thirdly: i like that particular sentence too ;0

fourth: THAT ART THO??? oh man. impulse looks amazing (i’ve always loved demon!impulse and gotta credit @lunarcrown for bringing that vision to life 💃) and the wings are SO well done, like you conveyed that leathery thin bat skin texture perfectly. the various tangos are SICK, i luuuuv seeing him in full blaze rage mode, using those blaze rods to their full effect. and those hands… goddamn. not only do i respect the hand anatomy but the ROSES… the shackles and their metallic texture… the gradient on tango’s claws… chef’s kiss 💋👌 and THANK YOUUU the post-nightmare scene was one of my favorites from that chapter, and you’ve summed it up beautifully.

moving on: as with all of lunar’s designs, she’s happy to inspire so BEHOLD, DEMON IMPULSE UPON YE (that’s a yes from both of us LOL) i love ur idea about jimmy making custom shirts to work around his wings, that’s one of those little details i never put much thought into but it fits so nicely with him being into embroidery. so jimmy def makes a lot of his own clothes (and occasionally some for tango), co-signed and approved. and ur on the right track about tango’s blaze rods- most of his defensive fire comes directly from them, doing that crazy swirly fireball thing that actual blaze do, but he does also have the ability to produce fire from his hands, he just doesn’t do it often. it takes a bit more concentration and practice, and he spent so long trying not to use his abilities that it doesn’t come second nature to him anymore. he was way more of a fire starter as a kid in hels.

last but not least: AWW it’s so sweet u got ur sister into the au (lord knows i’ve dragged mine into many a fandom 😂) glad y’all enjoyed it so much, AND now u have someone to theorize with 👀 i won’t say anything more on the matter other than i hope to get the next chapter out over the next couple weeks, so stay tuned…

#hels to pay au #HTP ask #HTP gift art #seriously thanks so much for sending this in i loved reading it

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lucky-clover-gazette · 7 months

Text

Never Kill a Boy on the First Date

2.5K-word Buffy AU Vidow One-Shot, written for @fsfrightfight

“I’m sorry I haven’t brought it up sooner,” Shadow says, insecure in a way Vio rarely sees him. “I thought you, uh, didn’t like me anymore. Since I’m all vampy now.”

Vio’s jaw drops.

“You thought I would like you LESS because you’re a vampire?”

read the rest on ao3 or under the cut:

It’s Vio’s night to patrol the cemetery, fair and square.

Yes, it had been insulting when the others gave him Friday night because they knew he’d have no plans. But it’s not like they’d been wrong—he would have ended up reading no matter what. He might as well do it here, alone, propped up against a headstone and tapping a pencil steadily against the ground.

Someone seems to have missed the memo on the ‘alone’ part, though.

“Viiiiii.”

“Oh my god, what?”

Vio’s head swivels to see a familiar figure lounging theatrically against a headstone. Shadow grins, clearly pleased to have his undivided attention.

“Hi, Vio,” Shadow greets with a lazy wave.

Vio blinks slowly, his eyes adjusting to the distant darkness. “Hi, Shadow.”

“What are you doing out here at this time of night, handsome?”

Vio absolutely does not blush. Not perceptibly, at least, in the semi-light-polluted suburban darkness.

“Annotating,” he says, raising his pencil. “And hunting vampires.”

“At least the second part is cool,” says Shadow. “Seen any yet?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

The vampire gasps in fake-offense as Vio removes another heavy tome from his purple backpack. Shadow eyes it curiously, joining Vio where he sits.

“Ancient texts?” Shadow asks, eyes narrowed in the dark. Vio switches his book light from the novel he’s been marking up for fun to the ‘ancient text’ in question.

“Not quite,” he says with a smirk, revealing the cover to Shadow. “The Once and Future King, chapters fourteen through eighteen.”

Shadow’s nose wrinkles. “Oh, fuck that.”

“If you’re going to loiter here, I might as well help you pass AP Lit.”

“I’m doing just fine on my own, Vio,” Shadow says, rolling his eyes. “I have, like, an 84 overall. That’s almost a B+.”

“You never do the readings.”

“Yet I manage to get good grades anyway. ‘Cuz I’m a fucking genius.”

“You don’t even use SparkNotes!”

“SparkNotes are for cowards. I raw-dog my essays like god intended.”

Vio pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “If I read it out loud,” he groans, “will you listen?”

Shadow immediately pulls out his earbuds, but Vio rips them away. “These are so tangled,” he observes, already working through the knots with nimble fingers. “You’re going to, like, electrocute yourself.”

“Y’know, I think you’re pretty electrocute yourself.”

Vio scowls. Shadow plops down next to him.

“I won’t listen,” he says, oh-so-casually leaning against Vio, “but you can still read.”

Vio nods and begins. And while his mouth says the words on the page, his mind quickly wanders, not not distracted by the feeling of Shadow’s body beside his own.

Did Shadow just call him cute? And handsome? It’s not unusual behavior per se, but it’s still baffling as hell. Shadow can’t possibly want him, not after all the misfortune Vio’s mere existence has brought him.

It had all just happened so fast: their first kiss after the fall formal, the surprise vampire attack, Shadow taking a bite to save Vio, and Vio using his connections as Slayer to leave his newly-undead friend(?)’s soul intact. They’d stepped away from the dance for less thann ten minutes, and as a result Shadow’s life had been changed forever.

They still haven’t really discussed it, beyond the necessary information about Shadow’s new form. As a vampire with a soul, he gets along just fine with the other slayers and the Watcher they all share. He’s a willing ally to their team whenever the Hellmouth sends a monster of the week their way. He’s confided in Vio about the highs and lows of his new existence, and Vio has supported him unflinchingly the entire time.

But there is no way Shadow still has any intimate interest in Vio, beyond the powerful Slayer’s blood he willingly supplies. And while Shadow only drinks from Vio (“You got him turned,” Blue had said, “so it’s your responsibility to keep him alive.”), they have no such bitey plans tonight.

But despite his huffiness, despite the impossibility of the dynamic they’d shared before, Vio is glad that Shadow came to keep him company. Things are calm, things are good, there’s a routine in place and everyone’s on the same page. Vio could almost call it settled completely.

But they still haven’t addressed that goddamn kiss.

“We can talk about it,” Shadow offers, and Vio’s heart stops.

“I—what?”

Shadow’s amused smile speaks for itself.

“Oh my god,” Vio says, placing the book on the ground. “I didn’t.”

He puts his head in his hands. What kind of absolute moron confuses the words he’s reading with the words he’s saying? That’s the kind of bullshit that happens on TV, and he cringes at it every time!

“Hey, no, listen,” Shadow says, losing his previous smugness. He gently grabs Vio’s wrists and lowers them back down to his lap. “Vio, look at me.”

He does. Shadow’s eyes have the same unnatural glow present with every vampire he slays, which for the record is a lot of vampires.

“I’m sorry I haven’t brought it up sooner,” Shadow says, insecure in a way Vio rarely sees him. “I thought you, uh, didn’t like me anymore. Since I’m all vampy now.”

Vio’s jaw drops.

“You thought I would like you less because you’re a vampire?”

Shadow throws up both hands, annoyed but relieved. “Forgive me for assuming that you, Vio the Vampire Slayer, would perhaps have some reservations about kissing a vampire.”

“Shadow, roughly sixty percent of my self-indulgent fantasies involve a handsome vampire kissing me.”

“Really?” Shadow asks, perking up. “Any vampire in particular?”

Vio blushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Only one in recent history,” he admits. “Ever since you turned, that is.”

Shadow appears to be thinking something through. “Holy shit,” he finally says, a grin spreading onto his face. “You must have been so psyched when I turned into a vamp.”

“Of course not, that would be awful!”

“Oh, come on,” Shadow teases, poking Vio’s arm, “I know your main priority was saving my soul or whatever, but there had to be some part of you that was also just like, ‘hell fucking yeah, vampire boyfriend.’”

Vio shakes his head, stopping their banter in its tracks. “I shouldn’t have been out there with you in the first place,” he says. “Even just outside the gym, I should have expected to attract monsters. Meanwhile, you had no idea about the Slayer stuff or the Hellmouth or vampires even existing at all, and I put you directly in harm’s way. There’s a reason the others don’t date, Shadow, it’s dangerous to be close to a Slayer.”

“Vio, no,” Shadow replies, his voice suddenly gentle. “I don’t blame you for what happened. At all.”

“You should,” mutters Vio, folding in on himself. He brings his knees up to his chest and hugs them, his back pressing uncomfortably against the headstone.

“I also don’t think you take pleasure in my misfortune,” Shadow adds. He lightens his tone slightly, cautiously, and eyes Vio to see if it’s the right move. “Honestly, you’re probably worse off than I am.”

“How so?” Vio asks, trading self-loathing for reluctant curiosity.

“Uh, you’re a vampire Slayer dating a vampire,” says Shadow. “I’m just some guy with fangs.”

Vio raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware we were dating.”

“Everyone else is.”

“No they’re not!”

“What the hell else would they assume, when we excuse ourselves to a dark corner of the library at least three times a week?”

“We do that so you can suck my blood!” Vio exclaims, “Not so we can—”

Shadow scoffs. “Oh yes, because me nearly sucking you dry to sustain my lifeforce is the less weird option of the two.” He makes a face and lifts a finger. “Don’t say it, I know that came out wrong.”

Despite himself, Vio smiles. Relaxes. Leans closer. “Well, if we are dating,” he says, intertwining Shadow’s fingers with his own, “is this, right now, a date?”

Shadow looks at their hands and then back at Vio. “If you want it to be.”

Of course Vio wants. He’s always wanted, why else would he have taken Shadow outside the dance in the first place?

With the softest tone he can muster, he begins to speak. “Shadow, I—”

A monster roars, and it’s not Vio’s boyfriend.

He jumps to his feet and assumes a fighting stance, his Slayer senses kicking in immediately. Swiveling his head, Vio sees a very unfriendly vampire headed straight in their direction, newly risen from a nearby grave.

How the fuck hadn’t he noticed sooner? He’s supposed to sense when there are vampires around!

“Not again,” groans Shadow, cowering behind Vio like the human he so recently used to be. But Shadow isn’t human, he’s a vampire with a soul, whose presence must have masked the appearance of the true enemy.

They were going to have to figure that out in the future, if patrol dates become a normal thing.

But Vio shouldn’t get ahead of himself.

“I was busy,” he growls, kicking the vampire square in the chest. The vamp looks to be in his mid-forties, still all dolled up in his funeral suit. Very much soulless, with a fucked-up transformed face and absolutely nothing to lose.

Vio’s supernatural strength sends his opponent backwards, his back slamming against a particularly tall headstone. Vio reaches inside his jacket pocket while the vampire recovers, horrified to realize that he left his favorite stake at home.

“Shit,” he mutters, using a precious second to glance behind his back. Shadow half-hides behind a gravestone, clearly experiencing some kind of flashback to the last fight he experienced. Vio wants so badly to comfort his friend—but then again, there would probably be nothing more comforting in this moment than Vio kicking ass.

Without a stake or a stake-adjacent object, though, Vio’s options for vamp obliteration are limited. Beheading seems unlikely. Sunrise is hours away. He’ll definitely get arrested if he tries to set a fire. And while he does have supernatural proficiency with hand-to-hand combat, so do the vampires he fights—plus they’re speedy, too.

Capitalizing on Vio’s hesitation, the vamp clasps cold hands around his neck. He’s so strong, and squeezing with such force, that he’s able to fully lift the teenager’s body off the ground.

Placed in such a predicament without his trusty stake, Vio feels a combination of fear, panic, and embarrassment. Green, Red, and Blue would never make such a stupid mistake.

Mistake… missed stake.

Vio would laugh, if he could breathe.

“Hey, asshole!” a familiar voice shouts. “Get your dead hands off my boyfriend!”

Vio opens eyes he hadn’t even noticed himself closing. Is that… a cord around the vampire’s neck?

Shadow yanks backwards by both earbuds, releasing Vio from the vampire’s grasp. Shadow himself seems surprised by the strength he now possesses, on par with both his ally and opponent. He wears the gruesome face of a fully-transformed vampire, and while Vio rather likes Shadow’s normal face, he’s glad to see a monster now.

Of course, Vio thinks, his eyes full of wonder. Last time, it had been a human and a Slayer against one nasty vampire. This time there are two nasty vampires, one of whom Vio has apparently been dating for the past several months. At the risk of overconfidence, Vio much prefers these odds.

Snap! The cord quickly loses its effectiveness, breaking in half against the vampire’s neck. Still, the diversion has given Vio enough time to retrieve the most stake-like resource available.

He lifts the pointed object and locks onto the vampire, who now wrestles with Shadow against a headstone. One particularly brutal knock of Shadow’s head against the stone humbles the teenage vampire, and the resulting whiplash allows his opponent to swipe a claw across his face.

