#<- that aged like milk in like ten minutes

[greghatecrimes]

God. We were so robbed.

[derpiedoxie]

Alrrrighty, it’s gonna be new years soon

2022 sure has been a ride

I’m intrigued to see what 2023 has in store!

And to everyone,

I wish you all a happy new Year!

[sofarsofastmp3]

there’s a line in gare b joyce’s sidney crosby: taking the game by storm: “people at school would talk about it- you know he’s always playing hockey. there would be normal school things that he’d miss because of hockey. but because it was sports, people didn’t think it was geeky.” and i seek to be a part of the revisionist history that it was, in fact, incredibly geeky of him

[endlessthxxghts]

Biology

“Uncle”!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 5.4k

Summary: Joel hurt his back at work, so you've been helping him around the house until he heals.

Content/Warnings: able-bodied, female sex anatomy, and inherently fem!reader. No description of reader, everything is neutral (ex. “your bottoms,” “the curve of you” — nothing is specific in the way “you” are described). Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel in 50s). EXPLICIT MATERIAL PRESENT. HEED THE WARNINGS. WEIRD boundaries are crossed…you're not blood-related to Joel, but you were raised like you were. You call him “uncle.” Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, etc.). Pussy pronouns (she). Innocent touches until it isn't. Sexual tension galore. Slight dub-con. Icky Joel. Icky reader. Pussy grinding. Dirty talk. Slight degradation (“bitch” is used only once). Multiple orgasms. P in V unprotected. Reader is on top. Lots of teasing about the nature of yours and Joel’s relationship. If there’s anything that should be up here but I missed or I made any improper tags, please let me know!

A/N: Hi, my loves! This is slightly different than what you’re used to coming from me… All I can say is, you’ve read the warnings! Don’t bite if it is not your flavor! But for those who do like, I really hope you enjoy! And to my love @strang3lov3, thank you for prompting this and encouraging this side of my brain to finally stop hiding in the shadows. And thank you for your eyes on this and the mood board as well. I love you.🩶

masterlist | notifs blog

“Hey, hon, when you headin’ over to uncle Joel’s?”

You glance at the timer on the oven. “In about ten minutes after these cookies cool. Need something from me?”

“Can ya grab my toolbox before ya leave? Forgot it there the other day,” he replies. “Figured you could get it since you’re already goin’ there today.”

“Sure thing. It’s not the heavy one, is it? Because I don’t know if that old man’s back is ready for a heavy lift like that yet.” The timer on the oven beeps. You slide on your oven mitts to pull the tray out. “Made two batches by the way. How many you want? I’m taking some to Uncle’s, too.” 

About a week ago, Joel had a contracting accident. Some newbie wasn’t watching the older man’s back as Joel climbed up a wobbly ladder, and the next moment, Joel’s footing slipped. He landed right on his lower back, a piece of wood perched on the ground, sitting at just the right spot on the floor to render him immobile. Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, and your father, his best friend since before you were born, are the only two Joel trusts to get the job done perfectly, so Joel put them two in charge until he heals. 

Bed rest, the doctor had ordered Joel, for at least three weeks. It’s been one so far, but with you offering to be his nurse — one that forces him to stay in bed unless he needs to eat or use the restroom — he thinks he just might be back to work by next week. If you’ll let him, that is. 

“No, it’s the small one, hon, you got it,” your father reassures you. He lovingly slaps his growing belly as the trays hit the kitchen counter. “Y’know, darlin’, ever since you moved back, I’ve been gainin’ some weight. Can’t imagine what you’re doin’ t’ Joel over there.”

Your lip pulls up in a smirk. “Joel is in good hands, y’know. And technically, I don’t have to leave you any,” you say with a challenging brow, pulling the cookie trays out of his reach. 

“No, no, I’m not sayin’ that,” your father’s eyebrows raise in worry. His daily cookie is very important to him. “You can leave me like… five… or six.” 

“I’m just gonna leave you a whole batch. The six are gonna be gone before I even leave the house,” you tell your father as his hand subconsciously reaches for the cookie tray. 

He scoffs, “Ya have no faith in me.”

“So what’s in your hand already?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, walking away with a mouthful of warm cookie dough and melted milk chocolate chips. 

“Uh huh,” you yell back. “Gonna be leaving in just a sec. I’ll see you later.”

It takes less than ten minutes to get to your uncle’s house. You unlock the door using the spare key he gave you as a teenager, and immediately, nurse mode is activated. 

“Uncle Joel!” You yell, exasperated. He turns around from his place in the kitchen, painfully slow. He’s going to make his back worse. “What do you think you’re doing?” You place the fresh cookies on his dining table along with your keys. You cross your arms angrily for good measure. 

“My coffee’s cold. I was warmin’ it up,” he huffs, annoyed.

“Bed, please.” Your hands find his waist, and you guide him back to his room. “You know I’m here around this time. You didn’t wanna call me first to see where I was?”

You ease him in a sitting position at the edge of his bed. He grunts as his ass meets the mattress. He grumbles his response. “Need to start gettin’ back to everythin’ independently, y’know that, don’tcha?”

“Is your memory going with your back, too, unc?” 

“‘Scuse me?” He looks at you incredulously. 

“Three weeks were the doctor’s orders. Not one,” you tell him, putting your foot down. 

He lays himself down with another wince at the motion, no acknowledgement to your words. God, he’s so stubborn. 

“I’ll go make you a fresh cup,” you tell him, feeling sympathetic for the man. His work is his life, and it’s not going to get any easier with age. 

Making your way back to his kitchen, you wash out the coffee pitcher, replace the grounds and the filter, and do some light cleaning as you wait for the bitter, brown liquid to brew. 

It’s only been five minutes since you returned to the kitchen, and the painful moans and groans from his bedroom have only gotten louder. You search around the place and find the heat pack you bought a few days ago and pop it in the microwave. You grab some pain meds, fill up a glass of water, and just in time, the microwave sings to you, telling you your contents are ready. 

Ignoring the coffee for a moment, you make your way back to Joel’s bedroom. His eyes are closed, but his entire body is tensed up in pain. Poor guy. You knock at his door to catch his attention before entering. “Unc?”

One eye peels open. “Yes, nurse?”

“Funny.” A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat. “Come take these.”

He makes no move to get up. 

You set the painkillers and the water on his bedside table, the heat pack wedged underneath your armpit. You start to reach for Joel to help him up, but he stops you. “I got it,” he grunts. You let him have this win. 

You hand him the glass of water first, then the pills. He swallows the painkillers in one big gulp, swallowing down the rest of the water in another. He eyes the heat pack in your arm. 

“Do you want-”

“Yes,” he says immediately, reaching for the soft warmth. 

“Lay down first, I’ll put it underneath you.”

Without another word, he positions himself. His body jerks when your soft hand slips underneath his back, pushing him to lift a little while you slide the heat underneath. “This okay?”

“Mhm,” he forces out, eyes clamped shut. It’s not okay, you think. 

“How would you feel on your stomach?” you suggest. 

“Dunno. Never tried.”

“Well, then.” You set the heat pack down, and it’s your turn to crawl, uninvited, into his bed. You walk on your knees towards the opposite, unoccupied side, adjusting the pillows in a way you think might be the most comfortable. This isn’t your first rodeo dealing with an old man’s back; you’ve got your dad. This is, however, your first rodeo dealing with an old man more stubborn than a screaming goat not getting his way. “Come on.”

“No.” 

“What do you mean no?” 

“That ain’t gonna be comfortable.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. “I swear to God. I will flip your ass over myself if I have to.”

“You’re bossy,” he spits.

“So you’ve said.” 

Not giving him a chance to prepare, you hook your one hand at his side and your other on his hip, and you pull him towards you. It doesn’t fully flip him over, but it does the trick in getting him to finish the rest of the action himself — albeit, with a very strained yelp from the back of his throat. 

He groans for a few minutes more as you adjust some flat pillows underneath his belly and then prop the lukewarm heating back right at the base of his spine. You’ll probably have to heat it up in ten minutes again, but it’ll do for now. You stay in your spot for a minute, and already his pained noises begin to subside. 

“Better?” You know it is. You just want him to admit it. 

And when a single huff with zero protests from the grumpy man reverberates around the room, you know you’ve won this round. 

“I’ll go get your coffee now,” you hum. 

A soft rasp of your name has you spinning back around as you reach the room’s threshold. 

“Hm?”

“Thanks,” he tells you. 

“It’s what I’m here for, unc.”

You put his fresh cup of coffee in a thermos this time. You can’t imagine how often he’ll get up being in this position, but at least the freshness will be there with every sip he does end up taking. 

“How’s it going?” You ask him as you set his coffee nearby. You feel the heat pack on his spine, and it’s as you called it to be by now: room temperature. “Want me to reheat it?” 

“‘M okay,” he replies, voice groggy. He must’ve fallen asleep. 

“Okay.” You stand there for a moment. You can tell the heat helped, but his body isn’t entirely relaxed. He’s still tense, as if a nerve or something is being pinched. 

You recall your memory from a while ago before you moved back with your dad. Your brother, who is a mixed martial arts athlete, had a sparring session that hurt his back, nearly in the same area as Joel. He had you running his massage gun over his muscles nearly every night for a month straight. “It needs to uncoil somehow,” he told you. An idea crosses your mind then. 

You saunter to Joel’s en suite bathroom in search of some type of lubricant. Sitting loud and proud on the center of the bathroom counter is a little bottle of Equate’s Personal Liquid Lubricant. Your brain falters for a second, the bottle of lube throwing you off your original plan. That is absolutely not the kind of lubricant you were looking for. Shaking away the image from your mind, you bend down to look in the cabinets underneath. Bingo, a bottle of Aveeno body lotion. This should do. 

You invite yourself onto his bed for the second time today. “Let me give you a massage.”

“What?” His head turns to you now, utterly confused. He definitely heard you wrong, he thinks. 

“Let me give you a massage,” you repeat. “It’ll help.”

A massage actually does sound nice right now. But you’ve been nothing but bossy this last week while Joel lays here helplessly. He’s bored. And he’s had enough. “It ain’t gonna help.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

Jesus. Haven’t you had this conversation before? You mentally slap your forehead. Again, leaving him no other options, you reach for his flannel atop his shoulders and begin to pull them down. 

“Hey, hey, wait, now what in the hell-” He tries to stifle back a laugh as he wriggles in your hold, trying to playfully push you off without hurting himself more in the process. 

You quickly release his clothes, hands up in surrender where he can see them. You’re just realizing now just how forward your action must’ve been. “How am I gonna massage you-” 

The embarrassment written all over your face has Joel tearing up as he tries to hold his wheezing laugh in. With his eyebrow quirked at you, he responds, “If you wanted me naked, kiddo-”

“Jesus, ew! Really?” An unbearable heat spreads across your cheeks. Your eyes are downcast, looking everywhere else but him. “It- it’ll be better if I can directly touch-”

Only then do you feel the bed shaking with his laughter. He’s fucking with you. And here you were, about to offer something that would relieve a whole lot of pain. “Oh, fuck you,” you scoff, pulling yourself up and making your way off of his bed. 

“No, okay, wait,” he laughs, trying to catch his breath. “Jus’ messin’ with you, who am I to deny a massage?” He raises his eyebrows once, twice. Still messing with you, seeing how far his taunting with you can go. 

“You’re disgusting,” you deadpan. 

“‘M not the one tryin’ t’ massage her uncle,” Joel says as he attempts to shrug his shoulders at you.

“I’m gonna leave now.” One foot makes it to the ground before Joel speaks again. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, ya can’t take a joke? I’m only messin’ around. Come back. Gonna leave me hangin’? In pain? C’mon, nurse.” His tone falls softer, sweeter. You can hear the shit-eating grin in his words. And, fuck, why is it making you heat even further, in places beyond your face? In places you shouldn’t be?

“Fine,” you relent. “Stop saying weird shit then.” You still can’t look at him. Not after the way your body decided to react in the shift of energy. An abrupt shift of energy, as far as you can tell. 

He’s your dad’s best friend. Your uncle, for crying out loud. Not by blood, but still. There’s never been a feeling beyond that. Sure, you’ve had your silly little school girl crush on him during your young teenage years, but that was your hormones being your hormones. You grew out of them. Even your own father can’t deny the conventional attractiveness of his best friend. 

Plus, suggestive commentary is bound to make anyone feel hot. It’s basic biology. Your response is nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. At least, that’s what you convince yourself of when you climb back into your uncle’s— no, into Joel’s bed, trying to ignore the way your panties stick dutifully against your throbbing core.

Joel leans onto his side as you get yourself situated, unbuttoning the bottom half of his flannel, so you can flip up the bottom to reach his lower back. After the bottom half of the buttons are undone, he lays back on his front. “Here,” he calls your name. “Jus’ lift it up from the bottom.”

You scoot closer to him, standing on your knees, and you reach over to grab the hem of his flannel, pulling it up as gently as possible, exposing just enough to be able to reach the irritated areas. You frown at what you see. Inflamed skin, purples and yellows dancing all across his lower back, forcing him away from the very thing he lives for. He may have been a stubborn bitch this entire week, but that doesn’t stop the sympathy you feel for the man. 

You put some of the lotion in your hand, rubbing it between your two palms to warm it up a little. You place your hand on the side closest to you first, moving in circular motions and adjusting your pressure ever so often. “Let me know when the pressure is good.”

So far he hasn’t said much, a slight groan here, an exhale there. You feel a knot as you move lower, so you increase your pressure. You’re met with a literal moan, and you swear you have to bite back your own vocal response. “Fuck,” he sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, jus’ like that, ‘s perfect, darlin’.” 

“Okay,” you squeak, your thighs clenching together to attempt any kind of relief to the heat between your legs. 

After a few more passes over the area — and a few more indulgent, harder presses of your palm to pull more angelic sounds from him — you switch to the other side. Except, at this angle, you don’t really have as good an angle as you did before. Your leg swings over his ass, bracketing him in between your thighs, before you can even register the move your body just made. A soft gasp falls from your lips as you feel the new angle you’ve just given yourself. 

“Joel?” You call sweetly. Innocently.”I- I’m not hurting you or anything, am I?”

Hurting? No. Putting him through Hell? Close enough. 

Joel has done many questionable things in his lifetime. Getting involved with taken (married or otherwise) women, couples who wanted a third… Joel has lived through it all. Mainly in his younger years, but nevertheless. He has done and seen many things. But none of these things have ever included getting a fucking hard on for a girl — a woman? — he practically had a hand in raising. You call him uncle, for crying out loud. 

His physical response means nothing. It’s basic biology. The tender yet skilled touch of your warm hands directly against his even hotter skin, lighting every single nerve ending on fire, forcing the blood to course through his veins, to make its way down south— 

“Christ-” he snarls as you practically sit on him. His mouth shuts instantly as his eyes shoot open. He didn’t mean for that to come out. “Y-yeah,” he corrects. “‘M alright.” 

“Just- just let me know,” you tell him. He can hear the shake in your voice. He can tell biology is doing a number on you, too, based on your tone alone, if the heat engulfing his rear as you try your best not to make contact with it isn’t enough to go by. 

He focuses on his breathing as best he can as your hands push slightly past his jeans, getting underneath the seam of his boxers, and then immediately softening your touch as you run your fingers up his spine, awaking a chill he never knew was possible until now. You rub beyond the exposed area of his lower back, reaching his shoulder blades and entirely up to his shoulders, forcing the flannel to rise with your hands. He’s so broad and warm, and you would absolutely be drooling all over him by now if you weren’t so shocked at how tight his muscles really feel. How has this man not gotten any injuries sooner? How was he still doing all this heavy lifting? You dig the pads of your finger tips further into the thousands of tiny knots you feel, and his body jerks in actual pain this time. 

“God damn, girl,” he snaps. “What are you doin’?” 

“How the fuck do you even function?” You sound genuinely horrified. 

“What-”

“Your shoulders and neck are fucking covered in knots how do you even-” you cut yourself off with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You need to flip over.” 

Fuck. 

“Why?” He asks defensively. 

“I’m gonna break these knots. I need to start from the front.” 

