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ranaissingle · 6 months ago

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Whispers and Melodies (Pt. 2)

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: She has heard a deep melodic voice speaking to her from a faraway place for decades. Anything from snippets of a longer conversation to roars that shook the very earth she walked on.

Rating: T (For now)

Word Count:

A/N: This story is shaping up to be over 10 chapters so I am trying to queue up some chapters to post with some kind of regularity lol. I hope you enjoy this one! Also, I have created a tag list so comment below if you would like to be tagged in upcoming parts!

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Past (Sometime before Amaranths's Rule UTM)

Rhysand sat at his office in Velaris pouring over mountains of paperwork that he had allowed to pile up right before starfall. He’d spent the better part of 3 days working through the aftermath of the holiday, and he sat now at his desk, he wished he had some type of escape or distraction from the mountain of work that always seemed to follow him.

A melodic breeze seemed to enter from the window as the trees and winds intermingled before filtering their way through the large windows. The breeze carried notes that came in quick succession and seemed to echo off of each other. The soft feminine voice almost caressed Rhysand's cheek and winded itself around him in a blanket of warmth. He hadn't realized how cold he was until that very moment. His back and arms slowly untensed themselves as he relaxed further into his chaise and as soon as Rhysand felt like he could finally go to sleep, the voice seemed to fade back out the window and only left Rhysand craving more.

Page break and POV switch (Same time period)

Y/N sat out enjoying the weather amid the hot summer. She had laid out various fruits, bread, and spreads to snack on while she read and hummed away her evening basking in the sun. The wind carried a gentle breeze and various little creatures scurried their way across the grove. All at once, it seemed like the ambient noise around her had become muffled. As if someone had placed a pillow over her ears. Slowly, a voice from the outside seemed to filter through whatever was muffling her hearing. It was laughter. Booming laughter made some deep unknown emotion bubble up inside her. Something that made her heart ache most deliciously. A small smile crept upon her face as she looked out into the distance the first to find where the sound had been emitting from. Nothing but trees and willowing branches blew in the wind, not a soul in sight. The laughter slowly fizzled out as if the sound was creeping back into the forest from whence it came. The retreat left her feeling cold as if a winter breeze had made its way to her from the winter court.

Rhysand slowly pulled open the door to the room he had been occupying and stepped outside the threshold of the door. As the hinges creaked, the woman’s chopping ceased as she placed her knife on the cutting board before wiping her hands on her apron and turning around. Rhysand strengthened his stance even as the muscles of his thighs burned with the strain.

“Who are you and how did I get here.” Rhysand’s voice came out firmer than he had thought himself capable of. The woman narrowed her eyes at him and cocked her head to the side.

“I found you passed out on the beach. You are quite lucky the tides did not pull you into the depths before.”

Her lips quirked up at the idea as if she was thinking about that very outcome. Rhysand squared his shoulders and steeled himself further. He couldn't be sure that this woman did not have evil intentions. If there was anything he had learned in his 500 years of life, it was that he should never underestimate an opponent just because they were a female.

“Why would you help me then? Is there something you want in return?”

Rhysand was grateful enough for the help that she had provided that he was willing to give her something in return. The female rested all of her weight on one leg as she turned her eyes up to the roof and began to contemplate what she would want. She was likely going to ask for a pile of gold or a new cottage of some sort. She looked like she had run through a million possible answers to his question when all at once her eyes widened and her posture stiffened as she blurted out;

“Waterdrake scales! Could you get me water Waterdrake scales? A lot of them?”

POV Switch To Y/N

Why did his voice sound so familiar? She swore she’d heard it before but couldn't

Y/n’s hand tightened on the side of the counter that she had been gripping with all of the mother’s strength. What ingredient could possibly stabilize the potion she was working on? She had tried every single combination of Honey possible but it always reduced the potency by some amount. She needed it to be as potent as possible in order to ensure its effectiveness. Firedrake scales were known to increase the shelf life of a potion, but that wasn’t exactly what she needed. She needed something to make sure that the reaction between the crawfish shell and fennel root did not take place and that their effects were enacted on the patient independently of their effects on one another. Could dragon bone work? No, that would just react with the fennel root and make the whole mixture useless. But waterdrake scales? Yes, those could work; it would keep the potion cool enough to prevent reaction while also having a cooling effect on the body when administered which would help with the fevers that often accompany blood loss. Yes, this was perfect! Before she could get any sort of reign on her excitement.

Y/n blurted out, “Water drake scales! Could you get me waterdrake scales? A lot of them?”

