#But i would have given her a piece of my mind and then just straight up ended the relationship because its not okay to say things like that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

barbieaemond · 4 months

Text

Lykirī

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob, we ride him bitches, dom/sub tones if you squint

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

Author's note: an early Christmas gift for those who celebrate!! For those who don't, just a regular smutty piece. This was based on a request where wife!reader rides Aemond. Merry Aemondmas :)

MASTERLIST

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee

"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."

Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.

Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.

"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”

The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.

The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.

You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.

Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."

Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"

The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.

Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.

"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."

"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."

Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”

"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"

He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.

You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.

“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.

“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”

“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?

It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.

“Lay on the bed.”

With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?

“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.

Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.

As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”

Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”

Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.

Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.

Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.

“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.

You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”

He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.

One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”

It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.

“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.

“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.

Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.

He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.

Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.

The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.

"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"

"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.

"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."

"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."

"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."

At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.

The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.

The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.

The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.

The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.

It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.

That was indeed the good part.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.

It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.

“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”

His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.

“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”

The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.

“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”

“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”

"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."

"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."

His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.

He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.

And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.

He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.

It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.

She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kostā pāsagon zirȳla.”

You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”

You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”

Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”

You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.

“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.

He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.

“Aemond, I don’t think—”

“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.

Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.

Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.

He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.

“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”

She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.

She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”

There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.

“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”

You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.

“Above them. Above the Gods.”

“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”

He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”

“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”

He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”

“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”

You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”

The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.

A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.

Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.

“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”

Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.

He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.

You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.

It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.

And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.

And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.

“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.

You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.

You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."

Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.

But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.

You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.

“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“

But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.

Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”

“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.

“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”

He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.

Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."

“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.

“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.

“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”

Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.

He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.

He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.

And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.

“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”

Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can’t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.

“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.

It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.

"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.

Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.

You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."

"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.

You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"

He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."

"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."

He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.

You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.

“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.

“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.

But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”

You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.

When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.

"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"

You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."

"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"

You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."

"Neither does you."

"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."

"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.

You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.

You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.

"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."

You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.

Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."

"What?"

She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."

"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.

"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."

You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.

"It is too soon to talk about love."

"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."

You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.

But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.

"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."

"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."

You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."

Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."

"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."

Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"

A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"

"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.

"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."

That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.

You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.

"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"

"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.

You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."

He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.

"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I was in the library."

"For four hours?"

"It was a tough read—"

He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos."

Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.

"Aemond, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."

You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."

You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."

"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.

He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."

There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."

He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.

The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.

“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”

“Yes.”

"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"

"I wish to conquer, not claim."

He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.

"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."

He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.

You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.

You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...

"Can I take it off?"

There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.

"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."

"It is not pleasant."

"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."

He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.

A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."

His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.

And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.

"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Lykirī."

His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."

He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."

“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”

He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.

But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.

He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.

He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.

He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.

“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”

But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.

“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.

“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.

��My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.

You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.

Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”

You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.

“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.

Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.

Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.

His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.

You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.

He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”

It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.

You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.

He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.

“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.

“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”

“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.

“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”

“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.

“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”

You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."

Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.

You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.

“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”

But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.

“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"

You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.

"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.

He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.

And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror.

Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞

#likiri #liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond x wife reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond fic #aemond smut #hotd fic

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januaryembrs · 2 months

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NEARLY BROUGHT ME TO MY KNEES | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [2]

Description: FIVE times Spencer thinks he might like you + the ONE time he knows.

Word length: 20k

Trigger Warnings: death, murder, Lauren arc, spencer's addiction mentioned, Diana's schizophrenia mentioned, vomit, alcohol, blood, usual criminal mind warnings. mommy AND daddy issues in the prentiss family.

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‘so sweet with a mean streak

nearly brought me to my knees.’

The one where he tries flirting

Emily tutted at her as the girl blindly shoved the Lucky Charms in her mouth, her tongue staining a gross blue-green colour from the additives as she read from a battered copy of Anna Karenina. Bugsy had been living with her for just two weeks now, since her impromptu fleeing from the altar, and Emily’s certainly had a good insight into the life of the twenty three year old.

Yes, it was her birthday next week. No, she didn’t act her age anymore than she had at twenty.

“Bug, slow down.” Emily urged, a rogue orange marshmallow dribbling down her chin as she plunged the spoon in before she’d even swallowed the last mouthful, “You get sick when you eat too fast,”

Bugsy waved her off with the utensil, not even ripping her eyes away from the page in front of her, scooping up the marshmallow with the side of her finger and popping it into her mouth.

Emily rolled her eyes, downing a few sips of her coffee and heading for the stairs, knowing her ride would be here any moment and she still had yet to change her shirt from the one she’d spilled toothpaste down not ten minutes earlier.

“Niko needs breakfast when you’re done,” The older of the two shouted down to the breakfast table, a streak of tabby grey running under her feet at the sound of food. Bugsy had insisted she bring her new feline friend into Emily’s apartment, and as much as she’d hated the way she nearly tripped over the chubby bastard almost every day they’d been here, she certainly had a fondness for him.

Bugsy hummed in acknowledgement, though she scraped the edges of her bowl clean by the time the cat in question hopped up onto the counter in search of her leftover milk.

“This is not for you, you have too much already,” She scolded, shovelling the last few sugary pieces of cereal into her mouth right as the door knocked.

She dogeared her page, gulping down a quick sip of Emily’s coffee, cringing when she caught it was much too strong for her liking, and heading for the door, her sister yelling to her again.

“Bug, can you get that- wait- are you wearing pants?”

She certainly wasn’t, having rolled straight out of bed in a pyjama shirt and underwear, and towards the promise of breakfast, nor as she swung the front door to the apartment open before Emily had a chance to rush down the stairs.

Spencer could have laughed when he saw her, all too reminiscent of the first time he’d met her. The boxers that hugged her legs beneath a large top he was entirely convinced was not hers, though her face lit up in excitement to see him.

“Good morning!” He thrust a coffee to-go into her hand, still warm even from where it had been jostled around in his car.

“You’re my saviour,” She grinned, sipping on the sweet beverage with bright eyes, “Cute sweater vest-”

She was quickly manhandled behind the door by two firm hands, Emily’s face enraged as she glared down at her sister where she was now out of sight from the doctor.

“What did I tell you about wearing pants? Huh? You nearly gave Mrs Jensen a heart attack last week,” Emily hissed, as Bugsy shrugged, remembering the look of horror the old woman across the hall had given her when she’d taken the trash out in a hoodie and booty shorts.

“It’s Spencer,” She poked her head around the door, despite Emily’s shoving, like she was taming a wild animal, “You don’t mind, do you?”

He shook his head, an amused and easy smile on his face as he watched the sisters bicker, not entirely unlike the way he and Emily tended to pick at one another.

“Not at all; I agree pants are loathable,” And he wasn’t lying. He tried to go for looser fitting trousers or sweat pants, hating the way the tight fabrics restricted his legs, rubbed his skin, making him want to itch and squirm inside his body.

“Don’t you start,” Emily pointed at him, huffing as she stepped out of the apartment, “You know she gets all worked up and weird on sugar,”

“Hey, I’m the last person to deny someone a coffee,” He replied, and the two turned to head back to his car, not before he threw the younger woman a look over his shoulder and a wave.

“Go save the world, kiddos.” She waved back, sipping her coffee indeed with bare legs that would have a nun blushing, “Curfews at nine, Doctor Reid, I expect both of you home for dinner!” She nudged the door closed with her hip before Niko could run out after Emily, and Spencer chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

“See, told you,” Emily sniggered, rolling her eyes, “Weird,”

Though that wasn’t quite the word he’d have used.

–

A killer, so far as they had been able to profile from the four bodies, was targeting women he picked up in night clubs in Atlanta. Most of the team, except Derek, had outgrown the clubbing scene, though Spencer didn’t quite think he’d ever been in it to start with. They all went to O’Keeffe’s usually once a month or so for a quick drink, but it was not big on his list.

Rossi, Reid and Derek stared at the puddle of blood on the sidewalk, wincing as Emily leaned over the balcony, the five story drop making her tug her lip in between her teeth.

This woman must have been terrified by something, someone, to see this as a better way out.

“Maybe she fought back,” Hotch speculated behind her, drawing her attention back to the cleaning equipment scattered over the floor, entirely different to the last three crime scenes where they had been arranged neatly into a triangle, “And when Becky fought back, his routine was compromised, cause he knew the police would respond,”

“Or she could have jumped,” Emily responded gravely, shaking her head at the carpet beneath her boots, “Her nervous system is pumping adrenaline, her fight or flight response kicks in?” Both were equally plausible options, but not ones they had time to entirely pick over.

“He’s struck two Fridays in a row, and if his routine’s been interrupted, it might compel him to strike again,” Hotch said, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his brow furrowed deeper than it usually was.

“It’s Saturday, the clubs will be packed tonight,” Emily replied, her eyes sad, worried.

“Take a look at the classes the Unsub might have taken, we need to generate a suspect pool as soon as possible,” Her boss ordered, and she nodded heading for the door before she stopped, looking at him with a grimace he didn’t quite understand, “What is it?”

“Bugs-my sister used to work as a shot girl in a club.” She said after a moment of thought, “She could smell a rat from a mile away; said most girls who work in bars get this sixth sense about guys with bad intentions, so they know when to cut them off earlier than most,”

Emily looked at him for a moment, and he seemed troubled, hesitant as she was to even tease the idea to him, before he sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

“Call her in.” He said through an outbreath, gritting his teeth the way he did when he was in between a rock and a hard place.

Rock being another girl murdered by tonight with a huge opportunity to catch the guy in the act missed. Hard place being a twenty-three year old risking her skin for his team for a third time. He hated the paperwork she brought him, hated the look on her face the day Spencer and Derek had dragged her out of that chapel bloodied and shaken even more.

“But she wears a vest under her clothes, and she stays with Reid and Morgan,” He reasoned, “And just purely scouting; if the Unsub strikes, she gets out there like any other civilian.”

Emily nodded, her hand routing through her pockets for her phone already, “Couldn’t agree more,” She said, hitting the call button with a sigh. She just hoped this time her baby sister wouldn’t be making any drastic calls like throwing herself in the Unsub’s way. Though, Emily knew Spencer wouldn’t let her take another hit for him ever again. Not after the way he’d seemed so distraught the moment she’d been dragged from that room, his eyes all but glistening with tears when he’d seen her on the bed, bloodied and beaten for his sake.

No, Emily could stake her life on the fact Reid would go down swinging before that ever happened to her again.

“When you think about the nature of serial crimes, it’s amazing there aren’t more predators in clubs,” Spencer said, hoping the pretty girls he’d managed to snag into conversation didn’t hear the way his voice stuttered. This was so far out of his depth, the entire club atmosphere suffocating him worse than any tight pants ever could. The music was too loud, the heavy bass making him wince, the air was too close, too warm, the bodies that kept shoving past him made him want to shower for two hours straight and then wash his hands as well. He’d turned down the drink Derek had offered him, knowing the exact amount of bacteria that swarmed the ice behind the bar, on the rims of the glasses, on the taps-

Spencer was more than overwhelmed. And talking to beautiful women was not helping his flushed demeanour whatsoever.

“I mean, excessive amounts of alcohol, countless opportunities for date rape drugs, not to mention suprisingly risky behaviour being pursued,” He counted off, his satchel strapped tightly to his side, “All right, so who wants a flyer?” The three women turned their nose up in awkward smiles, the tallest pushing past him with little more than an outright scoff, the other girl following her like lost dogs, “Nobody? Okay, all right,” He said, his face crestfallen at their reaction, though he wasn’t so unused to it. Girls tended to react that way when he spoke, his entire high school career had been the same. Infact, the only girl other than his co-workers who ever bothered to listen when he spoke was-

“I’ll take one,” A voice came from behind him, the same one he had incidentally been thinking of since they’d left Emily’s apartment, and he could already tell she was smiling before he whipped around to see her slinking through the crowd.

He was ready to retort something clever, but felt his words congeal in his throat. He had thought, that day when he’d stopped the elevator and seen her in a sodden wedding dress, that he had seen her at her most beautiful. Yes, her makeup had been tracking down her face with her tears, her hair sticking to her cheeks, her expression weepy. But she had reminded him of a star, glistening with the rain, the water shimmering off the snow white fabric, it had taken his breath away then, even when she’d thrown her arms over his shoulders, as if he was the only thing that she could grab on to for safety.

But that dress was nothing like the one she wore now.

It was nothing extravagant, and truthfully he’d seen at least ten girls in this club alone that had gone way more lavish than she had bothered to on such short notice. But, Spencer couldn’t help but take her whole image in as she shoved her way in front of him, an easy smile on her face.

“Beats boxers and pyjama shirts, huh?” She twirled cheekily, warming under his gaze that blinked heavily at her. The dress had been an old thing she’d bought for a frat party, when she’d felt particularly sorry for herself and was going out looking for a bonehead jock to take home. It fit her nicely, complimented the areas she wanted it to, hid the others. A good fail safe option for a last minute night out like this. Covered the kevlar vest Hotch and Emily had wrangled her into.

Not her finest moment, being jumped on by her older sister as her boss forced the bullet jacket over her head; the new girl, Jordan, staring in discomfort as she’d cursed both of them out colourfully for ruining her outfit, but the way Spencer seemed to gulp heavily made her smile wider.

“You look…” He swallowed again, his fingers digging into the flyers in his hand. Hot. She looked hot. Hot enough that he felt his face flush with the same feeling, he hoped she couldn’t see the way he blushed beneath the club lights, “Beautiful,” He settled on, because ‘hot’ was an entirely Derek word to use.

“So you keep telling me,” Bugsy preened under his gaze, grinning like she knew something he didn’t. Grabbing one of the flyers from his sweaty palms gently, she took a look at the general sketch, not noticing the way he had yet to tear his eyes off her, “Alright, this the guy?”

“Yeah, we think he has a mark of some sort- like a birthmark or a scar over his left eyebrow,” He informed, corralling her towards where Morgan stood, his own eyes widening at the girl’s attire.

They knew she was coming to help scout the scene, they didn’t realise she’d come so ready. Derek immediately felt stupid for doubting her.

“Woah, did someone call the fire department, because you’re about to set the damn sprinklers off,” He teased, her face lighting up at the man she knew had a way of making her feel a million bucks every time he saw her.

Emily said he had little sisters of his own, and maybe that was how he knew just what to say. He had many years of experience being the best big brother.

“Oh, please, you guys spoil me,” She snickered, though her eyes scanned the crowd for a general scope of the club. Safe to say she did not miss the eight pm till four am shifts she used to pull, nor did she miss the drunk bodies swaying around her, the men who would get handsy, the girls who would get scrappy, “So, how’s it going?”

“Not good, I gave the profile to one woman and she asked if I was the unsub,” Spencer sighed, running a hand through his rogue curls, the humidity of the stuffy bar making them tighten around his ears just that bit more. “How are you doing?”

“Well, I gave out all my flyers,” Derek said smugly, though Spencer’s eyebrows raised, a smile teasing at his lips.

“Oh yeah? How many phone numbers did you get?” Bugsy snorted at his words, looking between the men with a smirk.

“None, I’m working the case here, kids,” Derek tutted, to which Spencer and Bugsy looked at eachother with identical doubt, flicking their gaze back to Morgan. He huffed, “Okay, four were offered, but I didn’t take any of them.”

Spencer’s jaw dropped, face scrunching in confusion how Morgan was so charismatic with women even when he wasn’t trying.

“Alright, I’m gonna go grab more flyers from the van. You,” He clapped a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “Need to relax, man. Remind me to teach you the basics on picking up girls. And you,” Derek pointed to where Bugsy nodded patiently, “Make sure wonder boy doesn’t get eaten alive. And stay together.”

She nodded again, watching him leave through the crowd; already a woman grabbed on his arm for his attention, where she watched him politely decline with one of those flirty smoulders he’d mastered.

“I don’t get how he does it. I mean, I get he has the whole body of a God thing going for him,” Spencer sighed, as the two of them went back out into the crowd, scanning for a group of girls who looked particularly sober enough to listen, “But, he just has this way, you know. I’ll don’t think I’ll ever have the way,”

“Don’t put yourself down like that,” She chastised, nudging him affectionately with her elbow, “You’re very beautiful yourself, you know? You don’t need some stupid way, you just need to be yourself,”

She said it as if it was nothing, as if it hadn’t just hit him in the chest that she thought he was attractive, though he still remembered that first day they’d met when she assumed he was a stripper.

His heart swelled in his chest.

“You really think so?” He asked unsure, waiting for her to laugh in his face and tell him it had just been a tease, she was good at those. But she was never cruel. Never to him. He didn’t know why he’d expected it.

“Absolutely! I’ve seen like three girls already giving you goo-goo eyes. Believe me, you got the looks,” She simpers, watching his eyes scan the crowd to look for the supposed culprits.

“So, what, it’s my personality they don't like?” He asked, though he knew that was more than likely the case. He’d always been told he buzzed in people’s ears like a fly, like he was simply background noise the greater population wanted to tune out.

He knew that would be it. It didn’t stop the small stab of hurt in his stomach however.

“If someone doesn’t like your personality, that is a them problem, Spencer, not you,” Bugsy was quick to snap, the joking lessening in her eyes as she caught his dejected expression, “Girls like it when you talk about something you enjoy, something you know what you’re talking about. Which should be easy, since you know everything. What do you feel most comfortable talking about?”

“Statistics,” He said with a nod, to which she looked at him fondly.

“Okay, we have statistics as a backup option. Anything else?” She looked at him, the light bouncing off her eyes in a way that had him pause to think.

“Magic?” He offered, and she smiled even wider, if that was even possible.

“Magic! Perfect, girls love feeling magical,” She beamed, nudging him again with her elbow, and the two of them walked over to the bar, “Show me then, Gandalf. What moves would you pull on me if I was a girl?”

He blinked at her, “Are you … not a girl?” He asked, pure bewilderment on his face as he stole a few napkins from the counter.

She snickered, “Okay, if I wasn’t me. If you didn’t know me,”

“If I didn’t know you, I’d be way too nervous to even talk to you. And you definitely wouldn’t want to talk to me,” He said as he fiddled with the paper between his obnoxiously long fingers, folding the sheets into miniature shapes.

She chuckled at him, shaking her head. It had never been like this with them before. Sure, she teased him, like she always had, but he was teasing back. Complimenting her with a seriousness beyond just being nice.

Something was different in him since the day Cyrus dragged her away. And if that hadn’t done it, then seeing her every morning for two weeks had changed the boyish anxiety that had lingered even then.

“Stop stalling and show me these tricks of yours,” She bit playfully, though the grin she gave him was genuine as she saw something mischievous flash in his eyes.

“Patience is virtue, patience is virtue-” He murmured, fiddling with the short, plastic straws they kept at the bar, “Now for this to work, I’m going to need a beautiful assistant. Do you think you could find one for me-”

She smacked his arm, and he snickered. She shook her head, fighting her own laugh overcoming her.

Maybe she was right. Talking about something he loved made him feel entirely at ease, like he controlled every angle their conversation took, and the air between them had taken this odd electric turn he wasn’t expecting like someone had pumped a thousand volts under his skin.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” He replied, holding out one of the straws, about as plain and simple as it would be if it were in a drink, “But I will need some magic words,”

“Ofcourse,” She drawled, her cheeks hurting from how tight she was smiling, “What are they?”

“Magic words are, ‘I’ll be there’” He instructed, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves as he watched her frown, and he pointed the straw at her mouth like a microphone, “You got it?”

“Yep,” She responded, even though the confusion read clear as day on her face. He tapped the straw on her nose and cleared his throat.

“3, 2, 1,” He tapped it to her temple, then to each of her shoulders, “Go on a date with me?”

“I’ll be there,” She responded, and in a strobe of light the single instrument became a trio of origami roses, stuffed into the straws as stems.

Her brain caught up to her as he gently placed them in her hand, her eyes gazing at him like he had just presented her with a 24 carat diamond, though in reality it was nothing more than a silly trick with napkins and plastic.

“Spencer,” She said earnestly, and he could have sworn her voice quivered for a split second, before she shook her head at him, punching him on the hip gently, “You are the most humble man I’ve ever met. You do that to any other girl and you’re getting laid, I’m telling you,”

He rubbed his chin bashfully, both of them catching the way the waitress behind the bar watched him with large, blue eyes Bugsy could have bathed in. She was gorgeous, and she stared at Spencer as if she’d been the one given roses.

Attracted. Interested.

“Talk to her,” Bugsy whisper-yelled, nodding over to the barmaid who busied herself with another order, though they both saw the way her flicking glances to the two of them as she scooped ice, “She would have seen if a guy like that frequented somewhere like here, talk to her,”

“What- no-” He protested, but his eyes widening as Bugsy leaned over the bar to flag the woman down with that playful charisma of hers, not missing the way a few heads turned as the dress tightened around her ass as she bent forward.

He felt his chest flash with anger, glaring at the men, hoping it was enough to ward them off. Her hand enclosed around his wrist, drawing his attention back to the bartender who watched him with a sweet face. He had to admit she was attractive.

“This is my very best friend, Spencer,” Bugsy told the woman, who smiled at him, and the Prentiss girl lifted his hand up to wave at her like he was a ragdoll, “Spencer, wanted to show you something, didn’t you, Spence?”

Raising her eyebrows at him, nodding to the flyers in his hand.

“I’m gonna go dance,” She fibbed, knowing she was going to go scout out the crowd to see if any guys fit the profile, nudging him a little harder than before, “Remember what we talked about. I’ll be by the DJ,”

Grinning encouragingly, he watched her swoop into the crowd like it was second nature, not missing the collection of guys who watched her every move; she captured the room when she moved, when she smiled, when she politely excused herself past a group of girls that tried to pull her into their circle with friendly cheers.

He did another one of his tricks for Austin, he’d come to learn was the name of the girl behind the bar, but it hadn’t felt the same, not even when she gave him her number unprompted, even as she flirted, smiled prettily, batted those sea blue eyes at him. It wasn’t the same.

He worried for a moment that the electricity he’d felt was reserved only for Bugsy, but he squashed it down faster than he could confront the idea.

2. The one where he nearly dies

“I don’t know how to do this,” JJ confessed, her bluebell eyes filled with tears as she stared out of her boss’ office and into the bullpen full of officers, scientists and even the damn military tearing through pages and pages of resources for answers.

Anthrax. A weapon of mass destruction they’d already had a small dose of, was on the move through the BAU’s own city. And they each had strict instructions to not alert their loved ones.

“I can’t stop thinking about Henry,” She whimpered through a strong facade as she turned to Hotch, and she saw the same guilt eating him up in those dark eyes of his that rarely let anything slip.

He had Jack. He had Haley, even with the divorce papers signed so long ago. He had people at risk too. And yet she couldn’t stop seeing her precious little boy’s face as he lay back in his pushchair and enjoyed the sights of the park, the same park that had just been targeted with an airborne disease-

“He goes for a walk almost every single day at Potomac Park,” She sniffed, the nausea chewing away at her brain as she recounted the lesions on that poor teenage girls skin, that's going to be Henry, that’s going to be Will, “What type of mother am I if I don’t atleast call and tell them to stay home?”

“JJ, we can’t,” Hotch said, though he felt his own dam start to tear down as he tried not to think of what could possibly happen to his own sweet son.