Shadow cries out in pain, losing his hold on the enemy. This time, Vio is ready.

“Get lead poisoning, idiot,” he quips, and then plunges his #2 pencil into the vampire’s heart. The monster turns to dust, suit and all.

“Fuuuuuuck,” groans Shadow, still bracing himself against a tombstone. Vio frowns and runs to his side, cupping his soft humanlike face. There’s still a cut, but it should heal just fine, especially since he was transformed when he took the hit.

“Are you all right?” Vio asks anyway, searching Shadow’s eyes. “You didn’t have to—”

Shadow just smiles. “Yeah, but I wanted to. I’m not just some lame-ass human anymore, I can hold my own.”

He’d tried to protect Vio the last time, too. The irony of that still stings—a completely average person, risking his life in defense of someone Chosen to smite evil. Vio still feels guilty about Shadow’s misfortune, but at least now they’re on even footing.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Shadow continues, taking both of Vio’s hands. He looks concerned too, and Vio realizes that Shadow is still not quite used to the sight of him in moral peril. He’s not sure how to explain to Shadow that to him, Red, Blue, Green, and Zelda, mortal peril is just another Tuesday.

Vio squeezes Shadow’s hands. “I’m okay, I promise. I know that must have been scary to see.”

“Yeah, a little bit. You were, like, off the ground.”

“I get into tight spots pretty often,” Vio admits, “especially while patrolling. I understand if you’d prefer to keep our dates out of the cemetery in the future.”

Shadow shakes his head. “Nah, I’m no coward. And besides, I’d feel better knowing that someone has your back.”

“I… am not opposed to your company,” Vio mutters, and Shadow takes it for the grand declaration it is.

“Besides,” Shadow says, sitting back down against their original headstone of choice, “we definitely need to workshop your punning.”

“What’s wrong with lead poisoning?” Vio demands, offended.

“Pencils haven’t had lead in them since, like, 18-whatever-the-fuck.”

Vio allows Shadow to drag him to the ground. They settle against each other, just as they’d been before—but somehow, everything feels a little bit different. “Well,” Vio asks, “what else could I have said?”

He knows Shadow is pleased to have a say, even if he’s acting nonchalant. “I dunno. You could have killed him with the book and told him to read it and weep.”

Vio rolls his eyes. “I can’t stab anyone with a book, Shadow.”

“Not with that attitude, you can’t!”

Oh my god, Vio thinks, he is so annoying. So annoying, and so persistent, and so, so, so perfect.

“Hey Shadow… can we kiss again?”

Shadow grins, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Vio is admittedly psyched as their lips finally meet.

Hell fucking yeah, vampire boyfriend.

#fsff23 #four swords #four swords manga #vio link #shadow link #vidow #my writing #there's so much cringe teenage dialogue in this #also this is the last vampy thing i'm writing for a while i'm getting bite burnout (affectionate)#fs

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inejschumacher · 3 months

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You actually have the nerve to tag Pedri while hating on him 😂

Did you even watch other teams aside from BVB or Madrid? Pedri played a huge part in making Barca win la Liga last season. Despite playing as a pure cm he was among the players who single-handedly won the most points for his team (12 points) just by his match-winning goals. Whenever Pedri was fit he was always one of the most consistent Barca players. I agree availability is the most important aspect in football. And this season Jude is currently the better footballer (just because Pedri was mainly injured this season and couldn’t stay fit long enough to prove everyone wrong). But no way in hell is he a better midfielder than Pedri - a better goalscorer yes but Pedri clears him midfielder wise. Jude doesn’t even play as a pure cm, of course he will always have more goals than Pedri since he plays more as an attacking midfielder/ second striker. Look at those stats analysing the amount of key passes per game and passes in the final third. Pedri is above Bellingham. Without goals people will soon realise that they were hyping Jude up too much, he’s a good player and an excellent goalscorer but he isn’t close to Pedri and Musiala when you compare them as midfielders. Having the highest rating when your team plays doesn’t mean shit because at the end of the day Madrid still lost and it just proved the point that one player can’t carry a team no matter how amazing he is. Jude can only shine because he is surrounded by good players that will enable him to assist and score. No matter how many chances you create, if you have no one to convert the chances it’s useless and you can’t look good. Pedri has to play in a dysfunctional where all his chances always get wasted. Put him in Madrid and you will see him already have 5-6 assists like Kroos. It is what it is. People are gonna hype up Jude until he doesn’t score in every game anymore and then they will realise who the higher ceiling has. Pedri has so much more talent than Jude. People disrespecting him and actually thinking he’s not a generational talent are just blinded. People are so focused on goals and assists that they don’t even regard other aspects that lead to the goal in the first place. Just as a little side information: In the el clasico Pedri had more key passes than Jude despite playing 60 minutes and not 90 minutes like Jude, yet Jude is the one that got away with an assist. If you only look at the stats then why are you even calling yourself football fan? Just say you’re only valuing rating apps. The eye test will always be on Pedri’s side.

And don’t tag Pedri when you hate on him. I just warn you because you will surely get a lot of hate. Hate on twitter because there are more blinded football fans like you who would surely love to hear your opinion on him.

I’m not reading all of this good lord

I tag Pedri bc it’s easier for me to navigate through that tag to track what I and others have said about him and Jude, in case there are some points I haven’t made clear or to build on something

Also, I haven’t been attacking Pedri, I just agree that Jude is a more complete player overall and the better player this El Clasico, and I’m excited to see who proves themselves better this season

I think Pedri is a great player and vital for Barca’s successes, and I really do enjoy seeing him play, so don’t think I’m a blind, uneducated hater (that seems to be you)

Btw, Jude has single-handedly won 9 points so far in just La Liga with game-winning goals (even against Barca omg) so clearly he’s not undeservedly being hyped up

And don’t pit Musiala and Bellingham against each other when both are almost equally great players💕

Anyways, Hala Madrid🤍💜

p.s. clearly I spoke too soon about peace in my inbox

#answered asks #jude bellingham #pedri #real madrid #fc barcelona

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catgirlforkaeya · 2 years

Text

long days and panic attacks

kaeya x gn!reader

synopsis: kaeya doesn’t return home from a mission on time and your fears get the best of you

word count: 688

hurt/comfort + tiny bit of fluff at the end

warnings: all lowercase + not proofread + heavy mentions of severe anxiety + intrusive thoughts + pls don’t read if the topic of anxiety/panic attacks trigger you

a/n: my anxiety has been horrible recently and haven’t told anyone about it so why not vent through writing 💪💪

you felt like your heart was about to burst out of your chest, the repetitive thump… thump… thump… of your heart was getting louder and louder in your ears. that noise was also competing with the thoughts swarming your mind— thoughts that made you feel sick on the spot. your leg bounced up and down, nails picking at skin to get some grip on reality. a feeling you felt too often but stayed in the dark about it.

the clock chimed, you flicked your head up to see it was now 3 o’clock in the morning. kaeya was supposed to get home from his mission 4 hours ago, and yet he was nowhere to be seen. it was a treasure hoarder investigation, which usually aren’t too dangerous but why is he taking so long?? you knew he was most likely okay, but fear and anxiety were overpowering logic right now. that tight feeling in your chest was slowly getting worse, making you feel like you were suffocating. each tick of the clock slowly drove you over the edge. each tick was a reminder that it was another second overdue for your boyfriend’s return. maybe he was just doing paperwork— no, kaeya would hold that off until the morning. what if they took him? drug him off to some hideout and doing ungodly things right now? what if the mission failed, his cover got busted and they took him out? what if an ambush happened? what if…

the click of the door drew you out of your thoughts. your head whipped around to see the silhouette of your boyfriend start to appear in the doorway. you felt all the pressure lift off of your chest, making you able to breathe properly again. he was here.

you sprang up off of the couch and ran over to where he was, currently shrugging his jacket off and hanging it up on the coat rack. you wrapped your arms around his body, burying your head deep against his chest as you tried to ground yourself a bit.

“miss me that much? i wasn’t gone that lo-” kaeya began to tease, but immediately dropped the act once he noticed the abnormal movements of your breathing. “love, are you okay?”

when you looked up at him and he saw the tear stained cheeks, he instantly knew what was wrong. him going into overtime rightfully sent you into an anxiety spiral. his heart ached at the sight of you, guilt taking over his conscious.

“i was so worried that something had happened to you— i didn’t know what to do i was freaking out— i- i didn’t know if you were going to even make it.. home-“ you stumbled over your words, even more tears flowing from your eyes. your throat felt like it was on fire, hours of crying finally catching up to you.

kaeya tightened his grip on you, running one hand through your hair gently. “i’m here love, i’m okay. nothing bad happened, it just went longer than expected.”

“i love you,” you whispered between sobs. you weren’t even sure if kaeya heard you— your voice was so muffled against his chest.

“i love you more,” he responded softly. he tipped your chin up towards him, wiping away the wet tears. you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a few seconds as he rubbed his calloused thumb on your cheekbone.

“why don’t we go to bed. i think we’ve both had a long day,” kaeya’s gaze on you was soft, a look that he only ever gave you.

you let out a hollow laugh, followed by a “yes please.”

and now here you were, safe and sound in the arms of the love of your life. you slowly drifted off to sleep as kaeya whispered small reassurances to you, constantly reminding you that everything was ok and none of your fears were reality. he rubbed his fingertips up and down your spine, causing some small chills occasionally.

you felt all your worries fade away the longer he held you, every ounce of anxiety escaping your body as sleep consumed you.

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skylarmoon71 · 4 months

Text

Timeless Wells (Flash) - Speedster Chapter 19

That night he’d taken you back to your apartment and left.

He felt like he couldn’t look you in the eye.

For the better part of the week, he’s careful to avoid running into you. He can’t face you, not yet. Not until he’s ready to confess what he’s done.

So he goes about his days as usual.

There’s a few times during that week that he catches a glimpse of you. He’s become pretty skilled at avoiding face to face interactions.

Maybe if he’d been more willing to deal with the problem he would have seen the expression you wore every time he evaded you.

~Star Labs~

“Hey (Y/N).”

You’re working in the lab and you don’t really respond to your name, not until Avery is right in front of you.

“Oh, hey.”

“Are you alright, you’ve been spacing out a lot. Yesterday you almost poured mayonnaise into your tea." Evan inputs.

“Sorry about that.”

You haven’t spoken to Harrison in what feels like ages and it’s starting to get to you. After the movie night you woke up in your room. Which you could only assume that he’d dropped you back.

A very sweet gesture.

You intended to see him the next day to plan another fun movie marathon, but it was like he disappeared. Since then you would catch brief looks, but the second he caught your stare he would look away.

Confused and a little hurt, you were stuck with your thoughts. Maybe you’d done something that night? To your recollection nothing strange happened, so it made no sense for him to suddenly shut you out.

The longer you think about it the worse your mind seems to become.

“Hey guys I’m leaving early. I just remembered I have something to take care of.”

You can tell they are curious, but they don’t push. They both nod and you take off.

It’s time to confront the issue. You stroll over to his office with a new determination to get him to fess up.

It always felt so empowering when you decided to take a stand. The second you’re outside his office however, the doubt creeps in. You reach for the door, but stop halfway.

“Maybe I should stop by tomorrow, he might be busy.”

Another excuse.

“No! I’ve got to do this.”

You close your eyes, knocking on his door.

“Come in.”

From the sound, he’s alone. You step in quickly. Once inside you lock the door and Harrison finally looks up. You can see the way his body goes a bit rigid. The sight hurts. What exactly had you done to gain such a response to your presence?

You try to brush it off the best you can.

“Why are you suddenly acting all weird and distant? Did I do something?”

You’re done creating crazy scenarios.

“You didn’t do anything.”

He still refuses to look at you and it’s not helping to clear his case.

“You can’t even look at me anymore.”

Your tone is bitter, and he removes his glasses, running a hand through his hair as he stands.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Then explain it to me because I don’t understand!”

It feels almost wrong not to have him look at you with the warmth he’s always held.

It’s driving you crazy trying to read him. He finally looks up. If you expect something, it isn’t the heat that’s now visible in those usually playful eyes.

“You trust me.”

His statement confuses you, but when he begins to move closer, you find yourself stepping back. He’s right next to you now and your back is against the wall.

“I shouldn’t do anything to deter that trust..”

You’re distracted by the way he’s now somewhat looming over you.

“I..I don’t understand..”

Of course you don’t.

You’d been unconscious when he shamelessly attacked you.

“Please just tell me what’s wrong, tell me how to fix it.”

He should be the one pleading right now. Not you. For your forgiveness.

“You can’t, because you’re not the one who broke anything. It was me.”

You’re still puzzled.

“I don’t-”

“I kissed you.”

That stops you cold.

“You fell asleep when we were watching that movie and you fell onto my shoulder. I just..I just wanted to kiss you. I took advantage of you while you were vulnerable and in my care.”