POV Switch to Rhysand

This female had gone insane. Water Drake scales were the rarest type of scales. Asking for them was equivalent to asking for something more valuable than the cauldron itself. Never mind that he was sure Velaris did indeed have Warwe drake scales, what could this female possibly need water Drake scales for? Rhysand lets his lips quirk up on one side as he takes in the female.

“What would a spritely female like you need with water drake scales and how are you so sure that I could be the one to provide them for you?” Rhysnad crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down.

Y/n rolled her eyes while she looked him up and down. “You carry yourself in a manner that befits whatever rank you possess.” She takes a deep breath before continuing,”I have seen a great many males like you, they traipse around as if they own the land they walk on, they trample over the plants and never leave a place the same as when they found it. Your kind is the reason our world will never have any semblance of peace for more than the time it takes to heave a breath.”

“Oh? You have come to this conclusion after knowing me for all of 10 minutes have you?”

“Not quite I think. You seem to be less…? Just less I suppose. I can’t exactly put my finger on it but you do not suck the air out of a room the way your brethren tend to. I’ve come to conclusions about your brethren, not necessarily you, it seems.”

Although Rhysand still did not look pleased, he had already decided to acquiesce to her demands as soon as she had spoken it. He was grateful, after all, for her help in his recovery. But, he was not going to fetch the scales by himself. If she wanted to get her hands on those scales she would have to contribute to the journey.

“Alright, if you want the scales you shall have them. However, I am not going on this journey for the impossible by myself. I know where to find them so we can get started whenever you are ready.

She smiles slightly before speaking. “I think that our journey might have to be held off a couple of days at least.”

Rhysand took the bait. “What, not up for the challenge?”

“No, I’m up for the challenge. You, however, are not.” The smirk on her face was undeniable and Rhysand felt a laugh make its way up his throat. The female was right he was not up to any kind of journey where he would be forced to sleep on the cold hard earth and eat whatever gruel he could salvage. All at once he felt the exhaustion flood him as his body realized he would not be traveling anytime soon.

She seemed to notice this and anticipated Rhysand’s legs giving out under him before he realized he was getting closer and closer to the polished wood of the floor. She skillfully wrapped her arms around his torso and slowly lowered him to the ground.

“We need to get you to bed. I already made breakfast so I’ll bring some to you as soon as you’re tucked in.

Rhysand chuckled, “I’m not a child, gods, you’re more demanding than my brothers.” She cocked her hips to the side before placing her hands on her hips as she stared him down. Rhysands smile never left his face as he raised his palms in defeat and raised himself to his knees before turning on his heel and entering the room he had previously come out of. As the door clicked shut behind him, Rhysand stood in the middle of the cozy room. He hadn’t smiled in 50 years. The muscles felt strangely tight from lack of use. He knew he had to get back to Velaris as soon as possible; his family was probably wondering where he was. But, despite his best efforts he couldn't bring himself to winnow home. It was quite peaceful in this little cottage by the sea. Rhysand eventually sat on the bed and leaned back on his arms as he stared out of the large window across from the bed. It seems Amaranths's reign managed to evade this section of the fae kingdoms.

Y/N rapped on the door 3 times before opening the door and walking inside. Rhysand smelt a fragrant aroma of ripened fruits and something else warm and minty. She walked up to the small wooden table next to the bed and placed a tray on it.

“I’ve made you a fruit salad, bread and herbs, and tea. I would make you something more hearty but, considering how malnourished you were upon your arrival, I feel it’s best to start you off on some simpler foods.” Rhysand looked up at her, “Thank you for the meal.” She tilted her head to the side slightly and smiled. “Could I check your temperature?” She raised her hand up towards his forehead but kept her hand from actually touching him. He took the time to look up at her from where he sat on the bed. He nodded his head and waited as she brought the back of her hand to his forehead and placed her hand on her forehead as well.

“You’re temperature is slightly above what is normal..” The frown on her face deepened as the gears in her mind began formulating some combination of herbs and elixirs to lower the fever. Rhysand kept his gaze on her as she started counting on one hand and mumbling soft indescribable words. Her eyes flicked down to his and she said,“ I’ll have to give you some ginger and chamomile to help lower your fever. ” Her touch felt cool on his warm forehead when he swore he felt his temperature lower a fraction. She then slowly brought her hands down to his neck before looking at him to ask for permission once more. Again, he slowly nodded his head and she pressed one of her delicate fingers against his skin. She removed her finger quickly and kept her gaze on that section of her neck. “It appears as if you are also dehydrated.”

Her voice trailed off as she continued moving his head slightly. Curiosity overwhelmed him so Rhysand asked, “ You could have done all these tests while I was asleep, could you not?”. She smiled slightly at him as she removed her hands from his cheek and neck and placed them back in her lap. “I don’t think you would have wanted that.” Her gaze settled on him in a way that made shivers run up his already sore spine. Rhysand answered with his own poor excuse of a smirk.

