#West Coast Main Line | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

januaryembrs · 4 days

Text

WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Description: Sunshine rookie gets a boyfriend, and Spencer can’t help but thing he would be so much better for her. But that definitely isn’t the jealousy talking, right?

Length: 8k

Warnings: nothing really, jealousy? talks of sex? embarrassment? Mention briefly of vomit because of allergic reaction.

main masterlist.

author’s note: I want to write for these two until my fingers are two little stubs and even then I’ll learn with my toes. Can be read as a stand alone!

He thought he was going to be sick when he saw her that random Thursday, leaning against her desk, a sweet, bashful smile on her face. Or, more specifically, Spencer thought he was going to need to at least sit down when he saw the man standing next to her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the little daisy earrings Penelope bought her for her birthday almost laughing at his gobsmacked expression.

He liked Agent Taylor Bingley. He respected the fresh faced desk jockey from the third floor that swanned around their bullpen, usually discussing warm up routines with Luke. He was quick on his feet, a pretty decent shot. Never missed a report, never tardy, even offered his parking spot up to Spencer on more than one occasion because he didn’t mind the long walk from the other lot. He flew under the radar, and when he was noticed, it was because he was a particularly kind soul.

Spencer didn’t think he’d ever seen him without those rosy cheeks that made him look almost always sunburnt, or that trademark boyish grin a handsome guy like him had down to a tea. So it really shouldn’t have been such a surprise to see him lingering around his sunshine girl.

Except she wasn’t his, not by a mile. They just spent almost every second of the work day together.

“Check it out, rookie has an admirer,” Tara said, the heels clicking against the floor as she passed the door, where Spencer seemed to have stopped, his eyes narrowing at the happy couple, “Can’t say I blame him. She’s a pretty girl, don’t you think, Spence?”

She didn’t realise she was rubbing salt in a superficial wound, but Spencer felt his jaw feather with annoyance. Because she was beyond a pretty girl, she was honey and all the months of Spring and a hot drink on a rainy day and finishing a good book and the dessert your mom let you have on your tenth birthday. Not that he could admit that. So he just nodded, right as Taylor leaned over to kiss the apple of her cheek.

She shied away, smiling to her lap and playing with her fingertips, not looking up from her little potted plant that sat next to her on her desk, and Spencer knew it was because she floundered when people gave her too much attention.

Like when Garcia had said her blouse and bun combo she’d worn the other day made her look like a sexy teaching assistant, she’d stammered something close to a thankyou and headed to the kitchenette to get herself a glass of water. Or when Rossi had said the bangs she had cut herself two weeks ago looked cute, that his daughter had been desperate to try something similar, she’d spilled her coffee down her front not even two seconds later because she had been so occupied telling the man it was no big deal.

“Morning, Doctor Reid, Doctor Lewis,” Taylor said, his pearly white teeth gleaming with that West Coast, surfer boy tan that made Spencer want to huff. The man was insufferable. Well, correction, he was insufferably nice for someone Spencer was desperate to pick apart with faults the second he’d seen her preening over their sunshine rookie.

“Morning, Agent Bingley,” Tara said civilly, smiling back at the Agent that passed them to head to the elevators. She caught a glimpse of Spencer, and was quick to make herself scarce in the interest of needing to check in with Penelope, because she knew what that stormy look in his eye and the way his lips pressed into a thin line meant, profiler or not.

Spencer didn’t pay much attention to Lewis leaving his side, not that he was trying to be rude, his eyes were zeroed in on the way she fumbled around her desk, looking for imaginary mess to tidy, which included rearranging the pots of glitter pens and highlighters next to her monitor, only to put them back exactly how they were before.

“Agent Bingley, that’s new,” Came a voice over her shoulder, that made her jump in her seat, and her expression was skittish when she swivelled around, Spencer towering over her with calculating eyes. Luke rolled his chair around the divider to lean in on the conversation, having witnessed the whole thing in high definition since her desk was right next to his.

“Oh, Taylor?” She squeaked, and Spencer didn’t need to touch her face to know it had gone hot just by the way she simpered and fiddled with the hem of her knee length skirt, avoiding their gaze, “Yeah, he took me to the aquarium at the weekend and we got lunch. It’s not really serious or anything, I don’t think,”

She seemed unsure, her lips pursed together and a tiny crease between her brow he hated, and it was then Luke’s deep laugh rumbled next to them.

“Does he know that?” Luke asked, and she shot him a look, wide eyed and confused, as he cleared his throat, “I was thinking I could take you out again in that pretty red dress-”

She threw a wad of scrunched up notepaper at him, an embarrassed smile on her face as she shook her head at him, “You have spent way too much time with Penelope, you’re turning into gossiping school children,”

But she seemed happy, like the thought of the conversation she’d had with Agent Bingley made her all the more girlish herself as she giggled lightly, her gaze meeting Spencer’s empty expression. He wished he could hide his jealousy better, perhaps even seem happy for her. She deserved someone soft and saccharine and humane like Bingley, not a rough shell of what once was a brilliant man. He knew he should feel somewhat pleased for her, at least now he had empirical, hard evidence on why he couldn’t have her, but he couldn’t.

“All I’m saying, rookie, is if you got that man bringing you breakfast and sweet talking you after one date, you’ll have him wrapped around your pinky by the time he’s your boyfriend,” Luke chuckled, and Spencer thought he might just burst a vessel with how hard he clenched his jaw at that dreaded b word.

Alvez had no idea just how much he had twisted a knife in Spencer’s gut, which was plunged even further when he saw that sparkle in her eye when she looked up at him.

“Ignore him, he’s a busy body,” She chirped, her teeth peeking from her lips when she hid a grin, “You wanna get coffee later? Taylor brought me tea and I’m dying for the good stuff,”

Spencer nodded with a small smile, because her attitude was infectious, and selfishly thinking that Bingley couldn’t be that perfect for her because she only ever wanted tea when she felt sick, usually towards the start of the month that he guessed was in correlation with her menstrual cycle but would never ask. She wouldn’t want tea for another two weeks, and would likely take an extra shot in her cappuccino today because this was when she felt the most lethargic.

Swivelling back around in her chair to log onto her computer, she remained completely oblivious to his inner turmoil.

For once, Spencer wished he’d been late to work.

–

Two months. They had been dating for two fucking months. As far as Spencer could tell, from Penelope’s need to chatter about their sunshine rookie and her hot, stud muffin of a boyfriend, things had only been official for about five weeks of that time, but it hadn’t stopped Spencer from wanting to swallow glass because that would likely be less inconvenient than seeing the two of them together.

Taylor usually brought her breakfast whenever they would get back from a case, which infuriated Spencer because he always bought her tea. She was a people pleaser, Spencer knew it before he had ever thought of her as anything other than the shiny newbie with too much joy and doe eyes he’d never seen before. But now, knowing her better than anyone else in the office did because she practically shadowed his footsteps, it was blaringly obvious to him that she had either never told him she didn’t like tea first thing in the morning, or he had never bothered to take notice.

Spencer felt an odd puddle of smugness and fury when on more than one occasion he saw her pouring it down the drain, cold after sitting there for hours until it was unbearable and she couldn’t force herself to drink anymore. It was obvious to him, so why wasn’t it obvious to her own boyfriend? Spencer thought bitterly. But then Agent Bingley did leave a sour taste in his mouth these days.

Speaking of which, Spencer felt that pang in his chest the way he always did when the happy couple walked into the office together. Her hand was usually in his, though she seemed to simper under the weight of the team's glances; knowing and teasing as he’d take her to her desk and whip out the to-go pastries that he’d bought them that morning.

“Morning, Spence,” She skipped past his desk, Taylor trailing behind her like a dog, though she seemed not to mind keeping him waiting a moment as she spoke to her friend, “How was Doctor Who?”

He smiled despite his grudge, because she always remembered what he said. He’d told her once that Thursdays were his evening to watch the show, and every time Friday morning rolled around, she’d bound up to lean over his computer and ask.

“It was okay, I’m excited to see what they do with a Female Doctor, even if I’ll miss Capaldi,” He replied earnestly, and her eyes filled with glee.

“Did they give her a new one of the doo-hickies they have?” She asked, his chest butterflying with an aching sort of affection because she seemed to remember everything he ever told her.

“Sonic Screwdriver?” She nodded her head, even though Spencer knew she didn’t quite understand the show entirely, “Yeah, I prefer Sarah Jane’s Sonic Lipstick however,”

“I wish I had one of those, I could reapply and save the world, how cool would that be?” She said, and they laughed together a little, before Taylor popped his head over Spencer’s computer with that dentist white beam and his excitable eyes, bluer than any sea rolling onto shore.

“Morning, Doctor Reid,” Agent Bingley said, and the smile withered from Spencer’s face, morphing into a civil nod, his expression unreadable.

“Morning, Agent,” He said, his eyes tracking back to his screen as he suddenly found Emily’s group email about staff room fridge etiquette invigorating.

Taylor must have taken it as a sign the Doctor Reid was busy and finally let him have a minutes peace, that is until she took a seat at her desk and he leaned next to her, handing her a warm bagel.

Spencer heard them chatting for about ten minutes, of which he was trying anything to tune them out, including roping Luke into their own conversation. It wasn’t until there was a lapse in the chatter that Spencer’s ears pricked up, and he heard her stand up from her desk, eyes wide as she spat a mouthful out into a tissue.

“Does this have coconut in it?” She asked somewhat fearfully, Spencer’s head whipping around to her little corner of the bullpen. Her little self help stickers dotted around her desktop stared back at him, her reminder to ‘drink water’ almost horribly ironic the second he’d heard her question.

His stomach dropped when Taylor frowned, “Yeah, it’s coconut and raspberry, is-is that not okay?”

Spencer was quick to stand up out of his own seat, rifling through his satchel to dig out his water bottle, making it to her desk in just two long paces and handing it to her without another word as she looked up at him worriedly.

“If you need to puke, it’ll probably be for the best so that you can get the traces out of your stomach. You can’t have the steroids before you hurl or it won’t work,” He soothed, and she nodded, sipping on his water with shaky hands, and Spencer was quick to catch the way her skin had a slight sheen to it that hadn’t been there before. He put a hand on her shoulder, trying to gage if she was well enough to make it to the bathroom on her own or if he would need to drive her to the ER. Either way her expression worried him.

“I-I thought it was white chocolate,” She peeped, looking extremely sorry for herself as she dumped the chewed up brownie in her bin, and Taylor almost appeared at her side, looking entirely lost as he stroked a hand down her hair.