He looks ashamed and you feel for him. It was an innocent kiss. Then he’d basically run like some criminal. You would have laughed at his innocence had it not been for the very defeated look on his face.

“We’re both adults, you didn’t have to turn tail and run. Harrison, you've been helping me for months now. It’s normal to be confused about feelings. You don’t have to punish yourself.”

There’s a part of you that’s been hoping for this development, but it’s clear he’s not ready to approach such a relationship and you aren’t ready to lose the person in your life that you care most about. You’re completely willing to set aside your feelings to help accommodate him.

“I’m not confused.”

There’s a sense of determination in his eyes.

“At the time I was. But I’m not confused, not anymore.”

You can hardly believe it, there’s a part of you that still questions it.

“Maybe my obligation to you has extended into an emotional outlet, that is possible. Despite that, how I feel about you, this isn't some need to hold onto you because I feel like I have to protect. It’s more than that. This isn’t transference.”

Now you’re the one who looks unsure.

“Are you saying that you-”

“Yes. I have feelings for you.”

It’s the only thing that makes sense to him. It’s been so long since he even considered love for obvious reasons. When he set out, the plan was just to turn you into a hero.

Now, circumstances have changed.

He’s still too close, and when his hand touches your cheek, it’s as though you’ve forgotten that you need to breathe. His stare has you completely paralyzed. No one has ever looked at you that way. Not since that time. Harrison leans in cautiously. You feel as though you should do something, say something, but nothing feels right at the moment. Not until his lips lay gently against your own.

It’s a tender fleeting touch that’s gone just as quickly as it appeared. Harrison pulls away fully. You don’t say a word, you’re not sure what’s the right thing to say. Your face falls and Harrison feels guilt from the action. Both this time and the one before.

“You shouldn’t have done that..” You mutter.

Harrison has an apology set and ready, but you grab him by the collar of his jacket and spin him around, pressing him into the door. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise when your lips press insistently to his. For a moment he thinks this is a daydream. His hands are raised awkwardly, and you show no signs of relenting. When he feels you nibble on his lower lip it’s like the breaking point.

His hand slides around your waist as he pulls you closer. A cute little moan escapes your lips and the heat of the sound rushes right through his body. He vaguely feels your hand pulling at his tie, and it slides right out of the collar, dropping to the floor. You pull back and he gasps. You basically rip his shirt open, the buttons clattering to the floor. Your hands move to the expanse of his very defined torso and your lips have gravitated to his neck. You’re leaving kisses at every part that you can.

Harrison isn’t sure what course of action to take. All he knows is that it feels amazing. His head falls back on the door as you continue your maddening ministrations. At the back of his mind he knows he should put a stop to this. He’s at work. This is definitely breaking every code of ethics and he’s the boss!

“(Y/N)...w-we need to stop..”

He’s breathless. It takes a moment for him to finally gain enough control to halt this before it goes too far. His shaky hands move to your shoulders and he regrettably pushes you back just a bit.

You’re breathing is a bit staggered for obvious reasons and his isn’t much better.

He looks at you to explain, but there’s a haze of desire reflected right back at him and he gulps. You look as though you want to devour him right there and he groans, pulling you back in as his lips come crashing down on your own. You moan in approval and Harrison stumbles as you try to guide him away from the door.

“The..couch..”

You mumble in between kisses.

He nods, following your lead. His shirt is still hanging open, his tie is somewhere in the room.

Harrison drops onto the couch, and you fall right into his lap. You’re both sitting upright, and his hands pull your thighs in an attempt to get you closer. You feel everything. All of him.

Sliding off your lab coat, you drop it uninterested. Harrison’s hands have gravitated to your hair and when he gives a soft tug, you moan.

He parts, looking at you.

“You liked that..”

You nod, a bit desperate.

“Y-Yes, do it again.” You insist.

His mouth slants over yours and he gives another pull as his tongue slides past your lips. You hold onto him, fingers running over his bare chest. You love the feel of smooth skin, doubled with just the right amount of muscle. It’s perfect.

He’s perfect.

The minute you reach for his belt buckle he’s almost dying with anticipation. The sheer fact that you’re initiating this is driving him wild. He’s never felt this out of control before.

As faith would have it, it became clear that trying to get it on in a work environment was not the best choice.

You hear the sound of feet skating before you fully see who it is.

“Harrison I just wanted to check in on-”

Barry’s voice startles you both and you basically jump right out of Harrison’s lap.

Barry is standing there gaping and you clutch your blouse that you hadn’t even realized came undone.

“B-Barry!”

Harrison’s appearance leaves very little to the imagination. His hair is tousled, shirt open, jacket hanging off on one side. There’s a few faint marks along his neck. Barry turns around, somewhat mortified.

Harrison scrambles to his feet and you both look between each other.

It seems the jump to reality has cleared the fog of arousal on both sides.

Right about now you would very much like to evaporate.

#genderswap #reverseflash #speedsters #change #new beginnings #timelesswells #harrisonxreader #harrisonwells #starlabs #trust #care #love #flash #timeline

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surroundedbypearls · 11 months

Photo

‘CLOSET PUN’ - Excerpt #13

Hazel: The Changeling Draft 1

[Excerpt below the cut!]

Somewhere in the library, there was a thump.

Hazel opened her eyes. For a moment, she wondered why she was staring at the ceiling. And why her neck hurt.

The library lights were dimmer, the ceiling cast in shadow. The overhead lights must have been switched off. How long had she been asleep?

She forced herself up and groaned. She needed her bed. She needed a hot bath more. But it was probably too late. She didn't need to get any flack for prioritising self-care.

She ripped a slip of paper from the corner of her notebook and slipped it into the journal to mark her place. Whatever she had been reading before she fell asleep, she couldn’t remember. She put the book back on the shelf, praying no one else would come and disrupt her bookmark. Though she doubted the other students could care less about the everyday life of Alice Fay.

When she made it out of the maze of old bookshelves, Ms Pelham was hunched over the front desk, her face illuminated by the glass lamp by her side as she ran down through her registry, verifying the returned stacked up on her library cart.

“Nice nap?” she asked, without looking up.

Hazel was too groggy to think of a witty comeback. “I kinda hurt my neck, actually.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you sleep in a reading chair.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Clearly you were tired, weren’t you?” She waved her away, and for once, she was smiling. “Go on now, Hazel. Off to bed.”

She turned away before Ms Pelham could look up and see her smiling back. “Night, Ms Pelham.”

It was only when she got into the entrance hall that she saw the time on the grandfather clock. It was almost 11:30. No wonder no one else was around. No one else but Ms Pelham would be crazy enough to be in the library this late. She sighed and slumped up the stairs.

A shadow down the hall almost gave her a heart attack. But she caught a glimpse of the hair scarlet like a red velvet cupcake and relaxed, just a little. “Oh. It’s you, Jenny.”

Jenny looked up with a start from where she’d been skulking about the hall, her aura jagged and quivering.

“What are you doing out here?” As Hazel approached, she better saw where she’d been standing. “Were you in my room?”

“No, I was knocking, you weren’t in.”

“I was downstairs. What do you want?”

She hadn’t meant it to come out so rudely, but she wasn’t sorry. She was tired and didn’t have time for Jenny’s jibes, nor her snooping. If prying in her things was her new form of mischief, Hazel wanted no part of it.

But Jenny’s hands came wringing together in a gesture strangely human, her expression coming the closest a changeling ever could to anxious. “I’m sorry, I - I wasn't trying to bother you.”

“Hey, don’t get upset. What’s wrong?”

“Have you seen Glimmer?”

The question was so odd it threw her off for a second. “What?”

“I haven’t seen her since dinner, and she was supposed to come to my room an hour ago and she never did, and she’s not in her room…”

“Hey, whoa.” Hazel reached and touched her hand. It was so unlike Jenny to show any emotion this side of negative, she couldn’t help speaking to her like she might a child. “I’m sure she’s fine. Have you asked the other changelings?”

“Some of them, I haven’t been to all of them yet-”

“Well, why don’t you ask them? And if none of them have seen her, then you should ask Ms Faulkner. The light was still on her in her office when I passed on my way here. She’ll know where she is.”

“You think so?”

“Of course. People don’t just disappear. I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she had a family emergency, who knows? Just don’t panic.”

“Okay. Okay.” Jenny smiled, and stepped away, her mask back, her face the picture of beauty. “Thanks.”

“No worries. I’m going to go to bed now, so…”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Night.” Jenny wandered up the hall toward the next changeling’s room, leaving Hazel with a hammering heart.

Somewhere above her, or to the side, she wasn’t sure, something creaked. This house was always creaking. There was never a time when it wasn’t. But the noise still had her expecting some dark force to come beating down upon her.

She opened the door and practically fell inside, locking it after her.

She was safe in here. She doubled checked the window was shut tight.

More on Closet Pun here! Leave an ask or a comment to be added to the taglist.

#writeblr #writers of tumblr #am wrtiting #my writing #supernatural fiction #ya fiction #queer fiction #original writing #original fiction #original characters #wip: closet pun #oc: hazel

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bigtreefest · 3 months

Text

Let’s talk about Knives Out

Spoilers below the cut

🔥🤤sweater daddy. I wish that was all I had to say. Well, it is, but it also very much isn’t.

1st Watch

After knowing what happens in the end, I had never liked Ransom (Chris Evans’s Character) until I went through with my second and third rewatch. So on my first watch, it was exciting because all the twists and turns really catch you by surprise. It’s such a wonder who would pull such an elaborate plan and why. Ransom is obviously awful. That’s why the dogs hate him. It’s such a sign of character. But for some reason, he’s helping Marta, and I loved it. He appeared so genuine and like he was really trying to find the best way to help her. Benoit Blanc’s accent is also hilarious and so is the fact that none of them really care to know where Marta’s from.

The dogs love Linda and Linda is honestly not that terrible of a person when it comes to everyone else. She actually loved her father as seen by the way they shared notes, but idk. Everyone’s flawed and she still expected money and inheritance

2nd Watch

I started to pick up on the symbolism and more details of the movie. Chris Evans looks even better in his sweaters. But if you look closely, they’ve got tears and holes. What does this mean? But the sweater is nice before Harlan dies. Does this mean Ransom looks nice on the surface, but if you look deeper, something’s wrong? Does this mean he started to crumble after Harlan’s death? They also bring up the fact that Marta is the only one who beat Harlan at ‘Go’ more than Ransom. Does this mean that if Marta weren’t around, Ransom would’ve gotten the inheritance? Or would he have been cut off like everyone else still? Or, does this mean that Marta was a better strategist. Even though Ransom did a lot of the work, she took the final step in lying in order to get him to confess to murder. Also, Meg on that phone call? Was she really apologetic or was she trying to get that money?? And why didn’t Harlan keep paying her tuition, it was her mom’s fault. But I guess she was technically a mooch like everyone else.

And obviously there’s the fact that everyone lies to Marta about wanting her at the funeral. Don’t lie to save face, you couldn’t have all gotten outvoted.

3rd watch

I’ve fallen in love with Chris Evans as Ransom even more, not just because of the sweaters, but because in this time, I read some really good fanfics that redeemed him. The movie is cast so perfectly and I love the subtleties. Plus, I’ve always had a little bit of a thing for guys who are awful for me if they’re hot (it’s a fatal flaw, I know, I’m working on it, but can you blame me?). Ransom is so smart, and it’s a shame he uses it for evil because he was so close. Anyway, let’s talk about alcoholic beverages. My investigation into this started because I wanted to know the mixed drink Ransom ordered at the bar (which which I still haven’t figured out yet, but I think it was a Manhattan?)

Look at the alcohol in the movie, though. The whole family is always luxuriously drinking scotch or champagne. Ransom, on the other hand, orders craft beer at the bar with Marta, which separates him from his family, but hopefully makes him seem more relatable to her. Even tho craft beer is the rich man’s beer lowkey. Then, he uses a large bottle for set fire to the Medical Examiner’s office. This whole time, we don’t see Marta drink at all, which separates her from the family. Not to mention, Ransom builds a literal wall of beer bottles between the two of them at the restaurant, showing physical separation despite his offer of assistance. The bottles are also apparently in one of the positions of ‘Go’ called Atari. This is an attack position, meaning Ransom thinks he has the high ground. Incorrect. This is all just a posed by the separation we see at the end of the movie where Marta is looking down at them on the balcony while they all look up at her, once again separated but the tables have turned.

Overall, a great movie and a great look for Chris Evans. The costume designers and casting directors knew what they were doing. As much as I hate to say it, I WOULD NOT have been immune to Ransom’s charms.

Sources cited:

Drinks Meaing

Go Atari Reddit Post

Good Casting

Gifs

#knives out #knives out review #Chris Evans #ransom drysdale #knives out movie review #sweater daddy

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mopillow · 1 year

Note

“Nothing personal but I’m getting tired of the hate some people throw at my baby brother in law”

And yet you’re casually interacting with the biggest tianshan hater of the entire fandom.

