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readsaboutreid · 5 months

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Everything To Me | S.R.

summary: Spencer is in love with his coworker and best friend and goes all out to celebrate her birthday on the day after when she catches her boyfriend in bed with another woman when they arrive home from a case.

this is 100% season 1 spencer

warning: cheating, making out, angst/comfort

“(Y/N)! Wait up!” Spencer stumbled, tripping over his feet as he hurried to catch the elevator with his friend. He covered the distance from his desk to the elevator doors in record time as (Y/N) hit the button to presumably hold open the doors for him. He slid in and stood next to her while panting lightly. He really needed to do some cardio, he noted to himself.

“Wow, with speed like that I should start calling you Barry Allen,” she giggled, making Spencer's heart flutter in the best and most terrifying way and drawing a laugh out of his throat (even though he didn’t really get the reference). He couldn't help it when all he could think about was how much he wanted to hear that laugh every day for the rest of his life.

“Sorry,” he flashed a sheepish smile at her and ducked his head a little bit as he felt his cheeks heat up slightly.

“Hey, uh, I was wondering if you had any, uh, any plans for the evening? There’s a Star Trek: The Next Generation marathon and I know that’s your favorite Star Trek series so I was thinking maybe we could hang out and maybe get some takeout?"

"That sounds like it would be a hell of a time," she began. Spencer could already feel the incoming, "but I promised Warren I'd spend the evening with him since it's my birthday and all." Spencer had to keep himself from making a face at the mention of her asshole of a boyfriend, not wanting to upset her, and so instead he opted to skip over that and react to the next part of her statement.

"Wait it's your birthday? Why didn't you say anything? We all would have done something to celebrate before going home today," Spencer started kicking himself internally. How could he not have known today was her birthday? The two of them had become attached at the hip pretty much since she started at the BAU 4 months ago. She had even celebrated his own birthday with him and the rest of the team.

“Hey, it’s okay! You don’t need to feel bad or anything, I tend to just treat my birthday like it’s any other day so I often just don't even tell anyone when it is,” she shot him a sweet smile in an attempt to assure him that it was okay but it didn't make him feel any less guilty.

Spencer's heart sank a bit at the thought of not being able to celebrate (Y/N)'s birthday with her, but he knew Warren was important to her regardless of how much Spencer and the team disliked him. He mustered a smile and nodded, "No worries, spending time with Warren sounds great. Happy birthday, (Y/N). I hope your day is as wonderful as you are."

(Y/N) blushed at the compliment, waving it off modestly. The elevator dinged softly, indicating they had reached the ground floor. As the doors slid open, they stepped out into the bustling lobby of the FBI building. Spencer glanced at his watch and realized it was already late in the evening.

"Well, I should let you get going. Have a fantastic birthday night with Warren," Spencer said, trying to hide his disappointment behind a cheerful facade.

"Thank you, Spencer. I really appreciate it. We should definitely catch that Star Trek marathon another time," she replied with a warm smile before turning to head towards the exit.

Later in the evening, Spencer found himself sitting on his worn-out couch, a container of lukewarm Chinese takeout resting in his lap as he absentmindedly watched reruns of Star Trek. His mind kept wandering back to the encounter in the elevator with (Y/N) earlier that day. The missed opportunity to spend her birthday with her weighed heavily on his heart.

Just as Captain Picard was about to make a diplomatic decision that could change the course of an entire star system, Spencer's phone rang, jolting him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen to see (Y/N)'s name flashing brightly.

With a mixture of confusion and worry, he answered the call. "Hey, (Y/N), is everything okay?" His heart clenched at the sound of her quiet sobs on the other end of the line.

"Spencer," her voice cracked, "can you... can you come pick me up?"

Without another word, Spencer sprang into action. "Of course, (Y/N). I'll be right there. Where are you?" Spencer's voice was filled with concern as he quickly grabbed his keys and rushed out the door, leaving behind the half-eaten container of Chinese takeout and the flickering TV screen showing Star Trek.

As he drove through the quiet streets towards (Y/N)'s location, thoughts raced through Spencer's mind. Why was she crying? What had happened? He couldn't bear the thought of her in distress, especially on her birthday.

Finally reaching the spot where she said she would be, Spencer spotted (Y/N) sitting on a bench outside of a sketchy looking apartment complex, her head buried in her hands. He parked the car and hurried over to her, his heart breaking at the sight of her tear-streaked face.

"(Y/N), what's wrong?" Spencer knelt down beside her, gently placing a hand on her back. She looked up at him with red, puffy eyes, and he felt a crack in his chest

as her trembling voice filled the cool night air.

"I... I waited for Warren at my apartment, but he never showed up or called. I got worried and went to his place," she paused, taking a shuddering breath before continuing, "I let myself in with my key, and... and I found him in bed with another woman."