“Talk to me, what’s wrong?” He asked, seafoam hues trailing down her sweating face in terror.

“She’s allergic to coconut,” Spencer cut in, his tone a little harsher than needed, and her boyfriend’s expression wilted like a kicked puppy.

“Shit! You never mentioned, I’m so- I’m so sorry, honey,” Taylor went pale, and she didn’t look much better as she pushed past the two of them, heading for the bathroom, Spencer a single pace behind her.

“I got her, don’t worry,” He called over his shoulder to Agent Bingley standing there like a gaping fish, his hand running through his blonde sweep as he watched her all but running out of the office, Spencer’s long legs keeping up with her.

“Is your skin getting prickly yet?” Spencer asked. Swouldn't go into anaphylaxis, at least not as far as they knew, but the large hives that would appear on her chest and neck and the vomiting was not ideal. She kept a tray of steroids in her desk incase an accidental cross contamination happened (and because Spencer had forced her to have some on hand), but seeing her panicked eyes as she tasted the chalky fruit had made him fawn over her like she was marked for the plague.

“Neck is getting itchy,” She replied, tugging at her collar and pushing the door to the unisex bathrooms open, heading for the nearest stall, “You don’t have to stay for this bit, it’s not-”

He cut her off by sweeping her hair into a ponytail, as if to tell her to stop worrying about him, and he stroked a hand over her arm to let her know he was right there, because he knew she really hated anything gory and gross like that.

He hushed her when she’d try to apologise, hand her his bottle of water in between moments where her whole body seized.

And for a minute, she thought that Spencer might be the only person who she’d ever let see her like this. Not Luke, or Garcia and certainly not Taylor.

The thought of it kept her quiet for the rest of the morning.

They seemed to move past the whole debacle quickly. Luke said Taylor had taken her to a fancy restaurant uptown to apologise, making a huge point to avoid the coconut banoffee pudding like it was an explosive.

“You guys are so cute, you’re like Jane and he’s literally your Bingley. I swear your kids are going to be sweet enough I could drizzle them right next to ice cream,” Penelope said over the SUV console speaker, Spencer in the driving seat and her in the passenger, flicking through her files as they approached the victim’s house.

The rookie blanched, “Woah, woah, kids?” She protested, and even Spencer felt himself nearly swerve the minute the bubbly IT geek said it. She looked shaken, awkwardly chuckling and reaching to tuck hair behind her ear, “Slow down, Garcia, we’ve not even- you know what, I think we’re talking about the wrong thing here-“

“You’ve not even what?” Penelope burst out, her need for the lastest gossip overwhelming the reading of the room. She swallowed heavily, shifting in her seat to face out of the window, her knees touching the door with a thud, “Have you guys not had sex yet?”

“Penelope!” The woman screeched, her face hot and gobsmacked that she’d even said it out loud.

But it was telling enough, and Spencer’s face whirled over the console to her, guilt written on her features.

“I just assumed you guys had done it seeing as both of you are the hottest couple I know, I mean I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you if I was a guy-“ Penelope tried to save herself in the only way she knew how, by digging herself a deeper hole.

Spencer’s hand shot out for the centre screen, “We’re losing you, Garcia, you’re breaking up, bye,” He pressed the end call button, and he didn’t need to look at the girl’s face to know she was the epitome of mortified.

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, the awkward silence of the car killing him as much as he knew it was her, but he thought better of it and clamped his mouth shut. It took him a minute before he opened his mouth to speak again, if not to ask her if she wanted to stop at a drive thru for breakfast, but she beat him to it.

“I was going to say we’ve not even said I love you yet,” She murmured, keeping her body entirely swivelled away from him, her arms crossed over her chest in an attempt to make herself smaller, as if she could just smush herself into the seat so he wouldn’t say anything. She cleared her throat, scratching her wrist nervously, “But I guess that’s also true too,”

“Why not?” Her eyes snapped onto Spencer when he braved those two words, and he sensed he’d overstepped some sort of boundary before he realised it sounded like he’d been speaking about the latter, “Why haven’t you said it?” He clarified.

She went quiet, her shoulders shrugging being the only sign that she’d heard him, gaze trailing back out her window.

“He’s not said it yet either, and I don’t think I want him to. Not yet at least,” Her voice was soft, heavy as if every single one of them was coming from her heart, “Love is such a big emotion I think if he did say it, I wouldn’t know how to respond. Like, if I’m going to say it back to someone, I want to be sure I feel it otherwise it’s like I’m betraying everyone else’s version of love, you know?”

He thought she might just be an angel bottled up and thrown into his life, and he sometimes wished he could take a look inside that head of hers because how she had protected her beautiful look on the world after seeing so much hurt staggered him. He had become cruel and cold and heavy where she looked at the lecherous shithole heading for disaster they called Earth and saw right to its soul, gave it a hug, told it she would care even when no one else would.

He tore his eyes from the road, and took in the outline of her face, mindlessly watching the pedestrians on their daily commute to grab lunch, a dog peeing against a lamp post, a motorcyclist bobbing and weaving in between the midday traffic, her doe eyes never missing a trick.

Forcing his gaping expression back on the road, because he might just swerve and hit the damn rider off his bike if he let himself get lost in his little dreamscape that consisted of nothing but her and her face and her thoughts and her words, he cleared his throat, not sure how to add to the poetic, rose tint she seemed to see the world in.

“That’s good, that you’re taking things at your own pace, atleast,” He said, not particularly profound but at least it was something, “You shouldn’t do things just because someone else wants you to, even if you think it would make them happy,”

“But I like making people happy,” She countered, her expression troubled as she looked over at him with a quirked brow, “I like making you happy especially,”

“What makes you think I’m not happy?” Spencer asked, his mouth drying up, his stomach flipping in cartwheels when she giggled to herself like for once she was the smart one snd he was the one who needed teaching.

“It took you three and a half weeks to crack a smile when we first started working together,” His jaw clenched, because he was the one who counted the statistics. Perhaps he was rubbing off on her. “Honestly, I thought you hated me. I thought a seasoned agent like yourself probably would get frustrated teaching the dumb newbie the ABC’s, even ones that admire him. But then I thought, instead of getting so butt hurt about it all, I could just give you a reason to smile and you’d see that I’m not just a useless rookie learning to roll over for treats.”

Spencer’s throat bobbed. He’d hate himself forever for being so cruel to her those first few weeks, the clipped tones when she’d add something in a particularly chirpy voice, the way he would forget his manners sometimes when she’d bring him a coffee, because his head had been so deep in survival mode that being nice didn’t matter. Being nice had got him nowhere in Mexico, in fact it had shown his soft underbelly and drawn a target on it.

“I never hated you,” His voice croaked out, weak and pathetic, and it's times like that he remembered ten years ago talking to her would have made him blush, pop a boner, and lose half his IQ all in one go. Coughing, his knuckles turned white at the wheel, and he avoids her gaze that feels like a pitfall trap, “It’s difficult to go back to how you used to be when you’ve got a thousand eyes on your back waiting for you to lower your guard,”

“I know, I know that now, I jus-” She floundered, worried she’d touched a nerve, but he stopped her by leaning over the console and putting a gentle hand on her kneecap.

“Relax, I know I wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around,” Spencer said, his timbre quiet but honest, “You were one of the few things I looked forward to, if I’m honest.”

“Really?” She said, agog, like she was waiting for him to turn around and say it had been a joke, “You didn’t think I’m too loud or, like, too much?”

“How can there be too much of you? If your body wasn’t in correct proportion, your organs wouldn't function-”

“Spencer,” She said, though he knew she was smiling even without having to look, “You know that’s not what I meant,”

“I know,” He replied, a smug little smile quirking on his own lips because he loved making her happy too, “No, I could never find you too much.”

She simpered under his words, his hand a stoked flame on her skin as she brought her fingers over the top of them to squeeze them together, before she changed the subject because she knew her cheeks might just explode if they heated anymore.

–

They were back from a long case, one that had made everyone tired and grumpy, especially because they needed to swing by the office for an hour of admin even Emily couldn’t wriggle them out of.

And ofcourse, as he always was when Spencer was feeling like he was already about to strangle someone out of annoyance, Agent Bingley was right there when they entered the lobby.

She hadn’t slept well on the jet, despite Spence loaning her his jumper to use as a pillow, and she was in desperate need of coffee, the kind that Spencer and Penelope forced her to try instead of the cold caramel thing she liked. She’d even go for one of Luke’s zero sugar, zero milk atrocities right now.

“Hey guys, how was the flight?” Taylor jumped in to ask, and everyone gave some sort of variation of a groan because that was exactly how it had felt. His attention turned to her, as she pulled up the rear with Spencer attached her her hip because she had been practically sleepwalking the entire way there, “Hi honey,”

“Taylor, hi,” She said, her eyes perking up when he held out a hot take away cup for her, “You really didn’t have to,”

“Nonsense, herbal tea is supposed to alleviate headaches and help get you to sleep,” He replied, his other hand behind his back quickly whipping out to produce a bunch of flowers in front of her face.

She barely had time to flash him a grin to hide the disappointment that it was nowhere near as caffeinated as she’d like, nor that she didn’t even liked herbal tea, before a bunch of lilies were thrust her way.

“Lillies,” She said, her hand covering her chest at the touching sentiment, “Taylor, you shouldn’t have,”

“I know they’re your favourites,” The blonde replied, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and effectively putting a wall between her and Spencer, whether he meant to or not. Her expression wavered, and Spencer's eyes went straight to her, waiting for her to correct him. Because they weren’t her favourites, not even in her top five. Hyacinths were. Or Foxglove. Or Delphiniums. Not Lillies.

She nodded wordlessly, and the three of them headed for the lift, where the rest of the team held the door for them, her expression tiptoeing between guilty and smiling, Taylor’s almost ecstatic to see her after her long few days away, and Spencer’s entirely pissed off that the sun kissed jerk couldn’t see every sign blaring in his face.

“I might have to cut off the stamen when Ace comes over,” She queried, her eyes roving over the beautiful white petals opening towards her like a book.

“Ace? Who’s Ace?” He said, and Spencer and JJ exchanged a glance, because the whole elevator was now privy to their conversation as David pressed the six button. Taylor reached forward to push the three for himself.

“The dog I foster sometimes, the one I told you about. He helps me when I need to talk through some things. He’s a very good listener,,” She said with a dopey smile on her face, her eyes casting over her boyfriends face with a willing expression, because she knew for a fact she’d told him at lengths about the bouncy Spaniel that adored her, “He comes over for playdates, but the pollen inside lilies are poisonous to dogs,”

Taylor scrunched his nose up, “Ugh, I hate dogs, they’re so slobbery and the always seem to smell awful,” He commented, her face dropping the slightest in a way that made Spencer’s hand curl into a fist, because how dare Agent Bingley take that away from her, “I thought you were a cat person?”