“I know, but-” Her throat bobbed, “It-it’s not just me- Emily’s worried about Bugsy. She told me she cuts through the park on the way to her lectures- she has one every day this week- Hotch-”

It was true. She had caught Emily in her own turmoil as the woman sped off to grab a drink seconds after chugging down the dose of Cipro they’d all been given that morning. She’d caught her filling a glass of water until the liquid started leaking down the sides and went over her shaking fingers, and even then she’d had to tug her friend out of whatever rabbit hole the words ‘Media Blackout’ had sent her down.

“I understand you both have people you want to protect,” Hotch was the voice of reason, as he always was, and it stung her to see his face so cold since she knew he was drowning his own sorrows behind it, “But if we all called home and used this information to give us an advantage other people don’t have, is that the right thing to do?”

She bit her lip, knowing he was right. She just prayed on everything she had Will would stay home with Henry today, Haley would have a movie night with Jack, and for whatever she had seen in Emily’s eyes earlier, a pure, unadulterated self-loathing, that Bugsy at least took the day off teaching.

JJ prayed, and prayed, and prayed.

–

She shuffled her notes together as she marked papers at her desk. They let her take the office to herself since she’d been at the University for five months now, gave her free reign of her lectures without having a supervisor like they had the first eight weeks or so. Bugsy enjoyed, surprising as it was to her, the feeling of somewhere that wasn’t the laboratory. Emily and Spencer had forced her to apply for jobs when they caught her binge watching real housewives for the sixth time back to back, of course lacking any bottoms.

Emily didn’t know why she thought twenty-four year old Bugsy would be any different. They had thought at least that Derek holding her hair back on the night of her birthday party as she threw up copious amounts of jello shots on the sidewalk would be an eye opening moment, but it hadn’t deterred her in the slightest. She had just chucked a handful of gum in her mouth, patted the man on the back and asked Emily to hit up the drive thru on their way home.

It wasn’t until she got the job did she feel a little bit more responsible, like what she was doing actually affected the people around her. Teaching first year college students was so very different than she’d expected, she was the authority figure.

She could hear her mother laughing at her now.

She almost smudged the little smiley face she’d drawn beside one of her student’s B+ as the phone rang on her desk, because she had an office phone believe it or not, and she cleared her throat, trying to sound as grown up as possible whilst also trying not to grin how excited she was to use her new landline.

“Miss Prentiss speaking, who’s calling?” She said, almost not recognising herself as she squeezed her gel pen in delight. She had this grown up thing down to a tea.

“Hi, Bug.” Spencer’s voice sounded out of breath, and she heard his converse slapping against a linoleum floor fast, as if he was pacing, “I got a quick hypothetical to run through with you,”

“Y-yeah, sure- Where are you?” She asked, her brows furrowing when he gave a wheezy cough, “Spence?”

“I’m not allowed to tell you, but I’m fine- for now,” He winced as he said the last part, as if it had slipped unintentionally, as if he knew what was coming next. He could practically hear her brain ticking over, “So, when you’re in the lab-”

“What do you mean for now?” She cut him off, standing up from her desk, already collecting her pencils back into their little pink case, “Where’s Emily? Is she okay? Is anyone hurt?”

“Everyone’s fine; as I was saying, hypothetically, when you’re in the lab where would you-” He talked over her right back, his slender fingers flicking through the piles of work, hoping he stumbled on a formula, a sticky note, a damn cheat sheet, anything.

“Don’t avoid my question, Spencer,” She snapped, and she could already feel the worry lines on her forehead.

He sighed, hoping she couldn’t hear the way his chest rattled and he choked down a cough. It would only make her worry more.

“I promise I will tell you what’s going on if you just answer my question,” Spencer rushed, feeling his face growing sweaty, opening the entire cabinet of drawers. “Okay?”

She nodded, biting her nail, as she sat back down. “Okay fine, shoot,”

“Where would you put your valuable items if you didn’t trust your lab partner while the two of you were working together?” He asked, wiping his brow with his sleeve as he held the phone tight to his ear with his shoulder.

She paused for a moment, “Well it’s standard practice that all jewellery comes off before we get scrubbed, so as not to contaminate anything. I usually put my scrunchie through my rings and tied it back into my hair so they wouldn’t get stolen. I knew some guys who put their watches around their ankles. Basically anywhere we could feel it on us,”

He cleared his throat again, and she heard him take a few steps, “How’s grading papers going? Did you get a fax machine yet?”

He was trying to change the subject, trying to take her mind off whatever it was he was doing that required such an urgent and peculiar question.

“It’s going good, I miss you bringing me coffee; it was like I had a maid who helped me with my crosswords,” She said, biting her bottom lip squeezing her thumb in the middle of her fist to slow the nerves. He tried to pretend he wasn’t smiling hearing that. “Now tell me what’s wrong. Did you go running without your inhaler again? I told you to leave a spare at ours so I could rescue you if you ever-”

“Bugsy, you’re a genius!” He cried, ignoring the way it made his throat burn, “Remind me to tell you every single day how smart you are- I have to go,”

“Spence- Spencer-” She tried to cut in, but he had already put the phone down.

So much for not worrying her, she thought, as she got on the phone to Emily within seconds.

Bugsy all but burst through the hospital doors, apologising when she nearly knocked a stack of files from a nurse's hands, wishing she had an inhaler herself after she had ran all the way from the car park, including the three flights of stairs.

After calling in sick the rest of the day, and practically volleying her rucksack into the passenger's seat of her car, she had blindly called Emily four more times until the woman answered with a frightened lilt to her voice.

Spencer was headed to the hospital. Spencer was headed there on full blues with lungs full of an even deadlier strain of Anthrax. Last Emily had heard he was getting worse. Bugsy put her foot down on the pedal even harder.

She knew the speeding ticket would come any day, and didn't even want to think about the state of her parking. All she cared about the second the lady at the desk had said what room he was in was seeing he was okay, that he wasn’t growing lesions or choking on his own blood or having half of his brain boiled alive.

Bugsy felt a small spike of panic, if it could even get worse, as she yanked the curtain back to see him asleep, a cannula tucked into his nose, a hospital gown tied over his shoulders.

Diving for his file that was attached to the end of his bed, she looked through his information to check what meds he’d been given. He once told her he was allergic to narcotics, said he had been since birth, and while she trusted one of the team to have passed the information on, she had to see it for herself that he was stable.

No narcotics given. Only paracetamol for his fever that was rapidly coming down. She could breathe again.

She jumped out of her skin when the curtain rail was pulled back a second time, and Derek seemed to startle for a moment too before a tired smile met his handsome face.

“Where have you been, Baby Prentiss?” His breath knocked out of him when she threw herself at him, a sigh of relief coming from her bitten lips.

“Oh, thank god you’re okay,” She murmured, and his chuckle echoed through his chest into her ear, “You all worried me half to death,”

“You’re looking very grown up,” He teased as he patted her on the back. And she was. She had taken to wearing maxi skirts and tights, even throwing on a cute blazer for affect, she was the teacher after all. She shoved him away with a smack to the chest. He laughed, holding up the opened pot of jell-o to her face, “Jell-o?”

She gagged, filled with memories of her birthday.

He shook his head with a smile as she sat down in the seat next to the bed and he spooned the first mouthful of the fruity dessert into his mouth.

“Is everyone else alright?” She asked, wringing her hands together. She fought back the urge to tuck Spencer’s curls behind his ear, knowing he was sleeping peacefully.

“Stop worrying. Team’s fine; we caught the guy and confiscated his supply. Even saved the last few survivors with you telling Reid where to look,” Morgan watched her jaw feather, and she picked under her nails.

“I keep telling you guys, I didn’t do anything. I just… spoke to him. He’s the genius, not me,” She said solemnly, staring into her lap with a frown.

“Not to him. Whole journey back, before the aphasia kicked in, he kept telling paramedics to tell Doctor Kimura it was you who’d figured it out.” Derek said, but it seemed to make her sulk more.

She said nothing, pulling out her book from her bag to continue reading as she waited for him to wake up, and Derek took it as a sign she was in no mood to talk, god forbid even take a compliment, and opened the magazine he’d grabbed from the cafeteria.

–

Half an hour and another pot of pudding for Morgan later (she gagged again at the sweet strawberry smell of it), the pair of them sat in silence, reading their own materials when a very sleepy, doe eyed man looked up and frowned.

“Are you eating Jell-O?” Spencer asked, barely noticing the girl on the other side of the bed, who shot up out of her seat as he came around.

“Hey doc. You have a visitor,” Morgan said with a small smile, Spencer’s face falling into a frown. He looked to the other side of him, just in time to see a worn copy of Middlemarch being flung to the floor and a hand grabbing his clammy ones tightly.

“Spencer I’m- I’m so mad at you-” She gasped, every soppy feeling of sadness she’d been stewing in leaving her body when she saw his hazel eyes fall to her, “You put the phone down on me and next thing I know you’re in the back of an ambulance nearly flatlining- I’m so-”

She breathed when she saw his eyes soften. He didn’t think she knew it but he saw the way her eyes glistened, her voice trembled underneath her anger. He felt the way she had yet to let go of his hand, how nice and warm it felt in his palm.

“I’m sor-” He hadn’t even finished his apology when she had latched onto him, trying not to hug him too tight but hard enough she could tell herself he was still here. He was okay.

And he could understand. He’d felt the same when they’d found her in that church, when Cyrus had hauled her away after she’d practically offered herself up in exchange for him. He’d known she was braver than she gave herself credit for, but that had stopped his heart right there and then. He had grabbed her in a hug the first chance he’d got even then, even when he barely knew her, when she was Emily’s sister and not Bugsy. Not the woman he’d spent every morning with for weeks bringing her a coffee just the way she enjoyed it, the woman he’d sat with on Emily’s couch with her legs across his lap as they did the puzzles in the morning paper together. She tried to do them, and he would finish them when she got too annoyed by the ones she couldn’t answer.

“I’m sorry,” He said, his arms gently hugging her back and he felt something wet on his shoulder blade before he knew what it was. He felt even worse for worrying her, squeezing her tighter than was even comfortable for him.

“Don’t do that to me again,” She said through tears as she settled in his arms.

He really hoped she couldn’t hear the way his heart pounded.

3. The one at Haley’s funeral

She had no idea what to say. Emily had always been the one who knew how to talk to people. She had this horrible habit of saying the first thing that came to her head, probably because a lot of the time it was the most real, and people liked real.

But now wasn’t the time for what was best for her. Haley Hotchner had been murdered.

She hadn’t spoken to Hotch yet, she’d only met the man a handful of times. But he’d invited her anyway, for the team. For Emily, maybe even Spencer; Emily said he liked when she was around. She couldn’t imagine any other reason she would be there.

Other than, ofcourse, to be Spencer’s crutch. Literally. Since his real one had broken and he was still limping around with one knee weakened by the bullet wound in it.

She’d nearly had a heart attack when he’d called from the hospital, again, though this time he’d waited until he’d gotten the all clear to tell her so she didn’t panic quite as much as last time. She’d cursed him out for being so reckless, and requested another week's sick pay to take care of him until he was able to actually walk. It was only a one year contract with the university anyway, she didn’t care if she missed a few days to make sure he was okay.

“You look very handsome today,” She whispered to him as she hauled him out of the car, minding that he didn't hit his head on the ceiling. He gave her a small smile and tucked her own hair behind her ear seeing it come loose from its braid when she’d leaned down to grab him.

“Just today?” He asked, and she finally smiled back. She’d been stuck in a bubble in the car; her and Emily both had. They had the same thinking face, he’d realised.

“Just especially today,” She answered honestly, and he worked on adjusting his black jacket so she could hold onto him comfortably. She was quieter than usual. Feeble, almost.

“Thankyou, you do too,” He replied, his face scrunching after a moment, “Look pretty I mean,”

He leaned on her arm, looped it around hers as he tried to be the least amount of imposing as possible. That went about as well as you’d expect for a six foot one bag of bones.

She gave up after just a few steps, moving his arm to wrap around her shoulder as she walked with him. To anyone else they would easily pass as a couple, especially as she squeezed him tightly to her when the men laid down Hayley’s coffin, and the service began.

“W.S Gilbert wrote ‘It’s love that makes the world go around’ and if that’s true, then the world spun a little faster with Hayley in it.” Aaron began, his voice strong as his large hands gripped the eulogy like it would give him any comfort. She smiled softly, her eyes glued to the man who stood unmoving for his son, “Haley was my best friend since we were in high school. We certainly had our struggles but if there’s one thing we agreed on unconditionally, it was our love and our commitment to our son, Jack,”

Bugsy smiled sadly when Jack looked to the floor bashfully. Glancing between the photo on top of the coffin, a beautiful blonde woman grinning back at her with brilliantly happy eyes and a soft face, she saw where he got most of his looks from.

“Haley’s love for Jack was joyous, and fierce. That fierceness is why she isn’t here today. A mother’s love is an unrivalled force of nature, and we can all learn much from the way Haley lived her life. Haley’s death causes each of us to stop and take stock of our lives. To measure who we are and who we’ve become.” She felt Spencer’s head knock into hers, felt the sniff run through him, and she searched her pocket for a tissue, “I don’t have all those answers for myself, but I know who Haley was. She was the woman who died protecting the child we brought into this world together; and I will make sure Jack grows up knowing who his mother was. And how she loved and protected him. And how much I loved her.”

If Haley were here today she would tell us not to mourn her death. She would tell us-” Aaron cut himself off with a watery voice, his resolve finally melting as he realised this would be some of his final words to his wife. Bugsy felt her bottom lip quiver in remorse, “She would tell us to love our families unconditionally. And to hold them close because in the end they are all that matter.”

Spencer felt her tug him closer as she hid the lone few tears from the rest of the mourners and wished more than ever he could press a small kiss to her brow.

–

No, Bugsy was not good with knowing what to say and when. Wasn’t good at cheering people up no matter how much Spencer told her she always made him feel better. Didn’t really know much about how to make someone understand that she cared other than showing them with her whole body.

So by the time it was her turn to offer condolences, she didn’t bother shaking his hand. That meant nothing to her. That was a business deal, that was an agreement, a formal way to pretend you cared. But she did, she felt terrible for Hotch, wanted to fix him and his sweet son until Haley was right back there to thank her.

She didn’t shake his hand like everyone else had. He held his hand out for one, his eyes soft and warm, like he could see she was struggling. She brushed past his hand and just pulled him in for a hug, and he wondered if she was always going to greet him that way.

“I guessed that sorry wouldn’t make anything better so I brought you the biggest bottle of wine the store had,” She murmured into his chest, and she was gobsmacked to hear him chuckle weakly. She felt his hands pat her on the back gently, and he appreciated her candour. “I’ve got some Xanax if you’d really like a treat,”

She was a breath of fresh air. Aaron truthfully had been sick of people saying they were so sorry for his loss, and he felt like shaking them and yelling, screaming that they hadn’t been the one to kill Haley, Foyet had.

He pushed all of it down, focusing on the way she’d tucked herself to him like she had the day she’d become a runaway bride dripping rainwater over his bureau floor.

“She would have really liked you,” Aaron confessed, and they finally parted, and she saw he was smiling like he meant it, not just saying it to make her feel more comfortable being here. “You would have made her laugh,”

He saw the easy expression on her face fade, and she turned to look at her heels, nodding quietly.

“I would have been lucky to have known her,” She said, handing him the gift bag with a very heavy present inside. “I only wish someone would ever love me the way you love her,’

And with that she bid him a smile, and returned to her seat in between Emily and JJ, the pair of them mother henning her all day.

Aaron wished he could have said more to her after that, but before he knew it, someone else was offering him their condolences, and the sadness in her voice was forgotten.

–

The team sat around the table, nursing their beers, or in Spencer and Bugsy’s case a tea. Spencer didn’t want to affect his healing process with alcohol, not that he’d ever been big on the stuff, and Bug said she struggled driving even without the help of a beer, so they chatted between sips from two very fancy china cups.

Emily and JJ sat to the other side of her talking about how beautiful the flower arrangements were when a small, fawn haired body came wandering over to where Will held a one year old Henry on his knee.

“Would he like to play?” Jack asked shyly, trying to peer up onto the adults table to see if there were any other kids his age that would like to do something with him. His dad had been busy talking to all those people, and auntie Jessica had been trying to make it round to every table to thank people for being here. He didn’t entirely understand what was happening, in all honesty.

“He’s still a little too small yet honey. In a year or so, you guys can be best friends,” JJ said sweetly as he pulled his chin up to the tabletop and spied the younger woman sitting next to uncle Spencer.

He tottered over to her, where she sat unaware she had a shadow until Spencer's face softened as he looked behind her, and she swivelled around in her seat.

“Hello,” Jack said quietly, looking up at where she seemed to buffer, feeling eight pairs of eyes on her as she interacted with the small boy.

She had never been good with children, had never been around them since she was their age, even the kids she taught now were all at least eighteen.

The mantra to absolutely not fuck up the next few moments reverberated around her head.

She gave him a soft smile, holding out a hand for him to shake, “Hi, Jack. I’m Emily’s sister. You can call me Bugsy,”

His tiny nose scrunched as he watched her, shaking her hand the way dad had shown him how.

“Bugsy? That’s a weird name,” He said, and she chuckled, “Like the bunny?”

She shrugged, “I guess like the bunny, yeah,” although she had never thought of that before.

“Would you like to play with me?” Jack asked, and she felt her chest warm unnaturally. He had such a sweet face. It was just like the woman in the picture.

Smiling at him crookedly, she rooted around her bag for the notebook and pens she kept for her to-do lists. Maybe Spencer was rubbing off on her.

“We could do some drawing if you want?” She offered, showing him the pad with kind eyes. That seemed to satiate him as he grabbed her knee and started pulling himself up to sit in her lap, and she paused.

Kids were so funny, she realised, she would never just start grabbing someone she just met and asking to climb on their lap.

She got him comfortable on her knee, not noticing the flashing glances Spencer gave her between his conversation with Kevin, Garcia’s beau, as Jack started drawing a bunny with a human face, that was supposedly meant to be her.

Spencer watched her giggle as he gave the rabbit a pretty dress, like the one she was wearing, and Spencer had to admit it was a pretty dress she’d gone for today. Had he not been so mournful earlier he thinks he would have blushed how tight she’d held him.

She showed him how to play noughts and crosses, and she let him win most of them, laughing when he asked to tear out the page from her notebook to show his dad later.

That is, until the man himself came over to the table of his work colleagues, only to see the group watching their youngest playing with his sweet son.

“Bugsy,” Hotch said, and her head shot up to him, a guilty look passing over her face, worried she’d overstepped, though the fact he hadn’t said her real name said otherwise, “Can I talk to you for a moment outside, please?”

She blinked, straightening in her seat “O-ofcourse!” Shuffling Jack off her lap as fast as she could without hurting him, smoothing out her dress down as she followed him to the small balcony the funeral home had. It was a classy manor, but she guessed Hotch would have only had the best for Haley.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, Jack asked to sit on my lap- and- I’m not good with kids anyway I just didn’t want to tell him no, especially not today-” He put his hand on her shoulder to shut her up, a small smile spreading on his face. It was fatherly and calming, something her own father had been much too busy to ever bother with.

“Not at all, that’s not why I called you out here,” He reassured, squeezing her gently as he leaned against the railing, taking a deep breath of the midnight air, and he felt his professional mask begin to slip. “I’ve been thinking… about how much help you've been to us over the years. Reid would be dead if it wasn’t for you.” She opened her mouth to protest, and he flashed her a look that said he was serious. “Let me finish,”

She wrung her hands guiltily, “Sorry,”

“You’re very resilient far beyond your years, you’re incredibly charismatic when you need to be, and you’re by far one of the smartest people your age,” He said, watching her face to see how she felt. He knew she didn’t take compliments well, for some other reason they could dig into any other day. But he needed to say it now, needed her to know now for what he was about to ask her.

“Whether that is true or not, why are you telling me this?” She asked politely, without the usual bite that went with it when they tried calling her something she wasn’t.

“I need to take some time off to spend with Jack, try and help him…” He trailed off, unsure as to what he wanted to say. “Help him understand Haley’s not coming home,”

She nodded with a glistening lash line, and grabbed onto his arm gently.

“My team looks to me to be their glue, but I know I can’t keep everyone together and look after my son. Emily said your contract at the University was ending,” He cleared his throat, looking at her again with something vulnerable in his sable black eyes, “So I was wondering if you would reconsider the FBI academy? It’s only twenty weeks, but Rossi and I can put you forward to do the written exams earlier if you’d like, and then Strauss can have you assigned a trainee position at the BAU-”

“Anything,” She nodded, “Anything you need, I’ll do it,” and he hugged her for once. Maybe it was the way she had said it so willingly, no matter her own reservations about joining the academy, no matter her stubbornness and resistance to her sisters pestering, or even the fact they all talked weekly about how much easier their job would be if she was there. Her and Reid’s brains together were a force to be reckoned with.

And he knew, the surprisingly kind girl that clutched at him back, would keep his team together, would be the glue to keep their heads on while he took some time to watch his son.

“Thankyou,” He murmured into her hair, and she forced herself not to get weepy at the grief in his voice. Of all people here, she was the last person who should be allowed to cry. Least of all to him.

He pulled away from her eventually, cursing himself for letting the front slip, but it was as if she had that effect on everyone on the team, like she had this little way of worming her way between that gap in their chests where their hearts once were before they’d seen the things they had, dealt with the people they had.

It was for that reason Aaron knew they would be just fine.

“You know, when I was a kid, mom got letters every day from people with their own agendas against her,” Bugsy said once they’d taken a gulp of cool night air, “They all said the same thing; that they were going to take me for ransom unless she left the country. She didn’t think much of it until a guy started following the car home from school and she decided to get me trained in self defence,”

Hotch frowned, his chest tightening. He knew how it felt to be a parent on edge for his kid’s safety, but to hear it from the other side cut deeper.

“Which was fine, I got a pretty mean shot if I say so myself, but eventually it progressed into hostage training, in case…” She swallowed dryly, clearing her throat and picking her nails, “I wet the bed the first time they grabbed me, the whole idea was that I wouldn’t know it was coming. They let me go pretty fast, I don’t think they’d expected the eleven year old to reach for the kitchen knife,”

Hotch scoffed, shaking his head in horror, though he didn’t doubt her for a second.

“I slept with it next to my bed for a year, so that next time they came for me, they would think twice and let me sleep in,” She said with a thoughtful smile.

“And did it work?” He asked, watching her run her hands along the stone wall beneath his elbow.

“I dunno, but the one guy left pretty quick when I almost took his eye out,” She giggled, and the sound made him laugh quietly as well, “My point is, you’ve got nothing to worry about with Jack. Kids like us, we get made tougher, resilient. And with parents like you two, I’d say he had a pretty good head start.” Bugs said, smiling to herself flicking a glance up to his face that said just how touched he was. Deciding he was likely waiting for her to turn around before he let himself cry, she took a step back, heading towards the reception. “I mean look at me, I turned out alright!”

She barely heard his small chuckle that faded into a weep before she shut the door behind her, heading back over to the table where the team sat, Jack now with his auntie Jessica, and their eyes fell on her, waiting to hear whatever it was she had to say.

Taking a deep breath, she gave them an awkward smile, “Guess I’m joining the academy afterall,”

And that was all she got out before Garcia dived on her with an excited cuddle.