“Eat up, I will start preparing the provisions for our journey and bring you some more water”. She turned to the door and softly clicked it shut behind her.

Y/N did not expect that being so close to the man would have made her heart beat so fast. The hair on her arms stood up as she attempted to take deep breaths to calm her racing heart. She needed to get started on the preparation as well as figure out the dilemma of how she was going to replicate the properties of water drake scales without having to put them in every single batch of her remedy.

Rhysand relaxed back into the bed cradling him and felt the tension in his muscles trickle out and gather underneath him in a pool of warmth. They wouldn't be going on a journey, he was sure Majda had some water drake scales stocked up and he planned to winnow them into Velaris as soon as he was better. But she didn't need to know that yet. He quite liked the tranquility of the little cottage on the sea and intended to stay here as long as she would permit him to. Funnily enough, he didn't care to go back home.

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A/N: this had too many POV switches for my taste so I won't be doing that again lol I know it's been a while since I posted but I am trying to get back into the groove of things haha

TAGLIST: @nebarious

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mjonthetrack · 12 days ago

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Chapter Twenty-Seven Movie: “Evil Dead” remake. Level of gore: high. Level of self-control required: even higher.

The lights were low, popcorn bowl half-empty, and Selah was curled up sideways on the couch beside Morgan, her thigh resting against his like it lived there. Her socks were mismatched—one had cartoon ghosts, the other said Bite Me. Fitting.

Halfway through a particularly gruesome scene, she jumped with a small yelp and launched herself right into his lap.

“Jesus!” she gasped, fingers clutching his shirt. “Why would anyone go into a damn basement in the woods?!”

Morgan blinked, then laughed, arms instinctively steadying her.

“You alright?” he asked, the rasp in his voice surprising even him.

She grinned sheepishly, still perched on his lap. “You make a pretty solid shield. Just saying.”

“Good to know,” he said, heart thudding like a war drum. Her weight, warm and soft, pressed down in the most dangerous ways.

She didn’t seem to notice.

She tossed a kernel of popcorn into his mouth like a shot, giggling when he nearly choked. “Open up next time. That was prime aim.”

“Pretty sure that was a sneak attack,” he muttered, flicking one back at her. It bounced off her forehead. She gasped in mock betrayal.

“Oh it’s like that?”

“It is.”

They were laughing, teasing, tossing kernels and insults until a throat-slicing sound effect made her shriek again—this time falling backward off his lap and onto the couch cushions in a dramatic sprawl.

“Okay,” she said, breathless, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of her eye. “I need a drink before I combust.”

She pushed up to her feet, her back to him as she bent to grab the empty glasses. Her towel had come undone at some point during their popcorn war, leaving her in just the high-cut bikini bottoms and crop hoodie she threw on after the pool. As she straightened, Morgan caught it:

The tramp stamp—dark ink and delicate curves—peeking just above the waistband.

His eyes betrayed him. Just a second too long. Just enough to etch the image into his brain forever.

She disappeared into the kitchen, humming again, hips swaying to whatever melody lived in her head.

Morgan leaned back against the cushions, palms covering his face.

“Get it together, man.”

Because if she noticed the way his pulse jumped every time she touched him… if she knew what her laugh and curves and lowkey chaos did to him?

He’d be done for.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to hold back much longer.

————

Chapter Twenty-Eight Movie switch: “Love & Basketball.” Mood switch: activated.

Morgan had switched the movie while she was in the bathroom, swapping out gore for something slower, deeper. When the opening credits of Love & Basketball rolled across the screen, he heard her voice float in from down the hall.

“Nooo, you didn’t just queue that up.”

He grinned, reclining into the corner of the couch. “Figured we’d give your nervous system a break after all the chainsaw trauma.”

She appeared a few moments later, fresh-faced and relaxed in a cropped white tank that stopped just below her ribcage and a pair of soft black briefs. The cut of them left nothing to the imagination—her thigh tattoos peeking like a secret whispered to the night, and the curve of her cheeks practically framed as she moved.

In one hand? Two cold drinks. In the other?

A blunt.

His eyebrows rose, and she smirked like she saw his thoughts before he even said a word.

“You ain’t the only one with stress relief techniques, Morgan.”

She flopped down beside him, legs stretched out, her body folding into the throw pillows with a comfort that made something in him ache. He took the offered drink, watched as she sparked the blunt, took a smooth inhale, then passed it.

He hesitated.

“You don’t gotta if you don’t want,” she said, eyes already hazy as her head tilted back.

“Nah,” he said, accepting it. “Just... surprised. But also? Not.”