“Ya ain’t gettin’ anywhere near my neck, I swear to God-”

“Quit being stubborn. What did I say earlier? I’m gonna flip you myself if you don’t-”

“Alright, fine, gimme a sec,” he bites. Joel takes a deep breath, at war with himself for how he’s going to handle his next course of action. 

Whatever happens next, there is no avoiding the fact that you will be made aware of the bulging erection between his legs. You can know about it, that’s fine, but the second you make contact, he doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to control himself. Which is why he rips off the band aid quick. Flipping himself over with you still hovering over him, he tries his best not to touch you. Though, the second he’s comfortable, his focus is on your waist, grabbing you immediately and missing the way your eyes widen at the tenting fabric of his jeans. He pulls you higher up to sit on his lower tummy. 

You squeak out a little gasp as he adjusts you, and fuck it makes the pulsing between his legs even worse. He releases you, bringing his hands back to his sides. 

“Comfortable?” you whisper. You try so hard not to use your voice, worried that it’ll reveal just how turned on you are by this situation you’ve put yourself in. He gives you a single nod, and with that, you lean to grab more lotion. 

The angle you are at forces you to lean the front of your body onto Joel to be able to reach his shoulders. You can feel his body tense underneath you; you can hear his labored breathing as your hands further push away his flannel, working away at each knot. 

You lean forward further, giving yourself the ability to reach just below Joel’s neck. With this action, your hips shift, pressing down against Joel’s belly in a way that sends a sudden jolt of butterflies through your core. Your hands freeze in their movement, breath and fingertips stuttering as your entire face and neck heat up. You sneak a quick glance to Joel, and his eyes are still relaxed. He didn’t notice. 

It takes you a moment to start your movements back up again, but when you do, you can’t help the way you repeat exactly what you did before — allowing yourself another experimental roll of your hips against his soft abdomen. Only this time, you’re way less sly, for the whimper of pleasure you thought you could hide slips right out, right for his sharp ears to take note of. Shit. 

“Y’ alright there?” His eyes are trained on you now; he knows what you just did. Joel sports a quirked eyebrow as he waits for your response. 

“Mhm,” you rush out, ignoring his piercing gaze. 

It takes every ounce of willpower for you to run over the knots in his shoulder again without driving your hips into him, but even the push and pull of your arms is a full body movement, and you feel it. You feel the growing wetness in your core, the growing heartbeat that his bare tummy no doubt can feel now. 

Your body is splayed across him, the warmth of you leaking through your bottoms and onto his hot skin as you pathetically try to play off the fact that you aren’t grinding your wet cunt across him right now. With a rasp of your name, he takes a sharp breath in. “What are ya doin’?” He grunts, pained. Conflicted. 

This is so wrong. But it feels so good. Your arousal — how utterly desperate you are for the older man underneath you — is shone all over your face, brighter than any other feeling of disgust or wrongness you’re trying to convince yourself of. But the internal battle is still there, though, and it forces your hips to come to a full stop. It forces cries of apologies from your lips. It forces regret. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you choke back a sob. “Please, I- this is so wrong, I’m so stupid, uncle, I-” 

God damn it. Joel is too damn hard to deal with this shit now. “Oh, Jesus Christ, will you cut the fuckin’ uncle bullshit?” He finally snaps. His hands spring to life, finding their way up your thighs, tightening once they reach your hips. He forces you to move again. “Ya think I wanna hear that fuckin’ word while you fuckin’ soak me? Huh? While ya rub on me like a fuckin’ bitch in heat?”

“Shit,” you moan, the strength of his hand making the assault against your mound all the more intense. “Joel, please,” you cry, your fingers shaking as you hold onto his chest. 

Your thighs begin to tremble as he maintains a rough pace to your movements, his bed creaking with every shove of your hips against him. His grip on you is one of steel, the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh, no doubt leaving tiny bruises as a reminder of today’s actions. 

He is fucking covered in you — the slick of your desire pooling through your bottoms and into his skin, making each grind smoother. He licks his lips at this, his eyes dark as he drinks you in from above; your own eyes glossy and a sheen of sweat along your skin. “Look at ya, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice low enough to send a fresh wave of arousal pouring from your hole. “Fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby. Needed me that bad, did ya? Was tryin’ t’ tell ya earlier,” he grunts, “Y’know ya just had to ask.” A lazy smirk pulls across his lip. 

You let out a whimper at his words, your hips finally rolling alongside his own guidance, instinctively searching for more friction. “Atta girl,” he groans, “That’s it, fuck- makin’ a fuckin’ mess a’ me, darlin’.” 

You’re panting now, the rhythm and pressure mixed with the filth of his Southern drawl ignites every single nerve ending throughout your body. He watches you with a dark intensity, the brown of his eyes replaced with pure black lust, his eyes unable to stray away from the pleasurable desperation filling your features. 

“Gonna come like this, sweetheart?” He taunts, driving you into him even harder. 

“Mmm- my God, yeah- yes,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly finally tightens, your breathing ragged as needy moans escape your lips. 

With a final roll of your hips and the utterance of a that’s my girl, the coil finally snaps, pleasure crashing over you, coursing through your veins as you come all over him, your slick unable to stay within the limits of your clothes, leaking and dripping down the sides of him and onto the mattress below. Your thighs convulse around his waist, his hold on you continuing your thrusts, dragging out your orgasm until your own hands find his and rip him away from you.

“Ya ain’t done yet, sugar,” Joel gruffs, grabbing the globes of your ass cheeks and dragging you down, letting you feel his ignored and now raging erection. 

“Never said I was,” you purr, a soft moan blessing his ears at the feel of his bulge against your ass. He can feel your smirk against his chest. 

Body still trembling, Joel lifts your ass in the air, sliding your bottoms down over the curve of your body. The stickiness of your panties pulls off with a wet squelch, the cool air of the room mingling with the wet warmth of your bare pussy, the stark contrast forcing chills to run through your veins. 

“God,” he murmurs as you give a little wiggle of your ass in the air. “Pretty as a peach, huh, darlin’?” He guides you lower, pushing you down onto his bulge. The hardness of him beneath you immediately sends a fiery need to your core. Your hands move on their own as you pull your body up, reaching for the buttons and zipper of his jeans, undoing them with ease despite the eager shake of your hand. You pull the jeans down just enough to let his cock spring free, thick and angry and leaking. 

“Oh, fuck,” you swallow your gasp. “God, I need you so bad,” you whine, already lifting up to line the tip of him to your swollen cunt. 

You sink down with a breathless moan, your head flying back as your hands grip onto his tummy to keep you from buckling. 

Joel’s breathing stutters, his moans filling the air as you practically choke his cock. “Shit- so fuckin- fuckin’ tight.” His hands find their home on the meat of your ass, holding you tight, grounding himself from coming like a damn teenager.

You move slowly at first, savoring the way he feels inside of you, how big he is. God, you don’t think you’ve ever taken anything quite as long and as thick as him. Your heart skips a beat at that, knowing that he’s ruined you for anyone else. 

It isn’t long before the raw need takes over, and you move faster, hips rolling back and forth as you ride him, the wet sound of skin against skin as you alternate to a bounce ever so often. 

Despite the risk of hurting his back even more, he can’t stop himself from gripping you tighter, his nails digging into your flesh as his hips buck up into you, starting their own rhythm, meeting every one of your thrusts. The sensation is overwhelming with the size of him; it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, mixing sweet whines of ecstasy with whines of overstimulation, and it’s the best music to have ever graced his ears. 

“Look at ya,” he grunts. “Fuckin’ made for this, weren’t ya? Fuckin’ made for takin’ this cock, huh, sweetheart?” 

You nod weakly at his words. They send a flutter down your belly to your pussy, and his mouth is all it takes to send you to your second brink of collapse — your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you move, as he drives himself into you without abandon. 

Every thrust pushes you further to the edge, the sting of the stretch, the sensation of being so full — it’s almost too much to bear. He can hear it in the way your cries change. It’s becoming too much. 

“Y’ can take it, sweetheart, almost there,” he grunts. His hands take over in guiding your movements, urging you faster, harder, bringing you both to the cliff’s edge. 

“C’mon, baby, can feel her squeezin’ me, know she wanna come, baby. Breathe, doll, jus’ let go,” he rasps, his words coming in staggered.

The wet tightness of your walls, both the feel and the sound, causes Joel to fall first — a low, guttural groan filling the room as he fills you with his hot, thick spend.

The sensation of him pulsing inside you, unloading everything he’s worth, sends you over your edge, your pussy clenching around his cock as you come, the sensation rippling through you, shredding your vocal cords as you scream out in pleasure. 

Everything goes dark for you, nothing but the fuzzy sound of Joel’s sweet praises at the top of your head as he guides you through your come down. 

“Did so fuckin’ good f’ me, darlin’,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.”

For an asshole, who knew he could be so sweet? 

You roll off of Joel as soon as your heart steadies, your entire body on fire from all the exertion. You can feel Joel’s body stiffen as you use him for support. His back is killing him right now.

A few moments pass as your eyes slowly start to close, but the deep gruff of your name stops you from dozing. 

You turn your head to the man beside you. “Yes?” 

For the first time today, it’s Joel who can’t make eye contact with you. “Can you, uh… can you-” he clears his throat, trying to rid himself of his awkwardness. “Can you warm up the heat pack again?” 

Your smirk lifts your cheek before you can even try to stop it. “Come again?” 

He lets out a frustrated huff. And he can’t turn away from you. His back is killing him right now. “My back-”

“Yeah, what about your back?” 

“You fuckin’ little shit-”

You giggle as you flip onto your side, your hand holding your head up to get a better look at him. “Your back is hurting, baby? Need me to get the heat pack for you, hm?” 

He doesn’t respond. He just has the deepest, most grumpiest scowl known to man on display. 

“Oh, come on. You need my help, is that it? Need to hear you say it, unc.” You emphasize the last syllable of your sentence, a belly laugh threatening to escape you. 

Oh, two can play at that game. “Yeah, baby, I need your help. I need the help from my beautiful, beautiful niece, hm? My beautiful, needy niece whose pussy gets all soaked jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout me, huh? Gets all wet and needy thinkin’ ‘bout her uncle-”

Your resolve finally snaps, your eyes clamping shut as you cover your ears, loud la la la’s coming from your mouth as you ungraciously roll yourself off of his bed. “Enough, fine! Fine! Fuckin’ nasty,” you groan as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“‘M not the one who started it, sweetheart,” Joel says, a triumphant smile plastered across his cocky face. 

“I made you cookies by the way,” you yell after a beat. “Want one?” 

Joel’s hand reaches for his belly. He doesn’t need one, that’s for sure. “Yeah,” he responds not a second later. 

You come back to his bedroom, heat pack in one hand, no cookie in the other. You hand him the heat pack. You make him adjust it himself. 

“Where’s the cookie?” He asks, a tinge of impatience on his tongue. 

“Oh, I thought you were gonna come down and get it.” 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just figured you wanted to start being more independent and all. Given how strenuous you were being a few moments ago,” you offer with a faux innocence.  

“I swear to fuckin’ God, when I get my hands on you-”

“Your hands on me? Yeah? When?” You start making your way out of his bedroom. “Come get me if you wanna show me a lesson. Know you been dying to all week.” 

If he can fuck you the way he did, maybe full-time bed rest isn’t what Joel needs. He needs to stretch and move around; he needs to activate his muscles, especially being on the older side. It really is basic biology.

I would absolutely love to hear what you guys thought of this! Any and all your love and commentary truly keeps me going and motivated even when the writer’s block is at its strongest. Wouldn’t be here without you all. I have so much love in my heart for you! Talk to y’all soon🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

Leaf divider by @saradika-graphics

[xxsabitoxx]

Fushiguro Megumi never wanted to have children.

Yet, here he was at the ripe age of 26 waking up in the early hours of the morning to his daughter’s quiet whimpering. His eyes immediately want to close, but his body is pushing him up from the plush of your warm bed.

There, in the bassinet beside him, was your three month old little girl. Her eyes weren’t even open yet, but her tiny lips were wobbling. Small chubby face contorted as she dreamt about something she clearly didn’t enjoy.

It made Megumi’s heart ache, carefully pushing down the side of the bassinet so he could scoop her up.

“Now what’s with this fussing, hmm?” Megumi’s voice came out gravelly, thick with sleep, and yet your daughter visibly calmed at that familiarity of it.

“It’s too early and you’re too little to be having bad dreams.” He cooed softly, cradling her so her head was right above his heart. The two of you had learned over the last 3 months that your heartbeats calmed her.

“Are you hungry?” Megumi murmured softly, sleepy eyes landing on the alarm clock on his nightstand. “You probably are… if you woke up like you usually do for mama to feed you.” Which would be around 3am.

Given that it was nearly seven in the morning, your little baby was likely ready to eat again.

“Alright, baby. Let’s go get you something to eat.” Megumi hummed softy, pleased with himself as he managed to get out of bed with baby girl in his arms and not disturb anyone in the process.

He had gotten increasingly confident with his baby handling skills over the last three months.

He certainly still had a bit of worry to him when it came to walking with her, but he could move around and function with one arm easily.

“How about we make mama breakfast after you eat?” He asked her softly, placing one of the frozen bags of milk into the water he heated. It would be a lot faster to just wake you up and have her feed then and there, but Megumi prioritized your sleep.

… and baby girl was content right now so he knew she’d survive the ten minutes it took to prep the bottle.

Megumi actually cherished those ten minutes, each morning when the Sun had just peaked over the horizon. When he could lean against the counter and hold her in his arms, memorizing every inch of her perfect little face.

Making the choice to move out to the country side shortly after finding out you were pregnant a year ago has been the best choice.

Every morning was tranquil, no sound of traffic or construction or even crowds of people for that matter.

Just nature, children laughing as they walked to school, normal people getting ready for their normal lives… everything he had wished for as a child.

She began to fuss again, stopping the moment Megumi brought her face up to his and kissed her cheeks softly. “Good morning, sweet girl.” Her eyes opened slowly, large and sleepy and the same color as yours.

“Let daddy put it in the bottle and then you can eat.” She seemed to understand him, cooing softly as he kissed her little forehead before settling her in one arm again.

Megumi had become a pro at making bottles, now he barely had to think when doing so.

Before he used to be meticulous, hands shaking as he measured everything out. Now, it came naturally, turning out perfect each time. “Here we go, sweet girl.”

He sunk into the sofa, a bib around her neck to prevent spit ups and a burp cloth over his shoulder. She took the bottle happily, little hand coming up to rest on top of Megumi’s while the other played with her bib.

“Is it good?” He murmured, smiling widely as her eyes focused on him and him alone.

As if he were her entire world.

Megumi also learned to cherish these little moments, because he knew the second you were present, there was nothing on this planet that would tear her eyes away from you. Three months old and it was already clear she was going to be a mama’s girl.

“What are we going to make mama for breakfast, hmm? I’m sure she’ll be starving when she wakes up.” She only blinked at him, suckling on the bottle contently as she listened to his voice. “How about her favorite?”

Megumi tapped her backside softly, body subconsciously rocking a bit to comfort her further as she ate.

“We have everything we need to make mama’s favorite breakfast. The trick is going to be making it without her waking up to the smell of it. She has a good nose.”

She let go of the bottle, letting Megumi take it away so he could place her on his shoulder and burp her.

He had to admit, the things he thought would be so tedious were easily his favorite. Bonding with his baby had been as easy as falling in love with you.

It felt natural, as if it was what he was meant to do.

“Good mornin~” you yawned, startling Megumi slightly as he looked over at you. “What are you doing up?” He scolded softly, it was far too early for you to be awake.

“Hungry, missed the two of you.” You shuffled over to the couch, sitting down carefully as to not disturb your little girl. “I didn’t want to interrupt daddy-daughter time but I woke up missing you both terribly.”

Your cheek was pressing to Megumi’s shoulder, hand coming down to rest on top of your baby and Megumi’s hand. It was no surprise that her eyes seemed to become more alert at the sound of your voice.

“Good morning my precious girl.”

You cooed softly, leaning a little further into Megumi so you could see her face around the bottle.

“We were going to surprise you with breakfast.” Megumi pouted, head turning to kiss the crown of your head as you sighed. “We can make it together, instead.”