Shock rippled through Spencer as he struggled to process her words. The image of (Y/N) standing in the doorway of Warren's apartment, witnessing such a betrayal, tore at his heart. Anger flared within him, directed not only at Warren but at the unfairness of it all. How could someone as kind and genuine as (Y/N) be treated so callously?

Without hesitation, Spencer pulled (Y/N) into a tight embrace, offering her solace in the warmth of his arms. He felt her tears soak into his shirt as she clung to him, seeking comfort amidst the storm of emotions raging within her.

As she sobbed into his chest he felt tears pricking his own eyes. He gently cupped her head and started stroking her hair in an attempt to soothe her before saying, “let’s get you into the car, okay?”

As Spencer led (Y/N) to his car, he couldn't shake the image of her devastated face from his mind. The weight of her heartbreak hung heavy in the air, suffocating him with a sense of helplessness. He opened the car door for her, watching as she settled into the passenger seat with a heavy sigh.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N)," Spencer murmured softly as he started the engine, casting a sympathetic glance her way. "You deserve so much better than this."

(Y/N) let out a bitter laugh, devoid of any humor. "I should have known better than to get my hopes up. This is why I never celebrate my birthday. It’s more trouble than it’s worth," she confessed, her voice laced with resignation and nothing more than a whisper by the very end. Spencer's heart clenched at her words. He wanted nothing more than to ease her pain, to show her that she deserved all the love and happiness in the world.

"You deserve to be celebrated, (Y/N)," Spencer said with conviction, his eyes meeting hers in the dim light of the car. "No one has the right to make you feel otherwise. You are kind, beautiful, and deserving of all the love and joy that life has to offer."

Spencer's words echoed in (Y/N)'s mind as they drove through the quiet streets of the city, the soft glow of streetlights casting a serene ambiance over the car. The heaviness of her heart began to lift ever so slightly, buoyed by the sincerity in Spencer's eyes and the comfort of his presence beside her.

As they reached a stoplight, Spencer turned to (Y/N) with a tentative smile. "How about we make a detour?" he suggested gently. "There's this little ice cream shop a few blocks away. Maybe some ice cream might help lift your spirits."

(Y/N) managed a small smile in return, touched by Spencer's thoughtfulness. The simple gesture felt like a ray of sunshine breaking through the storm clouds that had gathered around her heart. "That sounds nice," she replied softly, her voice still tinged with sadness but with a glimmer of gratitude shining through.

They parked near the ice cream shop, its cheerful neon sign beckoning them inside. The bell above the door jingled as they stepped in, greeted by the sweet scent of freshly made waffle cones and a colorful display of ice cream flavors. Spencer guided (Y/N) to a cozy booth by the window, where they could watch the world pass by as they indulged in their frozen treats.

As they savored their ice cream, the heaviness in (Y/N)'s heart began to thaw, melting away with each spoonful of creamy sweetness. Spencer listened attentively as she shared snippets of her favorite childhood memories, her voice soft and wistful against the backdrop of cheerful chatter from other customers.

Once they had finished their ice cream, Spencer suggested another detour. "There's this little vintage store down the street that always has some classic movies on sale. How about we pick up one of your favorites and head back to my place to watch it?”

(Y/N) hesitated before saying, “I don’t know about picking up anything from a store but is that Star Trek marathon still on?” The slight amount of hope in her voice made Spencer’s heart flutter with a mix of relief and warmth. He had been longing for a chance to make her smile, to see a glimmer of happiness light up her eyes once more.

Nodding enthusiastically, he replied, "Absolutely! We can swing by the store another time. For now, let's head straight to my place for that Star Trek marathon." The anticipation in (Y/N)'s eyes was palpable as they made their way to Spencer's cozy apartment. The familiar scent of old books and fresh laundry greeted them as they stepped inside, the soft glow of string lights casting a warm ambiance over the living room.

Spencer turned the TV back on, dimming the lights to create a cozy home-theater atmosphere. They settled on the couch, surrounded by plush pillows and soft blankets, basking in the nostalgic thrill of the sci-fi classic unfolding on the screen.

As the episode played on, Spencer got up and reheated the Chinese food from earlier and putting it on plates for each of them. He grabbed himself a fork and got one of the sets of chopsticks from the restaurant for (Y/N). As he made his way back to the living room he saw (Y/N) happily rocking back and forth as she watched Data and Geordi share another one of their intriguing engineering discussions. Spencer couldn't help but smile at the sight, a flicker of contentment lighting up his own heart as he handed (Y/N) the plate with her food and settled back onto the couch beside her.