Selah laughed. That low, smoky kind of laugh that made him turn fully toward her.

They passed it back and forth between sips of their drinks as the movie rolled on. They made commentary here and there—Morgan called out Q’s ego, Selah dragged Monica for being too proud. Then, during the late-night driveway scene, her voice went quiet.

“You ever have an ��almost’ like that?” she asked, looking at him over the rim of her glass.

Morgan paused. “Yeah.”

She didn’t push, just nodded.

“I did too,” she said, softly. “One of those... deep-but-wrong-time things. Hurts worse than some breakups.”

“Yeah,” he said again, his voice a little rougher. “It does.”

She stretched, her fingers brushing his knee like it meant nothing. But to Morgan?

Everything.

“I used to think it meant something was wrong with me,” she confessed, exhaling smoke. “That I was always just a little too much. Too loud, too inked up, too into comics and vinyl and weird shit.”

His brows furrowed. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with you, Ellis.”

She smiled, a little sad. “Tell that to a few ghosts.”

The movie played on. Her head drifted to his shoulder sometime between scenes, and when she did, her voice was small and sleepy.

“You ever think you’d end up like this?” she mumbled. “On someone’s couch… after all the madness…”

Morgan looked down at her—this storm of a woman with the sunshine smile and scars she carried like tattoos.

“Nah,” he said. “But this? Don’t feel half bad.”

She hummed. “Good.”

He thought she might say more, but her breaths were already evening out, soft against his chest.

Morgan didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

——————-

Chapter Twenty-Nine Rays, records, and realizations.

Selah stirred before she fully woke, the sound of music filtering through her cracked bedroom door. It wasn’t hers this time—no old-school vinyl humming from her speakers. No playlist of sultry soul or bass-heavy rap laced with ad-libs. This was something else. Something smoother, funkier.

Earth, Wind & Fire.

“You’re a shining star, no matter who you are…”

She blinked, rolled onto her back, and let the ceiling come into view. The scent of coffee and soap reached her next.

He was awake.

And he’d taken the liberty of turning her space into a Saturday morning playlist vibe.

Selah rubbed her eyes, stretched, then paused as she caught the familiar ache in her body from the deep rest she hadn’t had in weeks. Her oversized tee had twisted slightly around her hips during sleep, the thin cotton barely clinging to her curves. She sat up slowly, brushing a few curls off her forehead, and padded barefoot toward the hallway.

“Morning, sunshine,” Morgan called without turning around.

He was shirtless. She had not expected that.

He stood in her kitchen with loose black sweats hanging low on his hips and a dish towel slung over his shoulder like he belonged there. His back muscles shifted beneath his skin as he flipped something on the skillet—eggs? Pancakes?

“Damn, Morgan,” she said through a yawn, “you trying to get me to fall in love with you?”

He smirked. “I ain’t trying anything.”

She shook her head, pretending she wasn’t clocking the definition in his arms or the sharp lines of his abs when he reached for a mug. His dog tags, long tucked under a shirt, caught the light. She had to look away.

“You slept like a log,” he said, nodding toward her favorite chair, where Mars and Cross were curled up together like siblings. “I figured I’d give you a slow morning this time.”

She stepped closer, brushing past him to grab a fork, only mildly aware of the way her shirt had hiked up her thighs again.

“So what’s the plan today?” she asked, grabbing a piece of pineapple from the bowl he’d set out. “We gonna pretend this is just a staycation and not a government-sanctioned mental health hiatus?”

Morgan chuckled. “I was thinking beach, or hike, or...” He shrugged. “Whatever you want. I’m just along for the ride.”

Selah popped the fruit in her mouth and leaned against the counter, studying him. “You always this good at making people feel like they’re not broken?”

His smile dimmed just enough to make her heart tighten. “Only when I care.”

The silence between them stretched just a little—until the pancakes started to smoke.

“Shit—” he turned, swatting at the pan.

Selah snorted, her eyes dancing again. “And just like that, the charm spell breaks.”

“Don’t worry, Ellis. I’ll have you back under it in no time.”

She didn’t doubt that.

Not even a little.

———-

Chapter Thirty Ocean eyes and off-guard moments.

Selah’s Bluetooth speaker was already nestled in the sand beside their blanket, blasting a smooth mix of 90s R&B and early 2000s summer hits. The sky stretched wide and blue above them, the sun dancing like diamonds over the waves. A light breeze blew through, carrying the scent of coconut sunscreen and ocean salt.

Selah leaned back on her elbows, her legs stretched out, painted toes buried in warm sand. Her bikini was a burnt orange that glowed against her skin, a wide-brimmed straw hat shielding her face and sunglasses tipped down just enough for her to observe the scene without seeming like she was doing anything at all.