“No, you can relax while I make it.” Megumi corrected, making you chuckle at his need to keep you on bed rest.

“Megumi, I want to help you make it. It’s more rewarding for me to help you.” You hum, lifting your head to kiss his shoulder before moving your head back. “And since I’m up early, it means we can take a family nap later.”

That seemed to stop Megumi from retaliating, giving in easily at that point simply because of the promise of cuddles. “Alright, fine. You can help with breakfast.”

You were content with that, in the same way Megumi was content with his finally normal life.

[januaryembrs]

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.

previous chpt | next chpt

‘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

[inkdrinkerworld]

Hi! Love your blog. Its totally fine if you haven't/say no but have you ever thought about softdom! Spencer Reid having a lactation kink too? Like maybe he really enjoys it ever since you had the baby but also does it to help you out when youve already breastfed baby according to schedule, and they're too full and uncomfortable.

omg yes!! this is such a smart thought! cw: lactation!kink, mom!reader, dad!spence

spencer was nervous to bring it up first, especially when you had started overproducing.

you’d feed your baby, pump and bag milk and still be full.

it was more milk than either of you knew what to do with and spencer had read that breast milk is good for people of any ages.

“bug, can i try something?” he asks as he tucks your daughter into her cot beside your bed.

“try what spence?” you’re still full of milk and your breasts are a little hard as you press on them.

“i read that you can consume breast milk no matter how old you are and seeing that you’re overproducing i thought,” he runs a hand through his hair as his cheeks heat.

“i thought i could help.” he shrugs as he sits on the bed beside your thighs.

“if you think it’d help and if you’re not grossed out by it.” spencer’s eyes go wide.

“grossed out? i’m not grossed out by you. plus breast milk contains lots of lymphocytes that help with fighting infections.”

you chuckle and nod, “if you’re sure,” spencer is a thousand percent sure.

he lays in your lap, and tugs the straps of your nursing bra down. “you can’t have them both down,” you say sternly but spencer is already latching onto your exposed nipple. “spence,” you gasp, hand combing back his hair as he pulls milk. “feels good.”

he smiles around your nipple and his hand goes to your other exposed nipple and thumbs at it.

spencer times himself, ten minutes on one side and then he moves away. “did that help, darling?” milk is pooled at the corners of his mouth and his eyes have gone a little droopy.

your hand touches the top of your boob and you sigh as it feels soft and looks smaller than the other.

“yeah spence, thanks.” you say, already reaching for your pump to do the other side when spencer bats your hand.

“i wanna do the other side too.” he attaches to your other nipple before you can say anything else.

spencer spends a little longer on the other side, it takes more time to get the milk flowing. he understands why your daughter favours your other nipple.

“you’re an amazing husband, you know that?” you say as he pulls off and fixes the strap of your nursing bra.

spencer’s eyes are almost completely closed as he blushes. “you’re an amazing wife.” his words are slurred as he rolls over to his side of the bed. “they didn’t say that breast milk makes you lethargic in all those books.”

that makes you giggle softly as you slide down the bed and lay so your foreheads are touching. “i think that’s more to do with the suckling motion.”

your fingers brush his forehead and his hairline, watching his eyes flutter shut. “are you tired?” spencer asks and you smile.

this is your husband, the man who, even on the verge of sleep he wants to know if you are too. you’re positive if you tell him you’re wide awake he’d hold his eyes open till you were.

“yeah, if you give me a kiss first.” spencer puckers his lips and presses his lips to your jaw then your lips.

“i love you,” he slurs and you hum, tucking your face under his jaw.

“i love you too, spencer. get some sleep my love.”

[acaciusbride]

Jealousy Jealousy (Part Two) { Joel Miller x Reader }

Summary: Joel makes good on his promise to show you how he loves you.

CWs: age gap / explicit content / unprotected sex / mentions of jealousy.

Tag List: @pedritosdarling @chaotic-mystery @loquaciousferret @bearsbeetsbeskar @schizoel @funnygirlthatgab @dreamingofdaddydin @pr0ximamidnight @joelsgirl

Notes: literally just a short brain rot follow up to Jealousy, Jealousy.

Buy Me A Coffee?

Joel smirks, presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Oh, darling. That wasn’t the makeup sex. That was the I’m fucking furious sex. You’ll like the makeup sex a whole lot more.”

Smirking yourself, you roll on top of him, lean down so you can press a kiss to his mouth.

“I like the sound of that. How do I sign up for it?”

“You promise we won’t touch anyone else. Ever.”

You press a long, heated kiss to his parted lips.

“Easy enough for me.”

“Good.” Another smirk before he rolls you, pinning your smaller frame beneath him. “I fucked you like I hated you. Now you’re gonna find out how I fuck when I love you.”

You just whimper, wrap your fingers into his curls and drag him into another kiss.

You want to still be angry, still be hurt, but it’s impossible. You care about him too much, want to trust him too badly to still feel anything but desire for him.

Still, it bothers you to think that you’re not the only one who he’s fucked like this. Maybe it causes you to tense a bit, but he senses it, breaks the kiss to look down at you.

“Darlin’…” it’s a heavy sigh, not a warning, more a regret.

“I’m sorry; I just… I keep thinking about it.” You admit, knowing it’s stupid, knowing you’ve hurt him, too.

“I know,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, “I know I can tell you it didn’t mean anything, but I also know I can’t make you unsee it. Let me show you. Let me show you that you’re different, baby.”

You want it. You want him, so fucking badly that you’re about to ignore your pain, ignore your hurt, take back what’s yours.

“Show me,” you pull him into a kiss, deep and desperate, “show me that you love me, Joel.”

He’s just as desperate as you are, knows he’s fucked up, wants nothing more than to show you how much he cares. His own rage has dissipated, leaving only burning need for you as he kisses you, every inch of you that he can reach.

You let him, loving the soft scratch of his beard, the warmth of his breath against your skin as you yank his shirt off, throw it off the side of the bed so that you can touch him.

“Eager, huh. Didn’t get enough last time?” He knows he’s talking big game considering how needy he is, how fucking painfully hard he is again despite fucking you senseless not ten minutes ago.

This is different. This isn’t about anger, or jealousy, it’s about claiming you, about proving how much he needs you.

“Shut the fuck up, Joel.” You roll your eyes, lean in and suck a mark right into his throat, above his collar line.

Maybe it’s petty and possessive, but you don’t give a shit, and he makes absolutely no move to stop you, just hums amusement as he spreads your thighs for him, rubs the head of his cock along your cunt.

You’re still dripping from the last round, the mixture of your release and his spend making it easier for him to slide into you this time, as if you weren’t wet and ready for him anyway.

He groans into your shoulder as he buries himself to the hilt, every thick inch of him being milked by your tight little cunt, so needy for him.

“Jesus fuck…”

You want to echo the sentiment, but words won’t come, just a soft little moan that’s more like a mewl, all your fire and hateful words from before completely burned out.

Any other time, and Joel would be smug about this, but it’s not the time, and besides, all he can focus on is how tight you are, the way your eyes are half closed, lips parted as you stare up at him.

Dimly it occurs to him that you’re the most beautiful goddamn thing he’s ever seen, that hurting you was the dumbest mistake he’s made in a while.

“God damn…”

He breathes it almost reverently before he starts to move, slow, shallow thrusts that have your hands balled into the thin sheets, lips parted in a perfect circle.

It makes him want to be rougher again, hard and fast like before, but that’s not what he’s promised you, and he wants to take his time, wants to drag this out so he can commit every inch of your body to memory.

You can’t find the words, have to settle for just making sweet little sounds instead, but he doesn’t care.

He prefers you like this, too drunk on his cock to mouth off at him, instead wriggling and moaning beneath him like he’s giving you everything you ever wanted.

Maybe it doesn’t occur to him that he is.

He wants to be gentle, but it’s so goddamn hard when you’re so reactive; impossible not to give in.

Groaning into your hair, he lifts your thigh up around his waist, starts to pound into you, desperate to feel you tighten around him, fall apart beneath him.

You’re so responsive to him, or maybe he’s just too big and you’re just made for him, but he’s hitting every spot inside you perfectly with each thrust, the soft sounds of his pleasure in your ear making you shake with need.

“Joel, I’m…”

“I know, baby; I know. Go on. Go ahead. Doing so well for me…”

You’ve never heard soft praise like that from him, and it makes your head spin, makes your entire body weak as you fall apart, shattering around him, nothing in the world matters more in that moment than his arms around you, his cock inside you, your vision blurring with the force of your release.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it…” his thumb strokes your cheek as you come back to yourself, trying to ride out your climax as he fucks you through it; relentlessly chasing his own release now.

You have to admit you’re impressed by his stamina, the sort that you wouldn’t usually expect from a man his age, but you don’t care about that little detail.

All that matters is he’s here, with you, his arms around you, moaning for you, sounds you’ve never heard him make before, and that’s all you care about.

That, and kissing every inch of him you can reach, covering his bare chest with kisses and bite marks, laying claim to what’s yours.

Joel doesn’t remotely mind, knows it might raise a few eyebrows, but he meant it when he said that last time with Tess was the Last Time.

He has absolutely nothing against being marked as yours, not when you look so smug and cute when doing so.

Fuck.

He can feel himself aching and throbbing inside you, one hand reaching up to brace against the headboard as he slams into you one final time, grinding deep as he fills you once more, admiring the way you cling to him, the way your lips part when you moan his name.

“Fucking perfect…” he almost sighs it as he rocks his hips slowly, trying to come down from the force of his climax.

You cling to him, still with your own blissed out expression in place, fingertips tracing each of the marks you’ve left on his tanned skin.

“So… makeup sex achieved?” You ask, still breathless but with that cheeky smirk on your face once more.

“Definitely.”

He pulls out of you reluctantly, only so he can roll onto his side to face you, one arm draped over your body in a lazy, yet somehow still possessive and protective gesture.

“Stay with me?” You hate how vulnerable you sound as you turn to face him, fingertips brushing over his lips.

“Not going anywhere, baby. Gonna be right here when you wake up.”

“Yeah? Gonna wake me up by fucking me into this crappy old bed again?” You ask, eyes glinting with lust.

He smirks.

“Maybe. If my back doesn’t decide to intervene. ‘M not a young man anymore, you know that.”

“Wouldn’t have you any other way.” You remind him, “old man or not.”

“Hey now.” He swats at you playfully, but he’s not truly upset.

Honestly? This is what he’s wanted for a long time. The sort of easy banter that comes between you, the way you look at him with such open adoration and lust in spite of the age difference.

“Don’t worry.” You press a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re my old man.”

The possessive nature of what you’re saying isn’t lost on either of you, nor is the flicker in your eyes that tells him you’re still worried about whether he feels the same.

“Damn right.” He wraps his arms around you, pulls you close and kisses the top of your head.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[slut4celebs]

Angel Baby

Olivia Rodrigo x Reader, Jenna Ortega x BestFriend!Reader

Word Count: 1,702 words

Trigger Warnings: a lot of fluff

Synopsis: A songfic based on Angel Baby by Troye Sivan in which Olivia and the Reader see each other after their decision to never date anyone ever again.

“I just think… Putting yourself out there wouldn’t be the worst idea.” Jenna said, glancing up at her best friend, who was currently examining her ice latte as if it were the worst thing to ever exist. Though, Jenna had come to realize (Y/n)’s face wasn’t towards the latte, but rather a way to pretend she wasn’t horrified by her suggestion. “(Y/n), come on. You’re amazing and talented. You deserve love. I have this friend… I would really like to introduce you to her. And, I heard you call her pretty before when we were flipping through a magazine.”

(Y/n) chose to refrain from rolling her eyes. “Another girl in the industry… great.” (Y/n) said sarcastically, wincing a bit when the disappointed frown that graced Jenna’s face appeared. She hated when Jenna pulled out the frown, an involuntary expression that only showed around people who knew her well enough to notice it. “Look, I just don’t think dating is good for me. All it ever led to was me locking myself in my apartment, missing three auditions that would’ve been amazing and totally mine if I would have attended, and me almost drowning in my cereal bowl.” She reminded, getting a little snicker from Jenna at the mention of when (Y/n) cried in her Fruit Loops, and Jenna had to lift her head from the bowl. She had milk all over her face, and Jenna had to take five minutes to keep from laughing.

Jenna grew serious though as she tapped the table. (Y/n) could almost groan, knowing what her best friend had up her sleeve. Undeniably, it was the best friend pact. Jenna was calling in a favor. (Y/n) could read it so clearly on her freckled face as Jenna tried to pick her words carefully. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to deny a favor of this caliber since Jenna very rarely pulled out the Best Friend Pact Favor. This was something they created on set of a movie they starred in together at the age of twelve. Since the creation of this sacred pact, they have stuck to it, using it to call dibs on being each other’s dates to events, help them avoid awkward questions asked by paparazzi, fans, and interviewers, and more.

“I hate to do this but… I’m invoking the pact.” Jenna said, leaning back in her chair. (Y/n) sighed deeply but waited, wanting to hear Jenna out. This was obviously something that had brewing in her mind for awhile. “Honestly, I’m worried about you and her. I think you two would be good for each other. I just want you to give it a chance. A real chance, (Y/n).”

(Y/n) ran a hand down her face, risking her makeup’s safety when she did. “Fine, fine. Just tell me who it is. That way I can plan something.” She agreed, taking a sip of her coffee, debating chugging it to get out of the coffee shop faster. But instead, she remained calm and just panicked on the inside. She knew that Jenna was genuinely worried about her and the fact that she complained a little too frequently about being lonely. Plus, it had been a year since her breakup to the girl who always put down her dreams for her own. Maybe it was time to put herself out there. Besides, Jenna knew her taste quite well, saying as they were going on almost ten years strong in their friendship.

“Ha, as if I would tell you upfront and risk you leaving as soon as you saw her.” Jenna rose a brow. She tended to know her a little too well. Admittedly, she probably would run. But who’s to say that’s still not a possibility given that she could go to wherever Jenna would drop her off at… She could also just sneak off. “You’re also not allowed to sneak out as soon as I drop you off. This date is going to be on Saturday at six, I’ve decided. Dress nice but not overly nice. Basically, a pretty blouse and jeans. Oh! And that leather jacket that you look super fucking hot in.”

A snort escaped her at Jenna’s words and she allowed her gaze to meet Jenna’s deep brown ones. “I’m beginning to think you’re setting me up with you.” She teased, earning a playful shove. (Y/n) found herself to be grateful that the shove was officially the end to the conversation. Now, they’ve moved onto better topics like filming and dessert they’ve had recently. She finally felt the tension caused by the conversation leave her shoulders as she listen to Jenna talk about a special dessert Emma, her Wednesday co-star, had her try.

On Saturday, Jenna dropped (Y/n) at a pretty popular celebrity hangout, that way she wouldn’t know who she was setting her up with. (Y/n) drummed her fingers on the table, fist against her cheek as she waited for some kind of clue for who it might be when someone unexpected caught her eye at the bar. Olivia Rodrigo. A guilty pit fell in her stomach as she looked around, completely abandoning whoever Jenna might be dropping off soon now that she was settled. Instead, she approached the brunette who was ordering a glass of wine.

“Good choice. I’ll have the same.” She settled by the girl, who looked over and smiled a bit. “It’s been awhile, Liv,” (Y/n) greeted her friend. She has always had sort of a thing for Olivia, not that she would say it out loud. Only Jenna knew. “How has the music scene been going? Please tell me your third album is coming out soon. I’ve been craving a new vinyl with your name on it.” (Y/n), being a big supporter of her friends’ works, bought their movies and vinyl's. This included Olivia. She had her Sour album, her Guts album, and even her Guts Deluxe album.

A small smile fell on Olivia lips as she sipped her wine. “I didn’t expect to see you here, (Y/n).” She leaned in, closer to the girl. “The third album might come sooner than you think.” She said with a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “What about you? What have you been working on as of late? Any movie I should be keeping my eyes out for?” Olivia winked, causing (Y/n)’s cheeks to heat up. She reminded herself, in that moment, that she swore off dating. She couldn’t flirt with Olivia. But Olivia seemed to be flirting, a little bit, with her. Was she being delusional?