“I like them both equally, but Ace is sweet. He curls up on my legs after we’ve gone for a walk,” Taylor still didn’t seem convinced, and she felt stupid for even mentioning it, well aware that the rest of her team were listening in on her childish description of the old dog that wanted nothing but love.

“Why do you need a dog to talk anyway, babe? You have me,” Taylor said, in a way that was supposed to sound comforting but made Spencer want to shake him and tell him to listen to a damn word she was saying. Her eyes dimmed, and she looked at the lilies again, feeling entirely ungrateful for wishing they were something else, and the elevator doors opened onto the third floor. Taylor kissed her cheek and waltzed out of the lift with a quick goodbye to her team that was returned in murmurs. Turning to look at her, his body already in the anteroom of his own floor, he smiled sweetly at her, “I love you,”

JJ and Emily whipped their heads to her face, expecting to see some kind of puppy love blossom there, only to find wide-eyed panic, her smile slowly slipping. Rossi cleared his throat when she said nothing, the air turning stale as the team waited for her response, Taylor looking at her expectantly, and she wished the ground would open up then and there to swallow her whole, because that would probably be better than whatever this was.

Tara nudged her shoulder, waking her out of her daze, Luke scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, and it was then after a beat more of silence that Taylor opened his mouth again, “Babe, did you hear what I-”

She leaned forward to press the close door button, her doe hues in full flight mode, her fingers only picking up the pace when her boyfriend took a step closer towards the elevator, and Emily brought a hand over her mouth in muffled laughter when the doors slammed shut in front of him, their sunshine rookie entirely spooked and needing a quick exit.

The tiny metal box went silent, Spencer watching her face meld from alarm to horror, to sheer embarrassment.

“I mean, I’ll give it to you kid, that’s one way to do it,” Rossi said, patting her on the back and she shoved her face in her hands, the stems of the dove white flowers brushing against her cheek roughly.

“Please tell me that didn’t just happen,” She groaned through her fingers, JJ chuckling as the doors to their own floor opened up.

“Oh honey,” She said, rubbing the girl’s back gently, leading her out onto the BAU carpet that felt harsher against the souls of her shoes than it ever had before, “I think what you need is a coffee and a long talk with someone who isn’t a dog,”

Spencer watched her shuffle to slump down behind her desk, her expression still rattled and lost, JJ’s eyes flicking to him every now and then in a way that urged him to be the one to do just that because it was obvious by now who she talked the most openly to in the office.

But by the time he’d braved walking over to her desk, she’d already rushed through her report, excusing herself home for the day, and he knew her well enough to know she needed some breathing room before he could approach the subject, otherwise she would shut the doors on him too.

He hated the spiteful part of him that revelled in Taylor’s expression when that metal screen had slammed in his face.

—

It was three days later, and she had enforced a strict ban on talking about that day in the office. For once she didn’t look like she was going to break her resolve either, since every time someone tried to weasel information of her she would either pretend she hadn’t heard, or would excuse herself to make her fifth coffee of the day, or even had thrown her paperwork on the floor when Luke had pushed her for an answer just for an excuse to avoid the topic.

In fact, Spencer himself had been tempted to get her alone because he knew she would crack without much pressure from him, though the thought of using her trusting nature against her seemed wicked, and so he stopped himself and settled for curiosity.

It wasn’t until they were away on a case and they were shoved in a room together that the subject of Taylor was even brought up, and even then it was entirely out of his control.

“I’ll take the couch,” Spencer said, his eyes falling on the double bed in the centre of the room, striding over the other side of the room to throw his to go bag down on the two seater sofa that would wreck his back.

“Don’t be silly, we can just share the bed.” She said, as if it was the most obvious solution, which it was, “I sleep talk a little, but just give me a shove and I’ll shut up,”

Spencer paused, watching her fumbling around her bag for her toothbrush and paste.

“Won’t your boyfriend mind?” He asked, his palms clammy because he worried for a moment it was wrong to bring it up, and his chest butterflied when she froze, “Sorry, I know you didn’t want to talk about it, I just thought I wouldn’t like my girlfriend sharing a bed-”

“We broke up,” She said, taking pulling a large pink shirt out her bag and some strawberry printed shorts, her toiletries stuffed in her pockets, “So don’t worry about any of that stuff, we can share,”

And she waltzed into the bathroom without any more explanation, the lock clicking behind her and leaving Spencer alone with his thoughts.

They had broken up? Was it because of what happened in the elevator? Was it because of what Penelope said in the car? Was she the one to break up with him or the other way around?

Spencer felt like a gossip, even though his thoughts had gone no further than his cranium, and by the time she emerged from the bathroom, fresh faced and in her pyjamas, he had already changed himself, tucked himself under the cover in the hope she understood they didn’t need to talk about it if she didn’t want to.

She smiled at him, tucking her dirty clothes back in her bag and heading for the bed, slipping under the plush duvet with a soft ooft.

“Light on or off?” She asked, her finger hovering over the switch beside their bed.

“On, if that’s okay?” He replied and she nodded wordlessly, shuffling down under the covers, pulling them up to just below her armpits. Crossing her arms over her stomach like she was snow white waiting to fall into a poison-laced slumber, her eyes bore holes into the ceiling, and his thoughts banged loudly against his temple. The silence of the room seemed to only turn their avoidance tactics into a cacophony they couldn’t ignore.

“If you’re going to ask questions, I might as well tell you before we get back to Quantico.” She said finally, her sigh heavy and exhausted and she looked over at him, his brunette locks splaying over the pillow in waves, his facial hair scratching against the sheet when he flicked his head over to her too.

Hazel had never been such a pretty colour than when they sat in silence for a moment, staring at one another, almost daring the other to speak first. He swallowed, his mouth watering at how she looked, tucked under the sheets, her body lax and soft under her pyjamas, her hands skimming over her stomach nervously.

“Is it because of the day in the elevator?” Spencer asked after a few minutes, breaths suddenly becoming difficult to regulate naturally unless he forced them to be, because he was so close to her under the covers, his entire body too long and gangly for just a twin bed, he could smell her shampoo and conditioning combo in full force. Her spearmint tongue rolled words around her mouth for a minute, dropping down to his Star Wars shirt he felt childish for wearing the minute he saw her looking at it.

“Kind of, he just wanted us to move so fast, it just kinda made me nervous, but I always thought being nervous was supposed to be good, you know?” She sighed, forgetting to breathe in between her splurge of words that had been building up inside her for weeks, “Like you said the feeling of excitement and fear are almost identical so I think I just convinced myself I was being dumb and I was being a bad person for not just giving him what he wanted. I’m supposed to love him, right? Being his girlfriend and all that,”

He had said that; because scientifically that was exactly correct. The hormones released during love and during fear were, down to their core, chemical matches, and it felt funny she’d remembered that fact considering she made him feel somewhere in between too. He knew she was special, just as much as he knew the idea of tainting her with his core terrified him. Like he secreted some kind of radiation that would ruin her if she got too close for too long. But he couldn’t help it. How do you stop yourself from wanting something good? It was just science. A Pavlovian response.

“You’re not supposed to do anything. There’s no timeline for how you feel, and you can’t force yourself to feel something any quicker or stronger than you do,” He said, shaking his head when she bit her lip, her fingertips playing with one another ontop of the sheets.

“He wanted to know when I was ready to have…” She swallowed, her cheeks heating, “Intimacy with him. A-and it’s not like I’ve not done it before, I had a boyfriend in high school, but I just felt like with him…”

“He didn’t pressure you, did he?” Spencer asked, his brows furrowing as he felt a surge of annoyance flash through his blood that she had wound herself up so much just because of some guy who couldn’t keep it in his pants for a few months.

Her eyes widened, taking in the storm brewing in that beautiful woodland gaze of his, and she shook her head quickly, “No, no, nothing like that. This was all on me, it was all just me being dumb,”

“You’re not being dumb just because some guy didn’t like the answer you gave,” He corrected, exhaling deeply and letting his frown drop, because he knew she hated when he did that, “Why didn’t you want to, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She shrugged, looking back up at the dusty lamp shade hanging from the ceiling, the cobwebs that smattered around the wooden panels.

“I don’t know, I just kind of never saw the two of us.. becoming intimate, you know?” She said, her tone sheepish like she was in confession and he was a priest sat on the other side of the divide. He looked over at her, scanning the outline of her face, but she seemed adamant on avoiding his gaze, because she knew she would spill everything the minute she looked at him. With Spencer, there were no secrets, and that was entirely the problem.

Spencer’s lips pursed, thinking of exactly the right thing to say to such a delicate soul when she was laying herself hypothetically bare for him.

“You don’t have to be intimate in a relationship if you don’t want to. No one who loves you should ever make you feel like there’s an expectation or like you owe them that,” Spencer explained softly, edging his pinky finger out the tiniest bit to catch the back of her hand that now lay flat on the bed, her head turning up to meet his round forest hues that looked down at her with more softness than he’d felt in a long time.

He wished he could stay here with her forever. In the quiet of this room, they were just the two of them, not Doctor Reid and the Special Agent he had a huge hopeless crush on that was years his junior and thought she could fix everything wrong with the world.

“I know,” She sighs, and his heart caught in his throat when her pinky raises up to meet his own, the tips of their fingers brushing against one another like they were meeting each other for a slow dance. He had touched her many times before, but there was something illicit about this time. Like their skin had become oppositely charged and was pulling the other one in with an electric crackle, “He never pressured me but I felt like I could have tried harder to want it.”

“If you don’t want it, you don’t ever have to have it. A lot of people reach your age when your frontal cortex is developed and realise they might be asexual, it’s not a bad thing-” He tried reassuring her, but she was quick to shake her head again, bashfully ripping her eyes away from him to look at their caressing fingertips.