4. The one with his new hair

He knew he was sweeping his fingers through his hair much more often than usual, his hazel eyes flickering to his reflection in car doors in a way that was almost obsessive. He liked what his barber had done, but that wasn’t the point.

He was hoping she liked it.

Bugsy had passed the academy with flying colours, not that anyone had ever doubted her, and had been part of the team for all of two weeks, though he would argue she was BAU way before that. Hotch had figured out a staggered schedule where he could take care of Jack four days a week and work the rest until Jack settled back in at school.

It had been nearly five months since Haley had died, but it hadn’t gotten any easier for the boy.

Spencer definitely, definitely hadn’t spent the last two weeks practically breathing down her neck whenever they went out into the field, nor had he definitely not found himself fighting off the grin that threatened his composure when he caught her scribbling notes down to herself whilst Penelope presented the cases.

And he most definitely hadn’t gone out to get a new hair cut in the hopes she would find him more attractive.

Definitely not.

And yet, her face was the first one he found himself looking at as he stepped into the office, watching as it trailed up from her notebook, her pink gel pen paused mid sentence as the rest of the team went silent, her face spitting into a grin the minute she saw him.

“What, did you join a boyband?” Hotch asked in a rare moment of teasing, Derek snickering as Emily nudged his arm with her own chuckle.

“Can I be your groupie?” Bugsy asked, which made them laugh harder, though she stared at him with a small twinkle in her eye the way she always did when he squirmed under her compliments.

He hadn’t thought she was being mean, not even when they took a moment to settle down, not even when she smiled wryly at him, her eyes flicking up to his hair twice more before her attention was stolen back by Garcia switching the board.

“Okay, so what are we looking at here? Late twenties, early thirties?” Emily asked after they quietened, adjusting her bangs over her brows.

“All single, though two are in committed relationships,” Rossi added, flicking through his own pack of notes. “All living on their own,”

“Looks like normal suburban houses. Give the Unsub privacy,” Morgan added, his face scrunched in disgust as he looked at the crime scene photos.

“The differences are more striking than the similarities. Different hair colours, different body shapes.” Reid noted, Bugsy’s handwriting scrawling over her notebook as she tried to capture everything they were saying.

“What do we know about his MO?” Hotch asked JJ, the blonde woman shaking her head with a grimace.

“That’s why we were invited in, the abduction sites are pristine,” She said gravely, looking between her team as they seemed to balk at the information.

“No DNA besides the victims, and there’s no sign of forced entry or struggle,” Bugsy noted in the pack Garcia had given her that morning, along with a little pat to the head for good luck. Before now, in those two weeks, they had only dealt with one kidnapping and one group homicide that had turned out to be one very stupid teen spiking drinks at a pool party. This case would be the worst one she’d seen yet.

“And the victims aren’t reported until two or three days after they’re abducted,” Emily tailed off the end of her sister, her eyes serious as the team came to the same conclusion.

He had days to spend as much time with the bodies as he wanted.

“Two or three days? Women like this don’t just disappear without somebody noticing,” Rossi chimed in again, as JJ clicked onto the next screen handing the remote to Garcia.

“Yes, which is why I had Garcia dig into their lives a little,” She said, taking a seat next to Hotch to let penelope lead.

“And I took a look at their online activity, I could easily see what the Unsub was doing,” Penelope said, clicking onto a screen full of the women’s profiles.

Bugsy couldn’t even say she was shocked. Ever since she was in highschool, friendships, or her lack thereof, had been entirely decided on who had the most likes on their status update. Apparently no one found the girl who read Russian Literature for fun cool, nor did they want anything to do with her. Emily didn’t know she’d sat in the school toilets to eat her lunch for three years straight. Turns out kids from every country were bitches.

“Social Media profiles?” Her older sister asked, though the surprise was evident on her face atleast.

“Yeah, facebook, twitter, you name an online life-sharing time suck, these victims were on it,” Penelope said, enlarging the screen for the team to see the specifics, “And if you look at each of their last posts, they say kind of the same thing, ‘Going out of town, Going on a business trip, Going on vacation,’ but when you look at the time and date stamps on each of these, queue the twilight zone music because they were all posted the morning after each of them went missing,”

“The unsub posted them?” Hotch concluded, his natural frown deepening. This Unsub had a way to keep all of his victims hidden for much longer than they’d anticipated. Who knows what he could be doing as they spoke.

“You know, social networks are an easy way for an unsub to target his victims. These women were especially open, they posted everything from what they had for dinner to where they were going on dates,” Spencer said, looking at the print outs Pen had handed to them.

“The unsub ‘Friends’ his victim, and then uses it as a cover once he takes them,” Derek said, as Bugsy’s face scrunched in disagreement.

“What are you thinking, Kiddo?” Rossi asked from her left, as he head shot up to see the team watching her, waiting for her input.

Surprising to everyone, she was somewhat nervous when she’d started at the BAU. The Bugsy Prentiss, the woman who had caught out parts of the Russian Mob when she was just a college student, was nervous to not mess up in front of them.

“I understand what Derek’s saying, but nowadays you don’t actually have to be friends with someone to follow them.” She said, picking her fingertips in thought, “A lot of people have hundreds of total strangers they’ve never met on their page; some settings mean you don’t even need to be ‘friends’ in the first place to see what they're posting. The UnSub probably wouldn’t even bother implicating himself in the first place by following them, he could just access their profile and see what they're up to. I think he profiles as patient and organised, and somewhat tech savvy if he’s up to date on the way these medias work,”

The team watched her carefully, Spencer beating down the proud smile he wanted to flash her, knowing he needed to be focused on this case, but she seemed satisfied with her answer when Penelope nodded in agreement.

“So you don’t think he’s an old guy like me, is what you’re saying?” Derek asked with aghast, knowing full well mid thirties wasn’t too old. Hadn’t stopped his pride hurting.

She shook her head, “I just think he wouldn’t be as old as you. Mine and Reid’s age maybe. But he seems obsessive, and he also must have a job that affords him the spare time to spend the following few days with the bodies, but it means we should also assume that these women are likely already dead,”

She looked to Hotch hopefully, to see him staring at her unreadably for a moment, before he looked to Rossi with a nod.

David slapped her on the shoulder affectionately, “You just put together your first profile, kid,”

And before long, they were heading for the jet with her deductions in mind to hand over to the cops.

–

“Can someone explain to me the appeal of these sites? ‘Eating sushi tonight, yum!’ ‘Boss is keeping me late at work, grr,’” Rossi stared at the status updates, perplexed, as the team snickered to themselves.

“Now, wait a minute. How did you find my profile?” Bugsy asked jokingly, and she drew a fond smile from Aaron her way when Rossi chuckled to himself.

He wished she would stop looking so nervous to contribute. She fit right in with the furniture.

“Whose life is so important that we’d be interested in this kind of detail?” Rossi asked seriously, though Bugsy supposed even the coffee machine was a new useless piece of technology to the man who liked his espresso fresh.

“That’s just it, no one is. I guess everyone just wanted to believe it to themselves that they all have an audience out there waiting to hear every update of their day. Some of them even have GPS tracking systems in place to make it even easier for people to find out exactly where you are,” Bugsy said, her eyes flicking to Spencer who watched her intently, automatically floating up to take in his new hair again.

She couldn’t help think he had stopped looking cute, and started looking hot. He’d always been cute, god knows she’d always thought he was good looking. But now he looked… dreamy. It had made her double take the minute he’d walked through the door, hoping it wasn’t too obvious she was staring.

“That explains how he’s finding them, but it doesn’t tell us how he’s getting into their houses,” Hotch nodded along with her, eying her carefully as she looked through her own notes she’d made once she’d brought herself round to ripping her eyes off Reid.

“At the very least I believe he has copies of their keys,” Spencer said, his finger trailing the information in his file, “Doris Archer had a home security system installed, but the disable code was entered at 1:56am, so he knew that too. He also found a way to deal with her dog, a German Shepard she adopted from the pound last year, it went missing the night she did,”

“Did they find the dog?” Bugsy asked, her face in a frown as Emily looked up to her.

“Why? What are you thinking?” She asked her little sister who played with the ‘TRAINEE’ lanyard around her neck.

“If he hurt the dog, it likely meant the dog had been on alert to him as an intruder, since opportunistic violence isn’t in his profile of being collected and organised. So if he didn’t hurt the dog, and he was found alive and unharmed, it means the dog knew him,” Bugsy explained, and Derek stroked his face in thought.

“This guy’s gotta be in and out of the house well before the night of the disappearance. He comes up with some ruse, talks his way inside, and then once he’s familiar enough with the house he knows he can come back and kidnap them without disturbing anything,” He said, the girl nodding in agreement with him.

“Think of people you let into your home you don’t consider a threat. Home repair guys, dog walkers?” Rossi offered, but JJ was quick to flick to her own pack.

“Detective Fordham looked into that too. No one came even close to being a killer,” She shut down, not wanting to waste their time running through avenues that had already been explored.

“Alright,” Hotch started as he glanced at his watch to see they were landing in around ten minutes, “Morgan and Prentiss, start with the last abduction site, see if anything points to his MO.”

Bugsy raised her hand politely, as if she were still in class, and he nodded in her direction to speak, “Do you mean as in me when you say Prentiss or as in Emily when you say Prentiss?” She asked, and Emily seemed to be having the same issue as she flicked a glance between the two of them.

“I mean Emily, for you I guess I’ll have to say-” But he stopped himself with a frown. What would he say? Bugsy? No, too informal on a case. Baby Prentiss? Absolutely not. He thinks she might just hit him if he said her first name too much. “We’ll workshop it for now. Dave, you, Prentiss, Reid and JJ go back over the women’s lives. Start with asking around their friends on the sites. If this is how the Unsub is finding them, maybe they’re connected to him without even realising.”

The team was quiet for a moment, before Spencer pointed to Bugsy with his pen, “So that time you meant Bug, right?”

Dave wished he could protest but he had also been a bit confused, as Hotch rubbed his head tenderly.

He felt the headache coming already.

–

“What was it about these women that made him choose them as targets?” Bugsy asked as she and Spencer sat in a small room in the Boise precinct, the three victims' profile pictures staring back at them from the board.

It was their second day working on the case, and other than Garcia tracking a very disturbing snuff film of the last murder being streamed from the victim’s own IP address using camera’s he’d set up in the home, they had yet to have a big breakthrough. Hotch had told her to leave the room when they’d shown the footage, knowing it was one of her first weeks on the case, and despite having a strong stomach, he wanted her to ease into the role rather than drop her in the deep end head first.

Even seasoned agents like Morgan and Rossi had both winced, JJ even gagging as they watched it happen. They usually dealt with the aftermath, not have front row seats on the act itself.

She had been allowed in once the tape had finished, but Reid had immediately shuffled her into the small office they’d been permitted to use by the Boise police, his face a little more peaky than usual.

She wished he wouldn’t worry so much about her, wished he would hide it better when he fretted over her. She was sure he would burst a vessel if he kept flicking his head to look at her, though she just sat staring at the women as if the answer would jump out at her.

“They’re all pretty, aren’t they?” Bugsy said, swinging her legs beneath the table, her eyes roving over the three faces, “Though unconventionally, they’re still pretty.”

They weren’t his type, Spencer thought, they looked almost nothing like her. She had removed the last of the pink hair dye she’d managed to keep on top of for a year or so before she’d started at the university. Her nose piercing had progressed to a little thin silver hoop, though her earrings had been dialled down for safety reasons in the field, and she kept her hair tied back away from her face most days. She looked older, which was a dumb thing to think, since of course she was older. But she had grown into her face, and Spencer was entirely convinced she took after her father since the only thing she shared with Emily was the same pout when she thought too hard.

He’d watched her grow for all of three years into the twenty five year old that sat before him, and yet her face had never really changed shape. She still had those pretty eyes that seemed to glint up at him, those soft lips that pursed when she tried not to giggle at him, that perfect nose he would trace the edge of using just his gaze when she had come over to his apartment to study for the academy. She was still as beautiful as the day he’d met her, he thinks part of him had always thought of her in that way. He had just put it down to a pretty girl giving him attention. But girls gave him attention all the time, he had realised since that stakeout at the club, when he’d given her those napkin roses. He just didn’t care for them.

He only cared about what she thought of him.

Only cared what her face looked like-

“Wait,” He stopped his thoughts that could go on for days, weeks, about her. They already had, it was difficult to pull himself out of it sometimes. He stared at the photos of the victims, his mind revelling in her own face that he didn’t doubt had guys swooning and falling over their own feet, as he zeroed in on their eyes, cheekbones, septums, “Their faces are all an identical structure,”

“How did you figure that out?” She asked, wide eyed and he ripped down the photos before she could catch him blushing.

He thought he might take it to the grave what he’d been thinking about.

–

“He’s going live,” Hotch seethed, clicking a button on the remote and the whiteboard in the centre of the room lit up with video footage, a small red dot flashing slowly in the corner telling them they were watching it being streamed.

Bugsy stood behind Spencer, her eyes glued to the small computer at the desk that played the same screen, her heart rate spiking when she saw a small body camera pointing at a house, the UnSub cutting across a lawn in a near sprint.

He’d lost control completely, and he had another victim set in his sights.

“He’s not slow, deliberate. This guy’s pissed.” Rossi said, his jaw hung open in horror as the streamer headed straight for the front door.

“All right, what do we see? Determining markers?” Hotch snapped the groups focus back from the gut wrenching panic that everyone felt, and it was like a switch flipped.

“A one story cottage,” Spencer noted, his eyes glued to the screen so tight he missed the way Bugsy’s face changed colour, and she looked like she was swaying on her feet.

“That could be anywhere,” Detective Fordham commented back, his face grimacing.

“Is there a number on the house?” Morgan asked, and everyone leaned in closer to the footage.

“No, he’s already at the door,” JJ said, running a hand through her long blonde hair.

Bugsy thought she might be sick.

“Garcia,”

“He’s using twice as many proxy servers,” Her shaky voice came through the speaker, furious typing in the background.

“Wait, this window in the background, is that the chat room?” Emily asked, pointing to the small screen at the bottom that flooded with comments from at least forty different users, and more began entering the stream.

Get that bitch.

Show her a good time.

Teach the pigs a lesson for sticking their nose in.

Bugsy wished she hadn’t been so fast at reading, as she felt her skin go cold at the sight of the comments.

“People are getting off on it,” She said quietly, but no one heard her, too focused on finding out where the UnSub was.

“Uh Huh,” Garcia confirmed, as the footage flicked to show a kitchen view, a pretty fair haired woman stood chopping peppers none the wiser to the sick people watching her life before it was about to be ended.

“He’s in the house, guys,” Reid ran clammy hands over his trousers, his stomach churning as the video went on.

“He’s completely changed his MO,” Derek added, and the team could do nothing but watch in terror, “There’s too much light, what happened?”

“Someone asked the wrong question at the press conference,” JJ explained from beside Reid, her nails bitten to hell.

“Oh my god, turn around. Just turn around,” Emily begged, and part of her little sister thought she might have been talking about her.

“Maybe she can fend him off,” Derek said, though even his tone of voice wasn’t convinced.

“New kitchen appliances, maybe we could check the work order?” Spencer was grasping at straws he knew that, but he couldn’t sit back with that big brain of his working overtime and not try to help at all.

“He’ll be gone by then,” Rossi said, and he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Garcia, can you give me anything?” Hotch asked, and the sound of typing got even faster if that was possible.

“I’m stateside now, I’m almost to Idaho, I just need more time,” but Garcia was cut of by the man in the video lurching at the innocent woman, his hands wrapping around her neck with a venomous grip, her every moment of pain and terror captured on his body cam for his audience to see.

His audience including the team.

Bug felt the bile rise then, felt her eyes burn as she watched the woman’s face freeze in fear, a yelp of “No!” leaving her oesophagus, her small hands coming up to his wrists to try pry him away from her, anything to gasp for another breath of air.

She wasn’t listening as Hotch barked orders at Garcia, her eyes were stuck on the woman that writhed in pain, pleading with the masked man to spare her. But her rebuttals got weaker, her whimpers began to grow quieter, and soon he’d tackled her to the ground in a blood curdling scream, his whole body weight crushing her throat.

Her own hand came up to cover her mouth that dropped open in shock, her eyes burning with tears that she couldn't let fall. It was this woman who was suffering, not her.

There was a bit more struggling from the woman, her eyes bulging from her skull, lips turning blue, until she slumped beneath his hands, and he released her.

She took a step back, bumping into a chair she hadn’t even known was there as her eyes fixed to the screen, and Spencer’s head shot around to see her shaking on the spot, her eyes haunted.

Emily followed suit, but Spencer was already out of his seat, rushing forward to grab her arms and lead her outside.

“I’m gonna get her some air,” He called behind him to the team that watched her go with forlorn glances, and he hated how he felt her trembling beneath his grip, grabbing onto his jacket just as tight.

They made it halfway down the stairs before she bolted for the bathroom, and he heard her retching as he dipped into the room after her, not caring that the sign clearly stated it was for women.

“I’m fine, Em, just give me a minute,” She said, and he heard the sniffles between her words.

“It’s me,” He said, finding the one stall on the end that had it’s door engaged, pulling a cup from out of the dispenser and filling it at the water fountain, “You should drink some water, the cold helps reset your body’s instinct to fight or flight,”

“Or in my case, make a complete fool of myself and take time away from a time sensitive investigation because I’m such a wuss,” She said cynically, coughing chestily and he heard the toilet flush.

His forehead creased as he frowned. The door unlocked and she stepped out, her eyes red and teary as she gently took the water from his hands, and he rooted around his pocket for a stick of gum to give her. She chucked it in her mouth, letting the peppermint clear the vile taste from her mouth, hoping she didn’t look too gross.

“You shouldn’t stand so close to me, toilet bowls are like full of germs and my heads just been in there, I know it makes you feel funny to be around germs-” He pushed her hair behind her ear as if to tell her to stop thinking so loud, and she couldn’t help smile sheepishly at him. “Do you think Hotch will be mad?”

He shook his head instantly.

“Mad? No. Worried? Incredibly.” Spencer replied, stroking her hair a little the way his mom used to when he felt sick.

Bugsy shook her head, sniffing to herself a little more.

She couldn’t stop seeing that woman’s face as the life slipped from her, the hands around her neck. The yelps and pleads and begs and she fought with everything in her.

“How long was it until you started feeling like this?” She asked earnestly, running a sleeve under her nose, “You’re so brave, I always knew you were but, since I started, it’s like I realised nothing really touches any of you anymore.”

He fought the incredulous laugh, him; brave? The man scared of the dark and elevators brave?

“We all take things home with us at the end of the day,” He said, wiping under her eyes for her with his own cardigan cuff, “If you didn’t feel anything for the victims we help, you wouldn’t be human, Bug,”

She nodded, “I know. I just don’t want to let anyone down. Not you guys and especially not the people we’re helping,”

“It’s for that reason I know you’re going to do great,” He said, giving her one of those small Spencer smiles he reserved for when he wanted to see one of hers.

Her forehead thumped onto his chest as he pulled her a little closer, and his cheek fell on top of her hair as he ran gentle hands over the sides of her arms, calming her until her breath started evening out.

“You never said,” She pointed out, “How long it took for you to start getting cold feet. Bet I beat some kind of record, two weeks is absolute dog shit,” She chuckled to herself, not noticing how his face evened out in sadness.

It was Tobias Hankel that had done it. It was getting tied up and injected that had made him feel like a failure, like he wasn’t cut out for anything let alone the force. Like his life was taking a huge spiral downwards.

But he wouldn’t tell her that, not yet at least.

“Come on, let’s get you back,” He brushed off, and she figured it was a sore spot for him. She cursed herself for asking in the first place.

Nodding, she downed the rest of the water and got herself a refill, following him out of the bathroom, looking back up at him for a moment.

“I forgot to say,” Bug said, nudging against his side with her whole body, knocking into him lovingly, “Your new hair is very… dashing. I really like it.”

He swore his face went crimson in a single second.

5. The one with his migraines

“Let me pay for your fuel at least,”

“Spence, just shut up and get in the car,”

That was around about how the past eight months had gone. Every day, she would drive by his apartment, Emily in the passenger seat of her little sisters beat up Renault Zoe, affectionately named after its model, the back seat reserved for Spencer’s lanky legs and satchel bag as she drove the three of them through through roads of Virginia, to work and back again.

Sometimes he surprised her with coffee, sometimes Emily brought them donuts. Either way, they all enjoyed their morning routine that had stood the test of time about as much as Bugsy had as part of the BAU.

It had gotten easier after that first case; she still had her moments, but her skin had thickened to a point she barely remembered what her life had been like before that day Hotch asked her to join the academy.

Things were going well, she felt settled, even with the new girl Seaver replacing JJ while Jareau was away on business in the pentagon. She couldn’t say she was the girl’s best friend, but they got along. And that was good enough for her. Her team was a well oiled machine.

That was, except for Spencer. Spencer she worried for every day.

She hated the way he twitched in the passenger seat, now his since she’d forced Emily to get the subway to work today, bitching eachother out in the way sisters did until the older woman left in a huff but without asking questions, and she left to take Spencer to the hospital.

The sunglasses did little to stop his eyes hurting, his brain quite literally feeling as though it was pressing against his skull. He even turned down coffee this morning, and her stomach had dropped when she realised just how serious it was.

He didn’t even question her when she held his hand tightly in hers as she walked him into the office, knowing he would hate every second of having this MRI done.

“Everything’s going to be absolutely fine, they’re going to find what it is and we’re going to get you fixed right up to your perky self again,” She said, as they sat together outside the doctor’s office, keeping her voice calm and quiet as not to upset his delicate head even more.

He nodded, appreciating her gentle touches on his hand, and he jumped in his seat when the door opened, his name being called through and he wished she could come with him.

“You got this,” Bugsy smiled at him reassuringly when he looked hesitant, and nodded again, squeezing her hand once before he let go, following the nurse into the MRI room, wondering how he got so lucky to have a best friend like her.

–

Spencer sighed, leaning back in his seat. The flight had not helped the building pressure in his head in the slightest. He looked up to the ceiling, closing his eyes as the harsh office lights beat against his face mercilessly.

Two bodies found sacrificed to a 'higher being', their tongues and fingers cut off, shells put over their eyes and mouths. They had seen worse, perhaps not as odd, but they had seen worse. And yet this was the case that made him feel like his brain was about to explode right out his ears.

He hadn’t felt like this since he had been on Dilaudid, since he’d be on a come down and his whole body would sweat cold, and his head would rattle with every movement. And even that almost paled in comparison to how bad his head hurt right now.

Spencer had wondered if that was what had done this to him, if it was a long term side effect of its use. He knew it wouldn’t be, but the self punishing part of him couldn’t help but fill his head with it.

He just wanted answers. He just wanted it to stop. He just wanted to crawl into bed with an ice pack over his face and never surface again until this thing had subsided.

Spencer felt hands in his hairline, fingernails weaving and massaging until he almost moaned, the touches releasing some of the metaphorical knots like magic at their fingertips, and he knew who it was, because that was how she always made him feel.

He opened his eyes to see her very upside down as she looked down at him, their eyes inline with one another as she continued running her fingers against his temples gently.