Their conversation continued, and (Y/n) forgot about the fact that she was there for Jenna and whoever she would be bringing. She didn't know if there was anyone waiting for her, looking out for her. Her attention was just on Olivia. "Honestly, I wasn't excited to come out here tonight." (Y/n) swirled the wine around in her glass as more was poured. Their conversation had turned into something less of small talk. Now, they were going into deeper conversations, both agreeing that the dating scene has sucked. But there was an ease to their conversation that made them feel comfortable. That's how all of their conversations seemed to go.

Olivia frowned a bit, eyes searching (Y/n)'s for a moment. "Oh? Why is that?" She questioned the girl. (Y/n) found herself at a loss, not knowing how to explain that she had abandoned a potential date to join Olivia. Mostly because she knew that leaving whoever it was behind like that was wrong. However, she couldn't help herself to be so drawn in to the girl in front of her. She just had this way about her that always drew (Y/n) in. From their first conversation, Olivia had become someone (Y/n) deeply appreciated and welcome into her life. And that wasn't something she did often.

"Well, I don't want you to think I'm a bad person. It's just… Jenna was trying to set me up with someone, but I've just sworn off dating. Though, I'm starting to think that… you know, I shouldn't do that." She cleared her throat, cheeks burning at the insinuation that she would give up dating for Olivia. But she would. She would love to take Olivia on a date and not just sit in front of a bar, talking over a couple glasses of wine. "I just totally abandoned whoever she was trying to set me up with because I saw you. I couldn't help myself."

A smile fell on Olivia's lips. For a moment, she had turned away from (Y/n) before she let her brown eyes meet (Y/n)'s eyes again. "You didn't abandon your date. Jenna had me come meet you here because I swore it, dating, off, too. I'm also thinking that was a dumb idea, now, though. I just needed some wine before I walked over to you because… You make me nervous. Jenna asked me about you, and I said you were stunning and like the perfect person. That's how this whole thing got set up. I just was too nervous to tell you 'hi' when walking in." She admitted softly. The admission cause (Y/n) to lose that guilty feeling that was heavy on her chest before she leaned in. Olivia followed in the motion, their lips connecting gently.

They were both lost in the feeling before the bar tender told them they couldn't make-out there. So, (Y/n) pulled away, paid for both of their drinks, and left a big tip before leading Olivia out of the building. Olivia had taken her to her car, dropping (Y/n)'s assumptions that Jenna had dropped her off as well. This was a good thing because now, as two celebrities who were followed constantly by paparazzi, they had a sense of privacy. (Y/n) drew Olivia back in and the two kissed for long moments until they couldn't breath anymore.

"Just so you know… I'm going to take you out now. This time, without Jenna finding her way into the relationship." She joked, causing Olivia to grin widely. Their lips were reconnected, and the two knew that they about to be so lost in each other for what very well might be forever, with any luck.

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 12

Welcome to act 2. These are going to be a rough set of chapters for Steve. I hate to do it, but I've got to get him low, to have Eddie build him back up.

If you've been following along to WIP Wednesday, you'll know (or at least suspect) that I'm nearing the end of act 2 and the return of Eddie.

Then I'm not sure how much longer it's going to be. It could be a couple of chapters. But it might be several.

Here we have Jeff teasing Steve and Eddie. Steve decides to spend all his money on movies and popcorn, and at last a wild Birdie appears.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

~

It took a month before Clint Harrington gave up on his crusade to chase his son out of town. That didn’t make Steve safe, per se, just safer. But he took what little comfort in that that he could.

The kids were jealous of the Sunbird, Mike finally admitting that yes, some mysterious benefactor had come in and swept Steve off his feet. He was a kept man.

Steve squirmed at the term. He was going to start looking for work. Just as soon as the dust settled. There was no point in looking when Clint Harrington was just going to come in and throw his weight around get him fired again.

Mike just rolled his eyes when he explained it to the kids, but Max was of the idea to milk for as much as it was worth.

“Seriously, Steve,” Max huffed, “if I could live in a hotel and swim whenever I wanted and order as much food as I wanted, I’d never want to leave.”

He scoffed. “That’s because you’re like ten and actually have friends your age or did you all forget that my dad chased all my friends off?”

“Ooh,” Lucas said clicking his tongue and shaking his head, “yeah, man. That’s rough. And it doesn’t help that this place has one movie theater, an arcade, and a handful of specialty shops none of which scream fun times for teenagers.”

“Yeah,” Will said from the couch, “Jonathan has been complaining about it all summer. There’s Bloomington or Indy, but considering you don’t know which direction your parents went, you’re pretty much stuck in Hell.”

Steve waved his hand at Will. “See? Will gets it.”

So all the kids got their heads together will Claudia and Joyce and tried to plot out something for Steve to do so that he wouldn’t have be staring at the same set of walls every day, no matter how gorgeous those walls happened to be.

Which is how Steve became cinaphile. He started just picking random movies to see at random times of the day during the week. His favorite time to go was Tuesday afternoons before the middle school got out. Not enough time for high school students to evade the place, but later than the moms taking their small children as a way to beat the summer heat.

It also allowed him to find new genres he liked and through all this Eddie stayed his constant phone companion. He loved listening to Steve talk about the plot and how hot the actors were. It was fun.

Steve was also starting to make friends with the rest of the band. He found out who the other person that picked up before thinking it was his phone that was ringing.

“Hey, is Eddie around?” Steve had asked, calling the mobile phone.

“He just stepped out for a minute but he’ll be right back,” the person said. “I’m Jeff by the way, I’m the one that picked up before.”

“Oh hello!” Steve said in surprise. “You’re the other guitarist, right?”

Jeff laughed. “Yeah that’s me. Thanks for not saying ‘the black one’ by the way.”

“Happens a lot?” he asked with a grimace.

“All the time,” Jeff deadpanned. “All the god damned time.”

“That must be shitty,” Steve commiserated. “I guess it’s not quite the same as saying the blond one or the tall one.”

“Yeaaaahhh, no,” Jeff said. “The other two are neutral attributes while being black carries a certain disdain to it.”

“One of the families I used to babysit before this all went to hell,” Steve said, “was a black family and I didn’t realize all the little shit they go through each day. All the snide remarks and sneering glances all the for the crime of existing in the grocery store.”

“Yeah,” Jeff agreed. “Oh wait, your lover boy is back. Hey Ed, it’s Steve.”

“Little Canary!” Eddie said excitedly upon being given the phone. “Jeff didn’t spill any of my secrets did he?”

Steve heard Jeff laugh in the background. “I didn’t know there were secrets he kept... I’m going to have to pump him for information next time.”

‘No, no, no,” Eddie whined. “Not allowed! Shoo Jeffy. Mine! Shoo!”

“Don’t worry, Eddie,” Steve giggled. “You can tell all your secrets yourself the next time you’re in Hawkins.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said softly. “I think I’d like that very much.”

“You’re just a gooey marshmallow, aren’t you?” Steve said with a giggle. “A perfectly roasted marshmallow. Hard on the outside, but all melty and gooey on the inside. Sweet and sticky.”

Eddie burst out laughing. “You really had me going there until the sticky part. Yeah, baby. I’ll be your marshmallow and you’ll be my little Canary.”

“Yeah, Eds,” Steve said, “I’d really like that.”

They talked for a little bit longer before Eddie hummed.

“Steve we have to talk about the last month of the tour,” he said seriously.

Steve’s blood froze in his veins. Eddie rarely called him ‘Steve’. It was a petname like baby, sweetheart, or honey, or little Canary, or maybe even Stevie. But never Steve. “Oh yeah? What about?”

“We’re going to be in Canada,” Eddie continued. “I’ll still be able to call, but only from hotel rooms. I don’t get good service there.”

The ice in his veins turned to lead in his stomach. “So while you’re on the road, you won’t be able to call me?” he asked, his voice small.

“Oh, little Canary,” Eddie said sympathetically. “I’ll try to call from payphones when we stop for gas, but yeah. It’ll be pretty sporadic. But I’ve gotten Chrissy to promise that she’ll take good care you.”

“She still doesn’t like, you know,” Steve said, “she thinks I’m distracting you from doing your job.”

“Which is fucking ridiculous,” Eddie assured him. “I shake my ass on stage and sing and play my heart out. I never skimp on that, and never walk out one meet and greets with the fans. It’s her job to worry, but it’s not your problem. It’s mine. Plus I have my little elf in play who will be plying you with as many little bird gifts I can find.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at that. He had gotten in addition to the necklace that he only took off to shower, a couple of graphic t-shirts with canaries on them. A keychain as well as one with his name on it. Three little ceramic canaries and a glass one. All brought in by Eddie’s little elf.

“Yeah, okay,” he huffed. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with next.”

“Well, I’ve got to go, babe,” Eddie murmured, “I’ll talk to later. The change won’t happen right away, but I’ll tell you when the date gets closer, okay?”

“Roger that,” Steve said with a sigh of relief. Then they hung up and he flopped on the sofa like a fainting Victorian maiden. In a couple of weeks, he would go back to being as lonely as fuck.

He didn’t even know who the little elf was or why they never showed themselves. All though, knowing Eddie, it was probably just because he thought it was cute. Which it was. It was also a little on the creepy side. He had gotten to know the porters, bellboys, and cleaning staff very well, so he didn’t mind them coming in while he was out or even in the shower.

But a mysterious person whom he knew nothing about? Yeah that was a problem. He didn’t know if they were male or female, how old they were, were they friendly or just doing their job.

To say it drove Steve nuts would be an understatement.

It had been six weeks since his dad chucked him out for making out with Tommy on the sofa and all that time he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the bastard or any of their friends. It was just then his luck ran out.

He had accidentally spilled almost his whole bottle of shampoo and had to go and get more. He spoke briefly to Joyce and chatted with her about Will and how Jonathan was adjusting to being newly graduated and turned around to run directly into someone.

“Shit!” Steve hissed as the basket he was carrying slammed into his stomach. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

He looked up, right into the green eyes and freckled face of Tommy Hagan.

“Steve!”

“Hey, Tommy,” Steve said with a fake smile. “How have you been?” The unasked question of ‘why did you leave me?’ hung in the air between them.

Tommy reached up and rubbed the material of Steve’s shirt between his finger and thumb. “That’s some pretty fancy new getup you’ve got there. Where you get the money for such nice things?”

Steve took a step back and crossed his arms. “I’m surviving. Like I always do.” He hated how he was already put on the defensive.

“Mhmm...” Tommy purred. “Pretty little slut like you, I bet you’ve got yourself a sugar daddy you’ve spread your legs for.”

Dread immediately pooled in Steve’s stomach. That wasn’t what Eddie was? Was he?

He smacked Tommy’s hand away. “Jealous that someone is fucking me better than you ever could? Maybe I have someone paying my bills or maybe I just have a trust fund. I’ll never tell you jack shit.”

The thing was is that he probably did have a trust fund. He just wouldn’t get it until he turned twenty-one. He had two years of running on empty he would have to do first. At least he had until Eddie came home anyway.

“No,” Tommy agreed, “you were always more of a screamer than a talker.”

Steve rolled his eyes and scoffed. “At least I didn’t run like a bitch when my parents walked in on us fucking. You find another dick to ride or did you go back to Carol like the coward you are?”

Tommy scowled. “You keep her name out your dirty mouth, Stevie boy. You don’t want to see what will happen if you don’t.”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a snort, “you’ll go running back to Daddy to protect you, like always do. Now pardon me, I have better things to do.” His eyes flicked over Tommy’s body. “If you hadn’t been the only option, I wouldn’t have picked you.”

He pushed passed him, bumping their shoulders together as he did.

He quickly bought what he needed and about as much junk food as he could get hands on. Joyce looked as though she wanted to ask if he was okay, so picked a different line to go though, hurrying out to his car. He looked around to make sure Tommy wasn’t waiting for him, but he didn’t see his car.

He drove back to the hotel, ready for a junk food night in front of the TV. He ordered room service and turned on the shower to wash off the slimy feeling of the interaction with Tommy. He had removed his shirt when he realized he had left the shampoo out there.

He opened the door and stopped in his tracks. Because there putting a couple of boxes on the end table was a girl with choppy blonde hair and boxy clothes. She was definitely not staff.

“So you’re my elf.”

~

Part 13 Part 14

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt

9- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

10- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @blondie1006 @sadisticaltarts

[purriteen]

Ad victor spolia, chapter six

content warnings: incest, manipulation, eventual Stockholm Syndrome, toxic & dark!Coriolanus Snow (as if that isn't his default), named!reader, ANGST, eventual smut, non-con, age gap (5-6 years), somnophilia

author’s note: Tigris my beloved I'm so sorry 😭🫶🏻

BIG extra warning for this chapter!! smut, Coriolanus Snow is fucking insane, choking, non-con (again), he treats reader very badly in this chapter

you are responsible for your own media consumption I have warned you

word count: 4,024

Previous chapter

It had been a few weeks since Romulus and your supposed attacker, a man whom you didn't even recognise, were executed side by side. Everyone had extended their sympathies and condolences to you, not because you'd lost your childhood friend over an accusation that was so obviously false it was painful, or because you had to witness two likely innocent men being fried to death in a surprisingly swift manner, pioneered by doctor Volumnia Gaul herself.

But rather because it took so long for you to get justice. It seemed as if everyone knew more about your supposed assault than you yourself. Once again your brother was ten steps ahead, painstakingly fabricating your entire life and neglecting to tell you until it was already cemented.

You no longer woke up in his bed every morning. You no longer exchanged pleasantries over breakfast, congratulated him or feigned interest in hearing him talk about his day.

Coriolanus hated it. He had intended for the experience to toughen you up a little, make you see the world the same as him, help you see other people for the vipers that they are. But instead it seemed you had turned on him, pinning him as the viper.

Scolding himself for getting impatient with you had quickly grown unproductive, and so he realised he had to solve things elsehow.

That was where Tigris came in.

Although she didn't know it, she would play an important role in pushing you in the only right direction. Losing Tigris would be the last nail in the coffin.

Even if you weren't the same girl you once were by the end of this, Coriolanus would get what he wanted from you. He always did.

To the victor go the spoils.

Being told that your brother had arranged for Tigris to come over for tea was like a godsend, even if it had been arranged by someone you could only describe as the complete opposite.

Romulus' execution had washed away any hopes you had of your brother being a decent human being. You felt like a fool for believing he might actually be anything other than a callous, miserly serpent.

But it was no use crying over spilled milk. You had to get out of here, and your cousin was your only hope.

Unbeknownst to you, Coriolanus had been as meticulous in shifting Tigris' view of you as he was with everything else.

You immediately knew something wasn't right when you sat down with her in the sitting room.

You had never seen Tigris angry, and that wasn't about to change. But there was this unsavoury look in her eyes, one that you could most accurately describe as sorrowful. Every time that she looked at you, it was as if she was mourning something.

You couldn't bear it.

After a few minutes of fluctuating between lukewarm small talk and an agonising silence, you spoke up.

"Tigris.. Please, talk to me."

It was pathetically subdued, your request. Not conveying even half of the desperation you felt, nor the confusion, the disillusionment.

It only takes her a few seconds to respond, but as her golden brown eyes peer into you for those deathly silent few seconds, you feel as if several years of your life have passed by in a single breath.

"You've changed." Is all that she says, and judging by the look on her face, even that takes a great deal of effort. You can feel her eyes trailing down to your blouse, and it takes you a moment to realise why she seems to have latched onto it.

As you clothed yourself earlier that day, you hadn't thought much of the impression your outfit would give. You were used to having your clothes laid out for you every morning, and although you didn't particularly like it, it was undeniably convenient.

But today, you were dressed in a pussybow blouse, a crisp white colour with buttons and the bow itself in your brother's signature deep maroon colour. Your hair, which you had for years insisted on keeping relatively natural looking, was done up into an overly complex updo.

You looked like all those wealthy, prissy Capitol ladies you and your cousin used to secretly poke fun at. Like your power-hungry brother's wet dream. The version of you that he had painstakingly curated to align with everything that he wanted to portray himself as. You were aware that your image, your entire person, was to him an extension of his own image, but you would've never thought that Tigris would be fooled by it.