Morgan was tossing a football with a random kid who’d asked him for help. His laugh—loud and full—carried over the wind.

He looked annoyingly good.

The sun slicked across his chest and shoulders, catching in the hard cut of his abs. His shorts sat low, water droplets still glistening on his skin from his last dip in the waves. His smile was stupid. Wide and easy and... stupid.

She took a sip of her frozen mango drink and tried not to acknowledge the flutter in her chest.

“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath, not sure if she meant him or herself.

“Who?” Morgan called, turning to look at her, like he heard her through the wind.

Selah blinked, laughed. “What?”

“You said something.”

She waved her drink. “I said this mango madness is hitting harder than expected.”

He jogged over, plopping down beside her in the sand, clearly proud of himself.

“You still buzzed off one drink?”

“It’s a tall drink,” she said defensively, turning her face to the sun. “Besides, I’m small.”

“You’re trouble.”

“I’ve been told,” she grinned, sipping again.

Morgan reclined beside her, resting on his forearms, his body warm and close, but not touching hers. The air between them buzzed with something unspoken. Easy. Electric.

“You always this quiet when you’re enjoying yourself?” she asked after a beat.

“Only when the company’s this good.”

She turned her head to glance at him and felt her stomach flip at the way he was already looking at her. Calm. Relaxed. Like he wasn’t in any rush to leave her space.

She cleared her throat, tugging her hat back down. “You keep saying sweet things and I’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

His voice dropped, teasing. “What if I do?”

Her pulse skipped.

Selah laughed too quickly, brushing it off, brushing him off. “Then I’d say you’ve had too much sun and not enough electrolytes.”

He just smirked, laid back, and closed his eyes like he’d said nothing at all.

And Selah?

She suddenly couldn’t stop looking at him.

—————

The sun dipped low, bleeding amber and rose into the sky as the beach started to clear out. The breeze was cooler now, brushing softly over their sun-warmed skin. Selah tossed the last of her fruity drink into a recycling bin and kicked off her sandals, wriggling her toes in the sand with a content sigh.

“That’s it,” she said with mock drama, looking toward the distant boardwalk lights flickering to life. “I am absolutely not walking back.”

Morgan raised a brow, slinging the beach bag over his shoulder. “Oh, really?”

She grinned, eyes slightly glassy from the drinks, cheeks flushed with sun and summer. “Not with these legs. You’ve got two—very strong—legs and you owe me for sharing my sunscreen.”

“Sharing your sunscreen?” he scoffed, stepping closer. “You squirted it at me like I was a target in a damn game.”

“And you still didn’t burn, did you?” She fluttered her lashes, stumbling just slightly as she stepped toward him. “Piggyback me, or I start dramatically crawling.”

Morgan laughed, shook his head, and turned around, crouching a little. “Get on before I change my mind, Ellis.”

Selah let out a soft squeal of laughter as she jumped onto his back, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, legs locking around his waist. She was warm against him, smelling like sun, ocean salt, and the coconut oil that had nearly driven him insane all day.

“Onward, noble steed,” she whispered against his ear, resting her chin on his shoulder.

He adjusted his grip on her thighs, trying not to think about how close she was. How right it felt. “You’re lucky you’re light.”

“I’m a delicate forest fairy, thank you very much.”

He snorted. “You’re chaos with curls.”

“Still carried me, though.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, more to himself than her, “I did.”

They strolled along the edge of the boardwalk, the sound of the waves keeping rhythm with their silence. Selah hummed to the music still drifting from a bar nearby, fingers absently playing with the chain around his neck. Her breath was soft, cheek against his.

Neither of them said anything about the way Monday loomed ahead of them. About what it meant to go back. About how this might’ve been their last unguarded day.

And still—neither of them moved to let go.

—————

The ride home had been sleepy. Selah had dozed off with her head against the window, the afterglow of sun, salt, and sangria humming under her skin. Morgan had glanced at her more than once—curled up like a sun-dazed cat, lashes brushing her cheeks, hair wild from the breeze.

Now back in her apartment, she had kicked off her clothes in a trail that made him groan quietly under his breath as he passed through the hallway. A bikini top slung over the dining chair, her crop tank on the arm of the couch, sandals half-kicked under the rug. She was chaos. He was realizing that with every day he spent near her. Beautiful, barefoot chaos.

“Derek!” she called, her voice muffled, slurred, and dragging a few syllables too long. “Morgan! Come here, don’t ignore me.”

He knocked softly on the cracked bedroom door. “You good, Ellis?”

“I demand cuddles,” she said firmly, peeking around the corner of the frame, eyes a little glassy. “Not negotiable.”