“You okay, handsome?” That was somewhat new, not that he was complaining. Part of him said she just felt bad for him and his weird brain, and maybe that was how it had always been, but ever since he had started getting these migraines she was impossibly even softer with him now. Like she was his comfort blanket he cuddled to when he was feeling particularly sorry for himself, and she knew it too. They were rarely not stuck together like velcro, where he moved, she moved. Where he sat, she was pressed against him like the concept of personal space had never been such a huge deal for him.

And when his pain struck him down into the embodiment of a wounded doe, she was right there fluffing his pillows, grabbing him aspirin, massaging his head like she could grab the bastard migraine right out of his skull and say leave my precious boy alone.

She was too sweet on him recently, but then he never wanted it to stop. It felt like a relationship without the kissing and especially without the sex. The thought of it made him want to moan again.

“This one’s a stubborn one,” It had lingered around for three days straight, and the Miami heat wasn’t helping as he looked up at her inverted face, and he could tell she was smiling gently at him.

She ran her thumbs over his eyebrows, smoothing them out and he sighed in delight as he felt the muscle begin to relax beneath her touch.

“You make things better,” He confessed, her fingers tracing down his pretty nose, and he closed his eyes as she went over the bags beneath them. “You always do,”

He felt her kiss his forehead for good luck, and he knew she hated seeing him in so much pain. He could have whined when she pulled away, letting go of him gently as Rossi stepped into the room, hoping he hadn’t seen the affection before too much teasing could come.

But he said nothing, even if he had seen, just raised his eyebrows and grabbed the file off the desk for his own thorough look through.

He sure as hell missed the way she interlaced their fingers under the desk though.

–

Spencer twisted the bracelet around his wrist as they sat together outside the doctor's office. Orula’s ide. That was what Julio had called it. Said it would protect him from the bad spirits that clouded his head.

Spencer was a man of science, a man of logic. But even he couldn’t quite explain how Julio had managed to figure out he was having migraines despite him not letting any infliction of pain cross his face, even more confused when Julio had said his body had been a conduit for a higher spirit who wanted to help him.

He was glad to be back in Virginia where everything made sense to him. Where she could hold onto his knee at the doctor's office to stop it from bouncing and his team couldn’t tease or ask him what was wrong or make her stop touching him so much.

“I say we get some ice on your head and put on whichever Doctor Who episode you want, don’t even care if we’ve seen it before,” She offered, smiling over at him and hoping he couldn’t see the worry in her eyes.

He could. He just nudged her shoulder with his forehead to say thankyou without ruining the solace the quiet brought him.

That is until his name was called, just as it was the last time he was here, and he stood to enter the office, not letting go of her hand as this time he’d made sure she could come.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” He said as he sat on the bed, his doctor showing him the clear brain scans that hadn’t flagged a single neuron out of place.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” His doctor replied, watching the way his female accomplice frowned, squeezing his hand tightly.

“Isn't there any tests that would look for a specific prognosis we could try?” She asked, and the man shook his head.

“Not unless we’ve ruled out every other option, and in this case I’d like to suggest that Dr. Reid’s condition might be psychosomatic in nature,” The doctor explained, wary of the way the two agents screwed their expressions up, almost identically, hearing his explanation of Spencer’s headaches.

“Psychosomatic…” Spencer echoed softly, in near disbelief.

That couldn’t be it. It had to be the Dilauded. Or a tumour. Or a long standing concussion. Something physical and tangible he could point out and get fixed.

“It just means a mental or emotional cause-” The doctor explained, only to have Spencer cut him off.

“No I know what ‘psychosomatic’ means Doctor, but it's not that,” He said, his voice tired; the idea he was making up his problem in his own head bothered him.

“Well, I think it’s something we should consider.”

“Listen, I’m not crazy,” Spencer insisted, and he felt her tugging his hand closer to hers, her own way of comforting him when she couldn’t grab at his hair or face or jaw.

“Dr Reid, I’m not saying-” But he was stopped by Spencer’s voice that was slowly growing more irate.

“No, listen, I have headaches. I have increased sensitivity to light, because there’s something wrong with me physically. Not mentally. It’s not that,” He corrected the doctor, his sweet face pulled into a grumpy pout, almost offended that the professional was willing to write his pain off as a hallucinations.

“That?” The doctor asked, a frown on his face as Spencer continued.

“Listen, doctor, my mother’s a paranoid schizophrenic who’s been institutionalised. So I know very well what mental illness looks like, maybe even better than you. It’s not that, it’s not.” Spencer said in a huff, standing from the bed and grabbing his satchel, all but pulling her from the room as she sped walked after him, her hand still tightly in his.

She was gobsmacked. She didn’t know how she hadn’t seen it before, and suddenly every single instance of her whining about her mother to him entered her head and she felt a pit growing in her stomach that only had room for guilt.

They sat in the car in silence, her hands at ten and two as she tried not to stare at him.

She couldn’t stand the quiet in which he stewed, murmuring to himself every now and then about how that most certainly wasn’t what was causing his state to decline.

“You never told me that before,” She said after a while, and it was quiet, whether to satiate his headache or because she didn’t know if she was allowed to say it he wasn’t sure.

“It never came up,” He said in a way that left little question. He didn’t want to talk about it.

They sat in the quiet some more, the only sound being the way her engine hummed beneath the bonnet, the music turned low for his pounding head, and he saw the way she chewed her lip and flicked glances at him from the driver's side.

He sighed, not wanting to snap at her the way he had the doctor, “Bug, would you please stop looking at me like that, like you pity me-”

“No, it’s not that it's…” She started carefully, her gaze flicking ot him for a moment as they stopped at a red light, “Every time I forget you’re the strongest person I know, you just seem to remind me,”

And just like that his heart swelled all over again, and he felt like maybe his head wasn't an entire failure to him.

+1 The one with the eulogy.

This was hell on earth.

She sat around the table at the funeral home with her mother to her left, her father and Stephanie to her right.

She could feel the team’s eyes on her; she hadn’t spoken in days, her face shallow and off colour, sick looking. Speaking to her mother and father was difficult for her on a good day, let alone when she was all alone.

Because that was how she looked, as if she were half a person now, her face bitter and angry as she tried to take up the least amount of space at the table as possible, her mother inspecting her finger beds as if they’d scorned her.

“Sit up straight,” She chided, nudging her daughter's knee, but Bugsy made no move to adjust her posture. She just stared blankly at the ugly floral tablecloth, waiting for the other mourners to arrive, to give their sorrows, before they could move to the church.

Emily was right next door. Cold. In a box. Her entire body was likely in rigour mortis now, her face was probably white as snow with the blood pooling away - pallor mortis Reid had called it - her hands were probably twisted and ugly like a raven's foot-

She couldn’t keep doing this to herself. And yet the thoughts wouldn’t stop, not even as Stephanie, step mother from heaven as she was, began to chime in to try lighten the mood.

Her dad hadn’t said a word to her yet, just patted her on the head the way he hadn’t done since she was five.

“It’s a lovely day for a funeral, don’t you think?” She commented, but her voice was too sweet, too soft, too normal to have the charm she’d intended.

Stephanie wasn’t a bad person. Not evil or horrible like Bugsy had always thought a step mother would be. But she was the person her father had left little Bugsy for, and though she knew almost all of her anger had been displaced onto the poor woman when he’d told her he had a new wife, Stephanie had never exactly bothered to remedy their relationship.

Emily and Bugsy had been someone else’s kids. Had been Richard Prentiss’ problems, not hers. And no amount of kindness she bothered to overcompensate with today would change the past twenty years her father had been too preoccupied to even call for her birthdays.

Bugsy scoffed, ignoring the warning look from her father. He knew very well how his youngest felt about his wife.

“Mr and Mrs Prentiss,” Hotch came over, as if sensing the girl’s annoyance at the woman’s words, and she mentally could have planted a kiss right on Aaron’s lips when he made the effort to exclude Stephanie in his condolences, “I’m so sorry for your loss. Losing a child is a devastation I never would wish on anyone,”

“Thank you for your kind words, Mr Hotchner,” The step mother piped up again, before either of them could say anything, and Bugsy shot her a look so full of hatred, Aaron thought she might have slapped her right then and there.

Richard cleared his throat, moving to put an arm around Steph’s chair, one that she’d pulled up to the table herself.

If there was one thing Elizabeth and Bugsy would ever agree on it was that Stephanie was intolerable.

Her mother looked empty as she nodded at Hotch, crossing her legs properly and pursing her lip, not saying anything. She’d never seen her mother cry, and she doubted that would start today. Elizabeth was much too of a proud woman to weep in front of the masses.

“Thanks, Hotch,” Bugsy said the first words she had in days, the only time she’d gotten out of bed was to feel Niko and Sergio or to use the bathroom. Her voice was raspy, ghost like, and it scared the crap out of him.

He couldn’t see her getting through this alive.

With Haley, he’d had Jack to get him through it, keep him going, if not to put on a front for his little boy that was the spitting image of his wife. But Bug had nothing left of her sister, nothing but herself and two parents that couldn’t stand to look at one another without screaming curses.

The other’s had already given their condolences, had already bombarded her with enough letters, flowers, stuffed teddies to fill a house, and she knew she wasn’t being fair ignoring them when they were grieving too. If not just as much as she was.

But she couldn’t do anything, couldn’t be anything except this shell of a woman once called Bugsy. Her sister gave her that name, she didn’t think she deserved it anymore.

Spencer just wished she would cry. He had been sobbing non stop, even where his eyes were puffy and red as Garcia’s as they stood in the funeral home, the smell of incense too strong, the sounds of wails too loud. But she looked… he hated to say it, she looked dead.

“That poor little lamb,” Penelope sniffled, tears already streaking down her cheeks as Derek tucked her under his arm, pulling her close into his smart black suit, “I wished she would let us in,”

“That girl is a carbon copy of Emily, of course she’s going to take herself off to lick her wounds,” Rossi said, his own fancy blazer stuffed with tissues in case his dark eyes welled up with tears again. He’d already managed to save himself once this morning before leaving the house, but he didn’t trust himself anymore than that.

Spencer missed her smile more than anything, though he himself was struggling to muster anything past a grimace.

“The Spring flowers are all in bloom, isn’t that lovely?” Stephanie continued, an easy grin on her face as she looked out of the window to the graveyard, as if she was entirely unaware of the grief lingering in the room, “I think she'll like it here,”

That was it.

That was what pushed Bugsy over the edge, even Elizabeth broke her cold facade to look at the other women in shock, her daughter’s eye twitching as her head snapped to Stephanie, a rage encompassing her entire face.

“What the fuck would you know what she liked or didn’t like, Stephanie? She barely even fucking liked you,” Bugsy hissed, drawing the attention of a few of the mourners with her vitriol anger.

That wiped the smile off the woman’s face harder than any slap could have.

“You watch your mouth, young lady,” Richard snapped, his face a blazen rage as Stephanie cowered behind him.

Bugsy scoffed, and Hotch knew by the sound of it alone, something had been lit inside her that was about to go off like a hand grenade.

He couldn’t say he blamed her.

“I don’t know why you even bothered showing up, Dad. You’ve not seen either one of us since Emily left college,” She spat back, her eyes wild like a cat ready to claw its way out of a fight, “Surprised you even remember my name now you have your shiny new family and your million honeymoons to keep you busy,”

Richard stood from his chair, his black three piece creasing as he pointed in her face, his hand shaking with rage, and she saw the tears well in his eyes that looked too much like her own for her comfort.

“You are turning out to be just like your mother, pushing away anyone who ever cared about you.” He barked, not caring that a few mourners turned to look at him in shock, “Don’t come crying back to me when you end up alone, little lady,”

And with that he took Stephanie’s hand, who was the patron saint of guilt as of now, a face like a scolded child, too naive for the grown woman she really as. At least she had finally shut up, Bugsy thought darkly as her father stormed out of the home, ignoring the way faces watched hers carefully, knowing every word he’d said had been true.

She thinks for a minute if Emily was here she’d poke fun at the way Steph’s face had been hilarious when her smile had dropped, or that her dad still had the worst temper out of them all, Bug included. She thinks that if Emily were here, she’d tell her he’d said all that stuff out of anger, and that she won’t end up alone, and that she’d always be with her.

She thinks that if Emily were here, she wouldn’t feel the empty nothingness where shame and sadness would be after having that entire thing play out infront of so many onlookers.

But Emily wasn’t there. And she couldn’t even say she was shocked when her mother stood from her seat besides her too.

“Where are you going?” Bugsy snarled, the Ambassador looking somewhat concerned before the expression fell and she went back to an equally lost look of her own.

“I refuse to be made a spectacle of today,” Elizabeth said detachedly, collecting her purse over her black midi dress, her painted nails skimming the handle gently, “I can say my own goodbyes to your sister later, when everyone has left,”

Coward. Coward. Coward. Bugsy wanted to scream after her, wanted to tear her hair out, wanted to grab the two of them by the neck and make them feel the way her words trapped inside her and clawed at her throat, sitting inside like a moth bouncing against a window trying to escape.

But she said nothing. Did nothing, as her mother left the home, left her sitting there alone, until the officiant came over to her not even a moment’s later and told her it was time to start the funeral.

And then she truly felt as if she would never be whole again.

–

Her hands shook as she got to the podium. She’d always hated public speaking, which Spencer thought was odd since she seemed to grab the attention of every room she walked into like it was second nature. She didn’t even bat an eyelid at chasing down a criminal or being shot at or evening chewing out a detective that wasn’t pulling his weight, but speaking to a handful of decorated officers that watched her with grieving eyes was too much.

Adjusting the mic to a more appropriate height, they watched her eyes scan the room, her brows scrunched, her mouth dry. Trying to find Emily, Hotch realised with a crack in his chest. The way she always did when she was nervous. The way she did when she was looking for Emily to come save her.

“H-hi, um,” Her voice shook, her fingers fiddling with the chord for something to do, “Mom- Ambassador Prentiss got called out on business so I guess I’ll be giving the eulogy,”

No one spoke, not even the ones who knew it was a lie, her eyes falling to where Spencer gave her a sad smile, some sort of encouragement for her to keep going, though his eyes were red and bloodshot, and he was sure the burn in his throat was rising again.

She hadn’t cried yet. Penelope had cried four times today alone.

“I- um, I wasn’t really prepared for a speech, so I’m, um, I’m just going to read the letter I wrote to her if that’s okay?” Her head shot to the priest who had handed the spotlight over to her, the warm spring breeze pulling at his robes as he nodded, his hand gesturing for her to continue.

She cleared her throat, tearing the envelope open, and the paper rattled in her fingertips with her shaking hands as she pulled out the double sided A4 that had been written on in neat blue ink.

Unfolding it, she let her gaze rip off the crowd of people who stared at her, waiting for whatever it was she had to say, the final words her sister’s body would hear before she was put in the ground forever. The last goodbye. The only one that had ever mattered.

“Dear Emily,” Bugsy read, her voice finding footing as she was able to look away from the hundreds of eyes that watched her tearfully. But it was the wrong move. Because the minute she’d prepared herself to say the words out loud she felt her eyes well up.

This was it. The last chance she would ever get to tell Emily how she felt. How sorry she was. How she was so damn sorry for being such a shitty person for so many years, for never saying thank you enough, for never hugging her when she really ought to have, for never appreciating how lucky she was to have a sister like her.

Her throat clogged, and she sucked in a deep breath, releasing a trembling sigh. Her bottom lip quivered.

“Sorry-” She apologised to the watchers, rubbing her mouth nervously, hoping no one could see just how deeply she had broken, just how harsh the wound had gaped open, “Dear Emily,” She started again;

“Everyone thinks they know what a sister is; it's the woman you share fifty percent of your DNA with who you’re put on this earth to annoy the shit out of,” A small wet laugh reverberated around the crowd, and she flashed a small smile at her own words. “But the truth is you can actually share up to sixty-one percent of your genes with one of your siblings. Which is crazy to me, because I know no matter how hard I try, I will never be even one percent of the woman you are,”

She swallowed heavily, and she heard Penny burst out crying again, her head buried in Morgan’s neck.

“If I was as gracious as you, I’d probably say you’re in a better place now, and if I was as brave, we probably wouldn’t even be here, because I would have been able to save you that day instead of just watching like a fly on the wall.” The first tear fell then, her face crumpling in pain. “If I was as considerate as you, I would be able to look every one of your friends in the eyes and tell them it would all be okay in the end. And if I was even the tiniest bit as kind as you, then I would have told you all of this to your face when it actually mattered.”

She sniffed heavily, and Derek did the same, his own throat burning, picking the thread on his nice trousers as Penelope’s tears wet his shirt through.

“Everyone thinks that true love is finding someone you want to marry and have children with, but I know now that’s not the entirety of it. Love is a person you want to spend every day making happy, and make them proud to say they love you too.” Her chin wobbled some more as she read the next few sentences with something darker than remorse in her glassy eyes, “I sometimes think, if we were given a second chance, if we could try again, I would be able to tell you that I truly love you, Emily, and that you’re the only person I ever cared about loving me too,”

Her voice cracked, and she regarded the paper with misty eyes, her cheeks soaked as she quickly wiped them with the back of her white, lace gloves.

“I think maybe next time I wouldn’t be so spoiled and bratty, and you could have been more relaxed and maybe less like my mom at times, but I think if we could do it over, we could have done it right, the way sisters are supposed to,” She sniffed, missing the way Spencer’s face dripped with tears of his own, her words tearing him inside and out with the guilt in every line. “But I guess it’s too late for that now. I only got one chance to be your sister and I failed, no matter how many times you pulled through for me. And that’s a debt I’ll never be able to repay.”

She braved a look at the closed casket, imagining her big sister, the only person she ever truly loved laying in there with fair, snow skin, her noir hair sitting perfectly like a princess in the fairytales she used to read to her before bed. Only this one had no happy ending. This one ended with her heart torn from her chest, bleeding for the rest of her days until her own body was buried and everyone could mourn the girl who was barely half the woman her sister was, no matter what the statistics say.

“I’m sorry, Emily” It was the first time she’d said the two words that had been playing in her head on a loop for weeks, the two words that sang to her like a mantra, every morning, noon and evening. Even in her sleep she had dreams where she could do nothing but scream into a void of darkness, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It should have been me, I’m sorry. “I hope you can forgive me,” She whimpered through a sob, ignoring the way her cheeks gushed with fat tears now, as she wept freely at the podium, her hands no longer shaking.

“Lots of love, your shitty baby sister, Bugsy.” She finished with a small whine, her expression broken as she folded the letter back up and placed it in the envelope, the cursive lettering of her big sister’s name staring back at her. Finishing where she’d started.

Tucking the letter underneath a tulip wreath atop the coffin, she stepped back down off the podium, ignoring the way the eyes followed her back to her seat, ignoring the way Derek rubbed her shoulder affectionately, or the way JJ handed her a packet of tissues, even though her own face was flooded, and showed no signs of stopping. She felt Spencer grab her hand in his delicately, entwining their fingers together, and squeezing lightly.

The priest continued with a hymn, though she didn’t bother singing it. She just stared at her shoes, as if her entire soul had been sucked from her the minute she’d ended the eulogy.

Which it had, because that had been Emily’s last goodbye.

She didn’t speak in the car on the way back to Spencer’s, not as Hotch pulled her in for a wide hug, rare and warm, even going so far as to stroke the back of her head with more affection than they’d ever seen him give her.

“Call me if you need anything,” He’d murmured into the side of her head as he held her close, feeling two hands hesitantly wrap around his waist, as if she wasn’t entirely switched on which, going by the vacant look on her face she wasn’t.

Spencer made her tea the moment they got in. She didn’t ask for it, she just sat on the sofa and stared at the beat up, old TV he kept only for the occasional documentary, and for the shows she liked to watch too of course. But she hadn’t even switched it on, just stared at the inky black glass like it would jump to life itself and tell her how to feel.

He took a seat next to her, on the other end of the couch, flicking the screen on for something to stop it from being so silent in his home; the silence meant they were alone with their thoughts, and for once he and his thoughts couldn’t stand being together. He didn’t want to interrupt her, or be the first to break the quiet. Not even when he watched her tea go cold in front of her, or as she barely acknowledged the cartoon on the TV, or when he pulled out his copy of The Brothers Karamazov that he’d been re-reading for the third time.

“Would you like me to read to you? Would that be better?” He asked tentatively, and she didn’t even blink, as if she were some sort of zombie or corpse sitting next to him programmed for instruction on acting human.

She said nothing, but she did move, the act of it making him jump slightly, and it was then he realised she had been perfectly still for the past half an hour, barely even showing signs of breath. A puppet with no master.

She leaned over, her body dropping onto the sofa softly as if she was taking a nap, only for her head to rest on his thigh, and his hand flew to pull the claw clip out of her hair like he read her mind. Her knees nestled to her chest, in foetal position, her pretty black dress, the same one she’d worn for Haley’s funeral riding up past her knees.

He gently tucked his long fingers into her roots, stroking her hair like she were a tame cat curled in his lap, clearing his voice as he continued where he’d left off, making sure he wasn’t reading too fast the way he would if it was just him.

His head still whirled around the eulogy she’d read. How watching her crack beneath the weight of her own words had hurt him more than his own grief, had made him bury whatever it was he felt and just need to put her back together again.

Because he didn’t need an eidetic memory to have ingrained what she’d said into his head, not even as they went to bed, and she burrowed into his side in one of his sweatshirts he usually saved for his own bad days.

“Bug,” He braved to say, watching her eyes force themselves open from where they were on the very lip of sleeping, “You’re my very best friend, did you know that?”

She hummed, her nose digging into his arm that he wound under her head, pulling her close enough he could feel her heartbeat against his own where she was in the crook of his neck.

“I love you,” She said, like those three words didn’t rip the air from his lungs.

Not even as her breathing finally evened out, and he felt himself heave a sigh of relief; the bags under her eyes had been more noticeable today than ever. Not even when he dared a kiss to her forehead as she slept, the smell of her shampoo completely taking over his pillow as he allowed his own heart to hurt for just a few moments, missing his friend dearly as he looked after the woman.

Love is a person you want to spend every day making them happy, and make them proud to say they love you too.

He knew then.

–

TAGLIST

@release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions@the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33

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

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hazbinwhoree · 3 months

Note

OMGGGG pleaseee i need a part 2 to Adam’s sinner 😩😩😩😩 Maybe it’s the next extermination and Adam protects his darling sinner from exterminators 👀👀

Maybe more smut if you’d like 🫣

Adam’s Sinner

Part 2/3 Part 3

A/N: As much as I would love to make it smutty, I have a lot of smut requests and I don’t want it to get repetitive so this piece is just hella fluffy. I hope you enjoy anyway xox

Adam didn’t really come up with a solution to keep his promise, rather he just used his status in Heaven to come and go as he pleased, and would sneak down to Hell once a month.

His mask had demonic features, which worked in his favor staying discrete in Hell. Not that he was out and about for long, he always went straight to (Name)’s house, but still.

A year passed, and their little system was working, and before they knew it, the next extermination was upon them. “Remember,” Adam said during his last visit before the extermination. “Lock down. Stay inside. Hide.” “I know.” He kissed her forehead.

The extermination was brutal, as it always was. Adam had about a hundred and six kills under his belt and was bragging about his last kill to Lute. Then he saw something that made his blood run cold.

(Name), running from one of his exterminators.

Lute noticed Adam’s face drop, looking like he’d seen a ghost. “Are you okay, sir?” Adam didn’t answer, instead rushing towards the alley his exterminator had chased (Name) into.