“No, no. It’s not that I never want to be intimate ever, I just never really felt comfortable around him enough to let myself want it. Like I couldn’t just be me with him, I was just being what he wanted me to be. Like he never really knew the real me,” She explained, and she rolled over onto her side to face him, her other finger coming up to absentmindedly trace over the prominent vein that ran up his arm, stopping just below where his old needle scars were at the crook of his elbow. If she saw them, she didn’t say a word, but Spencer felt like she was trailing a flame over his skin. He thought if she took his manhood in her hand she’d probably get the exact same response from him, because with every invisible swirl and line she drew over his skin, he felt a heat ripping through his loins. “Does that make sense? Like I didn’t think he would like the ikky parts of me so I ended up putting on a charade,”

“Y-yeah,” He replied, and his stammer made her look up, eyes wide and innocent as she watched him all but falling apart under a single fingertip. God he was pathetic. Mid thirties and nearly finishing in his boxers over a pretty girl touching his arm. Only it wasn’t just a pretty girl. It was her. His sunshine girl. “But I don’t think you have any ikky parts, to be honest,”

Her eyes deepened into pools of awe, and he watched her trail a glance down his nose to his mouth vulnerably.

“Spencer, you’re being too kind,” She whispered, and he swore his chest lurched.

He cleared his throat, and moved to roll over towards her too, hoping to disperse some of the energy that was clogging between them, only for it to become dialled to a hundred, trapping them in a tiny box where they were looking at one another, laying on the bed they were being forced to share and almost holding hands, because committing to full thing was scary like they were ten years old in a playground.

“Of course that makes sense. It’s much healthier to form intimate relationships with people we trust and feel safe with than rushing into things,” Spencer tried to breeze past the tension, but her breath was fanning over his face, almost tripping him over his words, because she was still looking at him like he knew all the answers. Because he usually did. Except for this time. This time, he felt like he was walking blind towards his point, “Not that one night stands should be shamed or anything, but it’s much better to engage in sexual intercourse with someone when it feels right,”

She breathed out deeply, licking her lips, and her finger movements stopped.

“So it’s just a when you know, you know, kind of thing?” She asked, her brows pulling together in a saddened frown, “I’m not, like, broken or anything?”

He sat up on his elbow, grabbing her wrist tight enough she would listen the minute he said it to her, because he never wanted to hear her say that again, “There is nothing wrong with you, you hear me?” She looked up at him with glassy eyes, wide and shocked to see him so desperately insistent over her, “You feeling secure is more important than any guy out there, no matter how nice they are, got it?”

She nodded after a beat, because she thought her brain might have stopped working with the way he was leaned over her, looking down at her with a glimmer of the harshness he’d been drowning in when she first met him. These days he seemed to have mellowed out the tiniest bit, except the straightforward tone he held with everyone else who wasn’t her, or the general heavy handedness he didn’t seem to realise he was capable of. Like in the way his warm, rough hands gripped the skin of her wrist, his expression somewhat frustrated though not with her as he looked down at where she was half beneath him.

“Spence?” She whispered into the electricity between them, her eyes trailing over his nose again and ghosting over his half attempt at facial hair. They were just whisps, but they suited him embarrassingly well. He didn’t reply, just stared at her to wait for her response, “I feel safe with you, you know that?”

He swore his heart was thumping out of his chest. She looked divine under his hand, sweet like a pudding begging him to taste, and he couldn’t help it when his thumb trailed up the side of her jaw, brushing just under her bottom lip, and she seemed to press herself further into his touch, a cat being scratched behind velvet ears.

“You’d tell me if you ever wanted me to stop, wouldn’t you?” He murmured, gooseflesh crawling up his arm when she nodded, her eyes boring holes into his soul when she looked up at him like that.

“Always,” She answered honestly, blinking at him once, twice, before she took a deep breath for courage, “But what if I never wanted you to stop?”

Spencer nearly moaned when he crashed their lips together, and he heard her squeak in delight beneath him, his large hand cupping her jaw, weaving into her hair, tugging her closer. She felt like her was consuming her whole, and she had no qualms about it, not when she reached a hand up to his shoulder and tugged him even more on top of her, the weight of him on her chest comforting and achingly right.

He pulled away to breathe for a moment, but she was chasing his lips, her touch maddening and he swore his brain switched off when she ran a hand up his spine, slipping under his shirt and tracing over every one of his vertebrae making him shiver. Her lips were stronger than any craving he had ever felt, the instant dopamine rush embarrassing for a man of his age, so hardened by the world reduced to putty, ready to beg for more because now he’d had a taste of her ambrosia, he didn’t think he could ever think straight again. A man sent crazy by forbidden wine.

He pushed her hair away from her face, using his long fingers to wrap around the back of her head and pull her impossibly closer to him, his other arm skirting down to her clothed waist and pressing their bodies together. She whined in his mouth, and Spencer thought he could finally die happy.

He pulled away to let her catch a gasp, her fingers carding through his long, brown curls, scratching against his scalp in a way that drew a low growl from his throat. He needed more, needed her, more than the air he gulped down ravenously and he found himself kissing at her soft neck, her head tipped back in bliss as he kissed every inch he could.

“The reason I didn’t want it with Taylor,” She choked between manic breaths, her hands holding onto him so tight he knew she didn’t have any intention of asking him to stop, “Was because it didn’t feel like this,”

Spencer wove their fingers together, pushing her hand above her head as the other came up to tilt her face towards him, looking into her bleary eyes for a second, their noses ghosting past one another, her mint breath delicious on his lips.

“It never feels like this, baby,” He whispered, their foreheads pressing together before he gave into her again and pressed his lips against hers so hard she whimpered into his mouth.

And she believed him.

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

2K notes · View notes

emo-batboy · 7 months

Text

Battinson Guest Starring on TV Shows

For someone who holds the title of Richest Man in the World, Bruce doesn’t do a lot of traveling.

Which is to say he does a LOT of traveling, but he always tries to find a way out of it.

(Are there bat-related reasons for this? Are there people-related reasons for this? Are there anxiety-related reasons for this? Who knows?)

But partners and sponsors aren’t always going to tolerate his hermit-like tendencies. So once every month or so, Alfred wrangles Bruce into a private jet and sends him off to who knows where so he can represent the company.

Usually, it’s somewhere close on the East Coast, maybe it’s across the pond, even Asia isn’t off the table, but the rarest place to spot Bruce Wayne is actually the West Coast of the US.

One day, it is announced that Bruce Wayne will be spending two (count ‘em, 2) consecutive weeks in California with his kids for some grand business convention.

The West Coast media goes feral with the news, ESPECIALLY interviewers. And because Bruce kicks up such a fuss this time, Alfred has the gall to sign him up for FOUR TV appearances.

Here are these appearances :)

RuPaul’s Drag Race

Drag Queens, especially Drag Race all-stars, contribute to a wide variety of charities

So on a new episode, the queens are challenged to design and shoot a promotional ad for their own charity

And who better to act as a guest judge for this episode than the show’s largest benefactor, CEO of the Wayne Foundation, Bruce Wayne?!

Physically? He’s older than half of the contestants. But spiritually? He screams Baby Gay.

Fifteen minutes into the episode, Bruce is welcomed into the werkroom where he gives them pointers on their campaign. He’s in his cute little three-piece suit (Alfred’s idea) with the intention of looking put-together and knowledgeable. But that’s not the only outcome.

They all flirt with him. Everyone, single or taken. The confessionals are so thirsty.

“He’s lucky the cameras are on. Otherwise, I’d eat him up faster than a bachelorette party in a buffet line.”

“My celebrity crush is talking to me, and all I can focus on are his gorgeous eyes. How am I supposed to know what he's saying?”

Of course, they shoot their shot, but most of it is joking since they don't know he's bi yet.

“Are you single, honey?” Bruce blushes. “It’s complicated.” “Well, I’ll make it simple for you.”

We all know this man can't handle being flirted with. We saw how he froze when Selina did it. It’s like he mentally bluescreens when someone calls him a pet name.

Only THEN do they learn he's bi

One of the queens jokingly asks him, “Ever been with a man before?” thinking it would be a firm no, but Bruce says, “Actually, yes.” “Oh shit, really?” And to Bruce’s embarrassment, the whole room hears him.

The flirting is thus taken up a notch.

On the main stage, Bruce has a lot of great constructive criticism. He talks about how to find the right audience, the importance of a good slogan, and even goes on a little rant about logo design.

(You cannot convince me that Bruce hasn’t hyperfixated on the business of charity work before. Or the science of marketing. They’re his favorite business topics.)

After about three minutes of him complimenting one contestant for their Drag Library pitch, he stops himself mid-sentence and says, “Oh sorry, am I talking too much?” “No, please! Keep talking, sweetheart.” Bruce covers his face to hide his blush. “Why is everyone flirting with me?” “Baby, have you seen yourself?”

While the judges deliberate, RuPaul mentions Charisma, Uniqueness, Nerve, and Talent. Bruce nods along for a while then suddenly just blurts out, “Wait, does it spell ****?”

The judges pause then burst out laughing. “Oh no, we’ve traumatized him!" Bruce is blushing up a storm. “I just never thought about it like that!” “Sweet, innocent Bruce. We’re so sorry.”

It’s later revealed that Bruce offered to help some of the queens launch their charity projects through the Wayne Foundation.

It’s v cute 🥰

Nailed It!

I love Nicole Byer.

She is Mother.

In all seriousness, she’s so fucking funny and she’s personable enough to pull Bruce out of his shell a bit.

The theme for this episode is Found Family. Three pairs of family members compete together—a gay father and his adopted son, an aunt who adopted her niece, and a stepfather and stepdaughter.

Because Bruce Wayne famously adopted two children, he is invited to guest judge.

So Nicole opens the episode with a zinger, the contestants are introduced, and Bruce is welcomed onto the judge’s panel beside Nicole and Jacques.

(Yes, Bruce does speak French. Yes, Nicole makes a joke about it being hot.)

Nicole: “We were surprised you accepted our invitation, Mr. Wayne. You’re notorious for staying on the East Coast. What brought you to the Nailed It! Studio?” Bruce: “My children love this show. They always tell me I should be on it since I’m so bad at baking.” Nicole: “Really? Maybe we should do a celebrity season of Nailed It! and have you compete.” Bruce: “No, you should not.”

Nicole: “So, Bruce, I know you have a butler at home who bakes for you. But what’s the grossest thing you’ve eaten? Escargot? Bad caviar?” Bruce: “I drank olive oil straight from the bottle once.” Nicole: “…What?”

The problem for Bruce is he can’t say anything bad. It just feels mean :(

(And he would rather jump into oncoming traffic than gamble with a social interaction)

For the first challenge, the contestants make cake pops. But when Bruce tries the first one, there is a sickening crunch. Bruce’s eyes widen for a second and he slowly chews.

Nicole: “What was that? Bruce, are you okay?” Bruce, clearly struggling: “It’s…good.”

“Bruce, you can spit it out. It’s okay.” “I already swallowed it.” “Oh, you poor thing.” Bruce chokes for a second, and Nicole pats his back. “Please don’t die. We can’t afford it.”