He blinked, speechless as she fully opened the door, standing there in nothing but a soft, deep red bralette and cheeky black underwear. Her skin glowed in the lamplight, tattoos dancing across her thigh and ribs. Her hair was still damp from her post-beach shower, curling lazily over her shoulders. And she was patting the empty side of her bed with sleepy determination.

“I’m serious. I can’t sleep without hugs now. You ruined me.” Her voice cracked on a yawn. “You don’t have to stay the whole night. Just hold me 'til I knock out.”

He stood there, still fully clothed, trying not to think about all the ways this was a terrible, terrible idea.

“Selah—” he started, but her pout was already forming.

“Don’t be mean,” she mumbled. “I’m gonna tell Mars on you.”

“Your dog is knocked out in the living room.”

“Exactly. No witnesses.”

He sighed and stepped in slowly, setting his phone on the nightstand. “One hour. Then I’m out.”

“Mhm,” she agreed, already snuggling down into the blankets. “One hour…”

He slipped under the comforter and gently slid an arm around her waist from behind. Her body softened against his immediately, her breathing already slowing. She mumbled something soft—he thought it might’ve been “thank you”—and within seconds, her little snores filled the room.

Morgan laid there staring at the ceiling, heart racing.

It was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

But damn if she didn’t feel like peace in his arms.

—————-

Selah sat at the kitchen island, one hand nursing her iced coffee like it owed her money, the other flicking through case notes on her tablet. She was dressed sharp again—sleek black slacks, a dark fitted top that clung just right, boots that added a quiet authority to her every step. Her oversized sunglasses covered half her face, shielding her eyes from the cruel, bright betrayal of morning light.

Morgan watched from the doorway, already in his BAU jacket, his vest tucked under his arm. He sipped his coffee in silence, the comfort of routine setting in, wrapping tightly around the both of them like armor.

“Don’t say a word,” she rasped, sliding her shades down just enough to glare at him over the rims. “Not one word about last night.”

He smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You were very cuddly for someone who claimed they were gonna leave in an hour.”

“Yeah, well... you snore like a damn cat purring. Hard to walk away from that.”

She snorted softly, then immediately winced and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Too loud.”

“You ready?”

“No. But I’m functional.”

“That’ll do.”

They didn’t talk much on the drive, the morning playlist she always let shuffle through her stereo quietly filling the space between them. Morgan tapped his thumb against the steering wheel to the beat. Selah leaned back against the passenger seat, sipping her drink, the wind pulling at strands of her hair she hadn’t bothered to tie up.

As they pulled into the Quantico lot, Selah’s shades came off slowly, revealing just a trace of the hangover behind her fierce stare.

The team was waiting near the jet hangar. Garcia had insisted on seeing them off before the next case. JJ and Prentiss were already in tactical gear, talking with Hotch, who glanced up first when Morgan and Selah approached.

Garcia’s face lit up like a sunrise. “There they are! The sunshine duo returns!”

Selah smiled, sliding her shades into her inner jacket pocket. “Only one of us is sunshine, Penelope. The other is rain clouds and thunder.”

“Speak for yourself,” Morgan muttered under his breath.

Reid’s eyes flicked between the two of them. “You both took the full time off?”

Morgan nodded. “Yup. Boss said it was cool.”

Selah tilted her head, eyes narrowed slightly. “Was that... a hint of jealousy, Doctor Reid?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “Just—curious. That’s all.”

Rossi stepped up beside Hotch, sipping his espresso. “You two good?”

“We’re solid,” Selah answered first, voice even, clipped, back to business. “You said we’ve got a local?”

Hotch nodded. “Violent double. Domestic. Victim profile similar to one of our old cases, but the unsub’s methods are escalating. Prep your gear. We leave in fifteen.”

As they all moved to the jet, Garcia hung back with Prentiss, whispering. “Tell me I’m not the only one who sees that something shifted between those two.”

“You’re not,” Prentiss said with a low hum. “But I don’t think even they know what it is yet.”

Garcia glanced after Morgan and Selah as they walked shoulder to shoulder, not touching, not looking at each other—but in step.

“Something’s coming,” she said under her breath. “I can feel it.”

And back in the shadowed hallway, Selah paused just briefly, letting her hand brush her hip where his fingers had rested the night before. Then she shook it off.

There was work to do.

#fanfiction #romance #x black oc #criminal minds x oc #criminal minds fic #derek morgan x oc #derek morgan fanfiction

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sxii-mafu · 1 year ago

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Gaming Partner

In the bustling world of pixels and polygons, Y/N and Silver Wolf found a unique connection through the digital realm. Both hardcore gamers, they navigated through various virtual landscapes, their paths converging in unexpected ways.