Hello Anon, no idea if you have any experience with me or if we have ever talked but I have a feeling that we haven’t interacted enough since you don’t know that I don’t push away anyone and I’m always open to respectful and friendly debate, everyone is entitled to their opinion and I’m completely fine listening to people that think different than me, the world would be absolutely boring if we all had the same ides, to make this clear I want to tell you that I have talked to people in the past who detest He Cheng and i haven’t try to murder them not even once, now I think we need to understand the difference between getting tired and I refuse to talk, hate or interact with them, I don’t even hate my past abusers so kind of a lost cause there but I am indeed getting tired of the blindness that comes when talking about toxicity when both couples are not exactly the epitome of romantic relationships, this is a comic no one should be here taking romantic advice from it, the comic is free, the translation is free thanks to the nicest people on earth, if anything they could say that they lost time reading it but a simple glance of the image and you know this is not your chapter. I tend to talk a lot in metaphor so let me explain this to you with one

Imagine a person who hates 🍌 on a smoothie, they detest that 🍌 , they would rather add 🍒 but they are the ones making the smoothie and still complain that there’s 🍌 on it when it was them who decided to add the 🍌 instead of the 🍒, the first times I thought oh well they didn’t notice the 🍒, the second time I just started laughing because it is funny if you think about it, but now is like they are suffering and complaining because they like to, that’s the reason why they add the 🍌 in the first place, it wasn’t an accident and here I was trying to understand them, they probably get diarrhea with that smoothie and that’s why they hate the 🍌 but they’re the ones creating the problem and bothering other people around them

Is not like I go look for this kind of people, they’re the ones tagging post about TianShan, they’re the ones commenting in obvious TianShan content, some of them even behave like moral👮‍♀️, they even send hateful messages, I don’t see a lot of TianShan fans complaining about ZhanYi content, we can celebrate or ignore if is not our thing or if they behave in an obviously problematic kind of way, because as I said before this is a comic, the comic is about 4 people but for some reason they believe is just about 2, this is not the regular bl comic and yet they want it to have that structure, if they want a polite conversation Im here for it but is not worth my time when they want me to change my mind but refuse to open theirs to my point of view, is not a conversation when is just them trying to get more people to join their cult that is full of hate, I don’t want to be a part of it, I have my own is called Q move the fuck away and let me have He Cheng, wanna join?

This is a welcoming space, I said so before She Li fans, ZhanYi fans, TianShan fans all are welcome but be respectful, you don’t need to love all of them, I don’t like them all as well, let’s be respectful with each other if anyone wants to make a post stating all the wrong a comic book character or couple does go ahead just don’t do it in other people’s personal space because in the real world if you come to my house to look for trouble I can defend myself, I won’t shoot at you because I don’t own a gun but if I did I would use it to get rid of Q, chances are he would kill me so hold your panties Q lovers he is safe, jokes aside this is more about manners, internet manners like don’t send nudes without asking first, have your opinions but don’t go insulting and attacking people only because they don’t think or have the same beliefs

Have a great day Anon hope we can talk about who’s the greatest TianShan hater of the entire fandom

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its-deputy-caleb · 2 years

Text

Scribbled Handwritten Notes – Juan Cortez x Reader

summary: based on the theory developed by @rarrabear and i, juan has scribbled chicken-scratch handwriting and i made fic about it

note: this was meant to be a joke and then 4k later its emotional fluff and i haven’t edited the second half (thats tomorrow’s job)

description: gender neutral reader | fluff | 4079 words |

Your bag hits the metal table with a thud as you waltz into Juan’s office and lean against his beloved workbench, a wicked smile across your face. The man in question drops the blowtorch in his hand, letting it crash into a pile of other exposed and dangerous tools as he begins celebrating the arrival of his favorite guerrilla.

“This better be worth it Señor Cortez– Clara has me working double time to secure these shipments of FND metal and gasolina.”

Juan holds his hand over his heart, faking heartache like he’s just heard the worst news possible. He pouts as he takes a step closer to you, lighting one of his cigars before pointing to his own puffed out chest.

“Didn’t you miss spending time with the infamous Juan Cortez?” His cigar leaves a puff of smoke as his hands wave around dramatically, trying and failing to get your undivided attention.

“Aw common now, your ego doesn’t need another boost and you only call me to come crawling back to Clara's island when you really need something.” You can’t help but smile when Juan tries to brush your claim off. He had a habit of calling you at any hour of the day, whether to talk casually or to grab some more uranium on your travels and more often than not it’s during a shootout with the FND.

You know why he calls, the man clearly misses spending time with you but the luxury of relaxing and lounging around all day isn’t an option in Yara. Yet that only means you’re both excited to see each other when the bigger operations call you back to Libertad Headquarters.

“What? I’m not allowed to simply miss the company of my favorite guerrilla? That hardly seems fair…” Juan gives you a playful wink before turning around and picking up a flimsy napkin that you’re sure came from a bar. “Here– we’re planning to attack Castillo at Hotel Paraíso and I need you to look over my plans.”

You take the napkin from his hand, eyebrows raised in disbelief as you note the golden ring of whiskey stains along the top, no doubt from when he placed a bottle over the top of it. Your eyes scan over the scribbled chicken handwriting and the illegible words. On a good day Juan’s handwriting is terrible and this time round you can barely make out the words boom, Castillo and fasteners.

“Am I supposed to be able to read this?”

Juan looks at you like there’s absolutely nothing wrong with his genius planning methods. He takes the napkin back from you, clearly attempting to read it himself but even he struggles as he squints and tries to make out his own drunken scribbles.

“Look it's whatever– Dani will plant the explosives around Esperanza. The speech starts, charges detonate and we create a ring of fire around that hotel hotter than the devils asshole! It’s flawless, Castillo’s forces can’t get out and reinforcements can’t get in. Genius, no?”

Juan takes a confident huff of his cigar, letting you scan over his little napkin again as he stands triumphantly like he’s just solved all of Yara’s problems.

“And you got all that from this napkin?” You don’t sound convinced, even as you bounce from eyeing Juan suspiciously to examining the napkin over and over.

“Ehh I improvised half of it.” Juan gives a cocky shrug, his free hand coming to scratch underneath his chin as he moves to sit atop of the workbench beside you.

Folding the napkin in half to place it safely in your pocket, you lean into Juan’s space and tilt his head so his attention is on you.

“Mi viejo, how will anyone know your plans if you come up with it spontaneously? You can’t exactly wing it when there’s a team of guerrilla's waiting for your first move– it’s like you’re trying to confuse us all.”

Juan gives a soft chuckle, throwing his head back as he dusts the embers of his cigar onto the floor of his workshop.

“Rule eighty-nine; a Gurrellia’s best friend is confusion,” Juan’s nose brushes your cheek, now leaning into your space like he wants to kiss you but you tilt your head back, humming as he’s held just out of reach.

“Hmm I think you have your rules mixed up– confusion is the best friend of Juan Cortez. Whilst the guerrillas and the FND are busy being confused over deciphering the exact nature of your genius plans, you get to come out victorious right under their nose.”

“That’s why you’ll always be my best.” Juan practically beams from your words and from the kiss you plant on his cheek.

You step away a moment later, walking over to the table in the middle of the room which holds blueprints of Esperanza’s buildings, sewer pipelines and even a few maps for turistas.

“Don’t spend all day standing there throwing compliments around cariño, we’ve got a dictator to take down and for that we need a legible plan and a well informed team of gurrellias.”

–

The next few hours are spent working on Juan’s plan to trap Castillo in the Hotel. You listen intently as he explains how the surrounding checkpoints need to be blocked off from incoming forces and the foyer of the Hotel will be Dani’s starting point until he works up to the penthouse which will be where the speech is delivered. He rambles his flurry of ideas, all of them chaotic and have a high risk of disaster but you’d come to expect nothing less from the man.

Juan tells you everything you need to know between different tangents where he’s gone and gotten himself distracted. Somewhere between fighting tigers in Kyrat and stealing biochemical weapons in Chechnya, you’ve managed to pull it all apart and write down what’s necessary for the actual planning process. Your elbows rest on the desk and cradle your chin as you scribble in much neater handwriting all over the maps, drawing red lines and black circles to indicate FND checkpoints and the gurrellia’s rendezvous before hitting the Hotel.

Thankfully, Juan is sober enough to have some level of readable handwriting at this point so you let him mark out the stations Dani will need to plant the explosives. You can’t help but affectionately roll your eyes and chuckle when you notice Juan’s X’s are much too large for Dani to figure out an exact location but you’ve known the ex-spymaster long enough to know it’s not in his nature to think over little details unlike yourself.

“There’s going to be snipers on every side of the Hotel– most likely on the tenth floor or higher to view the surrounding apartments. Those hijo de putas will spot anyone before we can even attempt to get near the entrance,” Juan holds up tourist pictures of the front entrance, scribbling and highlighting the ledges and key areas a sniper would use, “Reminds me of the time when Espinosa wanted me to guard the capital building, put me way up high to make sure nobody got that fucking zebra as he brought it into the building. That come mierda wan–”

“Juan, you're getting distracted again.”

“It’s all a part of the planning process, don’t stem the flame of excitement! You and me– we’re about to be guerrilla legends!”

When Juan sees your unimpressed look from the opposite side of the table, he places his cigar onto the ash tray and holds his hands up in mock surrender as he smiles at you.

“Alright, alright.. If you’re stationed at the rooftops across from me, we’ll be able to secure the front of the hotel and make sure Dani has cover if he needs to exit quickly.”

Your hand comes to put a red rectangle on the map to mark the buildings surrounding the Hotel, marking it as your position for the attack on El Presidente.

“You know, we might just be able to pull this off.”

Juan seems to have concluded your planning session, standing to gather a bag of supplies Dani would no doubt need to plant the explosives.

“And my gorgeous handwriting better go down in history as the hero in all of this!”

–

The long drive to the Guerrilla hideout in Esperanza’s southwest is more than enjoyable. After packing in a green duffle bag full of explosives and overnight clothes, the two of you took the trip up to the capital in Juan’s 1956 Beaumont Valentina.

Tunes were playing softly as the two of you softly sang along, the windows rolled down to let the breeze blow through the car. Sometime after crossing into Noventarmas you’d stolen Juan’s hat, letting it sit atop of your head to block your eyes from the afternoon sun.

It’s rare that the two of you get to enjoy time together just on your own and so you both soak up each other’s attention. Even if it’s cramped in his car, complaining about the amount of FND billboards you drive past.

The mood shifts from lazy driving on peaceful afternoons to something more somber and dangerous as you enter Esperanza through a checkpoint, dutifully liberated by Dani himself. There’s instantly a greater increase in Special forces as heavily armored vehicles patrol the main roads and checkpoints of the city.

Juan parks the car behind San Cayetano Orphanage, draping it in a cover so it won’t be confiscated or destroyed by any patrol which gets too close. From there the two of you took the Guerrilla paths under the city and over the rooftops until you finally met up with the rest of Libertad.

The hideout is nothing grand, looking more like a block of apartments than any real guerrilla station but once the two of you were inside it was alive with the hustle and bustle of busy people. Both of you take in the sights of people preparing weapons on workbenches, tightening armor and spray painting banners before making your way up the stairs to where Clara was waiting.

Having run over everything hundred times over you begin setting up maps along the metal table, ensuring none of the details are left out and there are no missing sections. You stand beside Juan as he relays the plans with Clara, watching as he points with a fresh cigar hanging between his fingers and highlighting all the locations where the explosives need to detonate in order to trap Castillo’s forces inside the Hotel.

Once Dani arrives to hear everything, you can’t stop the smile that forms by the fact Juan is clearly the most excited out of the four of you. Like a child who’s just gotten their favorite christmas present, Juan is jumping for joy as he hands Dani the bag of explosives painted in Libertad’s signature blue and labeled ‘El Boom de Juan’.

Of course, you’d painted the cover for him too. Not that you minded letting your creative outlet also contribute to taking down dictators but if it were up to Juan, his explosives would be painted in stick figures trying to kill each other.

Juan announced he needed a shower not long after handing the bag over to Dani and quickly made his exit. You figured Clara would want a word with the star guerrilla but just as you were about to leave yourself, she placed a hand on your shoulder and called for you.

“Will you relay all of this back to Benito's men? They’re some of our best and I want them to plant the last of the explosives.” Clara gives you a soft and affirmative smile as you return it with one of your own.

“Of course, Jefa. Everything will be ready for tomorrow.”

–

You spent the rest of the afternoon with the guerrillas, using a pinboard to stand in front of as you directed groups of Benito’s men. As a leader within Libertad, it was easy enough to state mission objectives and make sure everyone knew when the explosives needed to be triggered and which location they needed to be in to assist Dani infiltrate the Hotel. You were quick, simple and to the point which Clara had always admired.