For the big challenge, production has a surprise in store for Bruce.

Dick (9) and Jason (7) run onto the set and smother Bruce with a hug.

It’s adorable. Bruce no longer cares about paying attention, okay? His kids are here :D

The two boys read from cue cards to announce the second challenge: a three-tiered Gotcha Day cake. And as per tradition, the winner of the first challenge gets a leg-up.

This time, it’s a Helping Hands Button. When they hit the button, Dick and Jason will run over and help them for three minutes. (While being supervised, of course.)

As the contestants bake, Nicole says hello to Dick and Jason, who are clambering all over Bruce like a jungle gym. They both shake her hand and talk about how they love the show.

Nicole looks pointedly at the two empty chairs beside Bruce. “You know, we brought these chairs for you two to sit in.” Dick, on Bruce’s shoulders: “We’re fine, Ms. Byer!” Nicole: “Ms. Byer? Oh, you’re a cutie, aren’t you?”

Just ten minutes before the challenge is over, the Helping Hands button is pressed, and Dick and Jason are given stools so they can help the aunt and niece stack their cake tiers.

Two minutes in, the aunt instructs them to let go of the cake. But the moment Jason pulls his hands away, the cake topples over and covers him in frosting. Jason, whispering: “Oh f*ck.” Bruce: “Jason!” Jason: “I didn’t say that! Dick did!” Nicole: *cackling as Bruce buried his face in his hands*

Jason gets cleaned up, and Dick helps them stack what can still be salvaged.

When Wes brings out the trophy, he’s dressed as Batman. Dick and Jason gets a kick out of that.

Celebrity Family Feud

Bruce was invited to the show after his SNL skit went viral a few months ago

This episode, the teams are split up by cities they grew up in. Gotham v. Star City. Naturally, his team is playing for the Wayne Foundation.

It’s a pretty odd cast of people, most of them having moved to LA or Hollywood. Bruce is the only one to still live in Gotham.

They have fun, though, despite their limited common ground. The audience has a few good laughs.

(Some at Bruce's expense)

Harvey: You're a very wealthy man, Mr. Wayne. What do you really do in that tower all day? Bruce: I, uh…business? Harvey: …You business. Bruce: ……Wait-

All in good fun. Bruce just vibes in his little corner until he needs to answer a question. It's pretty chill.

For exactly half of the episode.

Then it happens.

Steve Harvey takes two people from each team up to the buzzer and says, “We asked 100 people: Name something your parents always told you as a kid.”

What the production failed to consider is how this particular question might be a sensitive topic for some contestants.

Bruce’s team gets the question, and Steve saunters up to Bruce, completely oblivious.

“Alright, Bruce Wayne!” Bruce nods awkwardly. “Hi, Steve.” “Bruce, what’s wrong? You’re looking a bit uncomfortable.” “…I don’t like this question, Steve.” “Why not?” Bruce just gives him a desperate look, and it clicks. “Oh! Oh my gosh!”

Let’s be real. Bruce is awkward enough, but Steve Harvey cannot save an awkward moment for his life either.

But he tries his best anyway and asks, “Are you okay with answering this question, or would you like to pass?” Bruce nods frantically. “I can answer. ‘I love you.’” “I love you too, Mr. Wayne.” “No, uh, my answer is ‘I love you.’” “Oh! That’s a good one.”

Thankfully, the audience erupts in laughter. That little interaction cuts the tension, and Bruce’s answer ends up on the board.

And by god, the memes

“I love you too, Mr. Wayne” is the new “Enjoy your meal.” “You too.”

The audio clip of “I don’t like this question, Steve” goes viral on TikTok

Someone gets a pic of Bruce and Steve looking at each other with palpable fear in their eyes, and it makes its rounds all over Twitter

10/10 never again

Running Wild with Bear Grylls

Now this is the most challenging. Not because it’s difficult, of course. But because Bruce has to look stupid enough to maintain his Brucie Wayne persona but smart enough to keep himself safe.

For this episode, Bear takes Bruce to the California desert.

“How much do you know about survival, Bruce?” Bear asks. Bruce nods carefully. “I did some survival training once with a friend from boarding school.” “Oh really, how did you do?” “Fine, I think.”

This is, of course, his way of saying I trained with a league of assassins for years, but Bear can’t know that! And that’s how most of the episode goes.

Thank god Bruce's fear of being caught is mistaken for being scared of the physical challenge because every time Bear points out how well he’s doing, he breaks into a sweat.

Bear: For a businessman, you’re surprisingly fit. Bruce, sweating bullets: Oh, this is all just for show.

Bear: Wow, you’re a natural. Are you sure you’ve never set up a zip-line before? Bruce, gripping his equipment so tight he gets rope burn: I think it’s just the survival instincts.

Of course, he pretends to be out of breath a few times. The Drama.

Bruce, pretending to slip and fall: Ouch! Who knew the outdoors were so dangerous? Bear, you are crazy. Bruce, internally: How much longer are we doing this?

Bruce being a vegetarian is actually a point of contention. You see, Bear always makes their celebrity guests do something crazy for food like skin a snake or eat a mouse. Scavenging for berries just doesn’t grab the audience’s attention.

But do you know what is vegetarian?

Bear: Now, in extreme cases of survival, it’s not rare for humans to resort to drinking their own pee. That’s what we’ll be doing in a moment. Are you up for it? Bruce, visibly repulsed: I’ve had Gotham tap water. I’ll be fine.

How on God’s Green Earth did Alfred convince him to do this?

To get to the extraction point, Bear takes Bruce down a cliffside.

Bear shows Bruce the meticulous process of properly belaying from the top of a cliff, and Bruce, who has done this over 100 times is like, “Wow that’s so dangerous :( Will we be okay?”

He really tries to ramp up his acting skills this time.

(Little does he know that’s not necessary.)

Bruce goes down first as Bear belays with a cameraman filming from the top. Halfway down, Bruce hears a scuffle, and the cameraman yells, “F*ck!”

Bruce looks up, arms already out for protection, and he sees a small disk falling towards him. It’s the lens cap. He catches it on instinct.

For a second, he thinks, “Shit, was that too skilled? That’s not enough to make people think I’m Batman, right? I just caught it in midair while dangling from a cliff. That’s totally not weird and suspicious. Normal people do that—“

Then Bear yells, “Bruce, drop it!” Bruce looks up at Bear, confused. “Why?” “There's a scorpion!” That’s when Bruce looks at the lens cap and sees a black scorpion perched on top with its tail ready to strike.

They don’t have those in Gotham.

Bruce jumps in his harness and flings the cap at the rocky cliffside. He hears a crunch, and the scorpion and cap tumble to the ground. Bruce frowns. Can a scorpion survive that drop?

“You just killed a scorpion, mate!” Bear cries. Bruce looks up in horror. “I killed it?!” “Hell yeah!” Bruce’s face falls. “No!”

Because oh. shit.

Bruce just killed something. The sad, orphaned vegetarian just killed a scorpion.

Bruce has a meltdown.

He didn’t mean to kill it!!!! Oh no, he just killed an innocent little creature. Yeah, he punches people for fun sometimes, and he definitely put a few violent criminals in the hospital, but he’s never committed MURDER!!

This poor little scorpion died due to his own negligence, and he feels so so so bad about it.

Bruce is a mess as he climbs the rest of the way down.

Bruce, cradling the scorpion’s body: I don’t know how to perform CPR on a scorpion! Bear: Bruce, you took its head clean off. Bruce: *sad noises*

Legit inconsolable. To him, it’s like he just murdered a puppy

Once they're out, Bear is trying to cheer him up. Bless him.

Bear: We’ve conquered the wild! Haven’t we, Bruce? Bruce, head between his legs, still mourning the scorpion: I’m never going outside again.

Yeah, no one’s going to think he’s Batman after that.

And that's all four of Bruce's TV appearances from the West Coast :) Dick and Jason never let him live any of it down. Alfred is almost sorry. (He is not sorry.)

Let me know your thoughts! What other TV shows do you think Battinson would appear on as a guest?

Okie dokie :D Love y'all! Have a good day <3

2K notes · View notes

lizzaneia-elizalde · 7 months

Text

Yandere! Jock x fem! Reader

OKAY SO, I accidentally published the draft I was writing for 🌼 Anon's ask, and in panic, I deleted it. So the ask got deleted too. I am--

This was the reason the ask got delayed in being published 😭

Anyways, 🌼 Anon asked for a:

WHAT IF: Reader is not an honor student, but a black belter in Martial Arts?

I noticed there was also a specification for the reader's gender this time, so the reader is for the fem girlies!

This is gonna be interesting :3

For those who hasn't read Damon's main fic, I suggest to read it first to understand his character more.

Damon, as a jock whose apparent only one braincell ticks around for sports, he never needed a tutor or a mentor or something like that.

He naturally doesn't need any kind of training when doing any kinds of physical activities. He's naturally gifted that way.

But how did y/n and Damon met this time around when y/n is not going to tutor Damon in academics?

⚽⚾🏀🏐🏉

"Damon! Do you think you could join us in the martial arts club?" One person appeared beside Damon, who just got from his basketball practice. At first, he was irritated but calmed himself down and reminded himself that he's supposed to be s nice guy.

"There's a martial arts club? That's so cool!" Damon excitedly said, his smile wide. 'Tch. What do they mean martial arts club? That's too broad.'

As Damon gave a fake, excited smile, the person faltered from how excited Damon is and fumbled through their bag, picking up a flyer.

"H-here! We just recently got recognized so, please give us a try." The person said, their voice high pitched and nervous before bowing and running away.

Damon made sure the coast is clear before dropping his himbo persona and scowling at the paper he's holding.

"West Street, the Physical Education building." Damon read the location.

Should he?

He pocketed the flyer and started walking towards West Street, looking to kill time.

He never tried Martial Arts. Maybe this would be a good activity to add to the roster.

Once Damon found the PE building, he saw some people loitering outside with the same flyer in their active wear. Some also wore various martial arts uniforms. Confused as to what martial arts are included in the club.

Damon rolled his eyes. Surely it couldn't take a handful of taps on the keyboard to include the martial arts they were housing?

Damon shook his head and slapped his cheeks, before sporting a boyish smile he knows all too well.

"What's up?!" Damon greeted his 'friends' from the different sports club he was forced to join. The people jumped at his loud voice before smiling.

"Hey Damon! Nice, you're here also?"

"Heyya Dam! Interested in Martial Arts?"

"Another sports to your experience? Wait, is martial arts a sport?"

"is it?"