Y/N, an avid player of Project Sekai, Genshin Impact, Honkai Impact 3rd, Valorant, and Resident Evil, was a force to be reckoned with in the gaming community. Her prowess in rhythm games was unmatched, her skill in tactical shooters formidable, and her survival instincts in horror games commendable. Yet, she found herself hard-stuck in the Ascendant rank in Valorant, constantly plagued by terrible teammates.

On the other side of the screen was Silver Wolf, equally dedicated but with a different repertoire of games. Project Sekai, Honkai Impact, and League of Legends were his domains. His mastery in the fast-paced action of Honkai Impact and strategic gameplay in League of Legends made him a formidable opponent.

Their worlds collided when Y/N and Silver Wolf found themselves in the same Project Sekai rhythm room. A shared passion for rhythm games sparked an in-game friendship that quickly transcended the digital boundaries. As messages flowed in the chat, a bond formed, and the duo soon realized they had more in common than just Project Sekai.

Silver Wolf tentatively suggested playing a round of Valorant together. Y/N hesitated, knowing the struggles she faced in the solo queue. Despite her reservations, she agreed, eager to share a gaming experience with Silver Wolf.

The first few rounds were challenging. Silver Wolf, a seasoned player in other genres, found himself adapting to the world of tactical shooters. Y/N, accustomed to solo plays, adjusted her strategy to accommodate a partner. The communication flowed seamlessly, and their shared laughter echoed through the virtual battleground.

However, even with their combined efforts, victory eluded them. Y/N remained hard-stuck in Ascendant, and Silver Wolf struggled to break into the world of Valorant. Instead of frustration, the defeats brought them closer. Their shared goal of climbing the ranks became a shared journey, filled with determination and unwavering support.

As their gaming sessions continued, Y/N and Silver Wolf's connection deepened. Their conversations extended beyond strategies and in-game banter, delving into personal stories and shared dreams. Late-night gaming sessions turned into late-night calls, the glow of their screens illuminating the growing affection between them.

Their in-game avatars became representations of their real selves, each pixelated movement echoing the unspoken emotions. Silver Wolf, the stoic warrior in Honkai Impact, found himself softening in the presence of Y/N. Y/N, the resilient survivor in Resident Evil, discovered a partner who stood by her side in every gaming adventure and beyond.

In the vast landscape of their digital worlds, Y/N and Silver Wolf found a love as enduring as any in the tangible realm. The pixels may have defined their meeting, but the emotions were real, transcending the boundaries of screens and wires.

Their journey continued, both in-game and in the tangible world. Y/N and Silver Wolf, once bound by the pixels that brought them together, now navigated the challenges of life side by side. The victories and defeats in their favorite games were mere reflections of the victories and defeats they faced together.

In the end, whether they conquered the Ascendant rank or faced defeat in the virtual arenas, Y/N and Silver Wolf understood that their greatest achievements were the shared moments and the unbreakable bond they forged through the language of pixels and polygons.

And so, their love story unfolded in the glow of screens and the click of keyboards, proving that in the vast expanse of virtual realms, the most profound connections could emerge.

#gxg #wlw #yuri #fluff #honkai star rail #silver wolf #stellaron hunters #gaming #hsr x reader #x reader

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oceaniddoesstuff · 7 months ago

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Hahaa get fucked I don't need to scroll further and your plans don't work. I win. I win this battle. Your psychological warfare is USELESS. I FUCKING BESTED YOU. I BEAT YOU IN BATTLE. I ABSOLUTELY

WIN

Queue the evil laughter of victory.

TRUNCATED DECACHORON

SPREAD THIS ALL OVER TUMBLR FOR NO REASON

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aevumgames · 2 years ago

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What is the beginning of Those Long Dead like? Well... I'll give a hint. It reminds me of the song In The Room Where You Sleep by Dead Man's Bones. I shan't elaborate.😉

#now queue the evil author laughter #aevum.txt

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ganymedesbussy · 1 year ago

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WIP: roleplay reverse bastille

Crowley was wearing white.

Crowley was wearing white, and gold, and a lovely tawny brown brocade coat that complemented his hair so nicely, really. His long hair was tied back in a queue with a white ribbon, and a white cravat poured lace down his throat like a waterfall.

Crowley was also wearing a pair of iron manacles, almost hidden in the lace dripping over his wrists, and they were connected to a large iron chain that was in turn connected to a ring set in the dirty stone floor.

“Well, well, well, fancy meeting you here,” said a slow voice behind him, and he turned to see Aziraphale leaning against the doorway, eyeing the captive Crowley appreciatively.