Your blood runs cold as the truth crashes into you all at once.

You knew your brother was vicious and that he certainly wouldn't hesitate to keep you and Tigris apart if it was in his best interest. But you never considered how all of this would appear to Tigris, what she would make of how Coriolanus had portrayed you.

At least, you never considered that it might be this.

You thought she would always take your side, that she would always be the one to listen when nobody else did.

The realisation that that is no longer the case hits you like a thousand bullet wounds, puncturing your remaining hope like a balloon.

"Tigris.." You begin, your voice trembling, a look of disbelief and pure regret plastered on your face.

"Why did you ask me here, Hersilia?" She asks, her voice barely above a whisper. She too looks like she's on the brink of tears, her lips pursed.

"You were like a little sister to me. Then when Grandma'am died, you pushed me away, you wouldn't even speak to me," She breathlessly chuckles, wiping a stray tear with her sleeve.

"You love your brother, I can't blame you for that. But you didn't have to abandon our relationship for that.." She says, and although her voice is silken and smooth as always, with a tinge more of hurt, it feels as if she's just driven a dagger through your heart.

"That isn't-" You begin to speak, but you're unable to stop a sob from escaping your throat, the distress overpowering your voice.

Through tear-filled, blurry eyes you watch as Tigris rises from her seat, sniffling as she walks over to you. You're surprised when she takes your hands in hers, gently circling your knuckles with her thumbs. You can tell she's struggling to not burst into tears herself.

"I love you, Hessie, and I know there's still good in you. But you chose him, and if you continue like this you'll be stuck with that choice for good. I tried, but I can't help you any more than I already have." She whispers to you, pressing a shaky kiss to the top of your head, before letting go of your hands and leaving you all alone with your lukewarm cup of tea.

The door quietly shuts behind you, and a maid rushes in as you break into violent sobbing, completely unreceptive to her attempts to calm you down. The last thing you remember is Eugenie entering the room, and yourself finally allowing her to hold you as you bawl.

You know she means well, and she manages to calm you down enough to stop your hyperventilating, but you're also painfully aware that the pain you feel now will never truly go away.

The cathartic relief as you stop weeping will never come.

You awake later that day to find Coriolanus sitting at your bedside, your own bedside this time. You're back in your own room on the other side of the presidential palace.

He's still dressed in his woollen coat, his hair neatly styled as it was when he left this morning. He gives you a weak smile when you look up at him, stretching out his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, and the audacity of him to ask such a question in this moment makes your blood boil. Perhaps he's already forgotten how he ruined your life, picked it apart down to the bone, all without even telling you, the deceptive fuck.

You used to think your brother wanted to keep the family together, that you were important to him. You allowed him to ensnare you until he had taken everything you once held dear from you right under your nose. You hate that you allowed him to get away with it, with everything.

You don't even realise what you've done until he has your wrist in a grip so tight you feel as if he might crush it, his eyes narrowed and cheek marred with a handprint so bright red it almost looks comical.

You thrash in his grasp, your free hand balled up into a fist as you repeatedly jab it at his chest. But in a matter of seconds he has you pinned down on your chest, your wrists restrained behind your back.

His hot breath tickles your skin, making the hairs on your neck stand as he whispers, no, hisses into your ear. "Do you really think it's a good idea to pick a fight with the only person left in the world who cares about you? Huh?"

His cruel, taunting words cut deeper into you than a knife, making you thrash in his grasp once again as a string of cries and sobs spill from your mouth.

"You were never on my side, you sick bastard!" You spit out, but he quickly pushes your face down into the pillow which effectively shuts you up, his white-knuckled grasp on the hair on the back of your head painfully tight.

"Just shut up, you ungrateful fucking slut. You have no one left to turn to but me. You should be thankful that I don't cut out your tongue or banish you to the districts," He almost shouts at you, but you can tell he's already struggling to keep his voice down. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears as you struggle to breathe.

You realise once he straddles the back of your thighs what his intentions are, much too late, as always. His bulge presses against your thighs, horror and disbelief taking over you as you make a final, adrenaline-fuelled attempt at fighting him off. You manage to break your wrists out of his iron grip, only for him to release your head and instead force your hands back into place, his free hand rustling with his belt.

You writhe and shout, but nobody comes to your rescue. He must've cleared this wing of the building beforehand. "You're my brother, you degenerate fuck! If you do this you're no better than those district savages you speak so unkindly of!"

Your words are soon followed by an anguished yell as he bends your wrist at a painful angle, only letting up when you feel as if it's about to snap. In the blink of an eye he has you on your back, hands pinned down at your stomach as he leans in close, his face mere inches away from you.

"Yes, Hersilia, I am your brother," He hisses, grabbing you by your hair and forcing you to keep your eyes on him. "And I made you. I raised you, moulded you into exactly what you are today. You were no one and nothing, and I gave you everything," He continues, his words coming out strained and harsh as he speaks right into your ear, accentuating every syllable of that last word.

"Do you think I did all of that for nothing? So that you could stray from the future I built for us, for our family, so that you could abandon me?" He breathlessly chuckles, his hand working to undo the buttons of your blouse as you struggle to hold back tears, teeth digging into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

As he unties the ribbon around your neck, he replaces it with his hand, snug around your windpipe.

“Answer me.” He snarls, cruelly cutting off your air supply as he waits for an answer. You meekly shake your head in response, to which he lets out a humourless laugh and lets go of your neck. Within the blink of an eye his hand comes back down, hard, on your left cheek, before returning to slither around your neck.

"Useless." He mutters, taking a moment to burn the image of your dishevelled state into his mind before he lets go of your neck, yanking open the rest of the buttons of your blouse to reveal your bare midriff and bra-clad chest. You start to squirm again and he pins your hands above your head in response, his free hand grasping your chin hard enough to make you grimace.

"Hey, look at me. Quit squirming or I might as well let doctor Gaul run one of her little experiments on your head, yeah? Let her stir around your pathetic fucking brain." He practically growls at you, and with the threat of whatever lobotomy-like operation doctor Gaul had in store looming over your head, you finally stop writhing for a while and let the tears fall freely.

He resumes pedantically undressing you, holding your left hand up and pulling the sleeve off whilst the right one remains pinned over your head before repeating the process with the other. Finally he discards your blouse on the floor, a sly grin on his face as he takes in the sight of your barely covered breasts.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He muses, his hand tugging at the zip of your skirt. He soon gets impatient, carelessly yanking it down over your hips and finally tossing it aside, which earns him a surprised gasp. The look on his face is amused, clearly pleased with himself, as he takes in the sight of you in only your underwear.

"Didn't know my own little sister liked to dress like such a little whore," He taunts, making your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. You choose not to point out that he's the one who bought everything in your underwear drawer, although this set was definitely among the skimpier options.

"Look at you. Wearing that barely-there bra and those flimsy little panties, and yet you're still trying to hide yourself from me." He sighs, his hand delving in between your squeezed-shut thighs.

"Open." He instructs, and this time the playfulness has entirely vanished from his voice. You swallow hard, trying to brace yourself for the impending humiliation, and slowly spread your legs wider.

"That's better." He pats your cheek almost affectionately, and by god you want to bite his fingers off. You've finally calmed your crying, but when he hooks his digits under the waistband of your panties, you're damn close to starting back up. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

So you put on your best poker face, managing to maintain it as he slowly, slowly peels your panties off, revealing your puffy cunt to him. He curses lowly under his breath, and you grit your teeth as you watch him absentmindedly pocketing your panties. Next he hastily unclasps the back of your bra, pulling it off of you and carefully releasing your wrists, now that you're caged in between his arms anyways.

"Don't try to escape, okay? I've got guards stationed just outside. Just let it happen, unless you'd like them to see you naked too." He warns, and you let out a mumbled 'okay'. The fact that his guards know what's happening in your bed in this very moment, and aren't doing anything to stop it, makes your stomach turn.

Even though you were anticipating it, feeling his hands on your naked body makes your breath catch in your throat. His hands explore your exposed tits as his knees settle in between yours, ensuring that your legs stay spread and your sex remains on full display for him.

"Would you look at that, you're wet already," He mocks as he swipes his index finger across your folds, coating his fingertip in your juices. He leans down to whisper in your ear as he slowly pushes his index and middle finger inside.

"You've practically been asking for this, you know. I was going to take you in your sleep that night, when you passed out drunk in my bed, but I wanted you to be awake for this moment." He admits without the slightest bit of hesitation, sending a shiver down your spine. You bite back a groan when he starts to move his fingers in and out at a steady pace.

Without even saying anything about it, he's confirmed what you already knew deep down, that what he claimed lead up to you falling asleep in his bed that night was just an excuse, something he fabricated so he could keep you close to him.

"You're disgusting," You manage to whisper out through gritted teeth, earning you a disinterested sigh.

"And you're much prettier when you're not talking."

His words nauseate you, wondering what it was that everyone else saw in him to earn him the trust of the Capitol citizens. He undoubtedly had superficial charm, but you found it strange that nobody saw past it and saw him for the snake he truly was, even though you yourself had been played for a fool too once.

You're just about to say something in response when his fingertips graze your sweet spot, a whimper falling from your lips before you can stop it. Coriolanus' grin widens at this, starting to repeatedly prod at your g-spot with each thrust of his fingers.

You tense up when he pulls out slightly, pressing his ring finger to your entrance, and before he can push it deeper your own hand paws at his wrist, trying to push him away.

The look on his face instantly hardens, grabbing both of your hands in his and grabbing his previously discarded belt, raising an eyebrow at you as if to warn you that he'll restrain you again if you keep fighting back.

You avert your gaze in shame, mumbling out an 'I'm sorry' in hopes of dissuading him. He reluctantly releases your wrists, tossing his leather belt aside.

"You're on thin ice." He says coldly, and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes.

Without warning he pushes all three fingers back inside at once, drawing a whine from your lips.

Coriolanus relishes your mortified and sordid state, taking great pleasure in being the first man to taint your innocence. The first and only man who'll ever get to see you like this.

He goes slow at first, allowing you to adjust and himself not to miss out on any of your reactions, wanting to hear every little sound, study every facial expression you make. If he hadn't already waited so long for this moment, he'd have taken his time, made you writhe and squirm and beg him not to stop before he even considered properly fucking you.

But it doesn't take long for him to get impatient. He picks up the pace as he leans down to trail kisses down your neck, planting a dark hickey that would be hard to hide just below where your left cheek ended.

Finally he retreats, bringing his fingers to your lips and watching as you hesitantly take them into your mouth, licking your own juices off of his fingers. As soon as he deems them clean enough, and you mortified enough, he pulls them out and hurriedly undoes his button-down shirt.

You watch with dread as he unzips his pants, taking them off and leaving him only in his boxers and his open shirt. But soon his undergarments come off too, and your breath hitches in your throat when he bares his shaft. He's both thicker and definitely longer than you thought.

He wastes no time in pressing his tip, reddish and already leaking precum, against your puffy folds, rubbing it up and down a couple times to coat himself in your wetness, before grabbing ahold of your waist with his free hand and starting to guide himself inside with the other. It's a tight fit, and you can't help but cry out as the head of his cock slides past your hymen, providing a painful stretch.

Your hands come up to paw at his chest, but this doesn't seem to deter him one bit, as he simply keeps going, forcing himself deeper inside until you can feel his tip prodding directly at your cervix.

There's still another inch or two to go, Coriolanus thinks, but you'll have to work on that over time.

He steadily pulls back until his tip slides back through your hymen, the sore ring of muscles clamping down around him on instinct as he practically slams back in, burying his cock as deep as it would go. A shameless groan spills from his throat, his hand gripping at and bunching up the bedsheets right next to you as he repeats this motion a couple more times.

Deciding that your legs are getting in the way, he swiftly grabs you by the back of your knees and practically folds you in half, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist for stability. He leans down to press his lips against yours, and you can practically feel his victorious, shit-eating grin on your mouth as he slowly and roughly pumps his cock in and out.

From the outside, the two of you could pass for young lovers, tangled in an intimate embrace and bursting with mutual affection. But in reality, he's a serpent masquerading as a man, slowly, slowly sucking the life out of you.

"You're nothing without me," He grunts lowly as he fucks into you, hand wrapped around your throat. When he receives no response he squeezes slightly, eyes boring into yours. "Say it." He emphasises his words with another, harsher squeeze, refusing to break eye contact as he relentlessly pounds your weeping cunt.

"'M nothin', nothin' without you," You blubber out, looking up at him through teary eyes. You never thought your brother would take it this far, but now it's clear that he'd been waiting for his chance to defile you ever since you first moved into this house of horrors.

You've lost count of how many times he's forced you to cum around his cock by now. With him frequently asphyxiating you, never allowing you to fully catch your breath before his hands reclaim their place around your throat, your mind has been perpetually hazy for the past hour.

You know for sure however that he's came inside you twice already. Enough for his spend to be leaking out of your sore mound and trickling down onto the sheets. You pleaded with him to pull out the first time, but by the time he approached his second orgasm of the night you had given up.

At the end of the day, you knew that Coriolanus would never allow you to get pregnant out of wedlock, especially not with your own brother's child. He would make sure it didn't take one way or another, for the sake of his own reputation. Certainly not for your sake.

He lightly slaps your left cheek, his thrusts starting to get sloppy as his cock throbs deep inside of you. "Look at me. Look up at me, stupid fuckin' slut." He huffs, and even though he's called you worse before, the vulgarity of his words still manage to take you by surprise.

He flashes you a crooked grin when your eyes finally meet his, savouring the fucked out, defeated look on your face. Your beautiful eyes, lined with smudged mascara that trails down the valley of your cheeks, filled with misguided disdain and crushed hope. Your soft lips, puffy and agape as you gasp for air.

Coriolanus had never felt quite this enamoured with you before. On a bad day, you were pretty, but now that he had you splayed out underneath him, your sweet cunt wrapped around his shaft, you were nothing short of divine.

This was the version of you he adored the most.

Tame, vapid and pliant.

taglist: @caffeine-addict-slug, @phoward89, @catesbaroquecasahouse, @priyajoyy, @euphemiaamillais @harvey-malfoy

so likeee... y'all want an epilogue or no?

[captain039]

PART 2 Tender hearted souls

Hugh Jackman x reader

Warnings: Age gap, slow burn, feelings, hurt/comfort, two fools in love, angst, light swearing, mental health issues, daddy issues, daddy!dom/little girl, plus size reader

Previous part <-

You’re up late, staring at yourself in the mirror unhealthily. You’ve got granny panties and a plain black bra that just supports and nothing else. You like your flesh, squeeze it, curse it, love it then hate it some more. Maybe you were taking your frustration out on yourself. You feel conflicted, you won’t check your phone or social media’s knowing there will be an up roar. You’re glad you decided to create fake accounts for everything after knowing Hugh so long and being seen out with him more than ten times. You lay back on the bed and sigh legs hurting from the heels. A foot massage or full leg massage sounds so good right about now. A knock comes at your door and you’re upright within two seconds getting your dressing gown and tying it around your waist. You open the door seeing Hugh and smile.

“Heading to bed?” You ask as you let him in. He always made sure you were the one to invite him in your room, he never came in unless he asked.

“In a minute, wanted to check on you” he says a crease between his brow as you hug your dressing gown closer.

“I’m fine, promise” you say still pretending, you should’ve put some proper clothes on.

“I meant what I said up there, I know it was a bit overkill saying it to the world, but” his arm lifts up and rubs the back of his neck, something he did when he was nervous or embarrassed.

“You’ve been my rock lately, my anchor, I wouldn’t have made it here, wouldn’t have made it through the movie without you” you feel like your heart breaks. You go over to him and wrap your arms around his neck, resisting the urge to cry as he wraps his arms around your mid and nuzzles his head into your neck. You want to remove yourself from all this so it doesn’t hurt as much, but his arms, his warmth keep you there, always have.

“Well good thing I’m not going anywhere” you joke softly pulling back. You force a smile as he stares at you. Your breath gets caught at the intensity, the way he always looks at his love interests in movies, that longing look. You brush it off when his phone rings and he curses apologising before leaving.