Damon laughed and slung his arms over them.

"Yep, I'm really excited. This one looks fun." Damon mused, genuine this time.

Before they were about to talk once more though, a whistle silenced the whole group of loitering people.

A man, probably the head of the club, cleared his throat.

"welcome to Martial Arts club! Here, we give opportunities for artists to Excel in their field! May it be escrima, Taekwondo, Karate, Muay Thai, even those Arts that aren't as well known! We will support you all the way!" The man said, a naive and enthusiastic tone on his voice.

Damon frowned. As if a club can support such a diverse and broad reach.

The man cleared his throat once more and explained the audition process. Damon couldn't give a damn though, and looked around the facility while humming. He licked his lips, dried and a bit cracked.

He was bored. He needed something to stimulate his senses.

Then, he flinched when he heard another whistle.

The people started segregating to different lines. the person in front the line had signs up of different popular martial arts and then one at the end with "Others". Damon pursed his lips at the blatant disregard of the other arts and the unpreparedness.

He decided to go in line in the taekwondo line.

He licked his lips more, now slightly wet and moisturized.

As the line slowly dwindled, his big frame met with yours.

Significantly smaller (also he was a very tall man), at first, he didn't pay attention to you. He only grabbed the pen you offered and signed his name on the clipboard.

Then, the people who signed up went to a separate room in the PE building, where there are mats laid out on the ground.

There are people wearing doboks with different colored belts that Damon doesn't know the meaning, but he knows the black belt was the highest.

"Okay, let's see how you guys fare in fighting our players! In this case, we will allow you to pick a player to fight with." The head announced, making the auditionees whisper to themselves.

Damon pouted and tilted his head to the side while looking bored.

Well, he is an amazing man with an amazing physique. Very gifted in different sports too.

So martial arts shouldn't be that difficult.

People started to trickle in inside the ring with their chosen player. Majority chose a purple belter. Some going green, the occasional blue, the rare brown. None chose the red belters, the ones with black stripes, or the singular black belter.

Damon smirked as he eyed up your form. His eyes sweeping down your dobok which was a bit skewed and clumsily put together. You look bored too, seemingly rushed to wear your uniform.

Damon smirked and licked his lips again. The cracks now gone.

"Yo, sensei!" Damon said once it was his turn to bout.

"That's Japanese."

"So I have to pick who to fight huh?"

"It's called a spar."

"Hmm, I don't know, who should I pick?"

"Aren't you confident."

Damon glared at you, who kept making side comments at his words. His himbo facade cracking a bit.

He walked up to you and looked down.

"Well." Damon gave a big smile. "I choose you!"

"I'm not a pokemon." You frowned and tied your hair up. "Alright. If that's what you want."

Damon smirked and got the spare dobok from the hands of a player, thanking them before slipping them on.

It's a bit tight, but it works out anyways.

After he finished wearing his dobok, he got on the mat and faced you.

You bowed to him, and Damon clumsily followed before following your lead and also bowing to the instructors.

Damon's body tensed up as you assumed position, your eyes suddenly sharpening as you swiftly approached and performed an Ap Chagi, or a snap kick, to his chest.

This took Damon aback who stumbled back a bit.

'I didn't saw her move!' Damon yelled at himself as he took a stance once more and tried kicking you also, but you blocked it and did a Yeop Chagi (side kick) to his waist.

Damon trembled at the shockwave of pain sent to his body as he doubled over, holding his waist. His eyes shook as he looked up.

Your left leg raised up high, ankle facing the top of his back.

An Axe kick straight to the center of both of his shoulder blades, and he fell down face first to the mat.

Everyone who knew Damon trembled.

That easy?

The Damon?

They all shook in fear as you cracked your neck and glared at Damon who also shook in place.

"You got too arrogant and fought a black belter." You whispered, crouching at his height. "How about starting at a white belter, huh? It seems that, that's the only belter you can defeat."

Damon flushed from embarrassment as rage flowed in his veins.

His eyes found yours, hatred seeping through but he bit his tongue when he finally saw your face up close.

'pretty...' he thought to himself, words choking him as he admired your sharp eyes.

And as you scoffed, a deep shiver ran down his spine down to his core.

Oh, he's gonna enjoy going to this club.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Damon panted, the sunset light filtering through the window and onto his body.

He rolled over, his tongue sweeping over his lips. Cracked open with blood tinting it.

He trembled as he tried sitting up, a flush on his face. Bruises decorated his body as he looked up at you, triumphant and belittling him.

He bit back a moan.

He's now a purple belter, after months of trying to catch up to you. It was really quick, considering the fact that he was a newbie.

But, he's also Damon, the man who people thought that his brain just revolves in Physical activities.

But it also involved you, his master.

"Sensei... That was amazing!" Damon laughed, his voice breathy as he tried to hide the twitching excitement down there in his pants. His eyes wide with arousal and obsession, he giggled to himself. "One more!"

Unaware of his thoughts, you rolled your eyes and scoffed. "Again, that's Japanese, you dingus."

You took off your belt and slung it over your shoulder. "Sorry, but I got to go somewhere. You go freshen and heal up."

He frowned. Are you going on a date? With whom?

Fickle jealous thoughts infiltrated his mind.

"Where to, sensei?" "Again, that's Japanese"

"Well, I'm gonna have my black belt 1st dan promotion." You told him while getting your bag. "So practice by yourself."

Without any more words, you left him aching on the mat.

"Aw... But I love that about you, leaving me like that." Damon facepalmed, his grin wide. "Ah fuck... I'm so far gone."

He heard his phone beep. An application told him that you're too far from him.

Your location was being tracked by him.

"But seriously..." He whispered, irritation welling up inside him. "Ah, i'm so envious. Is there sparring in the dan promotion? If so..."

He imagined your beautiful, strong and toned legs hitting, bruising somebody other than him and irrational jealousy filled him.

He took off his top and shivered, a shaky sigh leaving his lips.

He looked at the mirror and saw himself and his torso being decorated with bruises that you inflicted on him.

To him, you were marking your place on his body.

It may not be permanent, but he knew it was enough.

For now.

His member twitched again, imagining you putting him back in his place once more.

He looked around and locked the door before excitably letting his imagination run wild.

And, as he pleased himself in the sanctuary of the PE building, in a room which only you and him use, he knew he have to have you.

His precious sensei.

He hears your voice once more correcting him.

"Ah... Hah... Hmmf..."

He bit his lip, tasting the dried blood. His face flushed and sweaty.

"Mine..."

#yandere boyfriend #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #male yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere drabbles #lizzaneiaelizalde

209 notes · View notes

seththepotate · 1 month

Text

I dunno, I feel like people saying the Fallout show retconned New Vegas are making a *lot* of assumptions based on a few tiny pieces of info.

It's a very self-contained story. We did not learn much of anything regarding the outside world of the current West Coast besides what was important to our characters. Our main characters are a Vault Dweller who of course knows nothing, an apathetic Ghoul who if you don't remember, spent a lot of time prior to this season imprisoned in a casket underground, and a BoS initiate who was plucked out of Shady Sands as a child. Three people who either do not know or do not particularly care about the NCR or its dealings.

*Shady Sands* fell. Not the NCR as a whole. Also it's implied that Shady Sands maybe was not the capitol when it fell ("the FIRST capitol of the NCR). But yes I will agree that the fact of it getting destroyed by Vault Tec bullshit kinda sucks.

I've seen people say New Vegas looks like a ruin? And yeah sure it doesn't look perfect but:

For one it's a wide shot from very very far away and let's be real, NV never looked amazing aside from the casinos. It is very very weird that the surrounding area (camp McCarren, the outer vegas ruins, etc) aren't really present but also let's remember the reason so many big locations were so close were due to map limitations with the game. In the show the scale of these places is much more in line with real life.

For two, even if it is a ruin, Fallout: New Vegas *itself* gave many potential near future issues that could plague the city. Divide Storms, the Cloud, Tunnellers, continued problems with Fiends, hell even the Legion could have still caused problems depending on what ending ends up being canonized. We just don't know yet. And I'm sure we'll find out.

This series so far seems to be really leaning into accepting the past non-Bethesda Fallouts (really liked seeing the original 10mm) and I'm sure we will see some really great shit in the future seasons.

Just my two cents. Maybe season 2 will come out in three years and prove me wrong but I think some people are jumping the gun on their outrage.

#fallout #fallout show #fallout new vegas #fallout1 #fallout 2 #fallout 4

54 notes · View notes

britany1997 · 1 year

Text

Fate Yields For No One

Chapter one

Sorry to make y’all wait so long! I hope this chapter is worth it:) (don’t worry y’all, the boys will make an appearance very soon😏) let me know if you want me to add you to this Taglist or to my main Taglist in the comments!

Reblog to support my writing💕

Poly Lost boys x Max’s daughter reader

Prologue

New York, 1986

“what if I told you that I could do more than heal you? What if I could restore your life and then some? Would you want that?”

“I’m not ready to die, I’m so scared. Please don’t let me die, not like this.”

“I am truly sorry that there isn’t enough time to do this the gentle way, I hope you can forgive me.”

Sharp fangs sinking into your neck always jostled you from your reoccurring nightmare. You sighed as you surveyed the sweat covered sheets surrounding you, running a hand through your hair as you fought to banish your fear.

After that awful night in the alley where Max has found you, you’d ran as far as you could, trading the west coast for the east. But no matter how fast you ran, you couldn’t escape your own mind.

Your life as a human was long gone, but the memories populated your nightmares. They reminded you that no matter how different you were now, how strong, you would always be that pitiful girl who’d almost died, alone and unloved.

Whatever you were now could never erase the fact that you used to be nothing to this world.

You slunk out of bed and sauntered to your balcony, taking in the breathtaking sight of New York City when night fell.

Your hands gripped the railing as your eyes scanned the bright lights, the racing cars, and the bustling crowds. You breathed in deeply, taking in your last view from the balcony before you had to flee your apartment and search for a new one, attached to a new sucker for you to use.

As much as you loathed it, your vampirism allowed you to take revenge on the cruel and wealthy in ways you’d never been able to before.

While other vampires went straight in for the kill, you preferred to play with your food. You didn’t just want to feed on random humans, you wanted the ones you chose to suffer.

You preyed on the titans of Wall Street, the trust fund babies, the old money bastards and all the other men who would have stepped over your corpse in the gutter.

You were beautiful and you knew it. It was never a struggle to ensnare them. You hung around at the fanciest restaurants in the upper east side, and the classiest bars in the financial district. Hunting was pointless, the men came to you.