(Name) was on the ground, his exterminator’s foot on her chest. She raised her spear and (Name) closed her eyes. “HEY!” His exterminator, Danni, jumped, spear faltering. “Sir?”

“This one is mine,” Adam bit back his panic. “She fucked up one of my kills last year.”

“Oh. Sorry, sir, she’s all yours.” Danni flew off, chasing an sinner. Once she was out of sight, Adam rounded on (Name).

“What the FUCK are you doing out here? I told you to stay inside! You were almost fucking killed!”

“Adam-“

“No, you know what, I don’t even want to fucking hear it.” Adam was seething from the scare she’d just given him. “Get your fucking ass home, right now, we will talk about this later.”

They both looked around to make sure no one was watching before they each departed, Adam back to the skies and (Name) back to her apartment. Adam paused his killing spree to make sure she got home safe from afar.

Later that night, when all the exterminators had returned to Heaven, Adam made his way to (Name)’s place.

“You want to tell me why you were out on the fucking streets during the damn extermination?”

(Name) looked embarassed. “My friend–”

“No friend is worth risking YOUR life. You fucking hear me?” (Name) couldn’t look at him, slightly intimidated. Adam sighed. “...Sorry.”

He pulled her into him and closed his wings around her. She wound her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. For a few minutes they just stood there, Adam reassuring himself that she was there and she was fine.

“Don’t do shit like that, tits, you scared the fuck out of me.” (Name) chuckled, Adam sounding much more like himself now. She took his hands in hers.

“I’m sorry. That was stupid of me.”

Adam scoffed. “Yeah it fuckin’ was. You’re lucky I love your dumbass.”

“You love me?”

Adam’s mind was a chorus of “shit shit shit”, but he owned it. “Yeah, what’s the big fucking deal?”

(Name) smiled and yanked him down to her level by the collar, pressing her lips to his. Adam melted into the kiss, his hands resting on her hips. After a long moment, they pulled apart.

“I love you too.”

#hazbin adam #adam x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin husk #hazbin vaggie #hazbin vox #x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin lute #fluff

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beybaldes · 5 months

Text

Karma is the guy on AFC Richmond, coming straight home to me!

summer sleepover masterlist

roy kent × gn!famous!reader (loosely inspired by Taylor swift and Travis Kelce)

summary: “kisses with a height difference” requested by two anons <33

an: okay you can actually thank the queen of my heart @onceuponaoneshotfanfic for my sudden (although potentially one night only we’ll see if I get my uni essay done lol) return because she reposted a celebrity prompt list and it got my mind whirring oops love you tally thank you for breaking my writers (and reading) block <33

“Hot.”

One simple word had sent your 68 million instagram followers into an absolute frenzy, and half of them, you were pretty sure, didn’t even know who Roy Kent was.

“‘So nice of them to put this football player on the map?’ They do know I was famous long before you ever were, right?” You only laughed as Roy grew more frustrated, allowing him to scroll through your Twitter account while you made the both of you some breakfast.

“Hey, maybe they have a point?” You tried to stifle your laughter, knowing Roy’s eyes would be sending daggers into your back, though only for a moment so he could continue winding himself up over the things people were tweeting. “I mean Richmond tickets have now sold out for the rest of the season.”

Roy knew you were only joking. Well, kind of. The two of you had been together for just over a year now, recently celebrating your one year anniversary, but besides the odd article about each of you potentially seeing someone, no one knew you were together - let alone that you even knew each other. Keeley had been blowing up Roy’s phone since she saw the comment demanding to meet you, her favourite superstar, and you’d woken up to 37 missed calls from your dad, furious you hadn’t told him you were dating Chelsea legend Roy Kent.

Above everything, you’re still in disbelief Roy tried to hard launch your relationship in the comment section if your most recent instagram post on a random Tuesday evening.

“Hmm, and I’m sure your next tour is going to sell out 10 times faster now the world knows you’re with the great Roy Kent.” Roy had given up on reading tweets speculating about what his comment meant and if the two of you were together, instead choosing to press his bare chest agains your back, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you finished up breakfast. Fortunately you knew, Roy Kent or not, your next tour was going to sellout. Though you’d rather have Roy be by your side for it.

“Maybe if I’m lucky.” Putting down your fork, you turned in Roy’s hold to face him, standing on the very tips of your toes to press a lovingly slow kiss to his lips. Since dating Roy, you were certain early mornings were for breakfasts that take too long to cook and kisses that end too soon for your liking. Roy’s grip on you tightened and he dipped his head slightly, making the kiss as easy on you as possible. When you began to pull away, he only ducked his head further to press his lips back against yours. “Mmm, although I’d already consider myself very lucky.”

“That you are.” Roy murmured against your lips, immediately pressing them flush against yours when he’d said his piece. “And so am I.”

an: okay short and sweet but I’m hoping to get back in to writing and get up to date with my requests now that I’m settled at uni and with my new job. Missed you guys hope you all are well <33

#beybaldes writes !!#beybaldes summer sleepover !!#ted lasso x reader #roy kent x reader #roy kent one shot #roy kent imagine #another banger another banger by onceuponaoneshotfanfic from tumblr.com

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tightjeansjavi · 7 months

Text

take a moment to breathe

A/N: so after my medical trauma experience yesterday, I decided to write a little comfort Joel piece to cope. This is totally self-indulgent to me, but I do hope others are able to relate. Besides, who doesn’t love soft! Joel? He’s like a warm hug 🥹

~word count: 2.5k~

Summary: after a failed IUD insertion, your boyfriend, Joel Miller takes care of you.

Pairing | no outbreak! Joel Miller x f! reader

Warnings: medical trauma, failed IUD insertion, torn cervix, isn’t it so fun to be a person with a uterus? Fluff, comfort, soft! boyfriend Joel, he’s so sweet it makes me want to cry, no age gap, reader has no physical descriptions other than one mention of Joel brushing your hair, and then lifting you up from the ground, +18 minors dni!

main masterlist masterlist

“Okay, take a deep breath. You’re going to feel a bit of cramping.”

The fluorescent lights are annoyingly bright as you stare up at the ceiling and focus on taking a deep breath, just as your doctor has requested. You went into the procedure of getting an IUD confidently. You knew that there would be some overall discomfort. Some cramps, but nothing too terrible. It would all be over in the next five minutes and then you wouldn’t have to think of contraceptives for the next five years. It totally felt worth it in that present moment.

You inhaled deeply, exhaling through your mouth. The cramping pain was bearable.

“You’re doing great. Okay, here comes another cramp. Take another deep breath for me.”

Two down, this isn’t so bad.

The third cramp felt different than the last two. It was an intense pain that nearly had you crying out from the sheer shock of it. You could feel the tears pricking your eyes as you struggled to breathe.

What the fuck was that?

“So..your cervix just tore.” Your doctor states this information as if it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“What?” You’re in disbelief. You weren’t prepared for this. There was no fore-warning of your cervix tearing during an IUD insertion! Nothing in the pamphlet that you were previously given. Nothing written on the waiver you signed a little under 10 minutes ago.

Oh god.

“Well, your cervix is pretty angry with me right now. I’m going to get the bleeding to stop. I think we’ll have to reschedule in two weeks, okay? There’s medication you can take that will help relax your cervix, but don’t worry, this happens more often than you think.”

More often than you think?!

There’s medication I could have taken, but you decided to tell me after the fact?

A sense of nausea washes over you as you're laying there. The lights are too bright. Too bright. Your doctor is being too casual for your liking. Your uterus is cramping and you’re being told that you have to come back in two weeks to go through this hell again?

“Hopefully the bleeding stops..otherwise you’ll have to come in tomorrow afternoon so I can stitch your cervix. I’m hoping that won’t be the case.”

You’re not even listening to what your doctor is saying at this point. It feels as if your body has gone into shock, and all you want is for your doctor and her assistant to leave the room so you can take a moment to breathe.

You can’t even recall what your doctor says next. Words are flowing in, but your brain is struggling to process the event that just happened.

Your doctor says her goodbyes, see you in two weeks, and to call if the bleeding doesn’t stop, or gets heavier.

You’re finally alone, and the tears won’t stop.

You’re doing your best to keep it together, but it’s nearly impossible as your body is trembling from the trauma it just endured. Your mind is blank, numb as you redress. You brought a pair of your boyfriend’s sweats from home so that you had something comfy to change into before driving home. Joel had offered to drive you to your appointment, but you opted out simply because it made more logical sense in your head to drive straight from work. Now, as you’re wiping away your free falling tears, you’re wishing you took him up on that offer.

His sweats bring you a sense of comfort that you were desperately clawing for. The fabric of them are soft and gentle against your skin, and his familiar scent lingers in the fibers of the fleece material.

In a haste you sling your bag over your shoulder and grasp your keys in a tight clutch between your fist.

You think you’re in the clear, and able to function as a person in society once more, until a nurse in the hallway sees your tears and its game over.

After allowing your body to break down completely, you find yourself sitting in the examination room. Your doctor is speaking, but you don’t hear any words leave her mouth. All you can do is numbly nod your head as your leg quivers and shakes; your body is processing.

When you finally leave the office and make it to the safety of your car, your fingers shakily start the ignition before you’re sinking back in the driver's seat. You take a few long deep breaths as you slowly regain your composure, even if it only lasts for your drive home.

Joel is waiting for you, of course. The garage door is open and you catch a glimpse of his back turned towards you as he’s setting down a black tupperware bin with a bright orange cover; Halloween decorations. He remembered you mentioning wanting to decorate this weekend, so as soon as he got home from work, he headed straight to the garage to get all the decor boxes down. He’s just brushing off a bit of built up cobwebs along the cover when he hears the familiar sound of your tires rolling over the concrete driveway.

You’re home, and he’s so excited to see you.

He greets you at your driver's side door with his usual gentle smile, and painfully handsome face. Chivalry hasn’t died as he grasps the door handle and pulls it open. His eyes search your own as a frown slowly crawls across his lips. He takes delicate notice of your puffy face, glassy eyes as you struggle to exit your car. He can see your hands trembling before he’s gently placing a hand along your shoulder to steady you.

“Baby? Hey, how’d it go?..” He asked softly, cautiously as he squeezed your shoulder gently. “Everythin’ alright, darlin?’”

You’re unable to respond as you drop your bag and your folded jeans before throwing your arms around him, hugging him so tightly, he’s afraid you might crumble right then and there.

“Oh, honey..” His voice nearly breaks as he wraps his arms around your trembling body with all the intentions to keep you safe, and comforted. “Take a moment to breathe, okay? I’m here. I got you.”

You’re a blubbering mess as you’re to-good-for-this-world boyfriend unconditionally consoles you. His shirt is soaked with your fresh falling tears as he whispers soothingly into your hair, pressing soft tender-felt kisses as an attempt to bring you back down to earth.

I’m here.

You’re safe.

Somehow he has coaxed you into the safety of your shared home for a bit of privacy. He has not let go of you yet, and you’re grateful for it.

“My cervix tore.” You blurted out suddenly through your tears as he was rubbing gentle circles against your clothed back.

Joel doesn’t even know what to think or say as you slowly sink down to the floor and he follows shortly after.

“It was a failed insertion..and my doctor? She acted like it was not a big fucking deal. She waited till after my cervix tore to tell me that I can come back in two weeks, and there’s a muscle relaxing medication I can take that will help relax my cervix. You’d think she’d tell me this before attempting the procedure.” You sniffled as Joel’s hands gently cupped your face with the utmost attention and care he could give you. His thumbs gently brushed away your tears. He felt absolutely horrified and livid for you.

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. Honey, I don’t even know what to say..I cannot even begin to imagine how traumatizing that musta been..” His tone is soft, gentle as he holds you protectively. “Your doctor should have absolutely given you all the information beforehand.”

“Exactly. The most fucked up part is the fact that she clearly could tell that my cervix was not dilating, and yet she just kept going. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt because I know doctors make mistakes, but why the fuck did she keep pushing my body like that? Why wasn’t I given the choice to stop the procedure altogether? I feel..violated.” You spoke nearly above a whisper as you clung tightly to your boyfriend.

“She should have stopped. There was no reason for her to continue pushing your body like that. I am so sorry, and I am so angry for you right now, baby. I’m so so sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?..anything? It’s okay if you need some space too..I completely understand.” He was always respectful of your needs, and your boundaries. It was the bare minimum, but Joel respected you effortlessly.

“I don’t know. I just–don’t fucking know right now.” You couldn’t help but bitterly laugh at the situation because you were realizing just how fucked up this situation truly was.

“Baby, that’s okay. I’m here for whatever you need, okay? If you wanna just sit on the floor for now till you’re feelin’ a bit better, we can do that. I can make you some tea? Soup?”

“I..want to get out of these clothes and then shower. Will you please come with me? I don’t want to be alone.” You softly murmured as you went to wipe the sleeve of your hoodie under your eyes.

“Of course, baby. Of course I'll come with you. Want me to carry ya?” He offered softly.

“Yes, please.”

“Alright, c’mon, sweet girl. Arms ‘round my neck. I gotcha.” He was already gently sliding his arms under your thighs as you gently wrapped your arms around his neck. He carried you right upstairs to your shared bathroom. He made sure the shower temperature was just right before you stepped under the warm stream. He slowly sank down along the edge of the toilet seat with his hands lightly clasped between his thighs.

“Tell me about your day, baby.” Your voice softly rose through the billowing steam as your eyes fluttered shut.

So, he did just that. Starting with Tommy almost falling off the goddamn ladder (again). He told you how much he enjoyed the lunch you had packed for him, and he had kept a collection of your little love notes in the glove box of his truck. He told you how excited he was to decorate for Halloween with you this weekend, and start your Halloween movie-marathon that you had meticulously planned out. He loved you so much.

Between the comforting warm stream of the shower, and Joel’s soothing voice, you could feel your body finally begin to relax. He kept conversing with you until he heard the light squeak of the shower handle turning off.

Before you had even stepped out, he already had a fresh fluffy towel ready to wrap you up in.

You were so beyond grateful to have a man treat you this well. You loved him so much, and everyday you were reminded just how lucky you were to have met him.

He wrapped you up in the towel before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. He let you dress in privacy while he busied himself downstairs in the kitchen making you a fresh cup of tea, and a grilled cheese, as requested.

He knocked softly on the bedroom door with a tray in hand as he waited for the okay to come in. He couldn’t help the frown that crossed his face when he realized just how tired you truly were. He set the tray down on the nightstand table before slowly sinking down on the comforter beside you.

While you enjoyed your grilled cheese and cup of tea, Joel was working through the stubborn tangles in your hair with a wet brush. You couldn’t help but smile in between bites when you heard him soothingly begin to hum under his breath. You knew just how much he treasured intimate moments like these.

“How’s that grilled cheese tastin?’ Made sure to put extra butter on the bread, just how my girl likes it.”

“It’s delicious, baby. One of the best grilled cheeses I have ever had.”

“D’awh, well, ain’t you jus’ a sweetheart? S’glad you’re enjoyin’ it, cus’ it was made with love.” He warmly chuckled as he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

You craned your head to the side just so you could give him a sweet kiss on the lips. A silent thank you for his unconditional love.

Soon he was rubbing lotion on your legs, and he was being extra careful and cautious around your thighs. Your heart just about melted into a puddle when he pressed a feather light kiss to the inside of your thigh and whispered, “I'm sorry.”

You gently pulled him upwards towards your face just so you could give him another kiss; he was yours after all.

He tended to you all evening as the two of you cuddled up under the warm confines of the comforter. His arms were gently draped around you while you were indulging in a delicious ice cream sundae, compliments of the chef. Beetlejuice was playing in the background as your head was gently resting back against his chest.

“Hey, baby?” He asked softly.

“Yeah?”

“Y’know I'm all in support of you makin’ choices for your body, but if you don’t wanna put yourself through that hell again, I’d have no problem getting a vasectomy. Especially if it’ll bring us both some peace of mind. Cus’ I know we ain’t plannin’ on havin’ kids, so the last thing we need is any pregnancy scares, right? I’m jus’ puttin’ the option out there, but I fully support you if you do decide on goin’ back to get the procedure done.”

“You’d..do that for me? Baby, that is so incredibly kind of you to offer. I’m not sure what I am going to do just yet, but I love you so much. Thank you for thinking of the well-being for me, but also for yourself.” You reached your hand up to caress his cheek as he gently gave your waist a light squeeze.

“Baby, of course I would. I jus’ don’t like seein’ you in any pain. You’re the strongest person I know, and I love you, and I jus’ want you to be comfortable, and pain free.”

“Fuck, is someone cutting onions right now?” You jokingly remarked as he chuckled. “God, I love you so much. How did I ever get so lucky?”

“Baby, I think it’s the otherway around. Cus’ i’m wonderin’ how the hell some smuck like me got graced by a goddamn angel.” He murmured softly.

“That’s enough. You are going to cause the waterworks, and I have already cried enough today!” You teasingly spoke as you settled further against the comforting warmth of his chest.

“Okay, okay. But..guess how much I love you?”

“How much?”

You could already picture his little boyish grin creeping over his face as gently released you from his grasp before he stretched his arms out to the side, as far as they could reach.

“Thiiiis Much!” He was such a dork, but he always knew how to make you smile.

“You are such a dork, Miller.” You genuinely laughed as you lightly punched his shoulder affectionately.

“That I am, my girl. That I am.” His heart was so full of you, and you of him.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤎

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lot-of-nothing · 1 month

Text

Entwined (Ch. 1)

Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Since your youth, the relationship between Melissa and you has been complicated. In all of your years knowing her, she just can't admit that she isn't as straight as she thinks.

Warnings: Toxic Melissa, smut, and very veiled internalized homophobia

Authors Note: If ya like it, let me know and I'll write more.

On and off.

That’s how you would describe your relationship with Melissa to your closest friends. They would inevitably roll their eyes and make a face, annoyed with how Melissa had you wrapped around her finger.

It started in high school. She would start dating a new guy, he would leave her unsatisfied in more ways than one, and then she would find those missing pieces of her relationship in you.

You were best friends after all…. and best friends would do anything for each other, right?

The first night you spent together was always vivid in your memories. Her green eyes flashing with mischief before she took your hand and pulled it to her thigh. Mel told you how badly she was aching, how it was almost painful. That she needed her best friend to help resolve what her boyfriend couldn’t.

She knew about your sexual orientation. She knew how hard it was for you to date. When you hesitated, Mel said it was like practicing for when you had a girlfriend. Only if she knew how beautiful you found her to be… that she was only making things harder for you.

Young and naive, you gladly accepted her offer - desire flooding your senses as soon as she drew your hands to her body. She guided you through every motion and step, telling you exactly what she liked. Like a sponge, you soaked up every word and memorized every fraction of her body. Never wanting to forget a thing.

Little did you know the knowledge would come in handy again… and again… and again.

—

“I should probably get going.” Mel breathed as she pushed herself into an upright position. You had been bathing in the afterglow of your sexual dalliance when you must have looked at her too yearningly. She didn’t want you getting too attached.

“I wouldn’t mind if you stayed. It’s no big deal.” You tried to shrug off her wanting to leave so soon. It was best if you played it cool rather than let her know how much you really wanted her after all these years.

It was clear she didn’t give much thought to your statement. Slipping out from under your sheets, Melissa snatched up her underwear and bra from the floor. She was always in such a rush after you were finished, “I don’t want the neighbors gettin’ the wrong idea.”

That's what she had always told you - ‘I’m not gay.’

For years, you always had a biting remark in return.

‘Yeah. It’s not like you just spent a half hour between my legs or anything.’

“What? Worried they might think you’re gay?” Your words were twinged with venom. Now, rather than wait for her to make the excuse, you threw it back in her face. It always irked you that she could say such a thing to you given all you had experienced with one another.

“A woman can enjoy the company of women and not be gay.”

You scoffed, unable to contain yourself, “You’re delusional.”

Melissa’s lip curled and her brow furrowed. She always hated when you would get pissy with her, so she decided to snap back at you as she clipped her bra in the back, “I don’t need your shit, okay? I came here for a good time after my shitty date.”

You faked a smile and let the sarcasm drip from your tongue. “Glad to help.”

—

You knew the relationship wasn’t healthy, but this is how it always went.

She would call. She would come over. You would fuck. She would want to leave right after. You would get pissed. Then you wouldn’t speak until she wanted back in your bed.

—

You gathered saliva in your mouth and then pushed your tongue between her folds, drenching Melissa’s sweet cunt in your spit.

After the last sexual dalliance, you told yourself you wouldn’t end up on your knees for her again. But 45 minutes ago you received a partial nude from the redhead, and she had you reeled back in once more. It was a scandalous picture of her standing in front of her bedroom mirror with her hand between her legs. The caption she sent with the photo was ‘Missing you.’

While it was infuriating she could send a picture at random like that, you were in your car minutes later ready to drive over to her house.

Your hands gripped behind her knees, keeping a gentle pressure to make sure she was spread wide for you. Her hands were buried in your hair to prevent you from lifting your face away from her swollen heat. But in all honesty, you weren’t planning on going anywhere until she came all over your tongue.

“Oh, fuck!” Mel whined, pushing her hips up to grind against your face. Her enjoyment made you smile, and sadly, a small ounce of hope lingered in the back of your mind that maybe you could fuck her good enough that she would want to be with you.

“Yesyesyesyes… God, you are incredible.” Melissa hissed out, chasing her orgasm through rough bucks of her hips.

You pulled back, fighting against the grip for her hands. You provided her with a singular lick to her cunt and then paused, teasing her, “You want to come?”

“Yes~”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

“Good girl…” You hummed, pulling away entirely to retrieve the strap.

—

She had barely recovered from taking a pseudo-rage filled fucking when she crawled from bed. Her legs wobbled underneath herself as she wrapped herself in a robe, trying to make it clear a third round wouldn’t be an option. “I guess you better be goin’.”

“Sounds good.” You took the hint with grace, choosing to let her statement roll off your back rather than stewing on it. You slipped from the bed, unclasped Melissa’s strap (that she kept around just for you), and tossed the sex toy on the bed. You then proceeded to get ready in silence, not offering anything to Melissa that might display your displeasure.

The redhead was slowly unnerved by your silence as you zipped up your trousers and pulled your shirt over your head. She stared at her nail beds, trying to start casual conversation, “Gary proposed.”

You glanced up at her quickly, brow furrowed in angry questioning. While you were not proud of how easily Mel could reel you in, you wouldn’t have come if she was still in a relationship let alone engaged.

Melissa noticed your incredulous look and finished explaining, “I said no.”

You breathed out a scoff as you tucked your phone in your back pocket and scooped up your sweater off the floor. “That sounds about right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Melissa was clearly unhappy with your tone, but you refused to glance her way - slightly enraging her further.

Swiping your wallet and car keys from the bedside table you finally glanced over to where Mel sat on the edge of the bed. It was difficult to tell if she was more angry or embarrassed by your criticism, “I’ve learned the hard way, Mel. You’re hardly one to be tied down by something as trivial as love.”

Melissa was left speechless by your blatant honesty, and she could only stare as you gave her a curt nod, “I’ll see you around.”

—

She wasn’t gone for a half hour when you received a text from her - ‘Again tomorrow night? ;)’

It immediately forced you to roll your eyes. How you loved and hated that she was like this. One moment she would be so oppositional to any form of attachment, and then the moment someone ‘played hard to get’ with her, she would be fiending for their attention.