You stare at the empty space a sigh leaving your lips before you close your door again softly and lie down in your robe, grabbing your phone. You check the news, social media, the hot gossip. Different questions a million answers on who you were, how special you were, why were you special, how Hugh knew you, why you weren’t mentioned before. It’s an endless doom scroll and you switch your phone off and almost throw it at the wall. Your phone buzzes though and you see your mums name pop up. She asks how the premier went, even though she probably read or saw the news somewhere. You tell her it went good, trying to avoid what happened. You say goodnight to her and listen to Hugh’s distant voice on the phone before closing your eyes.

You awake with a small groan, having had a horrible sleep of tossing and turning, not comfortable enough, feeling a little nausea. You want to sleep in more but your bladder demands release so you get up. You use the toilet before washing your hands and grabbing a shirt in the cupboard. You throw it on and find some pants to throw on too before heading into the kitchen. You know Hugh’s either on his run or in the home gym doing stupid gym things. They’re not stupid, you just don’t like doing them and watching Hugh just makes you more tired and a little horny than anything. You grab some cereal and milk before pouring each one into a bowl and sitting on the couch, legs crossed and half asleep. You miss your mouth the first time you try to eat and fake sob a little dramatically before getting it right. You check your phone, check the games you play on there before messaging your mum and dad good morning.

“Morning sunshine” Hugh’s voice rings out and you grumble in response to it. He chuckles a little sitting down in one of the single seats. He’s got his gym clothes on, baggy grey sweats and a grey singlet, a towel around his neck, some gross looking green smoothie in his hand. You gag at it as he takes a sip seeing him grin in response.

“It’ll wake you up, and it tastes good” he says and you raise an eyebrow.

“And I’d rather die” you state, your filter gone when you first wake up. You get a message from Blake asking how you are and you text her back saying you’re fine but a little tired. You’re supposed to go over there house for dinner tonight, a little celebration dinner for yesterday.

“Blake’s dinner is at six yeah?” You ask forgetting already.

“Yeah at six” Hugh confirms and you nod.

“Do I need a makeup artist for it?” You tease lightly.

“No, you do your makeup just fine” he says and you roll your eyes lightly his mind still in training mode.

“Yeah, yeah old man” you mumble.

“Who you calling old?” He’s got a cheeky look on his eye as he looks to you.

“Oh I don’t dunno, first name Hugh last name old man” you grin seeing his fake serious actor face.

“Oh really?” He says standing up and you can’t help but grin wider.

“I dunno Bub, I reckon I’ve got more game than you” he’s got his wolverine voice on as he comes closer. Your heart rate rises as he stalks to you while your grin falters.

“Nuh uh old man” you say as he’s suddenly on you tickling your sides. You’re glad you put the bowl down before you insulted him. You squeal and laugh trying to fight him off as you end up sideways on the couch him torturing you with his finger tips at your sides.

“Stop!” You say breathlessly as he continues relentlessly.

“Hugh! Ok! You’re not an old man” you whine and laugh out again.

“Begging for forgiveness already?” He’s grinning keeping his torture up as you squirm every which way.

“Stop! Stop! I swear, I’m sorry” you giggle in a fit as he finally stops. You let out quick breaths and laugh as he leans over you panting lightly also. You let out a small giggle wanting to tease some more but his smile falters a little eyes looking over your face.

“What?” You ask touching your fingers to your face.

“Breakfast?” You ask wondering why he’s staring at you. He’s closer now, you didn’t notice it but he’s inches away.

“Hugh?” You mutter cheeks hotter than before as he blinks.

“Sorry” he says getting up quickly and walks away down the hall to his room leaving you confused. You frown wondering if you did something, he always took your insults and teasing well and threw them back. You rest a hand on your chest catching your breath and trying to ignore how fast your hearts pounding. 

Next part ->

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt from "Krypton lives and Kara did not sign up for this".

“Yes,” Kara says instead of anything about war crimes. She doesn't want to stress the kids out right now. Especially when they clearly don't have the context to understand what she's actually upset about, given what she knows of them so far. 

“Why?” Match asks, still obviously incredulous. It might be the most expressiveness she's seen from him so far. That level of reservation is normal, coming from another Kryptonian that she’s just met. But Kal kept gushing excitedly about how emotive and expressive Earthlings are every time he called, so . . . is it actually that Match is reserved, or is it that he really just isn't feeling anything? 

Or is he just that unwilling to show any trace of an actual personality? 

There really isn’t a good option there, she’s pretty sure. 

“Because I want you to like it,” Kara says. “So: sweet, savory, or spicy?” 

“. . . uh,” Thirteen says as Match just stares at her like he thinks she’s sun-drunk. “Is the . . . ‘bai’ fruit the healthiest one, or . . . ?” 

“It’s a dessert, kid,” Kara says. “None of them are ‘healthy’.” 

Milk rice isn’t unhealthy, necessarily, but that’s not the point of a damn dessert, now is it. 

“Uh,” Thirteen says, then looks . . . anxious, for a moment, before visibly drawing himself up and steeling himself to blurt: “Spicy.” 

“Okay,” Kara says, envisioning backwater-planet war crimes before glancing to Match. “What about you, then? You like spicy?” Kal doesn’t, but Kal wasn’t built in a lab and raised on Earthling MRES. 

Match just stares blankly at her, the corner of his jaw tightening. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have phrased it as “like”, she thinks, and once again considers calling up Atrocitous with her ring size. No reason. Just because. 

Two very specific reasons, actually, but also ten thousand reasons. 

“There’s three of us,” Kara points out. “I can just make all three.” 

“‘Dessert’ isn’t nutritionally useful,” Match says, his tone flat and expression bland. Thirteen half-eyes him, looking both restless and like he wants to say something. She’s still not sure how well they get along; still isn’t sure how to expect them to get along, especially once they’ve both settled in. Kal was not helpful on those grounds. 

She’s also still not over how awkward both their dialects sound. Especially with the memory of Kal at their “age” so easy to revisit in her mind. He never looked or sounded a thing like either of them, even with the exact same face and voice. He definitely also didn’t have the muscle definition they do, which those bizarre tight outfits of theirs do absolutely nothing to conceal.

Kal could’ve at least gotten them an over-robe or two, for Rao’s sake. Fuck, five minutes off-planet and he loses all sense of decorum and rational thought. This is why no one wants his job! This! This is why! 

. . . also the unsolicited cloning thing, she supposes. Also that. 

Only Kal would manage to get his DNA stolen on a planet called “Earth”, of all the godsdamned places.

[hardly-an-escape]

for @bucktommypositivityweek Tuesday 8/20: outsider's perspective | at the coffee shop | 1372 words | rated T

There were pros and cons to working at the coffee shop next door to LAFD Station 118, that was for sure.

The lights and sirens could get overwhelming at times, blazing by with no warning. Eliza sometimes had to cover her ears, and during her very first week behind the counter she’d flinched so badly she dropped a pitcher of near-scalding milk when the third firetruck in ten minutes had screamed out of the garage – that had been fun – but she’d more or less gotten used to the noise.

Business was really reliable. Some of the firefighters and EMTs who came in had stupidly complicated drink orders, but the majority just wanted their coffee strong and in copious quantities. They were good tippers, for the most part. And when they had the time to hang out and shoot the shit for a while, they always had the craziest stories.

Eliza liked the vicarious excitement. Eliza’s life was not exciting.

She hadn’t even intended to work here as long as she has, but you know, life happens. A summer job before community college started up turned into a bout of depression that meant pushing school back a semester. And then another. And then her sister had gotten pregnant and needed help leaving her asshole of a boyfriend, so she’d moved in with Eliza and that had meant a lot more bills, of course.

It was whatever. She did some classes online here and there, when she had the time. Her nephew turned two and was drop dead hilarious. And she liked her job; it wasn’t complicated, but there was good variety from day to day. The manager kept the schedule predictable and wasn’t an asshole. Coworkers came and went, but they were mostly decent. She got by.

The regulars were definitely the best part of the gig. The 118 A shift were in and out nearly every day, and Eliza liked to think that some of them had become – something close to friends. Maybe the kinds of friends you saw at work, or in class. There was Hen, the beautiful paramedic with an even more beautiful wife; and Howie, who was weirdly hot for his age and always ready with a stupid joke. Eddie, who practiced his Spanish with Claudia when she was behind the counter. The captain, who was the best tipper of the whole crew and always remembered to ask after people’s kids and spouses.

And then there was Buck. His credit card said Evan, but he always asked them to write Buck on his cups, so that was what they did. He was tall and muscular and his hair had a little red-gold tinge to it when the light hit it right, and Eliza could admit that she’d had a crush on him since probably the second time he’d walked through the coffee shop door.

It wasn’t even the long legs or the muscles, though those were nothing to sneeze at; Buck had one of the most expressive faces she’d ever seen. It was like there was a little weather system right in the crease between his eyebrows, broadcasting every emotion for the world to see: rainy and stormy when he was down, or bright like the sun whenever things were going well.

He was chatty, too; loved to strike up a conversation with anyone, regardless of how they were dressed or what side of the counter they were on. They started a “question of the day” on the chalkboard just because Buck kept coming in with new facts to share with everyone.

So, yeah. Eliza had been nursing her crush for years, at this point. It was lame, she knew it was lame – but it was harmless. Buck was the perfect kind of guy to have a crush on, if you asked her. He was in proximity enough to keep it fresh, but distant enough that nobody’s annoying traits got in the way. Like the good friend of your older brother, or the guy who sat across from you in class: close enough that something felt almost tangible, but never too familiar. Never close enough that she saw any of his flaws, and certainly never close enough that he saw any of hers.

She’d thought seriously about giving him her number, once. She’d kind of felt like things were ramping up between them for weeks – their banter had felt a little extra charged, a little more flirty than a simple barista-customer exchange warranted. She told herself she was imagining things and only let herself think about him when she was drifting off to sleep in her creaky double bed, making little deals with herself: if he says this tomorrow I’ll do that. If he makes a crack about my apron again, I’ll write my number down. If he references that inside joke, I’ll ask him out. I will.

The next day, Buck had been walked to the front door of the coffee shop by a gorgeous, slim redhead with a dynamite smile, who’d kissed him passionately goodbye on the doorstep. He’d come in like he was walking on air, and Eliza had served him his usual with a smile, and crumpled up her daydreams like so much receipt paper.

Things actually got a little easier, after that. The redhead had stuck around for a while, and then there had been a hint of an explosive argument, and she had disappeared. Buck had seemed down for a while, and then he’d bounced back; things had been normal for a while, and then he’d been gone – Hen had alluded to some kind of medical leave, and everyone’s faces had been a little more pinched than usual for a bit. But he’d bounced back from that, too.

And Eliza’s life had gone on. It wasn’t exciting, but it was nice. She took her classes. She was saving some money. She had a friend in a band, and most weekends she went to see them play out around the city. Once there had been people making art, live, painting to the music while the bands were on, and she’d gotten to try her hand at it, and liked it so much that she started taking an art class every Tuesday afternoon at the community center around the corner from her apartment. Her nephew was about to start kindergarten, which was going to free up a lot of time and money for her and her sister. Life was good.

She was a little older, a little wiser. She still worked in the same coffee shop, and Buck still came into the same coffee shop, and they made the same jokes, and he seemed a little older and a little wiser, too. It was comforting, in a way, to think that they both were finally growing up.

Sometimes she still wondered, with the tiniest little pang, what might have happened if she’d been brave enough to give him her number, way back when. Sometimes she still let herself dream about him, just a little, only while she was falling asleep. What it might have been like to ask him. What it might have been like to kiss him.

One day Buck came in accompanied by a new guy. He was handsome, as tall as Buck – maybe a little broader in the shoulders – with brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Eliza wondered, briefly, if he was a probie or a new transfer to the 118. He was definitely another firefighter; she had gotten to know the type, could tell just by looking at him. He was looking at Buck like he had all the answers to the new guy’s questions. And they were holding hands.

They were holding hands.

Oh.

Eliza could have laughed. Oh, she could have gone into hysterics right then and there, she really could have. But instead she put on her most professional smile, and raised her eyebrow only a little bit at Buck’s obvious blush. The new guy’s coffee order was clearly some kind of inside joke.

She could work with that. She loved her regulars, loved an inside joke.

She wrote Tommy on his cup and had the feeling that this guy was going to stick around for a while.

[carriedawatermelon]

Ronance Kinktober, chapter four. Idk when it stops being a ficlet, but this is nearly 6k words soooo. In which Nancy has a surprisingly good afternoon (and Robin does, too). Did I look up Indianapolis museum exhibits in 1986-87 for this? Yes, yes I did.

Prompt: Multiple Orgasms

The spare key is in a fake rock by the garage, and Nancy grabs it before she goes back to her car for the casserole dish, balancing it on her hip as she pushes open the front door. 

She rolls her eyes at the fact that every single light in the house is on, despite the fact that Steve’s at work, and makes her way to the kitchen, sitting the casserole on the counter as she opens the fridge to make sure there’s room. 

It’s a little strange, to be moving milk and leftovers she doesn’t let herself think too hard about in Steve’s fridge, but it’s nice, too, to be comfortable enough to do this again. They’re friends. Really friends. Steve hangs out at the house, with Robin and Dustin and Erica, somehow, and Vickie now, sometimes too, who is…nice. Fine. They’re friends, all of them. Things are still a little weird with Jon, but she imagines, hopes, that they’ll get there, too. 

Her mom is pleased, winks at Nancy like she knows something when Steve comes around, giving a deeply annoying nod of her head at Nancy’s repeated and emphatic assertions that they are friends, that they are not getting back together. “Sure, honey. Of course.” 

Nancy tries not to let it grate too much. It doesn’t matter, really, except that they are friends and they’re not getting back together. They had talked, after Vecna, after the second round of Vecna, bruises yellowing on their skin. Nancy had spoken to Jonathan the day before, and she wanted to get it all over with, let herself hurt all at once if she had to. 

It had hurt. Both of the conversations had hurt, but they had hurt the same way it did when she buckled her seatbelt in those days after the upside-down, the strip of fabric pressing into a body that was still healing. A reminder that she was actually healing, the pain a sign that she didn’t want to hurt again. 

She wasn’t what he wanted, couldn’t be, not that she had any desire to try. He understood, a level of self-awareness that was welcome and unexpected. For her part, it hadn’t hurt her when he’d admitted he had been scared and grasping, that Nancy had been there to hold on to. 

They had taken a few days, less time than she expected, and then he’d called and said, “Come watch a movie with us. It’s her night, and Robin says you can pick.” She had gone to watch a movie with them, and there had been ten minutes of weirdness, the two of them in the kitchen with the soda and pretzels Nancy brought, and then they’d both smiled and it had been fine. It’s been fine for months, better than fine, and Nancy had hoped the year she decided to take before starting college would be good for her, but she couldn’t have anticipated that it would be this good, full of genuinely easy time with her friends. She’s happy that she’ll be staying closer, happy about Northwestern. 

Now, she’s here, wrinkling her nose at a pizza box taking up way too much space on the second shelf. She’s sighing and taking it out and risking a look because her mom has sent her with a casserole, chicken spaghetti, which Steve loves. Maybe she thinks Steve will look at it and look at Nancy and be a little closer to reaching for his class ring, just until he can get something better. 

Nancy can’t care too much. She and Steve understand each other, and it’s good, anyway. Steve gets a home-cooked meal, which he needs, and just as often that means Robin gets one, too. 

Robin, who’s over at her house more than Steve, charming her mother by asking genuine questions about the book she’s reading or the sewing projects she’s started doing again since half of Hawkins fell into a hole. Robin, who treats Holly like she’s a middle-aged friend with a desk job, asking about her day at the office and her coworkers. The bit’s been going for at least six months now, and it still makes Holly giggle the way a seven year old should. Robin, who has Mike’s respect since they went back in, since she stood in front of them with a spiked baseball bat and a line of Molotovs and has the scars to show how much she meant it. 