Everyone respected you in Libertad and you were often given the task to lead Los Bandido operations and help with bigger operations such as these which always meant you could spend Libertad member of them all, Juan Cortez. Even if that’s acting as his scribe for the day.

The sun had set long ago and now whilst everyone caught some much needed sleep, you sat on the rooftop terrace preparing your sniper rifle. You’d cleaned the thing more than once but it was something of a therapeutic ritual on the night before operations.

You took it all apart, cleaning each individual part before screwing it all back together again, testing the scope and its handling. Sometimes you’d alternate between modifying the silencer and installing a resolver reflex sight, that was until Dani joined you on the terrace.

He stood beside you, leaning with his elbows on the balcony as he looked nervously out towards the view of Esperanza lit up at night. His whole body seemed tense as he fiddled with the watch on his wrist and you could tell something was bothering him.

“You’re nervous?” You put your sniper back in its case, choosing to stand beside the man you’ve come to see as a friend since his joining at Libertad.

“Well yeah– we’re killing a dictator tomorrow and it feels too easy. Juan’s plan… it’s so spontaneous and loud, wouldn’t it be safer to go in stealthily, I just– I don’t know.” Dani deflates beside you, his posture sagging as he finishes his ramble of doubtful thoughts and you reach out to squeeze his shoulder in a show of comfort.

“Relax Rojas, you’re the best we have so don’t doubt your abilities for a second. If there's anyone who can pull this off it's you,” You look down over the balcony, watching for a moment as a few other guerrillas tinker at workbenches and fix up weapons of their own.

“I know you may have your doubts about Juan and his tendency to be reckless but I trust him and he’s got more experience in this sort of thing than Clara, you and I combined,” Nodding in understanding and trust, Dani waits for you to continue.

“You don’t have to trust him but I do. I promise you I've proof-read his plans a hundred times over, if I thought it would get you killed I wouldn’t just let it happen.” You smile softly at the memory of Juan’s god awful handwriting and your lighter mood seems to be the reassurance Dani was looking for.

“Gracias, it’s a blessing Juan has someone to keep him in line.”

Careful not to wake anyone around camp, you laugh gently as you realize being with Juan is like a job, albeit an enjoyable one. “He’s really not that bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… you might not see it under his grouchy old man temper and tendency to drink instead of facing his problems but he can be sweet when he wants to be,” By now your attention is back on the city’s horizon, your gaze far away as you think about the ex-KGB agent who stole your heart. “You just haven’t seen him with all his walls down and well… I've grown very fond of him.”

Dani nods, understanding what it's like to have someone you trust and care about even if it feels like your whole lives are spent fighting constantly and outsmarting danger. When the guerrilla yawns loudly next to you, his hand covering his mouth, you take it as a key to wrap things up.

“Get some sleep Rojas, you’re tomorrow’s star player and we’ll need you well rested.”

–

The next morning comes quickly and soon you find yourself standing on the rooftop of an apartment complex. Everyone had confirmed their positions over the comms and now it’s a waiting game as Dani plants the last three explosives.

You and Juan had taken out the snipers efficiently, making sure neither of you were in any danger of being seen. As you look through your scope now, Juan can be seen from the opposite rooftop to you, his green Hawaiian shirt wiggling as he raises one hand to wave at you. The two of you act like immature cats as you use your laser red-dot sight to weave between each other’s feet until Dani’s voice finally cackles through the speaker in your ear.

“Juan, the packages have been dropped off.”

“You sound like a fucking postman, just say ‘hey Juan, I planted the bombs.’ but you’ve done good work– I sent you a photo, come find us on the rooftops.”

Through your scope you watch as Juan takes his phone out, no doubt to send his location to Dani. He then holds the phone out in front of him and at first you think he’s gesturing to you in some strange signal for help before your phone is buzzing and a picture of Juan comes through. He’s winking with a bright smile and if you zoom in close enough, you can see he’s angled it to include you far away in the background.

“Juan, are you on the west side of the hotel or the east?” Dani’s voice sounds slightly huffed and out of breath but if the gunshots a few blocks over are anything to go by, you guess he’s simultaneously jumping between buildings and escaping some of Castillo’s Special Forces.

“It’s the west apartments guerrilla and if you forget what I’m like, just look for the father figure you always wish you had.”

You had to temporarily take your earpiece out to make sure no one heard you chuckle at Juan’s statement but not to the point where you missed Dani’s friendly fire back. “I think you mean drunk uncle Juan.”

“Actually Dani, you’ll find Juan is a whole six hours sober,” You can hear both Dani and Juan chuckle on the other end of the line, six hours was a new daily record for Juan.

“I may be sober now, but who knows what the day has in store. Maybe we can go for drinks later, cariño.” The sultry and suggestive tone from Juan left little to the imagination and you couldn’t help but flirt right back with the man, that is until Dani was coughing in disgust and shock on the comms.

“Ugh I do not need to hear your failed attempt at flirting, Juan.”

“Who said I was failing guerrilla?”

–

All the banter died down when Dani started to head for the Hotel entrance. The FND soldiers were everywhere, with more numbers than you’d initially anticipated and so you were mostly focused on sniping officers and heavy gunners on the ground.

Everyone’s focus now was on getting Dani up to the penthouse, with the exception of a few compliments from Juan on your aim it was mostly quiet in concentration.

The soldiers that remained outside turned their attention towards the two of you and the other guerrillas on the ground once Dani was secure inside the Hotel. Engineers were wiring tanks and mounted guns to fire on their own whilst Rocketeers and Heavy Gunners fired upon buildings, forcing you to take cover behind ventilation systems on top of the roof.

You were so preoccupied with the soldiers below you that you didn’t take note of the high ranking officer who had climbed the ladder leading to your hiding spot. Everything slowed down as you gasped softly, hearing footsteps behind you before there was a loud whoosh noise and the crack of a helmet.

A body hit the ground and you turned to see the officer lying in a puddle of blood with a red dot still wandering over the now destroyed helmet. Juan raises his hand high into the air from across the foyer as you move to mimic his movement, a silent acknowledgment that you’re safe.

“Dani?! What’s going on? Do you have eyes on Anton?” Clara’s voice comes crackling into your ear, her voice distressed over the prolonged period of radio silence from everyone.

“There’s nobody here… Clara, I think the speech was a recording.”

You press your fingers against your earpiece to better hear Clara and you watch a tank blast open the hotel doors and a team of heavily armed special forces move through into the building no doubt where Dani would be in the penthouse.

“It’s a set up, Castillo’s forces are getting through the building– get out of there Dani.”

That was the cue for everyone to make their exit and so you threw your sniper over your shoulder and began to take the three ziplines over to Juan. It was always such a rush to glide over heights, ziplining and grappling around buildings or caves but it also had its practical purposes of escaping in short notice.

When you reached Juan, you gently took him by the arm, dragging him out of harm's way as the tank rattled the buildings around you.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here mi viejo.”

–

After the unsuccessful assassination of Castillo, everyone was more than deflated and moral was down but that didn’t stop you and Juan from just being in each others space. Especially considering you had almost died.

The two of you were back in his workshop, lounging in your only pair of soft pajama pants left which had been your favorite birthday gift from Lola. One of Juan’s shirts had taken its rightful place in your pajama set and you were currently cuddled in your shared bed above his workshop.

It was probably too hot for any form of cuddling but neither of you cared as exhaustion was kicking in with every passing minute. Juan’s head was tucked into your shoulder and you had your arms wrapped loosely around his torso in a warm hug as you both let go of the tension in your limbs.

You were just about ready to fall asleep when you noticed the lack of snoring. Juan was rarely awake for longer than five minutes after lying down so you knew something was bothering him, but before you could ask, he beat you to it.

“Did you really mean it?”

“Hmm? What do you mean?” Tilting your head to the side in confusion, you lean back slightly to look at him with soft eyes, trying to convey without words that he can open up when it’s just the two of you together. Your hands run up and down his skin, trailing the patterns of scars and tattoos which bump and ripple under the pads of your fingers.

“About how you care about me even though I’m an old drunk.”

It clicks into place then, just exactly what Juan is referring to. He must have overheard you talking to Dani last night.

“I meant every word.”

Wrapping your arms around him tighter, you pull him into your arms and place a kiss to the top of his head before smushing your cheek affectionately atop of his hair. Juan’s practically crushed in your hug but he’s in no way complaining, instead choosing to lean into everything you give him as his arms wrap around you too.

“Rule number twenty-two; a guerrilla spymaster can’t go without his kisses.”

Your hands come up to hold his face, practically stopping him from moving as you litter kisses from his forehead all the way down to his lips, both of you giggling and laughing between each of them.

“That’s the Juan Cortez style!”

Juan places a final kiss to the corner of your mouth before he settles beside you, pulling you into a more comfortable position suited for sleep. Your legs tangle together and your head rests against his as you both breathe out a sigh of relief.

“And Juan?” Your voice breaks the gentle silence of the room.

“Hmm?”

“Next time, when I’m to be your designated scribe I’ve got a challenge for you,” With your eyes closed and voice drowsy with sleep, your nose lightly brushes along his cheek in lazy affection. “I’ll buy you as many drinks as you’d like if you can make it through explaining your plans once without getting distracted.”

Juan’s laughter reverberates through both your chests, settling a warm feeling in your stomach.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love it.”

Fin.

#long story short toddler's have better handwriting than juan #but we love him #juan cortez #juan cortez x reader #gn!reader #far cry #far cry 6 #fc6 #fc6 writing #fc6 fic #clara garcia #dani rojas #anton castillo #Benito Ménguez #benito fc6

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wander-wren · 1 year

Text

worldbuilding stuff from d/s au brainstorming sesh today: collars & contracts. also, some extra stuff about free falling/feels like flying plots! cut for length

collars are more symbolic/social; they’re a sign that you belong to someone. contracts are more official/legal; they outline your rights, responsibilities, and expectations in a relationship.

this means you “should” always have a contract for scenes, even if many don’t bother for one-offs or things they do with close friends. it holds up better in court if something goes wrong. it’s also seen as a big red flag to have a collar but not a contract, because the implication is that you belong to someone but have no rules. it’s much easier to prove abuse with a contract because otherwise everything is he said/she said.

permanent contracts are essentially marriage, but marriage is also still a thing (it’s just rare and considered frivolous/old fashioned). a permanently contracted pair (or more, but for simplicity’s sake i’ll talk in terms of couples mostly) are considered “bonded” and have special rights and protections that i haven’t fully fleshed out yet. the main one, though? if one partner is threatened, the other can attack the threat and still claim self-defense even if they weren’t in danger. and in that case, there’s not really a “only use as much force as is reasonable” caveat.

sue me, i want to see people go feral. also, since this is a bnha au, it brings up some interesting questions about heroes, and whether this law still applies to what they do on duty. also, if bonded pairs who are both heroes should be allowed to work together, to mitigate this kind of scenario. yes, this is about bkdk, i’m writing another spinoff fic.

as for collars: they can be worn everywhere, but they have different social connotations; for example wearing a collar to lead a business meeting might look weak, while wearing it in a bar is a sign you’re taken/protected. when/where collars are worn is mostly up to personal preference, and some people might choose different types for different scenarios, or not wear it outside the house at all.

this also means having a collar at all is more down to personal preference. for some people it might carry as much weight as an engagement ring, for others it may be a lot more casual, it just depends.

this part is about dabihawks. in my au, hawks has a normal contract with the commission regarding his training and everything, then as a teenager gets a second contract as a submissive. he doesn’t get a say in either, doesn’t get to read them, either. so naturally he’s extremely wary of contracting with dabi even for a short time, but the commission never collared him, so that’s something he really wants. naturally this leads to Relationship Problems bc that’s not really how this is supposed to work.

i never normally like worldbuilding but i’m having a lot of fun right now bc i can use all the worldbuilding to make angst. and sometimes fluff! we’ll get to that. sometime

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foxfireartist · 1 year

Text

Potential/actual spoilers for Pokémon Scarlet & Violet

(+ ~20 updates as I finished the game)

Me: *sees Director Clavell in the trailer* He’s the villain.

Me: *starts game* …I think I might’ve been mistaken… he’s too genuine…

First conversation with Turo:

Me: HELLO HOT GUY!!!… he’s the villain, isn’t he…

Note: I haven’t finished the game yet but I’m in area zero and I think I might be right this time. If Turo is the villain then I will gladly turn myself over and surrender to whatever possibly world ending plan he’s cooked up.

Update: I knew about the time machine. I guessed from the existence of the paradox Pokémon. Turo still might be evil but I’m starting to get the sense that he wasn’t neglectful to Arven out of a lack of caring. Just that circumstances prevented him from contacting his son. I’m still not sure how to feel about this man.