Between bites of General Tso's chicken and sips of hot tea, Spencer couldn't help but feel a sense of peace settle over him. The soft glow of the TV cast shadows across the room, creating a cocoon of warmth and familiarity around them. The gentle hum of the spaceship's engines on screen seemed to lull them both into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional chuckle or comment about the characters.

After a few episodes, Spencer found himself stealing glances at (Y/N) out of the corner of his eye, admiring the soft curve of her profile as she watched intently. He could see a spark of joy in her eyes, a fleeting moment of escape from the weight of unspoken emotions that lingered between them. Sensing a rare moment of vulnerability, Spencer cleared his throat softly before turning to (Y/N) with a gentle smile.

"Hey, (Y/N)," he began, his voice soft and tentative. "I was wondering... If you could have done anything for your birthday today, what would it have been?"

(Y/N) paused, her gaze shifting from the screen to Spencer. Her expression softened as she considered the question, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. "You know, I've always wanted to visit the Smithsonian," she murmured, her eyes distant with longing. "And maybe the Botanic Gardens too... It's on my list of things to do someday."

Spencer nodded, committing her words to memory as he filed away the simple desires she shared. He made a mental note to himself, silently vowing to make those dreams a reality for her someday.

As they finished the last episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, Spencer noticed the clock on the wall ticking closer to midnight. With a sense of reluctance, he turned to (Y/N) and said, "I hate to cut this short, but it's getting late. I should call a cab for you."

(Y/N) looked up at him, a mixture of disappointment and understanding in her eyes. She nodded quietly, gathering her things and slipping on her coat. As Spencer dialed for a cab, he couldn't shake off the feeling of missed opportunities hanging heavy in the air.

The subdued sound of the approaching cab echoed through the quiet street outside. Spencer opened the door for (Y/N), his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. "I'll be picking you up at 11 am tomorrow so be dressed and ready," he said, surprising both himself and (Y/N) with his sudden declaration.

Confusion flashed across her face as she stammered, "But... why? Where are we going?"

"Just make sure you’re ready,” he smiled, ideas blossoming in his mind as he decided he was going to show her what her birthday meant to him. He closed the cab door behind her and waved as the car drove off before turning on his heel and heading back inside, preparing to show his best friend the time of her life tomorrow.

Spencer woke up at 8 am the next morning to the soft rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains, illuminating his room in a golden hue. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stretched his arms above his head and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Today was going to be special; he was determined to make it a day that (Y/N) would never forget.

Remembering her mention once that morning glories were her favorite flower, Spencer decided to start by weaving a delicate flower crown out of the vibrant blooms he had picked from his backyard garden. As he carefully intertwined the petals and vines into a crown fit for a queen, he couldn't help but smile at the thought of seeing (Y/N) wear it.

After finishing the flower crown, Spencer's thoughts drifted to a memory she had shared with him long ago. Before her parents had passed away, they used to build her a pillow fort and hang fairy lights in it on special occasions. Determined to recreate that sense of childhood magic for her, Spencer set about constructing a fort in his living room. He gathered every pillow and blanket he could find, stacking them strategically to form the walls of the fort. With a bit of effort and creativity, he managed to fashion an elaborate yet cozy hideaway filled with soft cushions and twinkling fairy lights. His PhD in Engineering was finally seeing some use.

As he stepped back to admire his handiwork, Spencer's heart swelled with a mix of emotions. The soft glow of the lights cast a warm, inviting aura over the fort, creating an atmosphere of whimsy and nostalgia. He could almost picture the look of wonder on (Y/N)'s face when she saw it, and the thought filled him with a sense of anticipation.

With the fort completed, Spencer glanced at the clock and realized it was almost time to pick up (Y/N). Quickly changing into a clean shirt and vest and grabbing the flower crown he had made earlier, he made his way out the door, excitement bubbling in his chest.

As he drove to (Y/N)'s apartment, Spencer's mind was a whirlwind of nerves and anticipation. He parked the car a few blocks away, wanting to give himself a moment to compose himself before their day together began. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out onto the sidewalk and started the short walk to her building.

The street was alive with the sounds of the city waking up - the distant hum of traffic, the chatter of early risers going about their day. But in Spencer's mind, all he could focus on was the image of (Y/N) in his mind, wearing the flower crown he had made for her.

Finally reaching her apartment building, he climbed the steps to her floor, his heart pounding in his chest. Standing in front of her door, he took one last deep breath before lifting his hand to knock.

The sound echoed through the hallway, reverberating in Spencer's ears as he waited with bated breath. After what felt like an eternity, he heard footsteps approaching from inside the apartment. The soft shuffling of footsteps grew louder, and Spencer's pulse quickened in anticipation. Suddenly, the gentle click of the door being unlocked filled the air, and it slowly swung open to reveal (Y/N) standing before him.