Her dad even grunts in recognition when she gets to the house. He doesn’t typically care for people or noise or anything at all, his unflappably kind youngest daughter a notable exception, and he has noticed the way that Holly laughs when Robin’s around. It hadn’t hurt that Robin had seen his Pacers socks, a Christmas gift from Holly, and had a twenty minute conversation with him about odds and drafts and players. Twenty minutes. At Nancy’s obvious gape, Robin had said, stealing a cookie, “I’ve got a little cousin who doesn’t talk at all, but he’ll talk about the Pacers, so I learned about the Pacers.” 

Nancy’s come to terms with the fact that she’s got feelings for her that go well beyond platonic with a capital P. It’s not what she expected but if she ignored things or pretended they weren’t real just because they were unexpected, she’d be no better than most of the adults in Hawkins. She’d also probably be dead. Ignoring a demogorgon is not an effective method of defense. 

Ignoring the way her stomach flips around Robin, the way she wants to smooth her perpetually wrinkled work shirt just to see her blush, the way she wants to hold her hands and play with her rings and the astonishing amount of time she’s spent thinking about the fingers on which those rings sit—well, Nancy’s not interested in a method of defense, anyway. She’s interested in Robin, in the the things that she says and the way that she thinks and the places she wants to go. She’s interested in the blue of her eyes and the freckles that cover her skin and the rasp of her voice. 

It feels good, to be interested. It feels good to sit close to her at movie night, to lift Robin’s arm and tuck herself underneath it and feel her chin on her head. It feels great, to make Robin laugh. It feels amazing, to wake up with Robin’s arm around her, her breath against her neck, the length of her body wrapped around Nancy’s warm and safe. Better, to turn carefully and brush her hair back from her face, watch blue eyes blink open at her and a smile spread slowly and the blush that still covers her cheeks when she realizes how close they are. She doesn’t pull away, not any longer, not since Nancy made it clear, kept making it clear, that she didn’t want her to. 

By the time Robin told her, Nancy had already seen her with Vickie at the volunteer center. She’d watched and watched as they made sandwiches and sorted clothes and then something had clicked into place. Nancy’s from Hawkins but she’s never wanted her world to be that small. She knows about homosexuals. Her mom’s got a cousin in Chicago who lives with his best friend, and she’s known Will Byers his whole life, was ready to stand with Jonathan between him and anyone who had a thing to say about it.

She’d felt silly, for a minute, that she thought Robin and Steve were together. And then she’d felt something else entirely. She pushed that away, when Robin brought her a milkshake and asked if they could take a walk, made herself soft as Robin stuttered and stumbled and landed, finally, so visibly nervous it made Nancy ache. “I like…I like women. Girls. In a…in a romantic way. I’m a lesbian.”

Leaning over, the chains of the swingset creaking, she put her hand on Robin’s. “Thank you for telling me.” Robin’s tears of relief had broken her heart. 

She’d told Nancy about Vickie a few days later, cheeks red and fingers picking at her bottom lip. And Nancy had smiled and acted the way a friend should, asking questions and encouraging her. Two weeks later, Robin had shrugged it off with a little too much nonchalance, said they were too similar and Vickie wasn’t sure she was finished with her ex anyway and they were better off as friends. The better parts of Nancy hugged Robin and made cookies with her and Holly and made a fool of herself dancing and singing to David Bowie and Heart. The worse parts of her managed to develop a vicious grudge against Vickie while also celebrating that she could do something about the fact that someone had been dumb enough to let Robin go. Vickie’s loss. 

She tries to see the Nancy’s gain part of that equation, too, because she thinks, maybe, it is her gain. Or it will be soon. She sees the way Robin looks back at her, the way she has started lifting her own arm for Nancy at movie nights, the way her grin turns crooked when Nancy laughs. So Nancy’s gain, as soon as she can bridge that last little gap. And Vickie really is nice enough. She and Robin really are friends. Still, Robin once mentioned Vickie’s order at the drive-thru, and now Nancy never brings Sprite to movie nights if she’s there. 

She’s thrown out half the leftovers in the fridge. She can’t help herself. It’s unsanitary and she spends too much time here to let the place where she finds food and drink become a Petri dish. She’s washing her hands when she hears footsteps on the stairs and then movement at the door of the kitchen. 

“Did you forget the tapes? I put them by the front door, I thought.”

It’s Robin, long legs hanging out of white and green checked boxers, an oversized blue t-shirt exposing her collarbone and part of one shoulder. She’s got on some of Steve’s basketball socks, and her hair is mussed like she just climbed out of bed. Nancy wants to shove her right back in. 

“Nance,” she says, smiling big. “What’re you doing here?”

“My mom made chicken spaghetti,” she says, gesturing lamely at the fridge, and she knows she sounds strange, disaffected maybe, but she can’t focus on anything but Robin. 

She doesn’t know why. She sees Robin in her sleep clothes often, wakes up with their legs tangled and has regularly scratched gently at her back under one of those big t-shirts. But there’s something different about this, about seeing Robin here, at 2:00 in the afternoon, sunlight streaming through Steve’s kitchen window and highlighting the patches of freckles on her thighs, the golden hair that covers her legs. Sleepy and vulnerable and soft and Nancy wants her. 

She’s moving, and Robin’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “Nance?” And then Nancy’s on her, hands bunched in the fabric of her shirt, mouth pressed hot against Robin’s. “Oh, fuck,” Robin whispers into the space she makes to breathe, but her eyes go dark and she’s got Nancy pressed against the counter, her hands on her hips and then lower, cupping her thighs. Nancy takes the hint, puts her own arms behind her on the counter and pushes as Robin lifts, mouth never leaving Nancy’s neck. 

“Fuck,” she says again, teeth grazing Nancy’s skin, and Nancy’s head hits the upper cabinets with a thud. It’s loud enough that Robin pulls back to check on her. “Okay?” Nancy’s not sure she sees the nod, but her hand tugging Robin back to kiss her is answer enough, probably, or her tongue pressing against Robin’s with purpose. 

Hands move across her body, over her back and shoulders, cupping her neck, running through her hair. Eventually, they work at the buttons of her shirt, but they’re distracted, a little shaky and Nancy bats them away gently, undoes the buttons herself as Robin splays her palms over her thighs. Robin’s nosing at her temple, pressing kisses to her jaw and licking at her neck, hot and gentle and everything Nancy wants. When she finally gets the buttons undone, she shrugs the shirt off and brings Robin’s hands up to her chest, sighs out as she feels them cup her over her bra. 

“Jesus, Nancy. You’re so beautiful.” It’s reverent, disbelieving, and Nancy blinks open her eyes to find Robin, breathing hard but looking at her with a kind of awe that makes her blush. Robin Buckley, melting her. It’s not a surprise. Nancy needs her, badly, so she presses her chest out as shamelessly as she can, and Robin groans. “Fucking perfect. Oh my god. Am I still napping? Is this real?”

“You’re not napping,” Nancy says with affection and enough tease to make Robin duck her head. She misses Nancy’s hands moving behind her back, undoing her navy blue bra. She does not miss the way the bra loosens, head snapping back up and hands moving to tug at the straps, eyes fixed on Nancy’s chest. “This is real,” Nancy says, proud of the way her voice is steady as Robin begins to thumb at her nipples. “If you want it to be.”

Hands move around her back at that, Robin pressed to the counter between her knees as she kisses Nancy hard and filthy, holding her close. “Yeah, I fuckin’ want it,” she rasps as she moves back to bite at Nancy’s collarbone, and Nancy’s wetter than she’s ever been in her life. “Lemme show you, okay? Wanna show you.”

“Yeah, Robbie. Show me, baby.”

Robin pauses, places a gentle kiss to tender skin, and Nancy runs a hand through her hair. “You like that?”

It’s almost shy, the nod into her neck, and Nancy’s reminded of the fact that Robin’s never done this, not just the sex, because Nancy’s never done it quite like this either, is astounded by Robin’s confidence, frankly, but the affection, the closeness. The relationship. That’s what Nancy wants, and that’s what she wants to give Robin. 

She tucks her index finger under Robin’s chin and brings Robin back up, leans forward to kiss her softly, a short, sure press of her lips. “Baby,” she says again, and this kind of softness is new for her, too, but it doesn’t feel dangerous. Robin bites her lower lip, her hands running up Nancy’s thighs to come rest on her waist. 

“Hi,” she says, still shy, and Nancy’s in danger of falling apart. 

Instead, she traces Robin’s left eyebrow. “Hi,” she echoes. “I’m sorry I threw myself at you without saying hello first.” 

Robin’s eyebrow twitches under her finger as she grins. “Literally the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Please do that whenever you want.”

“I think I’ll probably generally say hello first.” Robin lights up, so pleased, and Nancy leans forward to kiss her again. “But good to know I have permission to skip it if I need to.”

Need, Robin mouths to herself, and Nancy rolls her eyes. 

“I had plans, you know. To ask you out properly and bring you flowers and kiss you good night.”

Robin laughs and Nancy arches an eyebrow. “I am absolutely not kidding.” Robin’s staring at her, wide-eyed, and Nancy puts on her best I know what I’m doing face. “Actually. Robin, are you free Friday night? I’ve been hoping to take you out, if that’s something you’d be interested in.”

There is, almost unbelievably and absolutely embarrassingly, a nervous edge to her voice. Robin’s eyes blink, taking her in, and then she’s hugging Nancy, long arms wrapped tight around her waist as she nods. “Yes. Yeah. I’m free Friday.”

“Good.” Her hand buries itself in Robin’s hair, keeping her close. “I’ll pick you up at 6.”

“Nancy.” Her head shakes lightly. “Sweetheart,” she tries softly, and Nancy closes her eyes as her heart thuds happily, humming her approval. She’d never used pet names, really, hated it, when Steve and Jon used them. She doesn’t hate this at all. Arms loosening, Robin’s hands begin roaming over the exposed skin of Nancy’s back. She shivers, fingers tightening, and Robin whimpers. “You feel so good.”

“I want your hands on me all the time,” she confesses, and is rewarded with the tips of Robin’s fingers digging into her skin, short nails just enough to make her hiss. 

“I want my hands on you all the time.” Her voice is back to that low, broken sound, and Nancy lets her free hand run down Robin’s back and over her ribs, resting against her sternum. 

“Do you want to keep going?” 

It’s a serious question and she asks it seriously, but Robin barely takes a second to answer. “Yes.” She flattens her palms again. “I’m nervous,” she admits. “But I don’t want to stop.”

“You’re doing a great job so far.” Maybe she shouldn’t say it, shouldn’t cant her hips or squeeze her thighs around Robin’s body where it rests between them. She does, though, and Robin doesn’t seem to mind, trying to press further forward into Nancy. Her hands move back around, slow, stopping below her breasts. Robin’s eyes are careful but wanting, her breath growing ragged again, as Nancy leans close, says against her lips, “Touch me.”

That’s all the permission Robin needs, her hands moving with confidence, thumbs catching and pinching her nipples until Nancy’s arching for her, mouth gasping against Robin’s. “Harder,” she says, and Robin groans her approval, pulling with intention and leaving Nancy’s mouth for her jaw, her ear, her neck. Her mouth is greedy, and Nancy’s happy to give her whatever she wants, hands buried in her hair encouragingly. 

When her mouth moves lower, taking a nipple into her mouth and moaning happily around it, Nancy reaches down and undoes her jeans herself. Robin notices, stops sucking so she can help, pulling at the fabric while Nancy lifts her hips. She takes her panties, too, at Nancy’s nod, and then her bare ass is on the kitchen counter, her pants bunched at her ankles, which was not in her plan for today, but she could give a shit, really, because Robin’s running a finger through the mess that she’s become, cursing into the air as she watches herself touch Nancy. 

“So wet,” she says, fascinated and precious, grazing Nancy’s clit and making her hips jump. 

“For you,” Nancy says, because she wants Robin to know, and the look she gets back has her hips moving again. 

“What should I…how?” She says, and Nancy kisses her, licks at her bottom lip and sucks it into her mouth. Robin’s finger is still moving, but she looks dazed when Nancy pulls away. 

“Inside,” Nancy says. “Want to feel you.”

Tentatively, she slides her middle finger into Nancy, both of their eyes watching, and when she pushes past the second knuckle, Nancy closes her eyes and makes a breathy, broken sound of pleasure, because she feels good, and because it’s Robin. 

“Okay?” 

“Mmhmm. Yeah. Yes. Good, Robbie. You feel so good.”

“Oh my god,” she says, and then starts a narration that has Nancy shaking. “You’re so wet and so warm and so tight. God. I can’t. You feel so good, Nance. Fuck. Fuck.” 

Her finger’s moving slowly, in and out, and then she crooks it, feeling and pressing and Nancy’s eyes fly open. Robin’s so focused, it takes her a second to notice, another second of her touching Nancy exactly the right way, and it must show on her face because Robin gets the look she gets when she wins an argument with Dustin. Smug. Nancy clenches around her.

“More,” she says, and Robin’s sliding a second finger in, the pads moving and pressing as she thrusts.

Her mouth moves to Nancy’s, their kisses deep, and then she kisses down again, biting at Nancy’s left breast and taking a nipple into her mouth. Her tongue moves against it, and Nancy holds her to her chest with one hand while she slips the other between her legs, finding her clit. 

“Shit,” Robin says as she pulls away, panting. “Yes. God. Touch yourself for me.” 

Moving to do just that, Nancy wonders idly if she and Steve have been taking advantage of the little adult section behind the curtain in the back room at the store. Is there lesbian porn there? Is it any good? She has doubts on both counts. The pictures in the magazines she’d found under Jonathan’s mattress had seemed ridiculous, but the stories had been…okay. Her mind refocuses as she dips her fingers lower to get them wet, bumping Robin’s and causing them both to groan. She’s ready, like a livewire, and as soon as her fingers start moving, she knows it won’t be long. 

Maybe Robin knows, too, because she leaves Nancy’s chest to whisper filthy things in her ear. “Wanna feel you come for me. Can feel how close you are, so tight around my fingers already. So hot. You wanna come, Nancy?” She whimpers her response. “Wanna come with me inside you? Promise I won’t stop until you tell me. Come on, baby. Come for me.” 

She does, Robin’s fingers crooked perfectly inside her and her middle finger working furiously against herself.  Robin keeps her promise and doesn’t stop, keeps fucking into her as Nancy clenches around her, body rocking and shaking as her orgasm rolls through her. Eventually, she takes her own hand away, leaning back against the counter with her palms braced. 

Robin follows her, kissing her softly and then letting Nancy tuck her into her neck, warm lips grazing skin and nose running along her jaw. 

“Holy shit, you’re gorgeous,” she whispers, and Nancy feels the flush in her cheeks, the honesty of it overwhelming. She’s still inside her, and she’s making no move to leave, and Nancy, Nancy doesn’t want her to. In fact…she rolls her hips in a test, and a cry punches out of her, unexpected. 

“Nance?”

Anticipating that Robin might try to pull away, Nancy catches her wrist and holds her still and close, grinding again, moaning loudly. 

“Fuck,” Robin says. “Fuck. Gonna give me more, sweetheart?”

Fluttering her eyes open, she meets blue and bites her lip. Normally, she can make herself come more than once in a night, but she needs time. She’s never done it with a partner, rarely ever came at all with Jon or Steve, unless her own hand was involved and her eyes were closed. But right now? 

“I want to,” she answers, and Robin looks determined. “I want you,” she adds, tugging at Robin’s earlobe affectionately, like she’s not riding her fingers on Steve’s kitchen counter and begging to get fucked again. 

Robin kisses her softly, and then less softly, and then her fingers are moving and she’s saying, like maybe she’s just as wrecked as Nancy, “Can you take another?” And Nancy’s nodding because she can and because she wants it. 

Robin’s third finger stretches her open, and it’s so good, the ache of it, the pressure, the way she shifts inside Nancy to keep the friction where she wants it. She slips her second hand down, thumb taking over the job Nancy had been doing a few minutes ago, and she experiments until Nancy says, “Like that, like that,” her hands gripping at Robin’s shoulders over the sleep shirt she should’ve made her take off. 

Her breath is heavy near Nancy’s ear, and Nancy’s louder than she’s ever been, little noises and affirmations constant in the air between them, and then she’s tightening, and Robin’s saying, “Yeah, Nancy, good girl, come for me,” and Nancy does, and, miraculously, shaking as she holds herself against Robin’s body, she wants more.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she says breathlessly, disbelievingly, moving a soothing hand to Robin’s hair and explaining when she hears the concerned noise she makes. “I want more.” She laughs at herself, makes a pitchy, wanting sound when Robin flexes, still inside her, at the admission. 