Update 2: Turo, you sexy fucker! It’s rude to eavesdrop!

Update 2.5: Turo’s journals scattered about definitely seem to hint at a consumed by knowledge/create utopia (for my family?) narrative. Something kinky hinky is going on. I feel in my… bones. Definitely my bones.

Update 3: Nemona, you have billions of brain cells and they’re all too consumed by violence for you to spare even ONE for rationality or common sense. Seriously?! |Penny: One wrong step and we’re dead. Nemona: Oh yeah, we’re mortal beings who can’t fly. I forgot. Good call, Penny! 😃| Good lord. I love ya, darlin’ but you’re dumb as a brick in a sock and just as useful.

Update 3.5: Turo mentioned earlier that there was a second Miraidon and Arven mentioned after that that his father came home with it one day and asked Arven to take care of it and keep it secret. But then it went crazy one day and attacked a bunch of Pokémon so Turo took it back to the zero lab and Arven blamed it for not seeing his dad in forever. I’m wondering if the Miraidon we have is actually the second Miraidon and not the one Arven took care of that went nuts.

Update 4: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! Bro starts with the ominous “Hello, children” (always comforting)

and then starts breaking up. I know there’s probably just some interference given how destroyed this room is but it’s still creepy… wait…

…is he a robot… NEW THEORY: sexy Turo was replaced by a robot! (Or the communication/monitoring system is just that fucked.)

Update 5: …

…Fuck.

Update 6: *nervous laughter* OH HELL NO!

“They just don’t understand my brilliance,” probably followed by regret at some point and then his letters to Arven stopped because he might’ve decided that his family was more important and then he was kidnapped and replaced by his double. That’s my current theory. (Also our Miraidon might’ve been the original one after all. 🤷🏽‍♀️ I can be wrong sometimes.)

Update 7: Oh, Nemona, you naïve, sheltered, little princess. No wonder you’re always looking for a fight. Also, SPEAK ARVEN!!! YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON!!! TELL US!!!

Update 8: AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!! I WAS RIGHT!!! TURO IS AN EVIL ROBOT!!! THIS IS CREEPY AS SHIT! Now the question is: where’s the real Turo…?

Update 9: HE’S DEAD?! Not sure I believe AI Turo but that does explain why the letters to Arven stopped. Dammit, don’t you dare make me cry, game.

Update 10: …Miraidon… killed… that explains why it won’t enter its battle form…

Update 11: “[…] his physical body sustained grievous injuries and made it unable to sustain life. This fact may be difficult for his son, Arven, to accept.” NO SHIT!! THAT KID COULDN’T EVEN HANDLE THE FACT THAT HIS DOG ALMOST DIED!! Although, it might be slightly easier to accept since Turo wasn’t really in his life. Speaking from experience, though, that’s a small and bitter comfort.

Update 12: Wait so Turo WAS the villain (kinda). He orchestrated a situation that would ultimately create (read: destroy) the “perfect world” even in his absence. His AI double literally warns you, “Oh, before I forget, if you try to stop the time machine, I’ll probably attack you.” So the AI’s programing is advanced enough that it likely calculated that the professor would’ve wanted to stop this situation if he understood the full gravity of it, but it can’t calculate the “don’t get into a fight with the person you asked to save the world” action. I guess it makes sense if he died and therefore can’t update the software with new insight but the fucker created adaptive AI programming that made a call on it’s own to stop the time machine but he still couldn’t make it think entirely for itself? Bullshit! Lazy bastard really didn’t bother going all the way with it? Bro really just stopped at, “good enough, it does what I need it to do.” REALLY?! This is why you shouldn’t be lazy with your AI programming, kids. You’ll destroy the world.

Update 13: “Please. Defeat me.” WHY IS IT SO SAD?! IT’S A FIGHT!! NOOOO!!! 🥺

Update 14: Ghosts and ghost Pokémon exist… Either the AI’s programming really is advanced enough to create and pass on a final goodbye… or it’s the real professor Turo… We’ll probably never really know.

Update 15: When good foresight screws you over. I think the real Turo would’ve wanted this to stop at this point too. HOW COULD THIS HAVE POSSIBLY GOTTEN SADDER?!!

Update 16: Shit.

Update 17: So the AI CAN think for itself. Or, rather, it seems to be more than an AI… I’m not crying. YOU’RE crying.

Final update: @morezizan, you bastard. Sometimes I hate it when you’re right.

#pokémon #pokémon violet #pokémon spoilers #updates #Pokémon live theorizing #this shit crazy

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crazybigredlove · 1 year

Text

13th September 2013

Dear Pete,

It's official. Christopher has snapped. I have broken him like I break all men.

He is such a drama queen. Returns home from a long shift at the hospital and launches straight into an aggressive attack on me.

"You're moping again," he says, flopping down beside me on the bed.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes you are. You have been since yesterday. What happened? Which of those men you like to let ruin your life contacted you and sent you into a spiral this time?"

"Are you really going to be a jerk for no reason?"

"It's 5pm, Liv. You're on leave from work and you're lying on your bed, staring at a wall."

There is a tension developing in my shoulders that I am struggling to prevent. "Can you back off? Just a little?" There's a snarl on my lips but I refuse to hide it.

"Why did I say something real or are you still in denial?"

Tension spreads along the length of my spine, along both arms, and right down my legs. Tears form behind my eyes in that way they do when I'm about to lose control, but I don't take a breath to calm myself.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Somehow he stays calm despite the crazy lady screaming at him.

"You're obsessing over a guy who doesn't even like you. Look at you. You begged him to stay. You told him how you feel. You told him that all you wanted was to make him happy. Yet when he told you he could see a future with you he still went off with someone else. Did it ever occur to you that he was lying about every single word? That he never meant even a second of it? Not a single syllable? So will you please stop moping around the house like the world is ending just because some deadshit doesn't want to be with you?"

Rather than walk away, I felt all the frustration of the last few months bubbling away, read to boiling over.

"I never even mentioned Big Red. You're the one who has decided I'm upset about him. How dare you! You move into my apartment without asking. You take over half of my space without so much as a simple please, and now you're standing in front of me telling me that I'm living my life wrong? You know what?" Calmed down at this point and spoke like rational woman in control. "Maybe Big Red doesn't love me. Maybe he never will. And maybe you're right in that every word he ever said was a lie. But you know what keeps me going after men do horrible things to me? The idea that they aren't all going to be like that. That eventually I'll meet someone who is worth my time. If I make a few mistakes getting to that person, then so be it. I won't apologise for taking risks."

"And convincing yourself he cares about you?" His voice is still calm and he looks at me with such sadness that I wonder what it really is we're fighting about.

"What? I haven't. I know he doesn't give a shit about me." I grip my face in my hands. "But I need something to believe in. To make me feel like there is a point to this; that not all men are jerks. There has to be a reason that the universe is putting me through this other than it being a lesson I need to learn for no good reason. I would really like to think that maybe I'm not going to be alone forever, that there is a slight chance I'm not the girl that all the guys want to fuck but no one wants to be with. No one ever wants to be with me, Chris. They want to have sex with me, but they don't want to know what my favourite colour is or what really makes me laugh. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to be that girl? That girl who you call up when you want to eat pizza on the couch and slob around, but not that girl you want to take out to dinner or show off to your mates. Do you have any idea at all how painful it is to be me and at thirty-one years of age have to accept that you're probably going to die alone because no one ever wants more than friendship or sex? So yeah, I fucked up with Big Red and it probably won't be my last mistake, but I am trying. I am trying to finally get this right."

Taking a seat, Christopher rubs at his temples. Folding his hands together he looks up at me; so sad. "I don't know, Liv. I'm sorry you feel that way, I am, but I don't want you to go out there with this blind faith that he's coming back, and then bump into him a few months down the track and he's blissfully happy, she's pregnant, and you're there all alone. The other night you made me watch that stupid movie. My Best Friend's Wedding. The gay guy asks her that question. He asks her who is chasing her. I'm asking you, Liv. Who is chasing you? Every night you write a letter to a man who never replies. You keep having dinner with some other prick who only has time for you when he doesn't have a better offer, and who let his mates publicly humiliate you. You spend your days holding onto a hope that some guy you spent one weekend with will realise that weekend meant so much more than one weekend. But you're here. Each night. Sitting with me on the couch. Seriously, what the fuck are you doing?"

That was the point when the damn of tears erupted and I collapsed down beside him on the bed. Wrapping his arms around me, he held me tight for the longest time.

All I did was cry until he kissed me. He kissed me for even longer than he'd held me.

We're still lying on my bed but he's fallen asleep now. He's wrapped around me as I type this and I wonder what is happening here. Why did he get so upset with me? Why does he put up with my outbursts? Why does he hate them all so much but continue to kiss me like they do?

I see clearly why the world might think I'm insane, and I know that Big Red and I was nothing. It was only a weekend, but it was a weekend that I needed in order to convince myself that I wouldn't be alone forever.

As for The Czech, I don't know. I don't know what he is.

So I'll keep lying here with Chris until he stirs. Then I'll send him down the hallway to his room, and I'll keep lying on my side of the bed and saving the other side for whomever might come along and actually want it permanently.

I can promise you that I will never apologise for believing in true love. Or that people can change. Or that sometimes people get lost on their path. I'm a hopeless romantic, the very worst kind, and I will not apologise for that.

But, Pete, it'd be nice if you could come home now. This game has gone on long enough and I'm tired. I need a friend who knows me better than I know myself. I need to believe that not all men leave. The nicest thing that any man has said to me in years was tonight when Christopher was falling asleep and under his breath he mumbled, "It's blue. Your favourite colour is blue. It's why you chase all those blue-eyed men continuously."

How can those few words be the highlight of my life up till now? How can he really be the only man who ever cared enough to notice?

Liv x

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

Text

De(railed) +18

Summary: The canon episode "Derailed" reimagined where Reader is sent on the solo interview and Spencer, recklessly, decides to save her. Plus, the aftermath.

CW: mommy kink sub! Spencer x dom! female (she/her) reader, cum play, penetrative sex, light degradation, praise kink, light choking (mentioned), edging, calling him a slut (please let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 6 K (this is the longest thing I've ever written!)

Author's Note: Special thank you to @shemarmooresfedora for reading this for me because I was very nervous about the smut portion. And a very special thank you to @notanotherreidgirl for inspiring this idea! this was my ask so yeah, this is a little out there for me so be kind (*dips into the shadows*). Also I either really hate or really love this title :)

Taglist: You can join the taglist here!

De(railed)

Sitting on the train, headed towards Virginia for the custodial interview, you tried to remind yourself what Spencer said to you the previous night when you dropped him off at his apartment. You had his hands in yours and you could feel him shake with nerves when he spoke.

He told you that he believes in you. Even when you think that Hotch and Gideon are sending you out to the solo interview too early, Spencer believes in you. If only you’d believe a little bit in yourself, then maybe you’d be able to figure out a way off this train, but an armed man and innocent passengers proves that a little challenging.

The man passes the train up and down and you tell yourself to relax. In hindsight, it seems like a horrible series of events that lead to the man shooting the train attendant. You’ve done your best to keep him calm until the police can see him off the train. Looking outside, you see SWAT, local PD, and FBI lined up 50 yards from the train.

Continuing to wave his gun around the train, the unsub rants about wanting to talk to a higher authority. To yourself, to wish that Spencer was here with you. He’d have figured out exactly what was wrong with the man by now. For less than professional reasons, you’re forever grateful that he’s not here- that he’s safe on the other side of the train.

“He’s out of his mind,” the man holding a bottle of whiskey says, “You gotta do something, lady,” he says, taking a swig of his drink. Your eyes dart to him and back up the doctor, the unsub’s psychologist, looking for a way out.

You breathe deeply, hoping that the BAU would come up with a plan. Knowing FBI protocol, you expect them to try to initiate a line of communication. Glancing over at the unsub, you think that he’ll want to talk to someone who looks like they are powerful. That would be either Hotch or Gideon. Selfishly, you’re grateful that Spencer still looks like an underpaid TA with a toy gun attached at his hip.

“No! Please, don’t hurt me!” the young woman screams, trying to release herself from the man, Ted’s, grip. He releases her, throwing her to the ground when his phone rings.

Gideon.

On the phone with Gideon, the man demands for something to be removed. You can’t hear what he’s saying to the unsub, but you place the little faith you have left into hoping your team can save you.

***

His vest is much too big for him.

That’s all you can think of when you realize Spencer is the “technician” that they’re sending in. His tie and shirt stick awkwardly and there is a gap in his shoulders around the vest. The straps are pulled so tight that they nearly fold over. His hands aren’t shaking when he carries the small black box, but his eyes look terrified.

You want to reach out to him, maybe hold his hand or brush the strands of hair that have fallen into his face, but you can’t. You have to sit there and pretend that this is the first time you’ve met him. It’s excruciatingly sick and mildly amusing in an equally twisted way. The first time you’ve come to terms with loving Spencer, you both can very well die.