What was worse is that you were no better than her. You replied almost automatically - ‘I am off at 4. Come over whenever.’

Link to Chapter 2

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #toxic relationship #if you like the fic then let me know. it was fun to write :)

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krahk · 17 days

Text

Blood for Ruin

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3

Alastor x OFC/Reader (no use of Y/N)

Part Four

(Or, Alastor Learns Hell Hath No Fury…you know the rest)

18+ Minors DNE, Smuttempt below.

Alastor and you had come to a respectable agreement in a considerably quick amount of time given the fact that the two of you were hesitant to even speak to one another. He still had free reign, his excuse being that he had already navigated Hell for nearly a century virtually unscathed and was immensely powerful. He also brought up that it was just unsafe for any women to be wandering around Hell in general. All the unscrupulous, unsavoury, and demented sinners loved to continue their victim count in the underworld. You were a target simply because of your gender. And gentlemen did not let women they knew walk straight into danger. He mentioned that was partially the reason Nifty stuck around him so long. He provided a safe area for her to be herself without being exploited due to her very strange mind. His concern for the little woman was touching, since you had assumed he had no good bone in his body.

You, however, would stick around the hotel mostly, but you were not limited to just your room as Alastor had first suggested. You would also be able to leave, but Alastor would be your chaperone. Having him around almost guaranteed distance from other sinners due to their fear of the Radio Demon. You could also leave with Husk, but only locally, and he would call for Alastor immediately if you would try anything funny. Alastor had told Husk about your attack and used your trauma as a reason for your constant babysitting. He wasn’t pleased about his new duties, but he certainly couldn’t refuse the Overlord.

And for a couple of weeks, this arrangement worked just fine for you. You didn’t suddenly need to leave the hotel a bunch, you preferred staying in anyway. Part of it was still just that you were still freshly dead, didn’t have to work, and there were enough things around this old building that needed attention. You started reorganising the library as a job, remembering that the state of it was less than desirable. It was still a mess, and currently it felt as if you were trying to polish a turd making it look presentable. Charlie’s father was arriving soon, called as a last resort to help her with the hotel. Pressure was on this morning, since the woman was clearly trying to work through some emotional baggage waiting regarding her father. Taking a step back and realising there really was no chance, you just wrote ‘Women’s bathroom’ on a piece of paper and fingers crossed the Devil was a gentleman. As you were sticking the paper on one of the double doors into the room, Angel walked by and barked out a laugh.

”You really think that’s gonna keep the man out, toots? Props for trying I guess.” Ending with a wink. You chuckled back in return, explaining your reason. ”I mean, he doesn’t really need to check every room out, but what if he’s a total perv? I know lots of powerful men that are totally into that shit! Overlords, even. Right Smiles?” Angel had directly that last statement to Alastor, who had come up from behind him and was now looking at your sign, perplexed. He waved his fingers and your sign turned into a shiny gold placard, and raised an eyebrow looking to your face for a reaction. You smiled at the sign, and nodded your head in his direction.

“Quite right to keep him out of as many rooms as possible, my dear. Fabulous idea indeed.” Oh yes, let us let him think you did this for an actual reason, and not because you get distracted trying to fix whatever Dewey Decimal system they were using in Hell. The three of you heard Charlie call for everyone to come into the foyer to wait, and you and Angel walked side by side talking about what you thought Lucifer might be like.

“Well, he’s supposed to be God’s favourite, and beautiful - like the Morningstar, so he has to be hot as fuck!”

”Mama warned me that Satan would be attractive, but since he’s not Satan and life doesn’t make any sense anymore, I figure she meant the Devil. Charlie’s gorgeous so I wouldn’t be surprised.” You stated. Angel was nodding while pursing his lips.

“Charlie’s mother is some kinda bombshell though, a total dime. I’ve never seen her but I do believe you gotta be to keep the Devil occupied.” He winked at you again, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. “Don’t be a pig, Angel, try to keep that under control for the time being.”

”Hey, Fat Nuggets and I have more in common than you know, girl.” Both of you laughed at his remark, and suddenly, Charlie interrupted your little chat-

“Okay Everyone! It’s Showtime!” Opening the door to Lucifer Morningstar. The Devil.

You blasted off your confetti cannon at the same time as Husk, welcoming him to the foyer. Alastor stood alongside Charlie and it was clear from his facial expressions he was unimpressed. Like, so obvious. Eventually Charlie introduced him to everyone in the group, ending on you, where Lucifer had grabbed your hand and brought it to his mouth to politely put a kiss to the back of it, much to your surprise. You smiled in return, while he made a remark about how cute some sinners could be. Eyes darting to Alastor, it was evident that he was seething about the special attention. Putting your hand back to your side, you thanked him for the compliment and allowed Charlie to attempt to continue her tour.

However a chandelier disaster had surprised you all, and it broke Lucifer out into song. You could see where Charlie got it from.

See this part of hell you would never understand. Occasionally, people would just break out into song, like a musical. It was generally entertaining, but as a spectator sometimes you were unsure what to do. You could all hear the music, so this was something that happened with intention. Still did not make sense overall. Alastor had taken over Lucifer’s song and as it spiralled out of control swapping between the two men, you hunkered over to the wall to enjoy the show. Before long, an interloper broke in and took charge over the song. It was a female sinner, and it was clear that she and Alastor had history together.

Always one to keep to a strict schedule, Alastor reminded Charlie of the tour as he redirected the new addition. The two of them, along with Vaggie and Lucifer went their own way. You joined Angel at the bar with Alastors friend, Mimzy, and were swept up in her storytelling of Alastors history before and beginning in hell. You could tell that Husk and Mimzy had some of their own history, and it was not good. Suddenly, the main doors were busting against the frame, with yelling for the new demon coming from outside, and they had the entire building shaking. Very quickly, things went very downhill, but you were quickly pulled aside with a shadowy tendril and placed at the very back of the room, the tendril blocking you in with whatever furniture had become askew.

Of course. You were a liability. But he couldn’t very well instruct you out loud to stay safe, things were still on the down low. Like buried 20 feet deep down low. You peeked over the edge of a table that had been placed in front of you to watch the fight go down. Alastor had become…evil, to put it simply. Charlie was holding rage in at her fathers words, Vaggie was checking on staff. Pentious was running for his own eggboys to find cover. Truly never a dull moment here. You sat down and pushed yourself to the wall, hitting it with your back and pulling your knees up to your chest, holding them to you with your arms.

Almost as quick as it came, the noise was silenced. Clearly Alastor had promptly dealt with the threat, coming out a winner, and was correct about his capabilities regarding avoiding injuries. You stood up, and made eye contact with the Radio Demon, the slightest nod in approval coming from him. You climbed over the makeshift blockade, and headed towards the front door to join Angel and Husk outside. Charlie and her father had walked past you, Charlie clearly upset with him. You could tell another song was coming out, very personal this time, so you were eager to get a good distance away from it.

As you approached him, Angel had a sly smirk and a raised brow at you. “What's that look for?” You inquired, on the defence to his judgement.

”Well don’t you look fresh and clean as ever - don’t think I didn’t catch Smiles over there keeping you sa~fe.”

You scoffed in return. “Alastor is just a gentleman, he knows I’m an absolute klutz, remember how I busted myself up looking for you that one night? And then again when I missed the last step of the stairs and ate shit on my chin?” You were gesturing like a mad woman, hoping your quick and reasonable response would be believed. You only received a sceptical look in return. “Yea, I dunno if he’s that kind of a gentleman, doll. He generally doesn’t give a shit if any of us hurt ourselves. Look at Nif!” You didn’t have to look at the demon to know she was probably up to something no good.

“Nifty likes getting into trouble, and especially loves pain-“, “I love pain!” She interjected with a menacing laugh afterwards. “See! She’s a big fan. He’s simply a gentleman.” But Husk gave you a very sceptical look. He was suspicious.

“Keeping the fairer sex safe has always been a gentleman’s priority, Angel Dust. And this one in particular does like to get herself into trouble. I could not possibly allow any of our staff to be exposed to danger unwillingly.” He said, agreeing with your statement.

“You didn’t seem to give a shit about Mimzy, though.” Husk said, giving the taller demon a look with attitude.

Alastor hummed briefly, “Mimzy is more than capable of handling herself, Husker - I know her to be very capable of keeping herself safe. Why, it was why she came here! I am well known to take care of those who need help.” The look he gave the bartender was one of contention. The tension between the two was strong, and you and Angel were simply unwilling spectators in this battle. “Yea, but not without an exchange - you don’t do shit for free, everyone knows that too.” Alastors eyes thinned at him, and Husk shut his mouth after that, but it was clear he thought he had made a point before Alastor had turned on his chipper Radio persona to reply.

“I enjoy keeping people on their toes! It is a good way to keep the boredom at bay. Hah-hah!”

You breathed a small sigh of relief, avoiding eye contact from any of the men around you entirely. You watched as Lucifer gave Charlie a firm hug and left. The girl looked pleased as she informed Vaggie that they would be meeting in Heaven for a meeting. Hopefully things would continue to go her way.

Angel would simply not drop it though, just as you thought you and Alastor had made it out of the woods, he just started all over. “You got a thing for her, Smiles? You stare at her a lot too, don’t think I don’t catch ya all the time. Ya gotta crush?” Oh, Angel was just a couple drinks in already. Damn his weak constitution for strong liquor. The room became chilly, and Alastor went on a polite-ish tirade- “How dare you insult me with the notion of ever feeling anything for this pathetic creature other than pity. She is incapable of keeping herself out of trouble, but since Charlie seems quite fond of her it would do me no good to have her worry over this little doe. She is exactly as she appears - weak, scared, and lacking any form of self preservation. It is clear why she came to hell as a doe, because she is no better than basic prey. Think before you decide to insult me again.” Mmmkay. Not polite-ish at all.

“Ex-cuse me?!” You exclaimed, defensive. “You’re also a deer!” Ah yes great, what a good comeback. He sneered at you - “My appearance is laced with irony, my dear. You fulfilled your position on earth for what you are. I was simply cursed with my appearance as punishment. This is, after all, hell.” You made a few noises as interjection, but your face was beginning to burn with embarrassment. Alastor quickly turned away, obviously to avoid anyone getting a good look at his face flushing, announcing he needed to get up to his radio tower to be on time for his evening broadcast. “Such good news to be announced! I simply cannot leave anyone waiting for me!” And he swiftly disappeared into his shadows, leaving the 3 of you sitting at the bar amidst the mess. You jumped to your feet off the stool and did a little stomp and noise of frustration.

“How fucking dare him I- I swear, I’m gonna…UGH.” You grabbed your hair on either side of your head before running your hands down your face.

“What toots, what could you even do to him? He’s like, super spooky. And strong, you heard that broad earlier. He basically eats overlords for breakfast. Guess it’s easy bein’ a dick down here if you got no weaknesses.” Angel said, putting his glass on the counter and getting up himself to head upstairs.

Then it clicked. Oh-ho-ho. But he did have a weakness. A great big weakness. What a shame if someone were to abuse their power while said dick was perhaps engaged in something important…like being on the air. You laughed darkly, smiling wide. Pathetic, eh? Well, you could get him to your level. And it would be so easy, too. You turned on your heel and ran past Angel to the stairs, shouting goodnight to the lingering bodies in the foyer. You had a date with a broadcast.

Once upstairs you locked the door, and triple checked it was shut. You turned out most of the lights and turned on the warmest lamp for ambiance. Angel was always getting free PR from all sorts of businesses, most of them involved in the sex trade. And many of the free items were designed for people with a different set of sex organs than him. For some reason, about half of Hell thought Angel Dust was a girl, confused about the chest fluff. So not long ago Angel had ‘gifted’, i.e ‘ dumped’ a load of different vibrators and dildos your way.’No point lettin’em go to waste doll face!’ He had said, laughing at your red face once you had realised what he had given you. You had promptly thrown the box of intimidating items under your bed while he was trying to convince you rubbing one out was good for the soul. Something about ‘loving yourself’ being a very important step in redemption. Most nights, he was like a very annoying older brother who only made inappropriate jokes at your expense.

But tonight, oh-hoh, that box was coming out of the dark. You rifled through the objects, startled by some of the more…complicated items. Some had 2 wands, or curvy bits, some had 3 - all very intimidating. Your hand had landed on a smaller box, one with an easy to grab handle and a white rubber circle on one side at the end. You put the batteries in it, turning it on. Confused, since all your vibrators were pretty plain in the overworld, you put your hand to the white rubber. Oh! Ooohh~~.

Suction. Good god, hell thought of everything filthy, now hadn’t it? But already, just the thought of using it made you squish your legs together. You put it down on the bed. Everything needed to be perfect. You turned the radio in your room on, Alastors broadcast filling the silence. It was a musical interlude at this moment, which was perfect because you could assume he was just ignoring the little moment of arousal that passed through you just then. Putting the box and all of the more advanced items back under the bed, you stripped down and threw yourself under the covers.

Usually a date with yourself was a little more spontaneous. And not for such a vengeful reason, either. But the thought of getting him back like this, him knowing how you felt and what you were probably doing, the effect it would have on him was invigorating. And there was nothing he could do about it, either, he was not one to skip a broadcast. His ego simply wouldn’t allow it. You didn’t focus on the many ways that this could (would) blow up in your face. You were a little too excited in more ways than one now.

You started with feather touches on your clavicle, using the allusion of a faint hand being someone else’s to spark the match. You grazed over your breasts, lightly pulling on a nipple and bringing it to a peak. You put your fingers in your mouth, and pinched your nipple again, blowing cold air on it, resulting in a full body of goosebumps. By this time, Alastor was back on the air.

”Well was that not a swell piece of music? From a better time, I say! Now, focusing more on today’s great news of a meeting with the higher ups in heaven-“

Your fingers had drifted down your stomach to below your waistline and further. Small circles were being drawn on your upper thigh, heading in a spiral down to your core. You could feel how puffy you were getting, radiating heat under the blankets, and a finger rubbing over your slit bringing wetness up to your clit was clear that you were more turned on than usual. It had been a while, after all.

“-Morningstar is a…determined young lady-“ You inserted a finger, “*cough* how can we not follow in her stead? Give redemption a chance and-“ a second, only to come out and rub around your clit in a slow and steady circle. You had turned the little vibrator on at this point, bringing it down to your throbbing heat. “Come down to the …t-to the Hazbin Hotel! We’ve - hng -“

He lost his words just as soon as you had placed the little rubber ring around your clit, the strong sucking sensation making your hips jerk up from the over-stimulation immediately. You were certainly more sensitive in your new form over all, but sweet baby Jesus the sensations you were feeling were so strong you lost your breath.

As did Alastor. He coughed again, the noise coming out strong on the radio. “Apologies, listeners! It appears as if …as if our broadcast is having a diff-‘“ he took a haggard breath as you could feel the pressure building rapidly. This was accelerating far quicker than you had imagined. The toy was so strong that you didn’t even remember what the goal was anymore, it didn’t matter. Your arousal was hot and burning and it took over your mind entirely. You were matching Alastor's ragged breaths, his static taking over his voice in an attempt to cover his strange broadcast.

You were building up, up, up, until finally the dam from your little toy broke your walls down into a strong, powerful orgasm. Strongest one you have ever had. Your cunt was clenching, clit protesting at the continued abuse it was taking from the little rubber circle. You rode it out, lowering the speed as your jerking began to subside. You turned off the machine and just laid in the bed with arms at either side of your body. you could feel your wetness trailing down, surely leaving a patch of shame on your sheets.

Moments after your release, the static faded from the radio, with Alastor announcing “It appears as if we’ve had some interruption with our signal, save your ears for other nights, listeners!” Before ending the show abruptly with an upbeat jazzy instrumental. It wasn’t long before you heard a loud slam of something from the room right across the hall before you chuckled at your payback, dozing off to sleep. Best part, you thought as you were fading into slumber, was that he most certainly kept his smile through that entire ordeal. Payback can be a bitch.

And she was coming for you soon.

You wanted to play dirty? He could play dirty. You would need to be reminded not to mess with the Radio Demon…

Alastor was furious. Livid, he had thrown a few pieces of furniture into the swampy marsh within his room. How dare you compromise his show that way. To do something that…lewd as he was on the air? How very dare her. If you weren’t so intrinsically linked to his livelihood, he would skin you alive. He generally kept his mind off of such carnal pleasures, considering them a waste of time and energy - what was the point, anyway? One could not procreate in Hell as a sinner, so there was no reason why one should engage in sexual activities. That was what he thought for himself, anyway. And it had worked for him for nearly a century. Decades over the amount that you had been alive overworld! Seething, he shredded one of his sitting chairs, the stuffing shooting out of the claw marks. His antlers were proudly massive, body big, but his pants still had evidence of younterference with his night.

_____________

Buckle up readers, it is beginning. I’m reading like a thousand shitty romance books to figure out how writers can describe genitalia now my search history is ruined.

@queermaxwooo @drawings-by-meh @sirens-and-moonflowers @looking1016 @mo-0-o @blakeaha @mutifandomkid @ministarheaven @nightingale0603 @loadedwafflefries @rizzscary @bishiglomper @vividachromatic @fluffy-koalala @mkaella @readergirlstuff

#alastor #alastor smut #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x ofc #alastorxreader #radio demon #radio demon smut #Alastor x reader smut #x you #x you smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fanfiction #hazbinalastor #Alastor x you #soulmates trope

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writer-in-theory · 2 months

Text

you're gonna go far, love — spencer reid.

“I’ve been ready for you to come home for so long that I didn’t think to ask you where you’d gone.” —Noah Kahan (Orange Juice)

Summary: After Spencer relapses, he takes the first flight out of Virginia with no plan other than to get a fresh start. Or, my take on where he was for Evolution. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn!Reader (not the focus, but it's there) Category: Hurt/Comfort WC: 2k Content Warnings: Discussions of relapse, Mentions of alcohol, Slight spoiler for the ending of Evolution S1 (despite the fact I still haven't finished it myself) Notes: This is for the New Beginnings challenge hosted by @imagining-in-the-margins and based on a prompt from @foxy-eva , so thank you so much to you lovely people. This fic comes 2 years after my last CM fic, and a few months since I've written anything at all, so thank you for the inspiration 💜

Spencer booked the first flight out of Virginia five days after it happened.

The person at the counter may have said the destination, but it floated straight past his ears and was carried far away. Within hours, everything he’d spent the past two decades building was left thirty thousand feet below him.

Emily would be hurt. Everyone would be, as each of them heard the news as they one-by-one came into the office tomorrow. But it would be Emily, who was the first to notice the cracks in his once carefully crafted facade all those years ago, who would feel the most betrayed by his sudden escape.

You should’ve at least said goodbye.

It was what Spencer had been most upset by when Emily had faked her death. After everything they’d been through together, after all of the joy they brought into each others’ incredibly stressful lives, all Spencer had needed was the chance to say goodbye and know that she was out there, somewhere, happy.

Hopefully, she’d understand why he had to leave now, though.

Everyone in the BAU had figured out by now that the Spencer Reid who walked out of prison was not the same as the one who’d first stepped into it. Some piece of him—and even now, he wasn’t sure how large that piece was—had been laid bare and morphed beyond even his own recognition. The loss of that part of him ached in the way that losing a loved one did, that sharp stabbing sort of ache that would appear so suddenly that he didn’t know how to handle it.

There was no way to explain it to the rest of the team, though, no matter how supportive they tried to be. The fact was that none of them had ever nor would ever go through what he exactly had, and for not the first time in his life, Spencer began to feel like a rip current was sweeping him away from the steadiness of shore.

It wasn’t until he was far enough away from shore that he couldn’t see the relief of the sands that his mind recalled that he’d been prescribed painkillers several months prior.

It wasn’t the same as what Tobias Hankel had given him so many years ago, nor was it the alternatives he’d managed to find in the months after, but it was devastatingly similar enough that he’d tried to convince the emergency room doctor not to order it in the first place. ‘Pick it up anyway, just in case. No one can recover from a gunshot wound without pain relief.’

He’d almost flushed the amber bottle’s contents the day he’d gotten them, but the bone-deep feeling that had eased with time but never truly gone away kept him from fully eliminating that option from his life. Why should one thing that had happened to him years ago deny him proper pain relief now, should he need it? So they’d sat untouched, locked away in his gun safe for months.

Until five days ago.

After well over a decade in recovery, Spencer knew this was always a possibility. He’d seen friends go through the same thing and had been there to support them in whatever ways he could because no matter how many times it happened the initial feelings of shock, shame, and overbearing grief could be just as overwhelming as the first.

A day after, when he’d woken up and realized just what had occurred, Spencer had walked himself to the nearest NA meeting. Like he was on auto-pilot, he moved through every piece of advice he had gathered through the years—the stories of success and the stories of forced learning serving as guides to him. It wasn’t the first time Spencer had relapsed (a word that still struck fear in him to even think about), nor would it likely be the last time he was forced to confront this part of his past.

Still, this was the first time Spencer walked out of the building, packed a bag, and made a silent escape from the city he called home. There was something different about this time, though he had no idea where to even begin considering the specifics of why.

He ended up in Cincinnati, Ohio.

In all the years he’d been with the BAU, they’d never once been called there. It was like every other city Spencer had been in in many ways—the buildings towering above him as he walked, the river that bordered the city mirroring the home he’d just left, even down to the FBI headquarters that was quiet now in the middle of the night. Still, he couldn’t help but feel as though it were completely separate from everything he’d known before, because the melancholy Spencer had been sitting in for the last five days had suddenly turned comforting amongst the atmosphere of the city.

He ended up in a bar, of all places. It was the kind that only served nonalcoholic drinks, the kind of place where people like him could sit without feeling outside of the norm. Music was playing softly in the background, and though it was busy there was only a gentle rumble of conversation in the room.

“You’re staring at that glass like it’ll kill you. It’s safe, Scout’s honor.” The teasing voice surprised Spencer out of the careful contemplation he’d fallen into. It came from the bartender, who was busying themselves with wiping down a few glasses, stood just on the other side of the bar in front of him.

“You know, that only works if you were actually a scout,” Spencer returned, though raised the glass to his lips after. It was sweet—a little too sweet by his standards, though it was a comfort now after the week he’d had.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” the bartender said back. They looked comfortable here, like this sober bar were an extension of their own home. At one time, the BAU office had been the same for him. “You look like you could use a friendly face, and that just happens to be my favorite part of the job.”

“Part of the job…?”

“Oh you know, bartenders are the therapists for the lonely, or something like that.” They were comfortable, and more open to an effective stranger than Spencer ever thought possible. It was refreshing in a way, to be able to talk with them without having to worry about what case information he could get out of them. It wasn’t often, anymore, that he could relax and talk to someone just to talk to them. “What brings you to the Queen City?”

“I moved here,” Spencer answered automatically, looking down sheepishly at his glass before adding, “today, actually.”

“Oh, congrats then. New job?”

“More like a new start.”

It was quiet for only a moment before the bartender asked in a softer voice, “How long had it been?”

Spencer almost asked them what they meant, until he met their gaze. They had their full attention on him now, glasses left abandoned on the inner part of the bar. They’d been kind from the start, but the look they gave him now was the sort of pure understanding that made Spencer realize all at once what they were referring to.

“How did you know?”