You spent a few weeks stroking their egos, among other things, and they gave you anything you wanted. The money, the power, the influence they had became yours just as much as it was theirs.

They allowed you into their homes and their hearts. When you were sure that they trusted you, that they loved you, you dropped the mask and showed them who you really were, teeth and all.

Maybe you should feel bad for using them and draining them, and some part of you did feel a small pang of guilt every time the life drained from their terrified eyes.

But you had walked with them at night as they ignored the starving people that lined the streets of the city. They refused to offer even a cent of their “hard-earned” money.

When your eyes welled with tears at the downtrodden state of those around you, they wouldn’t dry your tears. Instead, the rich men would tell you that those stranded on street corners had earned their place in life.

“How will they learn?” they’d ask you. “We can’t just give people money,” they’d patronize you, “this is America! Anyone can pull themselves up by their bootstraps nowadays.”

They’d assure you that they helped them more by not sharing a minuscule amount of their vast wealth. The homeless were a plague on the city, they’d insist. Didn’t you want them to help themselves?

So the men you killed, their deaths didn’t bother you much.

You shivered as you replayed their screams over and over again in your head. They called you a murderer, a monster, and maybe you were.

But so were they. You’d killed over and over, but every person on a street-corner they’d all but spit on, every dollar they’d hoarded that could have saved your family all those years ago, they were murderers too, they were more monster then you could ever be.

You were pulled from your thoughts by a firm knocking at your door.

Your blood ran cold. You knew it’d been a risk to feed on those humans that society had deemed to be the elite and important. But you hadn’t realized your actions would catch up with you this quickly.

You didn’t want to slaughter a hoard of police officers, but you’d do what you had to to keep your freedom. You cautiously unlatched the door and pulled it open.

Though you’d expected to be met with the business end of many pistols, the sight before you was much, much worse.

Wrapped in a taupe suit with not a visible wrinkle, glasses perched on his nose, the vision of the man you’d met in the alley all those years ago stood before you, a frown etched onto his face.

You gasped, moving to slam the door on him, but before you could he wedged his foot in, holding the entrance open and pushing past you.

You hadn’t felt so small and weak since you were human. Max had a way of doing that to you.

“Hello daughter,” he uttered nonchalantly as his eyes took in the sight of your stolen apartment.

You clenched and unclenched your fists, struggling to keep your anger at bay. “You’re not my father,” you spit, “not even close. I had a father remember? Because of you I’ll never see him again.”

Max rolled his eyes, “foolish girl,” he stated, “when are you going to realize that this is the only eternity there is.”

He scoffed, “you are too old to be dwelling on fairytales of an afterlife anymore. Your family is gone, it’s been years, get over it.”

You fought back tears as he ridiculed the love for your family you still clung too. Your hand raised to slap him, but he caught it before you could.

“Ungrateful child,” he said through gritted teeth, “you embarrass me and you squander the gift you have been given.”

You snatched your hand from his grasp and rubbed your risk. “I never asked for this,” you reminded him, “you said you’d save my life, but I died in every way that matters, you lied.”

Max rolled his eyes once more, “I tire of your melodrama little girl. I’ve come to bring you home.”

It was your turn to scoff. “Home?” you laughed, humorlessly, “I have no home in California anymore. My home is here now.”

Max smirked, “which home?” he asked, “as I understand it you’ve become the little ‘black widow Robin Hood’ of the upper east side. You’ve had many many homes these past few years, but they’re not really yours, are they?” He raised an eyebrow.

You crossed your arms as your gaze fell. You hated that he was right.

“I’m not going with you,” you whispered.

He hummed, “you seem to be under the mistaken impression you have any choice in this matter.”

He placed his finger on your chin and tilted your head up, “I am your sire. You will obey me.” he commanded.

“I made you what you are, and I can destroy you just as easily.”

You cringed.

“You either come back with me, or you can return to the gutter,” his hand moved from your chin to wrap around your jaw, squeezing tightly, “but if you choose the gutter, I’ll ensure it is your final destination.”

You boiled with rage but you knew Max was right. He was older than you and much stronger. As your sire you were tired to him, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to fight his thrall.

He stole your mortality, your happiness, and he’d come back to steal your freedom too.

Yet you found yourself gathering your things to leave with him. You hated him, but god, you hated yourself too.

Max flicked the light in the apartment before grabbing your arm and leading you out the door.

He sighed, “I know you resent me now, but I’m only doing what’s best for you. I take care of my children, and I hope that in time you can learn to see me as your father.” he spoke in a rare moment of softness.

You took in his words silently, offering no reply, but sure of the fact that you would never see him as anything other than the man who’d doomed you to an eternity of emptiness and pain.

FYFN Taglist❤️:

(Some accounts it wouldn’t let me tag😭 idk what the deal is)

@6lostgirl6 @peachpixiesstuff @ghoulgeousimmaculate @bloodywickedvamp @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @paulxbathbomd @anna1306 @its-freaking-bats @dwaynesluscioushair @feardot-com @solobagginses @pixielostboy @ria-coolgirl @vampirefilmlover @flower-crowned-lady @misslavenderlady @lostboys1987girl @warrior-616 @consuming-karma @moonbeam1987 @softchonk @besas-stuff @people-are-strange-87 @simplyreading96 @simpingforthe80s @mad-is-sad @smut-religiously777 @welcome-to-the-hole @vxarak @itsyoboysparkel @billyhargrovedemoness1987 @faefairi3 @jamie-poopoo

397 notes · View notes

creativeashproductions · 1 year

Text

A Finch’s Journey // Bradley Rooster Bradshaw

Summary: A gift from the kindest and warmest woman in a dark period of your life begins a decades-long journey to finding peace and love.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader (nicknamed Finch)

Warnings: Inaccurate naval knowledge, swearing, hospitals, treatments, sickness (cancer), angst, character death and FLUFF

Words: 3.2k

A/N: First finished fic in like a year. Thanks Julie.

Masterlist

Your big eyes peered up momentarily at the woman resting in the chair beside you, one hand resting on the armrest and the other dutifully colouring a picture. Your hand meticulously fills in the lines of the dress with indigo colouring. The other hand, in a similar position as the woman who’d taken you under her wing.

“Ma’am?” You shyly spoke, avoiding the curious, gentle blue of the woman who reminded you of days on the beach in the warm sun.

“Sweet pea, you know you don’t have to call me that.” The blonde woman’s smile was gentle and reassuring.

“Are…are you scared?” You whispered in the already quiet room. You froze as her soft hand lightly took the indigo crayon your small hand had clenched hard enough that it bent.

“Not for me.” She replied, carefully twisting to face you but keeping her arm immobile, “I’ve lived a good life. I loved and was loved deeply. I travelled to places I couldn’t have imagined as a kid. I fell in love and was blessed to raise a son from that love. I’m scared for how my son will be after.”

“’Cause your husband is waiting for you in the clouds, and your son will be alone?” You innocently asked, kicking your feet in the chair.

She smiled, “because I asked a friend to do something that will hurt him. I’m scared he’ll let the grief and bitterness overtake his life. He’s always been a happy child. You remind me of him.”

You beamed, revealing the tooth you’d lost a few days ago, “Maybe he needs a hug. Hugs always fix things.”

You nervously shifted on your beat-up shoes, looking up at the small cottage on a quiet street. The cottage holding the reason you had travelled to the West Coast from the opposite side. You recognized it from the polaroids the former owner had used to distract you from treatments.

“Can I help you?” A lady asked from the house next door. Her spirally dark hair was streaked with silver.

“Does Bradley Bradshaw live here?” You inquired, turning to face the curious neighbour halted in sweeping her porch.

“He does. He’s away for work. I can take your number and name for him if you’d like.” The lady answered leaning on the broom to focus solely on you. Her brown eyes are unrelenting in the stare.

“That’s okay. I’ll drop by in a few days.” You cast one more look at the house before turning on your heel.

What’s another couple of days after decades of being two ships passing each other. Your flexible job allowed for extended days since you were a travelling nurse filling in at clinics needing help.

“Well, I’ll let him know to expect someone. What’s your name?”

“Doesn’t matter.” You responded, turning to walk down the street toward the little bungalow you had rented for a few weeks.

Your eyes scanned the gorgeous, well-kept houses on the trek back to the main street. It was stunning for a portion of a coastal city, even with the soundtrack of jets flying above the area. But, despite the reason behind stepping foot in the town, you had taken a position at a nearby clinic as a locum nurse.

For the next two or so weeks, you’d been spending your time waiting for Bradley’s return from work. Then you'd move on when you met the man and finished the contract. Maybe plan for the following position to be overseas. You’d love to see Ireland or go somewhere in Spain.

You spent the first two days in town frolicking in the water, building sandcastles with a cute little girl on the beach, and touring. On the third and fourth day, you decided to ask one of the locals for destinations and found yourself driving up the coast. Finally, on the fifth day, you dug out your scrubs and sneakers and made your way to the clinic.

“Morning, Tracy.” You smiled, putting a teal file folder by her arm at the front desk. The redhead beamed from her place in front of the computer.

“Morning, Finch,” Tracy responded, pushing a cup of coffee from the good cafe down the street. Tracy always scored discounts with the cute barista with a crush on her.

“How was the ER last night?” You questioned, flipping through one of the files of patients waiting to be seen.

The urgent care clinic was a branch of the Naval Base Hospital as a resort for the family of the naval personnel. Typically you saw more sniffles and minor sicknesses in the children compared to the more concerning ones. Well, there was when a retired officer walked in with her finger hanging off by a thread with the question of, ‘hi, do you guys do stitches?’.

All staff had to pull a shift over at the main hospital while under contract. Yours scheduled for Friday.

“Dead. Overheard a lot of the people stationed were out on missions.” Tracy kept her voice down while answering since she shouldn’t know, but a loose-lipped Lieutenant had been trying to woo her.

“Which means my Friday may be bad.” You hummed, glancing down at the old watch on your wrist. You grabbed one of the files and stepped out from behind the desk.

“Never know.” Tracy responded, turning her back to answer the phone, “Miramar Base Urgent Care.”

You quickly read the name, “Olive Bassett? If you could follow me.”

A young man grasped a small child's hand in a rush to follow you to the hallway. The little girl, five years old as her file read, had gorgeous honey-gold eyes framed by thick dark eyelashes. Golden-hued skin speckled with freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“Jackson Bassett. I’m Olive’s father.”

Your eyes lifted from the file to meet the same honey-gold coloured eyes, “Mr. Bassett, I’m Nurse Y/N. I’m gonna grab a little information for the doctor.”