“I’m here for the chip,” Spencer says, holding his hands up, “the higher authorities sent me,” he claims, feeding into the unsubs delusion. You shield your glance, unable to trust yourself from launching yourself in between Spencer and the man with the gun.

“That’s far enough and drop your weapons,” Ted says, holding the crying woman by her neck, “and take that vest off. I want to see you,”

“I don’t have any weapons. They don’t authorize them for-”

“I said take it off!” the man shouts, throwing the woman to the ground.

Spencer complies, taking off the much too big vest and tossing it to the ground. He holds his hands up, playing the part of the unsuspecting underling well. He reaches out to Ted, showing him the tools that he’ll use to take out the “chip”. You wonder how Spencer will pull it off, but you know he will in the end.

Spencer digs into the man’s skin with the scalpel. You can’t catch the sleight of hand, but you know that’s what he used.

“I have to leave, the higher authorities need the chip-”

“Turn it on,” Ted orders, “Turn it on!” he screams, his voice booming in the small train.

Spencer’s eyes dart to yours thinking of ways that he can get out of here. He looks almost sorry, and you feel a wave of intense regret. The thousands of times you could have said those little words seem so simple now.

“I can’t turn it on,” Spencer says, “I can’t turn it on,” You hate how scared he sounds, and you hate even more how you have to pretend that you don’t know him.

“Why!” the unsub yells, thrashing the gun around, “You’re one of them!”

Thinking quickly when you see him point the gun at Spencer’s face, you jump to your feet. You push Spencer out of the way, terrified that he’ll do something rash. You can’t lose Spencer, not when you’ve hadn’t had the chance to have him yet.

“It needs to be implanted to be activated,” you say, “I know this stuff Ted, I’m a Fed. Only me. Everyone else,Ted is just innocent. Just let them go, Ted,” you plead, “Just let them go,”

“No!” he yells, shooting up into the ceiling of the train, “no!”

The windows are closed, but you suspect that Hotch and Gideon have the train surrounded by now. Spencer moves closer to you, staring at the man as he scratches his upper arm. He drops his hand towards yours and squeezes, like he’s saying sorry and saying goodbye all in one touch. You don’t realize this before it’s too late.

“Doctor Brier,” Spencer says, standing up with his hands near his head, “you’re right, there’s more-”

“Just make it stop!” the desperate man pleas, “Make it stop!”

“I know what it’s like, Ted. The voices, they’ve been talking to you since you were a kid. They don’t stop. I know what it’s like Ted,” Spencer says, inching closer and closer to him, “Leo? Why don’t you let him think for himself?” Spencer says, trying to use the man’s delusion against him.

“Don’t! Stop, you’re trying to trick me!” the man begs, whipping the gun around too close to Spencer’s face, “stop!”

You always listen to Spencer. Whatever he talks about, you listen. From Russian cinema to Star Trek to the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture, you listen to him. It’s not that hard and it’s easy to get lost in his eyes or the way his hands move when he talks. But the seconds leading up to when the gunshot goes off, you’re not listening.

Because without Spencer, there isn’t much worth listening to.

***

Your eyes are squeezed shut so when a large hand hovers over your shoulder you jump at the touch. It takes you all of ten seconds to realize it’s Spencer. You look him over, searching for signs of mortal wounds that will rip him from your clutches, but there isn’t any.

“You’re okay,” you say, wanting nothing more but to kiss him or yell at him, or maybe a mix of the two, “you’re okay,” you repeat, not fully believing it the first time.

“We’re okay,” Spencer says, hugging you tight as you collapse into his arms, not caring if the rest of the team watches.

“I haven’t been fair to you, Spence,” you say, breaking from the hug to caress his face. You stop, holding his face in your hands, soaking him in, “you’re not someone who gets strung along, baby. I fucking love you and you-you mean so much to me. And I hate-I hate that it took you almost dying for me to realize that,” you cry, unable to care anymore.

“You love me?” Spencer whispers, unable, himself to care that they have an audience, “You love me back, but I’m, I-I,”

“Spencer,” you tell him, pausing to kiss him fully, “I,” you plant another kiss, on his right cheek, “love,” left cheek, “you,” forehead.

“You do, don’t you?” he says, looking at you with a proud smirk, “I guess that’s good because, I love you, Y/N. I don’t go risk my life just for everyone,”

“Watch yourself, baby,” you remind him, channeling the surge of pure life that runs through your veins, “you’re in for it later, my darling,” you tell him, whispering into his ear so only he can hear.

***

You didn’t even give him time to breathe before you pushed him up against the wall. Spencer’s hands still held yours, you don’t think that he dropped them since you two safely exited the train. He whimpers through the kiss, his breathy moan only serving to spur you on. His hands broke from yours, clinging to your waist. Spencer tries to peel your clothes from your skin, but he's much too distracted by your lips that travel across his cheekbones and down to his neck. He’s breathless and panting, but you don’t let up. If he’s breathing, he’s alive and that’s all that matters now.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Spencer pleads, the desperation in his voice causing you to pause from your attack on his neck, “I-I, Y/N,” he stutters, feeling empty without your kisses.

“I’m not mad, sweet boy. I’m not mad at you,” you say, laying on a sweet voice as your fingers skim through Spencer’s hair. He’s shaking slightly and closes his eyes, looking like he’s grateful to be alive.

“You’re not, but I wasn’t good,” he whispers, “I wasn’t good for you, Mommy,”

You do everything in your power to keep your composure, but after a day like today, you’re ready to melt into him. He might be the one begging at your feet soon, but there’s no doubt in your mind that it’s you who's wrapped around his finger. He looks up at you, with his back leaning against the wall; his face flushed pink and marks littering his neck.

“You scared me, Spence. I thought- I just let me take care of you,” you request, dropping your hands from his hair and grabbing onto his hand as you lead him to your bedroom. You’ve made it a habit to go to your place after cases; Spencer claims that the sunlight that dips into your bedroom in the morning is more pleasant than his view of the street, but you know he just prefers your bed and the attention he gets at your place.

“Please, Y/N,” he begs, following you into the bedroom. He’s at your heels and burrowed deeply in your heart, exactly where you want him.

You drop his hands, guiding him so his knees hit the edge of your plush bed. He kicks off his shoes and starts to undo his tie and shirt, but you stop him before he gets the chance.

“Let me do that for you, baby. I’m taking care of you tonight,” you say, feeling your heart swell as he looks up at you adoringly, “Mommy’s got you, my brave boy,” you tell him, your fingers grazing over his cheekbones, his nose and eyes. His eyes close as you continue to draw shapeless shapes over his skin.

“Thank you,” he mutters, saying it like a pray as he relaxes for the first time today, “thank you, Mommy,”

You smile at the name, enjoying how pliant he is as you unbutton his shirt and loosen his tie. His flushed cheeks lead down his equally flushed chest. You place both your legs over his body, hovering over him as you straddle him. The proximity eggs him on and the minimal friction near his pants causes him to buck up words. Mercilessly, you chuckle at his attempt to get off. You want nothing more than to put him out of his misery, but watching him squirm for the tiniest bit of affection— your affection makes you nearly as desperate as Spencer.

“Patience, sweetheart,” you tell him, harshly pulling off his shirt as you nibble on his ear. He whimpers out in desire, already unable to form coherent thoughts even though you’ve so much as kissed him.

You stop touching him, sinking down to your knees before him. Spencer looks down at you, his pupils blown and his hair messy from being pushed up against the wall. His breathing is erratic and unmeasured, but he’s heart is still beating. You smile, unafraid and not caring that it breaks character as you give his thigh a squeeze. You bring his hands to his buttons, motioning for him to unbutton his pants for you.

“I can’t do all the work now, can I, baby?” You question rhetorically, quite self satisfied that he nods eagerly. He quickly undoes his pants, kicking the heavy corduroy trousers near your bathroom door. If the moment wasn’t so tense and erratic, you probably would have teased him for his excitement.

“I want to touch you, please? Mommy” Spencer starts, his hands holding your face as you kneel. He holds your face so delicately and gently, it’s a contrast to the sinful way he’s squirming above you.

“Not yet,” you tsk, slipping your finger under the waistband of his boxers. The bulge in his underwear looks very uncomfortable, but Spencer clearly tries his best to behave under your strong stare. You peel back the underwear and let it drop to Spencer’s feet. His cock, now exposed, is painfully hard. He concentrates on his breathing and trying to remain composed as your fingers travel up his leg and towards his groin.

“There’s my pretty boy,” you coo, grabbing Spencer’s jaw and making him look down at you. He lets pitiful whine at your words, “Come on, make my fingers nice and wet,” you order, sticking out two fingers that he sucks enthusiastically.

“What a good little slut I have, you’re sucking Mommy’s fingers just as if it’s my strap, aren’t you sweet boy,” you say, gently resting your other palm loosely around his neck. You don’t apply any pressure, but let it serve as a reminder of what could happen.

Happily, Spencer sucks your fingers, moaning around them and bucking his hips up in frustration. Marred by impatience, you remove your fingers from his mouth and kneel back down on the floor. Loosely, you grip his cock with your wet fingers. Spencer whines at the friction that’s nothing close to enough.

“Tell me how that feels,” you demand, “Tell Mommy how I makes you feel,”

“I-I feel,” Spencer starts, concentrating intently, but unable to truly articulate the passion you ignite in him, “Mommy, you make me feel so good,” Spencer says, finally finding the words, even though they barely scratch the surface.

“That’s all I want, baby. You deserve to feel good. So let me take care of you, my love,” you tell him, watching as he simpers at your words.

For a second there you let yourself think that maybe it’s calling him my love that prompted his reaction, not the promise of his cock in your mouth. You know after tonight there’s no tip toeing around it anymore: you’re unequivocally in love with him and you’re a little disappointed that it took the pair of you nearly dying to figure it out finally.

Looking back up at him, you abandon your plans for a moment. You kiss him hard. Normally, you’d hate the way your teeth clash against someone else’s and how the kiss isn’t really a kiss. It’s hard to pace yourself when he’s whimpering below you as you grind down hard on his crotch. The fabric of your pants provides much needed friction, causing Spencer to cry out in a twisted mix of pleasure and pain. He paws at your work short, silently begging for you to shed your layers as well.

“Good boys wait,” you tell him, kissing his forehead and sinking back down for the last time. You’ll never be done teasing him, but for now you intend to put his needs first.

“Such a pretty cock that only I get to see,” you coo, running a finger up his length, relishing in how he shudders at your touch. You’ve touched him so many times, yet he reacts each time as if it’s the first. He’s leaking precum as his breathing becomes more and more strained. This is far from your first time with Spencer and you’re well aware of the signs of his release.

Smiling up at him, you lazily wrap your hand around him, giving him the smallest bit of friction and attention that he needs to come. You drop him once he’s close to the edge, his pleading, begging eyes turning glazed over when he realizes you’re taking off your shirt. By the way he’s looking at you, you’d think you’d be wearing your best lingerie. Quickly, you’ve learned that with Spencer you could be wearing your ratty college tee shirts and he’d still look at you like you were dripping in gold.

“Mommy,” he pleads, “I’m a good boy,” he says, no trying to convince himself to hold back from his release, “please Mommy. I’m gonna-“ Spencer says, the flush on his face deepening as he throws his head back in ecstasy. However, he summons enough energy and will to reach out and palm your boobs. You don’t hide your moans as he rolls a nipple in between his thumb and pointer finger. It only encourages him, but nowhere can you find in yourself to care.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Spencer whimpers, unable to hold himself up anymore and collapsing on the bed. His chest heaves up and down as he tries to collect himself. He comes all over your chest, staining your lavender bralette and looking very proud of himself. Spencer learned quickly as well that coming before you’ve even touched him earns him quite the praise.

“Such a good boy,” you praise, choosing to ignore him coming without permission, “such a messy boy though,” you chastise, squeezing his thigh and crawling your fingers up his chest.

“Mommy, please, I want to make you feel good too. I love you,” Spencer begs, his eyes droopy with exhaustion from the long day and glazed over with his orgasm. His words slur together as if he's drunk off something potent. His eyes meet yours, but flit down quickly. He scans your soiled chest, licking his lips unconsciously as his eyes rank over your breasts covered in the lavender lacy and stained with his cum.

“Do you know what good boys do?” You ask, expecting Spencer to answer the question without hesitation.

“They clean up their mess, Mommy,” he says. In a moment of bravery, he grabs your hand, guiding you to lay down on the bed. He twists his hands around your back, unlatching your bra from your body and tosses it on the ground.