Aziraphale was in a deep blue coat, with a black shirt and waistcoat with shining silver buttons. The color matched his eyes, dark and wanting, and Crowley felt a little shiver go up his spine.

Aziraphale stalked closer, circling Crowley like a predator, and smiled. “Now what is my sweet little serpent doing locked up in a place like this?” he hummed, stopping behind where Crowley sat and nuzzling him softly behind the ear.

Crowley leaned back into his touch, feeling Aziraphale’s hands settle on his shoulders. “Oh, you’ll think it’s silly,” he protested, and let his head fall to the side, exposing more soft neck to Aziraphale’s lips. “I just, I had to come, you see - for the books!” A soft snort of laughter and a warning nip of teeth to his skin only encouraged him. “The books, and the operas, you know I had to come and see all the new shows, darling!”

He could feel Aziraphale’s body shaking softly with laughter behind him, and smiled broadly while his husband collected himself. A soft kiss was pressed to his hair, and then the hands on his shoulders traced up and down his arms, to hold his wrists just where the manacles did.

“So, my serpent, you just popped across the channel for a play, during a revolution, looking like this?” Aziraphale released his hands and came around to his front, eyes raking up and down his lovely, aristocratic ensemble and how well it fit his thin frame. “My dear, it’s a wonder no other demons got to you before I could, looking as delicious as all that.” He grabbed the chain binding Crowley’s wrists and pulled him to his feet, and Crowley let himself fall onto Aziraphale’s solid form with a theatrical gasp, earning another upward twitch of Aziraphale’s lips.

“Won’t you help me, darling? Won’t you get me out of these wicked, wicked chains?” Crowley fluttered his eyelashes, looking up at Aziraphale with the fully-serpentine eyes he allowed for scenes like this. “They’re too… full of human… evil? I can’t break them myself, I need someone just as wicked to release me.”

Aziraphale leaned in and ghosted his lips over Crowley’s jaw. “And what if I don’t? What if I want a release of my own? After all, it’s not every day one gets a captive angel to play with. I could spend ages devouring a tasty little morsel like you.” His voice dripped like honey into Crowley’s ear. “After all, gluttony was always my favorite sin.”

Oh god, he could feel his cock starting to strain against his breeches. “I - ah - I can’t, darling. I’m not supposed to--”

“Oh but you want to, don’t you, my dear?” A soft hand stroked up his thigh, cupping him. “You’ve even made me such a lovely little toy to play with.”

“S’not little,” Crowley muttered, earning a ‘hush’ and a gentle swat before Aziraphale drew back and gestured at the ceiling, the chain obediently shifting to draw Crowley’s arms up over his head.

“Now, my sweet one, why don’t you just let me indulge myself a little, and then I’ll let you go, hmm?” His hands were at the little golden buttons of Crowley’s waistcoat, slipping them open, and sliding over the pale shirt underneath. “You don’t have to do a thing. Surely Heaven couldn’t object to that?”

He had something - a laugh, a snarl, a snarky reply - but Aziraphale’s fingers found his nipples through his shirt and pinched, and it was gone. He gasped softly, arching his back to press into the angel’s touch, only to have it draw back. Aziraphale smiled archly at him before finally - finally! - closing in for a kiss.

His lips were soft and warm against Crowley’s, and he tasted like sunlight and vanilla and tingling ozone. His skin was so blessedly warm, and Crowley wanted nothing more than to melt into it.

So he did.

He let himself surrender, mouth opening at the gentle touch of Aziraphale’s tongue. Soft hands tugged his shirt free of his breeches and slid over his skin, one holding him against Aziraphale’s body as the other returned to pinch and roll at his nipple. Crowley whimpered and pressed himself closer, trying to tease Aziraphale’s tongue further into his mouth so he could suck on it properly. At that, Aziraphale chucked against him and nipped at his lower lip before pulling free, and Crowley didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he opened them to see heat and amusement glinting in his lover’s.

“Well, isn’t someone impatient? All in good time, my love.” He pressed another quick kiss to Crowley’s mouth, then sank to his knees. Crowley watched as Aziraphale thumbed the clocks of his ochre stockings and slid his hands up the backs of his calves, along the seam. “Such lovely clothes, my dear, I can see why you’d be loath to part with them.”

“Minx.”

And then that smiling mouth was on him again, Crowley’s breeches undone and let fall away, and Aziraphale’s lips and tongue and teeth were exploring the wiry expanse of his thighs. Aziraphale nipped at the line of his hips, pressed kisses into the skin of his belly, and thoroughly ignored the cock rubbing against his chin and cheek. He shifted Crowley’s knees wider so he could bite and suck at the softest part of his inner thighs, hard enough to leave marks.

#writing #good omens #partial WIP

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