“Of course.” Jackson nodded, crouching to pull Olive into his arms before depositing her onto the exam table, “She said her throat was sore two days ago. This morning she spiked a fever, and I brought it down with medicine. She’s having trouble swallowing and can only take a few sips of water.”

Words scrawled over the file as he listed the symptoms and Olive nodded or shook her head at times. Jackson’s wife had been recalled to TOPGUN for a mission nine months back. After receiving word of the transfer, the Bassetts moved to the base a couple months ago.

“Her fever is higher than I’d like. The doctor will go over my notes and then do a full exam.” Your eyes met the tear-filled ones of little Olive, “Wanna know a secret, Miss Bassett?”

Olive’s head hesitantly nodded.

“Dr. O’Collins has a secret stash of lollies for anyone that knows the secret….” You trailed off, watching a spark flare in the little girl’s eyes again, “Tell him you saw the fairies making fairy dust.”

Olive lit up in excitement.

“She should be fine. Pick up some popsicles for the sore throat, but the Doc will answer any more questions.” You told Jackson, sliding on the stool to push away to the desk in the corner. Your hand found the stickers you had hidden in every room in the building.

You were quick to roll back to Oliver to hand a stick of her choice before waving to the father and daughter.

At one point in your life, you had done your absolute best to avoid all medical facilities or anything that reminded you of when you were sick. You’d spent a lot of your childhood in sterile rooms and understood that your mother’s job in the Navy helped pay for the treatments and medicines.

You’d relapsed around the same time the lady who kept you company had worsened. You and she never shared the type of cancer you had been diagnosed with. She’d been the adult during a time when your mother had been deployed with the Navy. You owed a lot to her for doing her best to comfort and distract you, all the while suffering herself.

At ten years old, you found yourself in the same room receiving treatment after relapsing a year after entering remission. Not much had changed in the decor or the fact that the woman who had coloured pictures with you sat there too.

What had changed was in the time you’d been diagnosed, battled, found victory, and got sick again you weren’t the same child. You weren’t as innocent. You weren’t as happy. You understood more than what a child should.

“Finch, how’s school going?” She spoke, bringing your attention from the ceiling. You barely rolled your head to face her.

Her cheeks were gaunt, her skin pale, and a scarf kept her head warm in the cold temperature of the room. She knew, hell, you knew that her prognosis was poor. And you both avoided speaking about it. Yet, she hadn’t lost the warmth or happiness in the time you’d known her.

“Doctors won’t let me go to school. I get my assignments mailed on a specialized outline.” Your lips turned down, “I dunno why I have to do math when I’m gonna die.”

Your friend’s eyes saddened, “No, you won’t. You’re so strong Little Goldfinch.”

Goldfinch. A nickname she coined for you when she saw how social you were during your first treatment with the nurses. She could see you becoming a teacher with how well you interacted and treated people kindly.

“Then why are you gonna die?” You demanded, shifting to stare her down, “You’re the strongest person I know!”

Her eyes crinkled in the corners, “Sometimes strengths are different. But, Finch, I’ve made peace with what will happen.”

Her eyes shifted to where the chemo was infusing into your arm through the IV and then to her bare one. Your heart broke because you knew that her treatment no longer worked, and she was spending her time left to be with you.

“But-“

Her hand reached out, “I knew immediately you were gonna be so important to me. I need you to hold on to this for me.”

Her hands reached behind her to the clasp on the necklace that never left her neck. Her husband had given it to her when their son was born. Their son was given a similar pendant with a sun instead while her husband found a ring with stars he slung on the chain of his dog tags.

“You never-“

“I’m sure one day you’ll know what to do with it.”

Her hands carefully avoided wires in her mission to clasp the necklace around your neck instead. Your smaller hand reaching up to caress the moonstone with the gold diamond-encrusted crescent moon. It was beautiful.

Carole Bradshaw died a month later. A year later, you’d been declared in remission and sitting in a classroom. The necklace still proudly resting on your chest.

Twenty years later, you had dreamt of the ocean, brown eyes and the same necklace Carole had gifted you. You immediately cut your trip to Australia off and bought the first ticket to Virginia. You knew that this was what Carole meant when she gave the necklace to you.

So you’d begun a months-long search to track down Carole’s son Bradley. It had taken visiting the hospital where you and Carole got treatment. And then pleading with your mother to call on an old friend from the Academy. With a destination in hand, you had found a locum nurse position in San Diego.

Now you were standing on the porch of the home of who you really hoped was Carole’s son. But, unlike a week ago, the driveway wasn’t empty. Instead, a light blue Bronco was parked beside the freshly mowed grass.

Your fist raised to knock once, twice and a third time on the front door. Finally, the sound of footsteps sounded inside. The door opened, and your breath was taken away.

“Can I help you?” The person asked, peering at you with tired eyes.

“Are you Bradley Bradshaw?” You asked pushing your hands in the back pockets of your cotton shorts. A thin cardigan over a t-shirt to combat the cool breeze.

“I am,” Bradley confirmed, leaning on the doorjamb of his home. His brown eyes scanned you from the brown sandals to your e/c eyes. He wondered if you would be interested in grabbing a drink or walking on the beach.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You offered, reaching out to shake his hand in greeting, “I have something that belongs to you. Or well to your mother.”

Rooster stood straight up upon hearing that. His light-hearted thoughts and attraction faded when you mentioned his mother. A stranger.

“H-how would you know my mother? She died when I was nineteen.” Rooster breathed, dropping his crossed arms.

“I know.” You softly breathed, stepping through the open door when he stepped to the side.

The foyer opened in the living room with soft-coloured walls and a frame holding a folded flag on the mantle. White accents and pictures of family littered the walls. You could see the pencil lines of a child being measured on the kitchen door frame.

“How?” Rooster demanded, furrowing his brows.

“Because she was my friend.” You turned to face the confused aviator, “On my eighth birthday my life changed forever. I had been sick for a while. Lethargic, I would become breathless and other stuff. The doctor called during my birthday party. Test results came back, and by the next day, I was sitting in a paediatric oncologist's office.”

Rooster’s breath called in his throat, “Wait are you, Finch?”

Your eyebrows raised, “Carole coined that. I spent my time in the hospital fluttering around to rooms to make friends. It started as Goldfinch and shortened.”

“She spoke about you. Mom was lonely for a lot of my childhood. Then, when she got sick, she lost her spark.” Rooster recalled the scary time learning his mom was really sick, “She got it back when she met a friend. She called you her little Goldfinch.”

“She did everything she could to keep me company. I didn’t have any family other than my parents, who were both on active duty. Deployed a lot. So Carole stepped in as a trusted adult when they weren’t there.” Your smile was wistful, remembering the warm smile and laugh that embodied glee, “Even when she stopped treatment, she would sit with me during mine. She talked about her pride and joy and the adventures she had.”

“She could be anyone’s friend.” Rooster grinned, leaning back on the back of the couch. His ankles crossed, looking at you.

“She could. In the end, she gave me this.” Your deft fingers tugged the moonstone and diamond pendant from under your shirt.

Rooster stood straight up, staring at the necklace lying on your fingertips. For as long as he could remember, Carole Bradshaw never took two pieces of jewellery off. Her wedding ring and the necklace you were wearing.

He didn’t notice he had stepped closer until his calloused fingers gently touched the moonstone.

“I-I thought this was lost.” He gasped carefully, eyeing the diamonds in the crescent moon. It was as perfect as the last time he saw it was when his mom was alive, “She would brush it off.”

Your lips quirked, “She was pretty mysterious about why she gave it to me. Said ‘I’m sure one day you’ll know what to do with it’ and was tight-lipped about why.”

Rooster’s brown eyes crinkled with mirth, “She was a sucker for movies and books like that.”

Your eyes moved from the pendant to meet the man’s brown pair. It was silent for a moment.

“She loved you. So very much, Bradley. She lit up when she talked about you. She was only scared about how you’d be after she passed. She was worried the grief and bitterness would swallow you.”

He was confused, “What?”

“Carole didn’t tell me much since I was a child, but she mentioned asking a friend to do something that would hurt you. She regretted it, but it was too late to do anything. She only hoped you could forgive her.”

His eyebrows raised as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. It hadn’t been Maverick’s idea to pull his papers. His mom had.

“Thank you.” Why Rooster was thanking you, he didn’t know. Maybe for the peace, he felt.

“This belongs with you.” You whispered, raising your hands to unclasp the necklace to drop it into his hand, “I think she always meant for me to give it to you.”

In the time since you’d left California, you’d changed your hair, Rooster discovered the moment he’d seen you. It looked good. His hand held his bag tightly as he walked closer to your form.

“Finch!” Rooster called, bringing your attention to the person in front of you.

His brown eyes drank in the lavender-coloured scrub pants paired with the scrub top of cartoon birds. Next, his eyes found the moonstone necklace that had brought you together resting on your chest as it had since he’d returned it eight months ago. Then, his brown eyes finally flicked down to the newest addition he’d given you.

“Roo!” You beamed, running full speed into his arms.

Rooster shifted to press a lingering kiss to your neck before leaning back to drink you in. His one hand caresses your soft cheek.

“I thought you were flying in on Monday?” You asked, leaning back to stare at him with glittering eyes. The man in question beamed back.

“I scored a few extra days off. Mav’s extra wedding gift.”

His eyes shifted to the band he’d slipped onto your finger a few months back. It matched the one on his hand.

“Perfect! Roisin gave me a list of places we should check out. She’s got the connections to places only the locals know about!” Your hand grasped his as he let you tug him down from the clinic to the little apartment you had rented for a short time.

Rooster had gotten papers of a deployment a month before your postponed honeymoon would begin. He’d persuaded you to find a locum position for the month-long deployment, and he’d fly to Ireland to meet you.

“Ireland, and then we’re going to Spain?”

“I have to show you the places I saw. You’ll love it. And then we’ll return to San Diego.” Your words were coy at the end. His eyes moved away from the people moving down the sidewalk to you.

“We’ll? I thought you were heading down to Scotland before coming home?” Rooster asked, pulling you to a stop.

You bit your lip, keeping quiet.

“Finch?” Rooster slowly spoke, reaching to grab your other hand in his clasp.

“I applied for a position at the clinic I was a locum at when I was searching for you. I just need to sign the contracts, and I’ll have a permanent position.”

Rooster flew his head back gleefully in such a way that reminded you so much of the woman who’d held your hand in a sterile room decades ago.

Carole Bradshaw knew you were gonna be important to her. She just didn’t know you’d be more important to Bradley too.

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader

397 notes · View notes