Above you, Spencer lowers his face so his chin barely grazes your chest. His tongue darts out onto your skin, licking up the messy cum that fell on your chest. You place your hands in his hair, gripping firmly. It’s not hard enough to cause any pain, but it’s tight enough to remind him to stay put. Spencer hums contently, lapping up your chest, but keeping his eyes trained on yours. You pull him up by his hair, pieces fall over his blissed out eyes. He smiles up at you, his chin glistening with cum, but looking pleased with himself.

“That’s a good boy,” you praise, pulling him up to kiss him deeply. His tongue swirls around in yours and his large hands cup your face. You can feel him moving in your lap, more and more desperate for attention and friction as you continue to hold him off, “I love you, baby,” you say, hoping that he’ll hear enough times for it to stick and for him to start living his life like he wants to stay alive.

“Just for you, Mommy,” Spencer mumbles, already sucking and marking the valley between your breasts, “Can you? Please?” Spencer asks, still embarrassed, after all these months to put to words his desires.

“What, baby? You need to use your words,” you tell him, scooting up in the bed and smirking to yourself as Spencer practically chases you up the headboard, “You need to tell him what you want me to do, baby,” you say, talking slowly as you rub circles into his skin. He’s still hot to the touch and flushed all over.

“I want to make you feel good,” Spencer begs, licking his fiery red lips that are swollen and bitten from your earlier treatment, “I want you to feel good,” he says, attempting to buck his hips against your legs.

“Are you sure about that, Spence?” you ask, teasing him with your wandering hands. One stays latching in his hair, exposing his criminally bare neck and the other sneaks down to his cock, but hardly satisfies his burning need, “Because it seems like you’re an insolent little slut who only cares if he gets off. Do I need to remind you that I have needs as well,” you chide, increasing your grip on his hair as your lips nip the sensitive skin of his neck. He shudders in response, unable to fully articulate a sentence.

“But you’re lucky, you’re beautiful, Dr. Reid,” you say, dropping his hair and letting his head fall onto your chest. Knowing your expectations, Spencer doesn’t hesitate to kiss and nip along your skin. You feel your panties dampen at the sight of him: his hair wild and messy, his neck marked with evidence of your mouth, and his chest is bright red, somehow still flustered and embarrassed by your affections. You find it bizarre that he still doesn’t fully believe just how head over heels you are for him. He’s too good and pure for this world, and you’ll happily spend the rest of your life reminding him just how deserving of goodness and pureness he is.

“I love you,” Spencer whimpers against your skin, his breath is hot as he pants, “but please fuck me,” he begs, flipping around on his back so you can be on top.

“Don’t worry, sweet boy, Mommy will take care of you,” you remind him, balancing yourself so you can hover over him, “Now, I’d normally want you to be quiet, but I want to hear everything. So use that pretty mouth of yours and tell me how you feel, sweetie,” you instruct, maneuvering yourself so you’re lined up with him.

“Give me a second, please,” Spencer asks, pushing himself up so his back rests against the headboard, “You make me crazy, I just need a moment to think,” he says, quietly, staring off nothing in the bedroom. You take the opportunity to grab his hand, that’s gripping onto your floral patterned sheets, and kiss his scars on his knuckles. Some are new and fresh, while others are old, from longer ago than working at the BAU. You kiss them over, as if your lips are able to help the evidence of his physical pain.

“You make me crazy too, Spencer,” You say, growing more and more unhinged as he moves underneath you, “I love you so much, darling,” you tell him, kissing his eyes, lips, nose, anything you can reach.

Slowly, so slowly, you sink down onto Spencer. You watch his microexpressions, but you know how he’ll react. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if he’s willing himself to hold off. He breathes in and out, teetering on the edge. You wait for his nod, for his sign of approval that you can move. He whines and peeks open his eyes. Spencer’s hands dig into your waist, his strong, large hands searching for any skin to grab onto.

“Please move, Mommy,” Spencer begs, burying his head into the crook of your neck as he starts to plead with you to have mercy on him, “I need it, Mommy,” he moans.

“Don’t be greedy, darling. You’ll take what I give you, but don’t you want to make me feel good too, baby,” you ask, guiding his nimble fingers to your slick core. His thumb and pointer finger begin to rub quick circles around your clit. You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure as you feel the pressure build. Between the heightened tensions of work and Spencer's hot breath against your neck, you know that you’ll come soon. Spencer’s breathy moans get more and more desperate.

“Are you already going to come again, love?” You ask, increasing your pace. His other hand grips your thigh, drawing shapes into your soft skin. Following suit, you match his sweet movements on his cheek. His breath is his shaky as you stroke his cheek lovingly, “Make me come first and then, maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you come inside me,” you promise, already knowing that you’ll let him come inside you.

“Watch you disappear inside me, baby. Watch your pretty cock slip inside my pussy. It’s just like you were made for me, darling,” you cry, your voice getting slightly breathy yourself. You watch yourself as his cock goes in and out, red with overstimulation. Spencer’s eyes, littered with small tears, looks transfixed.

“Fuck,” Spencer says, “I’m so close, Mommy. I-I, you make me feel so good. You’re so beautiful, I-I-”

“So needy, you’re so fucking needy,” you say to him. You can tell he’s growing more and more impatient by the moment. His hands lurch towards your chest, pawing at your boobs. Spencer’s sloppy movements bring you closer and closer to the edge.

“So good, so good,” he repeats, his sweaty forehead rests on your collarbone. You pull him up again his hair, relishing in the pitiful moan that he lets out. It’s raw and pure sin, it should make you want to fuck him more, but it only makes you want to love him more.

You’re drunk on him. Drunk on his moans and whimpers of pleasure. You’re drunk on the way his skin sticks to yours and how his hands roam around your body, always finding a spot on your torso and legs that makes you approach the edge closer and closer. You wonder, for a second, if you’re being too hard on him. If you should just whisper that little sentence and let Spencer feel the wave of pleasure.

“I need it, Mommy,” Spencer pants, kissing lined up your chest and collarbone. His face is pressed up against your face and moves up and down as you continue your pace, “I-I, Mommy, I want you to-”

“What do you want, baby? Hmm? Tell Mommy?�� You ask, your voice sounding sickly sweet. The noise of moans fills the room, Spencer’s moan akin to whimpers and whines and your’s more like praises and words of approval, “you’ve been such a good boy, baby I’ll give you want whatever you want, my love”

“Please, please let me make you come, Mommy. I need you to come, Mommy. I need it,” Spencer whines, looking up into your eyes and latching onto them in the darkness.

It’s sinful how the filthy words contrast with his sweet, shy tones. He looks so innocent, but enthralling with his face between your hands, but his own hands rubbing small circles on your clit. His moans grow more high pitched. You kiss by his ear, ready to whisper the words of approval that you’ve neared your release.

“Oh god, Spencer. God. You have no idea what you do to me. My sweet boy,” you murmur, pressing Spencer’s face further into your chest. You can feel him heave and his breathing grow more and more unsteady, but he still has enough sense to continue rubbing your clit.

You kiss him, wanting to feel him everywhere when you come undone. Kissing him is desperate and full of gasps of air. His skin is so soft as you slide across his mouth, up his cheeks, and over his jaw. His helpless moans spur you on, giving you the strength and energy to thrust down on him another time before you feel yourself come undone.

“It’s your turn, baby. Come on, sweetheart. Come inside me and maybe I’ll have to call you daddy? Hmm?” you chant, halting your movements to torture him a little longer.

“Please, Y/N. Please let me fill you up,” Spencer begs, his voice hoarse and scratchy from being so vocal, “I’m yours. I love you so much,” he calls out, wrapping his arms around you so your chests are pressed up together. He holds you sweetly and you kiss his shoulders and his neck, choosing to leave a large red welt as a reminder for him.

“You like that? Hmm you like if I call you Daddy and let you fill me up? Come on, Spencer. You can come. Don’t you want to be a good boy for Mommy?,” you say, giving him the permission that he’s been desiring all night.

He tightens his grip on your upper half as he meets his release. Spencer’s strangled moans turn into sweet whimpers as he looks down into your laps. Quietly, you ride him through the rest of his orgasm, letting him come down from his high peppered with light pecks along his freckled shoulders and sharp jawline. Spencer smiles into the kisses, his eyes are shut and his cheeks are dusted with a light pink flush. For the first time today, he looks relaxed and safe.

“Thank you, Mommy,” Spencer says quietly, mirroring your motions and kissing your shoulders and neck as you slow your pace, “Can we stay like this. Just for a moment,” Spencer asks, burning for the feeling of being inside you for even a couple more minutes.

“Of course, baby,” you tell him, squeezing him into a tight hug, “you did so wonderful for me. Such a good boy. I love my sweet boy,” you tell him, brushing the stray hairs from his face. His neck is marked by your mouth and his eyes are glazed with sleep and desire.

“I love you,” Spencer says again, his forehead falling against yours and his breath hitching as you move slightly with him inside you, “and I’m sorry. I’m sorry about today,”

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart and then we’ll talk about it,” you suggest, taking the opportunity to kiss his lips as you pull yourself away from his lap.

Spencer doesn’t say much in response, but nods silently. He groans slightly as you separate your bodies and he tries to chase your lips with his as you climb out of the bed and into your bathroom.

“Please come back,” Spencer says, sounding like he wasn’t sure if you’d keep your promise.

“I’m right here, Spence,” you reassure him, returning from the bathroom dressed in an old tee shirt and carrying a warm, damp washcloth and a pair of clean underwear for Spencer.

“Can you please hold me? Please, Y/N. I need you,” Spencer says, reaching out to you in the dark. That’s one request you know you’d never deny.

“Of course, Spence. Just let me clean you up and I’ll hold you,” you tell him, gently dragging the warm towel over his skin. He’s quiet as you clean him up, but his soulful eyes look lost and sheepish, making him look smaller and more vulnerable than he actually is. You drop the towel to the floor, not caring that the water isn’t good for the floor.

You lay back down on the bed and Spencer, like a magnet to another magnet, crawls in close. He’s still undressed, except for the underwear that you gave him. His eyes are droopy and his breathing is still shaky, but steadies out as your hands draw circles on his back. You pull the covers up to his chin, making sure he’s covered before you start what you know all too well is a difficult conversation.

“Spencer,” you croak, “Why did you do that? Why do you think that’s okay?” you ask, still trying to make sense of why Spencer would risk his life like that so recklessly. You hold him tighter, squeezing his arm as he breathes out, ready to tell you what he’s never told anyone before.

“Bec-, because- I don’t matter,” he says, the words choking out between cries of years and years of pain, “because it doesn’t matter to anyone if I don’t come home. I don’t have anyone to come home to,”

“You’ve always had me,” you say quietly, “I’m your person to come home with, Spence,” you tell him, hoping with all the faith in your body that he’ll believe you. You hold his hand, weaving your fingers in his. Looking at your hands intertwined together, you’d think that your hand was made for it. It’s a little cliche, but Spencer is the kind of man that makes all those cliches seem like wonderful possibilities.

“I-I, I never had someone before,” Spencer says, “I mean, I had my mom, but it’s gotten harder. But then, then, I met you. And I never thought you’d like me like that, Y/N. I never thought you could love me,”

“Spencer,” you say, twisting around so you can hold his face in your hands, “Spencer, I love you. You are so much more than your job. You’re worthy of being loved, Goose. And I’d spend the rest of my life making you realize this”

“You want to spend the rest of your life- the rest of your life with me?” Spencer asks, sounding like he can’t believe the words that you say.

“Spence, I’ve loved you since I’ve known you,” you say, dragging your hands through his curly hair that’s matted against his forehead, “You would have realized that if you weren’t too carried away with making me your future history,”

“I think I have a habit of doing that,” Spencer confesses, kissing your forehead sweetly, “You’re- I’m sorry that I worried you like that, but for so long, for so long this is all I’ve had. And before that it was school. I throw myself into academia or work because it’s all I had,”

“Had,” you repeat, “as in the past tense. You’ve had some much more than too, Spence. We all love you. Elle and Derek. JJ and Hotch. Penny and Gideon. We all love you, but I love you the most,”

“Good,” Spencer replies, turning his head down to kiss you, “because I love you the most,”

His lips glide across yours, moving slowly at first and faster as he grows more urgent. There’s no sense in rushing through. You could kiss him lazily in your bed all night and continue until it gives way to morning. There’s no time limit, no buzzer that’s going to go off and force Spencer to whole himself back up into his past. He smiles through the kiss, knowing well that there’s more to come tomorrow, or maybe even tonight. His lips were warm and soft, maybe still a little tender from before, but still eager to feel your lips against his. Breathing together, savoring that you both are breathing, you smile yourself, fully ready for whatever comes next.

***

Taglist (not my usual taglist because I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable bc this is smut. You can join the taglist here!)

@shemarmooresfedora @just-another-persona123 @folkreid @idonotexiste @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @fandomfriend33 @spencersrose @strawberryspence

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #no minors #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut fic #spencer reid x fem reader #sub spencer reid #derailed #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #no minors please

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