The bartender sighed, though there was no sadness to it at all. They pulled something from their pocket, sliding it gently across the bar so Spencer could see. A metallic chip was place between them, silver on the outside and filled in with a green-blue color and a “V” engraved in the middle of it. It was different from the ones he’d used, but he recognized the meaning of it all the same.

“I opened this place because the day I relapsed, five years ago now, I’d had nowhere to go after. There wasn’t anywhere people like us could go and relax without having to answer the tough questions, like why I drank orange juice instead of ‘what all the other adults were drinking’. It seemed silly at the time, but I think I was just looking for somewhere I could feel normal.”

“My family were the ones who helped me get sober, and sometimes they still forget and will ask me why I’m not drinking.” Spencer returned the sentiment with a light laugh. He loved everyone in the BAU, and even though it had only been a few days he already missed them terribly, but it was nice to have someone there who understood what he was feeling, what he was going through now.

“Exactly!” The bartender said, following Spencer’s lead and letting out a laugh of their own. “Though I can’t say I ever moved to a new city because of it.”

“It was the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done,” Spencer admitted. “I…really needed a fresh start. I needed somewhere noone knew who I was, somewhere I could get a completely different job and…I don’t know, figure out who I am.”

The bartender nodded. “Sounds about right. This family you left behind, are you gonna go back to them?”

“Eventually. We’ve worked together for so many years. I spent more time with them than I’ve actually ever spent alone, and I think I just need…”

“Something new,” the bartender finished, “I’m starting to catch on. What d’you think you’ll do?”

“I’ve always loved teaching. Maybe that?”

“You know, I have some friends who work at UC. Depending on what you wanted to teach, I could see if they could get you an interview.”

“Just like that?” Spencer asked, wondering only briefly if there was going to be a catch somewhere down the line.

The bartender shrugged. “Why not? I never up and moved cities, but I’m no stranger to new beginnings.”

“I wouldn’t recommend moving cities without thinking it through,” Spencer laughed then. “I have no plan for what comes next.”

“Do you have somewhere to stay, at least?”

Spencer only winced, which he was sure was answer enough for them. He was expecting some kind of sympathetic response, but he never expected the bartender to shrug again and say, “Well, how about I be a little impulsive too. I’ve been looking for a new roommate, why don’t you stay tonight and see how it goes?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. You seem decent enough not to be some secret axe-murderer or something.”

Oh, the irony.

Spencer didn’t really know this person except for the limited conversation they’d had so far. It would’ve been safer, and probably smarter, for him to just find a hotel room for the night and come up with a plan later. But something was telling him that he should agree, that there was something more to this person that he wanted to get to know.

So not for the first time that day, Spencer trusted his gut and nodded. “Okay, let’s try it.”

It wasn’t a fix for everything. The changes would come slowly, so slowly that sometimes Spencer himself wouldn’t even notice them happening. It would take time to get to a place where Spencer felt okay again, and a large help in that ended up being his new roommate who seemed to just get him in more ways than one. As time went by, Cincinnati truly began to feel like home.

And two years after he’d left, when Spencer turned on the news and saw the BAU standing before a large crowd as they announced they’d finally caught the serial killer behind the shipping container murders, he finally felt the string tugging him back in the direction of Quantico.

His home was there in Cincinnati, with the person who’d become a friend and even more in the last two years and the professor job that he came to love, but Spencer knew—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that it was time to see his family again, too.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #hurt/comfort #angst

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matchavellichor · 6 months

Note

hello !! This idea is a bit basic, but I was wondering if you could write an ominis x fmc fic where the mc is coddling an animal with all sorts of affection and ominis, who has a crush on the mc, is jealous. It’s a pretty fluffy request, but perhaps the ending could be a bit suggestive? Anyway, regardless of whether you take this request or not, thank you for all your work! I have had such a struggle finding good ominis pieces lately

A Peculiar Pet

Ominis Gaunt x f!MC - Fluff - 2.2k words

A/N: hiii, ty for the request. this was sooo cute and i had a lot of fun writing it! the ending isn't suggestive and maybe a bit too platonic/unrequited, but i might make a part two if that's something you guys would like (:

Summary: After MC rescues a strange cat on her latest trip to Hogsmeade, her friendship with Ominis becomes strained by his sudden jealousy.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Banter, Unrequited Love, Jealous Ominis, MC is a Cat Person, Ominis is Not

“What the hell is that?”

She scowled, looking up at Sebastian who was staring down at the purring carpet in her lap.

“That is my familiar,” she informed, stroking gently under what—presumably—was supposed to be a chin. “Poor thing was nearly starving to death just outside of the Hog’s Head. I rescued him.”

Sebastian eyed the creature warily. “Are you sure? By the looks of it, you were too late.”

“Oh, shut up, will you?” she wrapped her arms around the cat protectively and it gave a little grunt of approval. “He just needs a bit of a bath. Isn’t that right, Snuggles? My beautiful baby boy, yes, yes you are. Oh, mummy loves you so much—”

“You’ve given birth?” Ominis suddenly emerged beside Sebastian, looking just as appalled.

“Yes. To an abomination,” he grimaced. “Clawed its way out of her womb straight from the depths of Hell.”

“I didn’t ask for the opinion of either of you,” she seethed, standing up abruptly and clutching the mass of fur protectively to her chest. “If you’ll excuse me, Snuggles and I will be finding more pleasant company.”

She stormed past the two and Ominis blinked confusedly after her. Sebastian simply raised his brows.

“What was that all about?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Motherhood, I suppose.”

“Is that…normal?”

Ominis clenched his jaw as he listened to her start on what must have been the eighth bedtime story just that evening. She had been planting kisses all over the creature for the past hour, fawning over him and drowning him in all kinds of affection. Snuggles showed little more than a periodical snot-nosed snuffle in appreciation.

Sebastian shrugged, glancing over. “Beats me. Maybe it’s hormones or something.”

“She’s obsessed with it! That can’t be healthy. Shouldn’t we do something?”

Sebastian laughed. “Relax, Ominis. It’s a cat. The thing’s a hundred years old anyway, let her care for the critter while it’s on its last legs.”

“I suppose so,” Ominis relented, still slightly acerbic.

He listened to her voice taper out, words becoming slurred as exhaustion seeped into her. He rose from his seat with a sigh, trying his best to be open-minded about the ordeal.

“Here, let me watch over him,” he said, reaching a hand towards her shoulder to gently rouse her. “You should really get some sleep.”

As soon as his hand touched her, the creature immediately shot up and hissed at him, its abnormally sharp teeth viciously bared. He jerked back in surprise and she blinked awake, shushing the feline with soothing coos. “It’s alright, Snuggles, he’s a friend.”

The furball from Hell did not look convinced.

“I’m fine, Ominis,” she murmured through a yawn, sitting up to stretch. “He’s had a fever all day, I have to keep an eye on him.”

“You have to keep an eye on yourself,” he grumbled.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, already beginning her coddling again. “And you will be too, won’t you, angel? Yes, you will! Mummy will make sure of it.”

Ominis heaved a long-suffering sigh and retreated back to his armchair. Sebastian eyed the defeated expression on the blonde’s face for a moment, looking starkly amused.

That following weekend, Ominis retreated to the common room for his usual plans of afternoon reading, hoping that this time she wouldn’t bail on him like she’d been doing all week.

“Oh, my, look at you! Aren’t you handsome?”

He froze at the bottom of the stairs, hand gripping the railing. He was suddenly aware of an unbidden heat rising to his cheeks. “I’m–I’m sorry?”

“Oh, yes you are,” she cooed, ignoring him. “My precious boy.”

Ominis frowned, shoulders sinking at the realization of who she was actually speaking to. He tried to suppress his sour mood as best as he could as he stalked past her towards his usual seat in front of the fireplace.

He opened his book and lasted about two pages before the sounds of her fawning over the little monster ground his patience down to the bones.

“Do you mind?” he bit out tersely. “I’m allergic,” he lied.

“I’m not even near you.”

That’s precisely the problem, he wanted to say, bitter about how distanced she’d been ever since she’d brought the creature home. As woe as Ominis was to admit he was jealous of a cat, it was hard not to be when he’d seemingly been completely replaced.

Before, he had been her reading partner. They’d share one of the loveseats in an isolated corner of the common room and trade tidbits of whatever novel they were consumed in. Now, his spot was occupied by the matted ball of fur she called her baby.

He shut his book abruptly, not even bothering to conceal his sneer. “Must you spend every waking minute with that thing?”

She glanced up at him, surprised by his sudden hostility. “What’s the matter with you, Ominis?”

“What’s the matter with me? You’re the one obsessing over a cat. It’s ridiculous.”

“He needs me. Must you be so inconsiderate?”

Ominis’ fists clenched in frustration at his sides. “Well, he isn’t the only one who needs you!”

There was a long silence in which she stared at him perplexed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He reddened, staring down at his shoes. “I…just mean that you’re…that…”

“Go on,” she spat, tone lacking all patience. “Say what you mean.”

He glanced up sharply. “You’re neglecting all of your friends to care for that dreadful monster.”

She gasped, covering what was presumably the furball’s ears, but looked more like shriveled horns covered in hair. “Well, maybe it’s because I can’t bear to be around friends who are all so heartless.”

Ominis looked like she might as well have slapped him.

She stormed off with the cat in her arms for the second time that week, leaving Ominis to contemplate with an admittedly inappropriate sense of possessiveness when he’d ever get her back for himself.

Following their fight, Ominis had resigned himself to wallowing over the tattered remains of their friendship for the next few days when his melancholic reverie was shattered by a Gryffindor storming into the Slytherin common room.

Sebastian glanced up, looking as appalled as he would if a ten-foot troll had broken in. “How did you get in here?”

Garreth snorted. “It’s not like you lot are particularly creative with your passwords. Aspiration, really? What’s next, cunning?”

“That was last month’s…” Sebastian sighed under his breath, sounding defeated.

She appeared making her way down the common room steps a few moments later, pointedly ignoring Sebastian and Ominis’ presence and presenting Garreth with the feral throw-rug.

“Godric’s saggy bollocks, where the hell did you get that?” Garreth shrieked, nearly dropping all the Potions supplies in his hands.

She scowled. “Don’t tell me you lack all empathy as well, Weasley.”

He blinked at the creature in her arms warily. “I thought you said you needed a fever relief potion for a cat.”

“I do,” she frowned. “Snuffles has been sick all week.”

“That is not a cat.”

“Told you,” Sebastian muttered from his place beside Ominis, eliciting a swat to his arm.

Her tone immediately grew tense with defensive indignation. “So what if he’s a bit…unconventional looking? That doesn’t make him any less deserving of love and affection!”

“No, you misunderstand me,” Garreth said gravely, eyes still wide. He stalked towards her slowly with his hands outstretched, as if she were holding a grenade with its pin pulled out. “That is not a cat. That… is a bloody manticore.”

Ominis blanched. Sebastian dropped all pretenses of feigning he wasn’t eavesdropping and burst out laughing. “Oh, Merlin, that’s just too good.”

Her face fell. “What?”

She glanced down at Snuggles perched happily in her arms, brows furrowed as she studied him more intently.

“Oh dear Circe, put it down!” Garreth gasped when the creature moved, stretching lazily. It seemed hardly phased by the commotion around it. “You’re lucky it’s only a few weeks old and its poison glands haven’t matured yet. Although, even this young its bite is still strong enough to cut clean through bone.”

She seemed hardly deterred by the revelation. Cautiously, she pulled back the matted fur covering its head and gasped when an infantile, almost human-looking face was revealed. One thing was certain, it was positively not a cat.

Snuggles blinked back lazily at her, still purring while he rubbed himself affectionately on her arm. She frowned and glanced up at her friends, looking starkly heartbroken.

“I…I suppose…you all were right.”

Something in Ominis’ chest seized at how defeated she sounded.

She stared tearfully down at the manticore in her arms. “I’m sorry, Snuffles.”

“Let’s get it to Professor Howin,” Garreth spoke up, attempting to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, though he looked too wary of Snuffles to actually touch her. “She’ll know what to do.”

She nodded reluctantly.

Professor Howin contacted the Ministry and successfully turned in the manticore to magizoologists by the following morning.

Despite Howin’s repeated insistence that it was the safest option for Snuggles, its departure was no easy cross to bear for its former guardian.

Nearly a week later she was still mourning its loss as if her own kin had been ripped away from her. She was utterly inconsolable, and after walking in on her crying quietly in the late hours of the evening far too many times, Ominis decided he couldn’t bear her grief any longer.

The following day, he devised a plan. Come evening, he approached her usual lonely spot tucked away in the Undercroft, his hands tucked surreptitiously behind his robes.

She glanced up and frowned. “Are you here to rub it in?”

He sighed. “Of course not. I’m here to see if you’re alright.”

She sniffled, eyes lighting up. “Are you really?”

He nodded, kneeling down beside her. “I feel guilty for being so inconsiderate,” he said. “It’s silly to admit but…I suppose I just felt a little left out.”

She giggled then, the last vestiges of sadness steadily dissipating from her voice. “You’re lying.”

He shook his head, looking conflicted as if he were contemplating actually coming clean about how he had felt. He let out a long-suffering groan. “Oh gods, it’s humiliating. I was jealous of a cat—or well, what I thought was a cat, at least.”

She grinned, looking amused. “Oh, I understand. It’s because I didn’t give you belly rubs as well, is that it?”

He rolled his eyes, biting back his own smile. “No, no. It was the lack of bedtime stories that really stung.”

She laughed then, and the sound warmed him to his very core, reminding him of hot tea and the warmth of a fireplace with a good book curled in his lap.

He was broken out of his admiration by a jostling in his hands. He cleared his throat, remembering that an apology wasn’t the only thing he had met her there for.

“I…have something for you.”

She looked at him expectantly and he carefully untucked a small box from behind his robes, various holes cut around the sides. As soon as he held it in his lap, the box gave another little jolt. She looked at it bewildered.

He took a deep breath as he slipped off the lid, and the first tiny meow escaped. She gasped in delight, eyes glittering with disbelief as she stared down at the little animal.

“Is that…”

He nodded. “She’s yours.”

“Oh, Ominis!”

He was nearly toppled over by the force of which she threw her arms around him, squeezing him so tightly he could barely breathe. His hands found her waist to brace himself, his thumb brushing softly under her ribs as he reciprocated her embrace.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she gushed, peppering his face with kisses. He flushed so red he was surely the same color of the little ginger kitten in his lap by the time she stopped her attack.

“Don’t…don’t mention it,” he laughed sheepishly, voice sounding terribly dazed.

The kitten gave a petulant little mewl and she finally detached herself, pulling back with a departing peck to his cheek. She picked up the cat, pressing a soft kiss under its scruffy chin and acquiescing its whines.

“Oh, aren’t you just so precious?” she cooed. “Your mummy and daddy will take such good care of you— oh yes, yes we will!”

Ominis managed to flush even more. “Oh, am I included in this now?”

“Well, of course. You rescued her, after all,” she smiled brightly, suddenly entwining her fingers with his. “We’ll care for her together.”

Ominis felt that warm sensation bloom in his chest again at the feeling of her hand in his. He stroked his thumb over her knuckles reverently, unsure of what to do with so much permission to touch her. The contact was so tender, his heart felt like it might just burst out of his chest.

As if it could sense his acceptance, the kitten suddenly jumped from its place in the crook of her arm onto Ominis’ shoulder, purring contentedly in his ear and rubbing itself against his neck.

She gasped. “Oh, look, she likes you!”

Ominis couldn’t help the smile pulling at his lips, bringing a hand to pet tentatively at the small thing. The kitten leaned into his touch, preening under his affection as he rubbed an index against its soft underbelly.

“Yes,” he said softly, squeezing her hand, still tucked snugly in his. “I suppose she does."

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x mc #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #garreth weasley #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis gaunt x mc #hogwarts legacy ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy ominis #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fan fiction #fanfic #fluff

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darkmajesty-xo · 1 year

Text

Ready Player 1 ? - Shigaraki x reader

18+ MDNI | masturbation, praise , video chats, crack-humor

most would consider it unwise for a girl like you to be in these chat rooms due to the questionable discourse and rather infamous patrons, but girls just wanna have fun right ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: saw an old couple today, could be me and shig but he’s playing ☹️

user2345: i think you mean planning* as in planning world domination and torment of quirkless losers like you.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: oh sweetheart you’ll never get any pussy if you keep acting like one

user3333: damn bro, you gonna take that ?

user2345: who gives a shit about some villain groupie ?

user2345: she keeps her mouth so full of cum that it’s starting to affect her whore brain.

user2345: do you really think the true leader of the new world would make time for some dumb cunt like you ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: there’s probably a higher chance of tomura shigaraki and i living happily ever after than there is of ANY woman even looking in your direction.

this was a normal friday night, you simping over shigaraki in the forums and clapping back at the misogynistic incels that hid behind their keyboards in their mothers’ basements. but there was one guy that always stood up for you whenever the idiots got too out of hand. he was also a moderator so he had no problems blocking them.

the two of you would dm off and on about life , thoughts on hero society, hobbies , etc. from your chats you gathered that he didn’t walk that straight and narrow but that didn’t mean much to you. he would sometimes tease your about your crush on shigaraki and your general taste in men.

finalboss: honestly, what kind of girl likes a criminal?; who knows what kind of twisted shit the guys into— you’re not even a villain.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: you know nothing jon snow

finalboss: that reference just confirmed btw

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: i’ll have you know that my beloved is a certified otaku fantasy nerd.

finalboss: oh yeah ? and how’d you obtain such info ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: i run 3 stan accounts on twitter and i belong to a shiggy fan club 🥹

finalboss: 😃

finalboss: seek help

finalboss: 😃

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: you wound me ☹️

finalboss: i’ll just leave that too your Prince Charming lol

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: oh lord , did you see the footage of his latest attack ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: he was dressed like a whoreee 😩😩

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: tits just out for my viewing pleasure

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: shigaraki is my shepherd, he know what i want.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: wanna suck on those sugar nips and call him mommy

finalboss: you get weirder and weirder every time we chat

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: that means we’re becoming besties ㅤ♡ ︎

finalboss: ♡ ︎

it was nice having someone to talk to about your secret obsession, it’s not like your “real life” friends would understand. the two of you had carved out your own little piece of the internet to goof around in. he never disclosed much information about himself and typically kept the conversations focused on you, but you still felt an undeniable bond to this faceless stranger.

then he ghosted you.

weeks went by without a word from your friend. he no longer defended you in the forums and he didn’t respond to any of your dms. you’d started to get worried that he may have been arrested or worse. and at the three month mark you’d finally given up hope that you’d ever hear from your friend again. but then the unexpected happened.

finalboss is requesting to video chat.

this was completely out of character but after months with no word, you were desperate to hear from your friend.

you were prepared to chew him him out for abandoning you. thinking of all the ways you could insult him while simultaneously expressing your need for his comfort and company. but your mind went blank when the grainy screen loaded into the pixelated image of your companion.

whispy tendrils fell from his bun, framing the sculpted planes of his handsome face. his lips were dry, slightly chapped, with the only lubrication being the sheen of saliva left by the slow drag of his tongue. bloodied eyes bore into your own leaving you breathless and dazed.

“hey bestie”

his voice was low and raspy, almost like a whisper. a deep rumbling that echoed in your ear drums. it was oddly hypnotic. he was absolutely mesmerizing.

tomura chuckled into the camera, showing flashes of perfectly white teeth. he leans back into the chair, a hand on the back of his neck showcasing a broad chest and toned abs.

“didn’t expect you to be this quiet, bestie. is my outfit not slutty enough for you ? i could always take these off…” his hand fell from his neck to rest and the waistband of his black jeans.

you remained speechless, eyes glued to the light dusting of hair below his belly button.

more laughter and shifting. now you were met with the glorious girth of shigaraki’s cock clenched tightly in his fist. the darkened tip oozed a sparkling trail of pre that spilled down his length. his thumb swiped the fluid to spread over his veiny member.

“c’mon , doll. don’t leave me hanging” he teased, squeezing his fist upwards to produce more pre. “i thought you wanted to be my ‘mc’ ? seems more like an npc if you ask me”.

“y-you’re him” you stammered, eyes following the slow drag of his fist. “you’re tomura shigaraki”.

“in the flesh” he teased, shooting a wink that went directly between your legs. “well kinda, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. sorry i’ve been away so long, but you’d wait forever for me won’t you , perfect girl ?”

your nod was automatic. robotic even. you’d moved closer to the screen, completely engrossed by his ministrations.

“anything for you beyon—shiggy”

you both laughed at that. he appreciated your humor, especially with all the drama in his day to day. even in def con simp mode and being ghosted didn’t stop you from being undeniably you. that’s probably why he was as obsessed with you as you were with him.

“i know we probably have alot to discuss but todays been kind of shitty and i’d really like to explore our final fantasies”.

you snorted, “that was really bad , shig”.

he shrugged, “i’m a villain, not a comedian, beloved. “now show me that perfect little pussy”.

#yandere shigaraki #shigaraki smut #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #tenko shimura #mha shigaraki #mha smut #shigaraki x black reader #shigaraki x chubby reader #mha x blackreader #mha x chubby reader #mha crack

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charmercharm3r · 2 years

Note

imagine roommate! 3racha coming back from the gym to u in one of their rooms trying on lingerie bc “i don’t have a full length mirror in mine :(((“ literally been on my mind all day

-📿

finally finished this one🥳🥳

Sharing is Caring

BC, SCB, HJS

wc: 5.6k

warnings: smut, sexual explicit content, foursome, gets kinda nasty with a side of fluff, jisung x reader leaning lol

It was the first and last time you’d ever go shopping with Jisung. He was the only one of your three roommates that was currently available to accompany you. As fashionable as the boy is, he couldn’t give a single valuable opinion for his life. Everything you showed him, he’d give you either a thumbs up or tell you that “it’s your body. If you like it, you like it.”

You’d been at the mall with him for almost two hours when you’d given up asking him. It was obvious when Jisung started to run out of social battery, he’d tell you he’d wait on a bench outside whatever store while you looked around. By the time you’d come to the last store you wanted to check out, Jisung was practically drained.

“Wait outside. I’ll be quick,” you told him, already heading towards the lingerie store without looking back at him. What you didn’t see was his head perking up at the sight of you entering the much flashier and… adult… store. But he did as you asked, taking a seat outside and swinging his legs until you returned.

While inside, you browsed around and picked out a few pieces that stood out. One in particular that really caught your eye was a light blue babydoll set, feminine and frilly and so out of your comfort zone. There was no one you had to wear it for, but it was just so cute. It was also very different compared to the usual black and nude lingerie you typically stuck to. All the courage you had to even walk in the store and pick up the babydoll set evaporated as soon as one of the employees came up and offered to show you where the dressing rooms were, all with a judgemental look on her face. “Is that your boyfriend outside?” She asked, head pointed straight at Jisung, who watched you fiddling with the fabric between your fingers.

In an attempt to ward off her disapproving energy, you replied, “yeah, he is. I don’t need the fitting rooms, I think he’ll like this.” You walked towards the register without another word from her.

You probably should’ve taken up her offer on trying the set on before you got home, but for some reason, the way she looked at Jisung and how she stared at you sparked a sort of jealousy. Upon purchasing it, you instantly strode back over to your friend and took his arm, pulling him from the store and walking away.