“Let me give you more,” she says simply, just as breathless. “Let me…” She pauses and Nancy waits, focuses on her breath and not on the fingers spreading her open. “I want to go down on you.” She can’t help the clench, and Robin’s moan makes her do it again, and holy shit, she’s so close already, so, so close, and she could come like this, again, but Robin’s mouth is on offer.

“Yes.”

“Yeah?” It’s genuine, like maybe she doesn’t know how easily Nancy would beg if she asked her, if that were what she wanted. 

“Yes. Please.”

But when Robin kisses her, shifts her arm to get a better angle, get closer, her fingers press just right again, and Nancy’s so full of her and wants to stay that way, needs to stay that way. She clutches Robin to her, and Robin understands, starting steady, slow movements of her fingers. Her other hand comes up between them, teases over her breasts and stops at her neck, cupping carefully, thumb running the faint scar that runs the circumference. Robin has one to match, a thin white line that catches Nancy’s eye when she laughs in the right light, head thrown back. She moves to kiss it now, an impulse she can finally indulge. 

Robin’s hand moves, the base of her palm adjusting so that Nancy can grind against it. “Robin,” she sighs against her neck. “Yes.”

It probably wouldn’t be enough, normally, but she’s so sensitive, so ready, that it’s more than enough, her body freezing in pleasure in a way that catches her by surprise. She shakes, again, breathing out against Robin’s collarbone, her hand now holding the back of Nancy’s head, her fingers still slowly moving.

“I want to do that forever.” 

It’s an inside thought that escaped, which Nancy knows even before Robin’s body tenses. She kisses her neck in reassurance, her nails digging into the fabric over her shoulder blades.  

“Sounds good to me.” It’s quiet but steady, and it makes Robin relax under her, press a kiss to Nancy’s head.

Her brain doesn’t whir over the exchange the way it usually might, something about three orgasms, probably, and about Robin, definitely, giving her space to breathe. They have months before they go to college to figure things out, and they’ll be in the same city when they do eventually go, and so what, anyway. She means it. It does sound good. 

Nancy has spent the last few years making herself hard, being what other people needed her to be, and this isn’t that. This is letting herself be nineteen and in love and wanting, maybe for the first time. 

With another kiss to Robin’s neck, she leans back on the counter. Deep pink covers Robin’s cheeks and the bit of her chest that’s exposed, and she’s biting her bottom lip, and Nancy smiles at her and then looks down, to where Robin’s still inside her. 

“Oh my god,” she laughs, mostly to herself. “This is insane.” When she looks back up, the smug tilt is coming back to Robin’s lips and Nancy’s very into it, but she wants to gain back a little ground, just for the fun of it. “Still interested in going down on me?”

It works, smug replaced by an almost innocent eagerness, a rapid head nod. “Yeah. Yep. Super interested. Please.”

Overcome by fondness, Nancy pulls her close again, kissing her before nodding. “Okay.”

They separate, Robin reluctantly removing herself from Nancy, wincing in sympathy as Nancy does and kissing her soundly, murmuring sweet things to her as she holds her close and then moves to tug her panties and pants up where they’re caught on her sneakers, helps her settle on the floor again. 

She links their fingers, bringing Nancy’s hand up to kiss her knuckles and smile shyly, and Nancy’s got butterflies, wants and wants and wants. 

Robin’s room, the one she uses at least five nights a week, though she technically still has one at her parents’ house, is next to Steve’s, and she apologizes, hand at the back of her neck, for the mess. It isn’t a surprise. Nancy’s been here before, slept tucked next to Robin in her perpetually unmade bed. She knows how to navigate the piles of books and cassettes and pens and notebooks. She recognizes the drawing pad open on the desk, makes a note to move the two glasses of water that sit beside it, both nearly full, and bring her a fresh one. The clothes Nancy assumes Robin was wearing earlier are tossed over the back of the desk chair while dirty laundry sits in a small hill in the corner. It smells like her, sour candy and leather and lavender. It makes Nancy feel easy in herself. It makes Nancy feel close to her. 

She’s still topless, but she bends down to unlace her sneakers and toe them off, kicking them out of the way and then shucking her jeans and underwear unceremoniously. Robin watches her, licks her lips, and then pulls her own shirt over her head, pulls her boxers and the briefs she wore under them down her legs and kicks them into the dirty pile. 

“Fair’s fair,” she says with a shrug, but there are nerves in her face and in her posture and Nancy, breath gone at the sight of her, can’t have that. 

She’s kissing her, hands tracing paths up new skin, and she presses her back into the bed, climbing over her and straddling her thighs. 

“Fuck, Robin. You’re perfect.” She means it, absolutely, her eyes wandering over gorgeous tits and patches of freckles spanning her ribs, the dusting of hair below her belly button and the dark blonde that covers her, just above where Nancy’s settled herself. Robin’s looking up at her, vulnerable, the sharp cut of her jaw and line of her nose familiar and no less striking every single time. Nancy wants so badly to give her everything she can. 

“Can I touch you?” Her hands are resting neutrally on her stomach. 

“Y-yeah. Please. If-if you want to.”

She stretches her hands and body out at that, smiling sharply. “I want to,” she confirms, and then takes Robin’s nipple into her mouth. 

She cries out, a hand holding the back of Nancy’s head, and Nancy sucks harder, pleased, rolling her hips against Robin’s thighs and humming at the relief of it. Her other hand comes up to work her other breast. 

She takes a sharp breath, overcome. Nancy has come to understand she’s a homosexual over the last several months, had just had the best sexual experience of her life in an objectively uncomfortable position with her clothes tangled at her ankles because it had been Robin touching her, but the difference in the way she feels when she touches Robin still nearly strikes her dumb. She wants to be everywhere, to touch and taste and hear the sounds she makes. 

“Nancy,” Robin says, almost begging. “Nancy, please.” 

She pulls herself off and sits up to meet Robin’s eyes. She’s barely touched her, has much more she wants to do, but she takes pity on Robin, writhing as much as she can with Nancy pinning her down. 

“I’ve got you, baby.” She bends to kiss her, and then she’s kissing down again, over her sternum and her ribs, nosing at her belly button and then at the hair beneath. “Okay?” She asks, and Robin nods frantically. 

“You smell so good,” she observes, as much a happy note for herself as for Robin. Yeah, absolutely a homosexual, she thinks again, desire running through her like fire. She wants to bury herself in Robin, so she does, nose and tongue and then her fingers, gently with another nod from her girl. Her girl, tight around Nancy and letting out perfect moans and little pleading mewling sounds, one hand in the sheets and the other in Nancy’s over her hip. 

“Nancy, Nancy. I’m gonna come. Oh my god, I’m gonna-“

She’s so tight, her knees bending up and her thighs clenching around Nancy’s head and then falling to the bed, sprawling and boneless like the rest of her. Nancy grins, wipes the back of her hand across her mouth, and crawls up her body. Their kiss tastes like Robin, whose eyes are dazed, arms wrapping around Nancy and holding her close. Her heart beats quickly against Nancy’s ear. Being skin to skin with her this way is so good Nancy isn’t sure how she’s going to avoid the temptation when Robin stays over. 

“You’re so good at that.” The preening is reflexive and she doesn’t try to stop it, not that Robin can see it, except maybe she knows anyway, an amused huff raising Nancy’s head with her chest and her hands scratching at her back.  

“I’ll get better with practice.” It’s important to her, being competent. This is an area where she hopes to excel. 

She can feel Robin’s laughter, or the tired form of it she can manage. “I mean, you’re at an A+ already, summa cum laude, all of it, but uh, I am definitely here to help with practice. Whenever. Wherever.”

“Why are you here?” It’s a thought she hadn’t bothered with, much, much better things to think about, but Steve had told her the house would be empty, had reminded her of the spare key. “At home, I mean. Today. Steve said nobody would be here.”

“Oh, yeah. I was supposed to be in Indy. There’s an exhibit at Newfields I wanted to see, but the bus didn’t run, so I fucked around at the library for a minute and then came home to nap.” 

“Sorry you didn’t get to go.”

Robin snorts, holds her closer. “I’m really, really not.”

Pressing another kiss to her sternum, Nancy says, “Wanna go with me? To the exhibit? I’ve got time tomorrow or, I know I said 6 on Friday but we could go earlier.”

“You wanna drive to Indy to go to a basket and quilting exhibit with me? I’d like you to actually keep dating me, Nance. You really don’t need to do that.” 

It’s light, easy, and Nancy tries to keep her response the same, manages, mostly. “I like watching you get excited about things. It’s one of the things that made me want to date you in the first place. Teach me about baskets, Buckley.”

It’s true, the shift from annoyed to endeared happening rapid-fire when Nancy realized Robin is, genuinely, just being herself. She likes languages and art and music, has spent her whole life trying to keep herself entertained in a town that does its best to keep the world small. It had been no surprise when she’d gotten into Chicago, eyes alight with possibility once Hopper made clear the government would be footing the bill. 

“Okay,” she says quietly. “Yeah. Let’s go look at baskets.” She shifts, and Nancy goes with the movement, ends up on her back with a very naked Robin Buckley boxing her in, a dangerous smile on her face. “But first…” 

She’s warm and eager and Nancy tilts her head back and sighs as she works her way down. 

[kararomanoff]

once upon a time a daddy just wanted her baby

this was written by a minor, if that makes you uncomfortable just don’t read

You are at an archery competition and stay in a hotel where all the other contestants are also staying. Kate Bishop was always your main competition, she was your enemy , but one night you appears at her room door. (G!P Kate)

warning: g!p Kate, daddy kink, rough sex, degradation, pet names, oral sex (r giving), p in v sex

You had done archery since as long as you could remember, your grandpa had been the first person to teach you always spending time together in your grandparents garden practicing, he was your best friend and when your mom who was his daughter died you and your dad moved in with him.

He had always been there for you even when you came out and your dad had shouted of days until he decided to leave your life over it and yet again grandpa was there, he was now all you have, him and archery.

you first met Kate Bishop when you where eleven, you where at your first serious archery competition sitting on the bench waiting till it was your turn when she came up to you and said ''apparently your who im up against to win, your just a stupid little girl your not going to win'' she was 14 at the time and that's how it's been since ; her thinking very little of you and you wanting to prove how good you are.

now sitting in a hotel room in berlin alone trying to figure out why Kate has only ever been horrible to you for these seven years. You had never known or asked why and it made everything hell, you never started doing archery competitively for the competition you did it for the community and for getting friends that had the same interest as you and all she had done had made it something scary, you didn't want to try prove yourself all the time just for her to never change, she is twenty one now and still acting the same as she did at fourteen, its ridiculous.

you need to speak to her. you need to shout in her face and tell her how she made hell out of you life.

she was some where in this hotel, all the contestants are.

you walk down to the reception desk ''hi, i was just wondering if you could tell me what room Kate Bishop is staying in, i need to speak to her'' you speak to the middle aged woman ''are they expecting you?''

''no'' you feel nervous now, what if you cant speak to her

''one second let me call and check its okay for me to give you her room number'' shit there is no way Kate is going to give it to you.

You wait as anxiously as she phones knowing Kate will give you shit for this when you next see her.

she comes off the phone ''she said yes, its room 1457'' you thank the woman for her help and then make you way to Kates room now having no idea what you are going to say or why she is letting you in her room.

you get the door of room 1457, Kate's room, her room. You knock on the door and wait what feels like forever till the door opens. Kate stands there in a shirt and her boxers, you cant help but stare at the outline of her cock and think about how big she is but you stop yourself.

You look back up, her lips held in a steady smirk ''I need to speak to you'' she nods and moves to the side to let you in. Kate sits down on the bed as if you weren't even there as you a stand as far away as you can.

''why are you here little girl hm? isnt it past your bed time''

''mm yeah it is but- what no Kate im 18 i dont have a bed time'' you lie, you did have a bed time that you had chosen but you couldnt tell her that.

''awww you do have a bed time dumb baby, when is it, 7pm?'' she laughs

you feel small when she treats you like this; which is practically when ever she speaks to you. ''no it at 10:45'' you mutter under your breath

''oh look at that its 10:35 ten minute till bed time and you here, do you need me to read you a bed time story? give you some milk?'' you shake your head feeling powerless against her ''come here'' Kate demands softly but you not move ''I SAID COME HERE!'' you walk over to the bed and stand in front of it ''little girl you cant go to bed in your clothes'' she sounds so evil ''Kate i cant do that'' you speak quietly ''you can and you will or i'll make you'' she threats and so you take your clothes off until your left in your bra and panties.

Kate stands up from the bed and walks behind you till towers over you. She presses her front on your back and you can feel her hard dick against you. ''you cant sleep with a bra on, such a dumb girl'' Kate tuts as she unhooks your bra till it slips off ''be a good girl for once and lie down on the bed for daddy'' you do as you told and lie down.

''now daddys going to tell you a story little girl okay'' she sits down at the desk chair and cups her cock through her boxers

''m'kay''

'' once upon a time a daddy just wanted her baby but her baby was bad and wont spend time with her daddy and that made her daddy very sad'' Kate pulls her boxers down till her dick comes out, she wraps her hand around it and start to move her hand up and down ''all the daddy wanted to do was care and teach and give her little girl super special treats but her baby was dumb and kept running away and then... well...'' she stands up to properly take off her boxers ''daddy had to punish her little girl'' you where in shock but also so very turned on it was embarrassing

''come to daddy baby'' you got up and stood in front of her ''your gonna be a good little obedient thing and suck daddys big special treat to apologise for being such a mean bad dumb little girl, open for daddy'' you open your mouth and she shoves her cock inside, you whine never have having a dick in your mouth, Kate know this, she know you where her good virgin and she know that she was going to take that from you and turn you into her fuck toy.

Kate grabbed you by your hair as she started to thrust into your mouth not caring about your whine and moans or the tears running down your face ''fucking take daddys giant cock take it'' her thrust speed up and her grip on your hair tightens ''fuck such a little whore all for daddy, bet your soaked hm? bet your pussy trying to grip onto nothing cause you want daddy in you so much''

''daddys gonna cum and you are gonna swallow every. last. fucking. drop'' and as she says that she cums send it all the way down your throat.

a minute later she pulls her dick out of your mouth, a string of her cum and your saliva going from your mouth to your her pretty pink tip '' take your pantie off and then get on the bed on all fours'' she commands and yet again you do as your told still wanting to prove how good you are.

''look at you doing what i tell you too, did daddy fuck some sense into you little one?'' you tried to reply but anything you tried to say was incoherent.

''this is gonna hurt at first but then it'll really really good, daddy promises'' Kate rasps as she starts to push her length

''mhmm daddy i-'' you moan

''i know slut daddy feels so good'' she then fills you with the entirety of her cock

''so fucking tight for daddy'' she starts to move pretty fast for at first but shes been waiting years for this. You had never given her a break, always being a good innocent girl with the bonus of daddy issues. Kate had lost count of the amount of times she jerked of thinking of her pretty baby, you've always been her pretty baby you just hadn't known. She was going to make you her dumb baby and you weren't going to say no.

you where close already, Kate could feel it; she could feel you squeezing her tight. ''so wet, is this all for daddy little girl?''

''yes daddy, yes all for you'' you where mindless at this point.

''you mine, mine only'' she husk possessively

''only daddys''

''fuck thats right whore'' Kate moans

''daddy i- i feel weird'' you cry out not really understanding the way your body feels.

''let it go baby, cum for daddy'' and then you came feeling so free and overwhelmed and floaty, suddenly thought you feel to much, over stimulated as she continues to thrust into you even faster than before.

'' 's to much daddy'' but she doesn't stop

''but daddy need to cum stupid baby''

'' 'm okay'' you tiredly reply

''fuck daddys gonna cum'' Kate paints your walls white as you whine.

Kate pulls out of you as you blink trying to keep your eyes open ''you did so good for daddy, everythings gonna be okay now i can look after you. sleep little one''