He didn’t question your interaction with the store employee or why you’d dragged him away so quickly, but his mind didn’t stop racing at the idea of you wearing lingerie. Little to your knowledge, he had been crushing on you for the longest time. But you were also very, very off limits. It was a rule that he and your other two roommates agreed on when you moved in. You were their friend first, roommate second, and object of their sexual desires at the very end of the list.

However, he just had to tell Chan and Changbin of what he witnessed. So when the two of you arrived home and they invited you both to work out, Jisung jumped at the opportunity while you politely declined and used the excuse that you were tired. In all honesty, you just wanted a reason to stay home and try on your newest addition to your underwear drawer. As soon as they’d left, you locked yourself in your room and stripped, taking your time to put on the outfit. You’d taken off the tag without knowing if it would even fit or not, sighing at your own recklessness. But as you slowly slid on the light colored panties and draped the incredibly sheer top over your head, you came to the realization that you didn’t even have a mirror in your room– not a full length one, anyways. Your little vanity that you usually used wasn’t big enough to get the full view of your new set.

You were on a roll today, acting without thinking as you moved to unlock your door and peak your head outside into the hallway. Checking up and down the hall as well as listening for any movements, you quietly padded around the house looking for any sort of reflection that could show you how you truly looked. The bathroom mirror was a bust, too tall so that you only saw from your diaphragm and up. It was still too bright outside to see anything in the reflection of the sliding door that led to the balcony. Your only other option was perhaps one of the boy’s rooms.

Cursing under your breath at your own ignorance, you mentally noted to grab a full length mirror the next time you went out.

The house still seemed to be empty, but out of anxiety you treadded silently back towards the hallway where the four bedrooms were. You were lucky enough for your room to be next to Jisung’s, who was the quietest of the three boys when alone in their respective spaces. But he was also one of the more private ones, meaning his door was locked. You still checked, of course, but with no luck. Across from him was Chan, also very private and also very much locked. Changbin’s door directly across from yours was your last hope.

And voila! You were met with the overwhelming smell of spice and linen clearly left behind from his cologne and laundry detergent. His walls were painted a dark navy blue, complimenting the pale gray sheets that were messily spread across his bed. There wasn’t much else in his room besides the dresser, a few dumbbells, a desk that acted also as his bedside table, and a closet. There was no mirror that you could see, but upon further inspection, you opened the closet door and found just that.

With your back to the entrance of his room, you smoothed out the top of the lingerie set, tilting your head and twisting to see all the different angles. You had to admit, you looked good. Despite it being entirely different from what you were used to, it was nice to know that you could pull off other colors and other styles. So for a while, you just admired your body in his bedroom mirror.

Jisung had rushed Chan and Changbin out of the house, whispering in their ears that he had something important to share with them. The three of them were already in the gym of their apartment building and starting their routine when Jisung had realized he’d forgotten his pre workout drink. “I’ll be right back,” he said and rushed back upstairs before he could even tell them about you and the lingerie store. He’d jogged to his locked bedroom and found his drink sitting on the desk, taking a couple swigs of it before exiting to find Changbin’s door open. And you in all your glory.

You didn’t even hear him come in let alone notice him, jaw almost to the floor as your hands ran over your curves. Still looking at yourself in the mirror, you turned your hips to see how your butt looked in the baby blue. Immaculate, of course.

“Wow,” Jisung said, a lot louder than he’d intended to.

You jumped, seeing his reflections standing in the doorway with a dumbfounded look. It took you a second to remember your current state, hands flying to cover your chest and private parts. “Wha– I thought you were supposed to be at the gym?” Blood rushed to your cheeks as your eyes darted around aimlessly. When he didn’t respond, you turned to face him.

Jisung looked down at the drink in his hand, “I forgot s– something.” You followed his gaze downward, seeing the bottle. But you kept going, only now noticing his figure in the shadow of the hallway light. The sleeves of his shirt were cut off, drawing your attention to his sculpted arms. But how tiny his shorts were made your mouth water. You’d almost forgotten to breathe once you noticed a tent starting to rise.

You’d briefly thought back to the interaction with the store employee, thinking harder back to how Jisung was watching you like a hawk.

Grazing over his body again, your eyes met his. With the most innocent look you could conjure, “I don’t have a mirror in my room. What do you think, Sungie?” At a snail’s pace, you removed your hands from your chest and core, placing them behind your back and tilting your head.

He’d short circuited, unable to think about anything besides the way your tits peaked through the material of the lingerie. He didn’t even care that he was completely hard and almost to the point of throbbing. Not a single ounce of shame lingered in him as he took a step into Changbin’s room. “Really… really… something,” was all he could compute.

It felt so wrong, like you breaking a whole variety of rules that could get you into some deep shit with your other housemates. But the way his eyes were completely blown out and how good he looked, you couldn’t get yourself to care. So you took a step closer to him, looking up and smiling devilishly.

“Yeah?” You noticed the way his breath hitched in his throat the nearer you got. It gave you a surge of confidence, “wanna take a closer look?”

Jisung nodded embarrassingly fast, followed by dropping the bottle and pulling you in for a kiss even faster. Your head spun at how quickly things escalated. One second you were standing in the middle of Changbin’s room, the next you were spread out on his bed with Jisung hovering over you. His kisses were ravaging, sloppy but still heated as he made his way down your neck, only stopping to breathe. Your hands traveled through his thick hair, carding and pulling it in between moans as he continued further down.

Over the baby blue material, he kissed the tops of your breasts and licked across your nipple, making it perk more and leaving dark wet marks. The more your hands caressed him, the more he soaked your new clothes. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you in this,” he mumbled into you, leaving peppered kisses down your stomach. As he reached the hemline of your frilly underwear you arched into his touch, mind wandering to how smug you felt leaving the store earlier hand in hand with him. “Just had to tell the guys about how hot you looked.”

You didn’t expect it from yourself, aroused by the idea of both Jisung and your other two roommates fawning over you in lingerie. It made you practically shove his face towards your cunt, wet spot growing larger the longer he stared up into your eyes. “Please,” you whimpered, unsure of what you were truly asking for.

He didn’t wait any longer before just pushing the material to the side and letting his tongue run up through your folds. The warmth of the wet muscle made you groan, eyes shutting as your head fell back into the sheets. The fact that you weren’t in either of your own beds only added to the forbiddenness of the situation, how risky and taboo it was to be doing this in your roommate’s domain.

Jisung was good with his tongue, flicking your sensitive bundle of nerves with the tip and alternating to suctioning you in. You let out a particularly loud moan when he sucked harder and let his fingers circle your entrance.

You were so immersed in the sensation that you didn’t see the body standing in the doorway. “And when I thought today couldn’t get any weirder,” Chan stood, dumbfounded at the sight before him.

Seeing him in complete awe of you and Jisung set shocks through you, unable to stop yourself from shoving his head harder into you and mewling out. You kept your eyes locked on Chan’s face as Jisung continued to eat you out like a man starved. The absolute bliss your body writhed in sent blood rushing straight to the watcher’s cock, arms flexing in restraint. But then you pried one hand from Jisung’s hair, bringing it up to stick two fingers into your mouth.

As you swirled your tongue around your fingers and the man between your knees continued to ravish you, Chan was already stripping his shirt off and walking to the side of the bed closest to your head. Despite Jisung wanting you all for himself, he enjoyed the show you’d put on as you popped your fingers from your mouth and pulled Chan in by the back of his hair for a messy kiss. It fueled his need to prove himself to you, so he circled your entrance for a second to collect your dripping essence, pushing two digits into your relaxing hole. The sudden intrusion made you cry into Chan’s mouth.

Hearing your sweet noises made the older pull away from you and tug his shorts down, tugging lazily at his fully erect cock. As Jisung continued to suck at your clit and stroke his fingers into you, Chan stood tall. He looked down at you with an expression that told you he wanted only one thing. But to get you to how he wanted, he grabbed the base of his cock and tapped it against your cheek.

“Open,” he commanded, intentionally missing your tongue that was now sticking out. It was slightly humiliating, Jisung having witnessed the whole thing as well. But you were so close to your release, unable to care about how dumb you must’ve looked.

Jisung could feel how tightly you were contracting around his fingers, your hips bucking up and using the handle on his hair to grind harder into his tongue. He enjoyed himself, much more than he’d ever admit, how you used him to chase your own pleasure, so sure he was leaking precum through his shorts. Laundry was definitely going to need to be done.

But just as you were at your tipping point, needing just a little more to get over, Chan gathered a pool of saliva in his mouth, letting it drip from his tongue. He’d meant to slather it onto his dick, but with how erratically the lower half of your body moved he missed, smearing it across your lips and cheek. It was such a filthy sight and an even filthier feeling, forcing your orgasm to rip through you and clench your thighs around Jisung’s head. Just as your eyes shut and mouth opened to cry out, the man standing over you easily shut you up by shoving his cock into your mouth, immediately muffling you. The vibrations from your moans traveled through Chan’s body, making him groan out as well.

Reaching down to find a grip on your hair, he gently thrusted into you, taking his time. Jisung, still clamped between your legs, almost refused to detach from your cunt. But you’d released him and pulled him up by the hair. “She tastes so fucking good. Wanna try, hyung?” he playfully asked, watching the older screw his eyes shut in pleasure as he climbed to his knees between your quivering legs.

“Yeah. C’mere,” Chan breathed out, looking at Jisung and pulling him in by the collar of his shirt for a kiss. He even surprised himself by the action, letting his tongue glide over the other boy’s as he took in the taste and scent of your high. You, mouth still full of Chan’s cock and legs wrapping around Jisung’ s waist, watched as the two boys above you temporarily forgot about your surging needs. You’d gotten their attention again by digging the tip of your own tongue into Chan’s slit, making him push the younger away and rip another moan from his chest. “Fuck– he’s right. You’re fucking delicious.”

You reached up to grab the base of his cock and pop him from your mouth for a split second to say, “bet you taste even better.”

You could hardly process what occurred in the next few moments. Chan pushed you harshly into the bed and took a step away, “want front or back?” He asked the younger.

For a moment, he pondered. “Front.” Just as Chan was lifting you back up– completely contradicting the mean way he’d treated you a few seconds before– another set of footsteps echoed through the house. Less than a minute later, your third roommate stood sweating and out of breath in the doorway. The three of you were unashamed, uncaring that you’d been using Changbin’s bed without him there or without his permission. He watched Chan lift and settle you with your back to his chest while Jisung selfishly blocked the view of your cunt by quickly undressing, slipping off your panties, and gliding his cock between your used folds.

“I’ve talked about a foursome for how fucking long and you all decide to do it while I’m not even here?” Changbin exclaimed, strutting into his bedroom towards the desk and opening a drawer. “If you’re gonna go doubles, at least use some lube. Idiots,” he popped the lid of the bottle open and handed it to Chan.

“Binnie,” you dreamily called out, extending your hand towards him. Excited, he stood before you, letting you grab his shirt and pull him down for a kiss as well. He was already hard, the second he walked in on the scene all the blood rushed to his cock.

It was experimental for you, sort of new because you weren’t used to taking something in both holes at the same time. Sure, you’d tried anal before, but that was with a toy and with a partner who’d known what they were doing. Chan was kissing the back of your neck and whispering encouraging words in your ear while he dumped a generous amount of the liquid over his cock, using his fingers to pick some up and spread it around your hole. With Jisung toying with your clit and Changbin now pushing his shorts down, you were more than aroused.

But you were growing impatient, mewling as Chan pushed one finger in to test the waters and Changbin lazily stroking his cock before you. All of them were well endowed, Jisung perfectly hooked and Chan on the longer side. Changbin, however, was girthier than most, unsure how well you’d be able to take him in your mouth.

Jisung flicked your clit rather hard, making you arch into Chan’s hand and whimper again. “More,” you managed to say. The youngest looked to Chan over your shoulder, giving him a nod to enter first.

He went slow, gently letting you sink onto his cock inch by inch and get used to the feeling. The way he’d felt was nothing like your toys, hard but also fleshy and soft, much warmer than any piece of plastic. Your head fell back against his shoulder, biting your lip to keep from groaning at the unfamiliarity. Chan was holding back his own moans, the stretch burning for a few moments until you could completely relax. In the meantime, all you could hear were their sweet praises and the rushing of your blood in your ears. When you looked at Jisung, you gave him the okay to slide into you.

When he did, his head immediately fell back and eyes shut, but your jaw went slack. You felt so full as the youngest bottomed out, reaching out blindly for Changbin’s hand to pull him closer.

“Fuck— can barely move, she’s so tight,” Jisung mumbled through his teeth, fighting against the instinct to pound into you.

“I’d be okay with dying right now,” Chan joked to ease the tension, kissing your shoulder.

Changbin pumped himself in front of your face, hand petting through your hair, “I would’ve appreciated being invited to the party.”

Your body clenched at the thought of having your mouth stuffed as well, making Chan moan and hips stutter into you. “Jesus, I’ll blow if you do that again,” he gripped your waist tighter. “Me too, Bin. Found Jisung eating her out for lunch.”

The man standing looked down at you with a sweet smile, tugging his aching dick harder and tangling his fingers in your hair. “Really now? What were you doing here, little one?” The grip on your head pulled back harshly, making you clench again.

“Trying on this slutty lingerie I was telling you guys about,” Jisung answered for you, hand trailing up your belly to push the garment over your breasts and tweak your nipple. He twisted the nub, your brain hazing over with every passing second.

Changbin’s handle on your hair forced you to look at him, mouth still hanging open. When you stuck your tongue out, all his inhibitions went out the window. “Pretty little thing wants all her holes filled, hm? Why don’t you let our friends play with you for a bit, then you can taste.” Whimpering quietly, you nodded and reached a hand back to card through Chan’s hair. It encouraged him to move, gently pulling out before lazily pushing back in, breath hitching as the tight ring of muscles contracted around him.

Jisung followed, setting his pace opposite of the man under you. Wet sounds echoed throughout the bedroom, the only other noise falling from your mouths as the feeling of two cocks in you made your eyes glaze over. It was such a strangely wonderful experience, you didn’t know how good it would feel to be filled from both ends. You also didn’t realize how dirty of a mouth Changbin had.

He stared down at you condescendingly, eyes flittering between your fucked out face and lewd cunt. “Who knew our pretty princess could take two cocks so well. Wish you could see yourself, you look so filthy. Bet they’re hitting all the right spots, hm? Could probably feel Channie hyung’s dick rubbing against Jisungie, isn’t that right?” All spat at you while he swiped some of the lube dripping from your ass, using it to make the glide of his hand along his own cock easier. But he was right. As the two took turns pulling out and pushing into you, you could feel the undersides of their dicks scraping against one another. It made your head spin even more.

Through the immense pleasure you felt, you were able to breathe out, “want you, too.”

“Give the princess what she wants,” Jisung managed to say. His hands ran up and down your thighs, eventually keeping you spread open by hooking his arms under the crooks of your knees.

“You want my cock? Want your mouth stuffed, too, little one?” Changbin cooed just before he shoved his thumb into your mouth. You hummed around his digit, trying your hardest to focus on him through the heat rising in your gut.

The weight of his thumb on your tongue was enough to make your walls pulse around the two men, both moaning out as you did.

Chan’s arms snaked tighter around your midsection. “Fuck, fuck, fuck— I’m gonna cum.” He used his last few thrusts to hammer up into you, pulling out and letting his cock smack against the inside of your leg as he released all over your stomach with a long sigh. Jisung stilled in your cunt, seeing you covered in cum being a deep rooted fantasy that he’d never thought he’d get to see.

The older continued to let out spurts of his seed, thick and hot against your skin as your hands soothingly rubbed over his. “So good. So, so good for me,” he whispered into your ear, just loud enough for only you to hear. His praises were like music, arousal electrifying your body.

“Already, hyung?” Changbin joked to the older.

“You feel her back here and see how long you last.”

You watched his cum drip off the sides of your body, unaware of how intently you were staring at it.

“I think our pretty little princess likes being messy,” Changbin teased. His voice broke your attention away from the sticky white fluid, making you look up at him with your bottom lip between your teeth.

Jisung’s balls tightened at the sight of you, eyes blown wide and looking up at his older, much more attractive friend like he’d hung the stars. Despite being the one balls deep inside you, he was jealous. So with your attention on Changbin, he started to pound into you, skin slapping skin. You instantly snapped your head at him, seeing his eyebrows furrowing together as his eyes stared into your own. Leaning over you to the side Chan wasn’t on, he whispered, “I don’t like sharing.” You cried out when you felt a pair of fingers rub against your clit.

Just as quickly as you’d found yourself in this position, you felt Jisung pulling out and yanking you off of Chan. He flipped you on your stomach, pulling you up so you were on all fours. The older chuckled, scooting out of the way so that Changbin could take his place in front of you. Before you could even think about sucking him off, Jisung entered you again, using the fatty flesh of your ass as leverage to slam you into him again and again.

Your mouth dropped, eyes shutting as tears stung behind your waterline. The man in front of you brushed your hair back, creating a makeshift ponytail with his hand as he guided your head down and onto his cock. You moaned louder into him, making Changbin shiver.

Almost unable to concentrate with the way Jisung continually abused your cunt, Chan helped you out by gathering his cum from your stomach with two fingers and bringing it to your mouth. Popping off Changbin’s cock for a second, you took his fingers in with a sigh, tasting the bitter-salty liquid. As soon as he pulled away, you were back on Changbin, tasting both his cock and Chan’s cum.

“How’s it taste?” Chan chuckled, smearing his saliva covered fingers over your cheeks. All you could do was moan, in return making Changbin do so as well.

You used your hand to pump whatever was left of Changbin’s cock that couldn't fit in your mouth, swirling your tongue and pressing harder into the ridge where the head met the length. “What the fu—“

Changbin couldn’t finish his sentence, too lost in the feeling of your warmth.

Jisung was unrelenting, fighting off his high every time you squeezed around him, enticing him to fill you with more cum. But he was buzzing, too much energy for his body for him to handle and making him thrust without taking a second to savor you and your velvety walls.

Your lips cupped around the tip of Changbin’s head, sucking him in as his stomach rapidly contracted. He used the grip on your hair to roughly push you back down, tip hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. Typically, you hated the guys that would push your head. But with how nasty the things he was saying to you earlier were, you couldn’t find it in you to care. You just wanted to make him cum.

So you let him abuse your throat, sure that it’ll be sore tomorrow. But you moaned as Jisung reached around to toy with your clit again, vibrating the entire length of Changbin’s dick. He used your hair to lift and slam your head onto him until eventually holding you completely still so he could buck up and fuck your throat. He was rough like this for a few more seconds before he dropped his hips and pushed your head down onto him, holding your nose to his pelvis as he shot his load down your throat. You hummed around him as he came, guttural groans falling from his lips.

Chan laughed, teasing Changbin about coming too quickly as well. You attempted to swallow with his cock still in your mouth, pulling a few overstimulated whimpers out of him until he tugged you off by your hair again.

With his cum dribbling from the corners of your mouth, Changbin pulled you in for a nasty kiss, bouncing against his lips as Jisung still searched for that satisfying high he craved.

Sure, he could’ve blown by now. But he’d been pining after you for so long and he felt like he was running on pure adrenaline. If he were to cum now, he’d be wasting so much potential. So he kept fucking into you, pulling your hips into him so hard that you were sure there would be bruises on your ass from where his hip bones hit.

Chan and Changbin sat back and enjoyed the show, loving how dumb and sloppy you were now that you were drenched in their seed. The third boy was loving it just as much, thriving off his name falling from your lips like it was all you could think of.

To be fair, it was. Jisung has been the focal point of your sexual desires all day, starting from that incident at the store. How hungrily he watched you, then caught you in another boy’s room wearing the sluttiest thing you owned. And those tiny fucking shorts— there was no way you could conjure up a single thought that wasn’t Jisung, Jisung, Jisung.

The two older roommates continued to call you the lewdest things, “cum princess,” “pocket rocket,” “fuck toy,” “cum dumpster.” Jisung almost forgot that they were even there, entranced by how he would disappear into your swollen pussy.

He was close now, as were you. Your walls pulsed and fluttered and almost sucked him in as the heat rising your stomach burned so painfully good. Jisung took your hair from Changbin, who was playing with it mockingly. He yanked you up, pressing your back to his chest. The change of angle made you whimper, tears steadily streaming down your face as his other hand made its way around your cum covered torso. “This is the last time I’m sharing you. Enjoy seeing them in the post nut glow you caused. You’re mine now,” he growled in your ear.

The possessiveness unexpectedly made you shudder, eyes rolling back without a single thought other than to cum.

“Look at that. Finally broke you,” Jisung laughed, shoving your upper body back into Changbin and focusing on his release.

You didn’t need him to worry about you coming, his words did you in as you slumped into your roommate. Vision going white, holding onto Changbin’s biceps so hard that you left crescent shaped marks into his skin, your orgasm took over your body. Heat suffocated your skin as your ankles locked into Jisung’s legs, the shivering of your pussy pushing him over the edge as well.

He delivered a few more deep, hard thrusts, making sure to milk himself and give you everything he had.

It took you a few minutes to catch your breath, head still dizzy but light as air. Chan and Changbin smiled down at you fondly, stroking your hair and giving you nonstop praises whereas Jisung stayed rock hard and lodged inside your cunt, unable to pull away from the warm and slick hole.

Eventually, he managed to get himself together, stealing you away from the two to bring you into an embrace. He kissed the top of your head while your roommates ran off to get things to clean you up.

“Are you okay?” Jisung whispered, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of his hand. All you could do was nod and nuzzle tighter into his arms. “I meant it. I really, really don’t like sharing.”

Your eyes threatened to shut, “no more kissing Chan.”

He laughed, “okay. No more kissing Chan.”

Sleep was so close to taking over you, but still, you felt yourself being lifted and carried to a different place, gently being placed into what felt like clean sheets. For a minute, it was just you in the silence. But then you heard shuffling in the distance, voices speaking to one another until footsteps lightly trekked through the room again.

“Is it okay if I clean you up a bit?” Jisung’s voice asked quietly. Eyes still closed, you nodded, completely exhausted. You could hear him giggle, hands gently guided you onto your back and spreading your legs. He ran a warm, wet towel up your center, apologizing as you winced and continued to wipe down the rest of your body.

When you couldn’t feel him on you anymore, you opened your eyes groggily, searching for him. Jisung reappeared in the room not a moment later, silly smiling. You made grabby hands at him, wanting someone to hold on to. “Okay, okay. Cuddles,” he jumped into bed next to you, holding you as if you were made of glass.

You rolled onto your side, his chest against your back. But when you shifted your hips, you felt someone poking at the back of your thigh. Immediately, your eyes opened. “Jisung?”

“I had too much pre work out,” he said, slightly ashamed that he was still rock hard. But you flipped back over and deviously smiled, suddenly full of energy again.

“Oh god, don’t look at me like that,” he muttered. Before he could protest further, you leaned in to kiss him. The kiss started to become slightly more heated until he pulled away. “Can I come with you in the store next time?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his request, nodding and connecting your lips again. It was going to be a long day.

A/N: wasn’t really sure how i wanted to go about this buuut i enjoyed writing it!! not gonna lie, those pre work out drinks are fucking crazy. I had some to keep me up while studying for final exams...got lots of studying done..o_o

send me more requests! this was so fun and im more than happy to do them!!!

-momo < 3

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #3racha smut #bang chan smut #seo changbin smut #han jisung smut #skz fanfic #3racha fanfic #stray kids scenarios

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