She looked breathtaking. (Y/N) was wearing a simple yet elegant dress with cute buttons lining the front and a delicate peter pan collar. Her chin length bob was slightly curved under her chin and her bangs fell across her forehead in such a perfect way and Spencer looked away quickly, his cheeks burning when he realized he was staring. For a moment, they stood there in silence, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions.

Then, Spencer slowly brought forward the flower crown he had hidden behind his back, holding it out towards (Y/N) with a shaky hand. “Happy birthday," he finally whispered, his voice barely above a breath as he nervously offered her the crown. The soft petals of the flowers brushed against her fingertips, and (Y/N)'s eyes widened in surprise and delight as she took the flower crown from Spencer's hand. A small gasp escaped her lips as she held the delicate creation, a mix of awe and gratitude shining in her eyes as she looked up at him.

"Spencer, it's beautiful," she murmured as she gently placed it atop her head, her voice soft with emotion. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a golden glow that illuminated her features, making her look even more ethereal. In that moment, caught in the gentle morning light, Spencer felt a swell of affection for her that threatened to overwhelm him.

After a beat of silence filled with unspoken words hanging in the air between them, Spencer cleared his throat and offered a hesitant smile. "Are you ready to go?" he asked, his heart beating a little faster at the prospect of spending the day with her.

(Y/N) returned his smile with a nod, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she looped her arm through his, the flower crown perched delicately on her head. They strolled down the bustling street, the city waking up around them with a cacophony of sounds and scents. Spencer couldn't help but steal glances at (Y/N), her presence beside him filling him with a warmth he hadn't felt before.

Their first stop was a cozy bookshop just across the street from her apartment building. The bell above the door chimed softly as they entered, and the scent of aged paper and ink enveloped them in a comforting embrace. Rows upon rows of books lined the shelves, each one whispering promises of new worlds and adventures.

"Pick out as many as you'd like," Spencer said, gesturing to the endless array of titles surrounding them. (Y/N)'s eyes widened in delight, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she wandered through the aisles, her fingers trailing over spines in search of stories. He watched as she made her way through the shelves until she reached the SciFi/Fantasy and Horror section and begin removing books from the shelves, reading the backs and either adding them to the stack in her arms or placing them back on the shelves.

Spencer couldn't help but admire the way (Y/N) immersed herself in the world of books, her eyes alight with a passion that made her even more enchanting. She moved with purpose, carefully selecting each book as if it held a piece of her soul within its pages. His heart swelled with fondness for her, her love for literature reflecting a depth to her character that he found endlessly captivating.

As (Y/N) returned back to him, her arms filled with a stack of books that seemed to reach towards the sky, she gave him a sheepish smile. "I might have gotten a bit carried away," she admitted, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “Could you help me narrow things down a little bit?”

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement. "No need to apologize. Let's see what treasures you've found," he said, reaching out to take a few books from her arms. Together, they perused the titles she had chosen, discussing the plots and themes. After they had no luck in narrowing down the pile, Spencer scooped them all up into his arms in a stack and began making his way to the checkout stand.

"Why bother narrowing it down?" Spencer's voice was filled with a playful lilt as he carried the stack of books towards the checkout counter, (Y/N) trailing behind him with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Impressive selection," the bookstore clerk commented as he rung up the stack of books, each title a window into (Y/N)'s interests and desires. (Y/N) beamed at the compliment, her eyes shining with confusion and gratitude as Spencer pulled out his wallet and paid before she could even reach for her own from her bag.

As they left the bookshop, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the crowded streets. The sounds of the city swirled around them—honking cars, lively chatter, and the distant rumble of a passing train. Spencer glanced over at (Y/N) walking beside him, her face illuminated by a soft radiance.

(Y/N) quickly unlocked the door and placed the bags of books onto her dining room table before they walked back outside. Spencer patiently waited as she locked her door before holding his arm out again for her to grab on to as he lead her to his car.

As they arrived at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, Spencer's steps were light with anticipation. The air was alive with the promise of discovery, and he couldn't wait to share this world of wonders with (Y/N). The museum loomed before them like a giant treasure trove, its grand architecture a testament to human ingenuity and ambition.

Stepping inside, they were greeted by a vast hall filled with aircraft suspended from the ceiling like metallic birds frozen in flight. (Y/N)'s eyes widened in awe, her gaze flitting from one exhibit to another as Spencer led her through the maze of history and innovation.

"This is the Wright Flyer," Spencer said, pointing towards the iconic biplane that started it all. "It's incredible to think that this simple machine paved the way for all modern aviation."

As they moved deeper into the museum, Spencer's voice became a gentle murmur of knowledge and passion. He regaled (Y/N) with stories of astronauts who dared to venture beyond Earth's atmosphere and the technological advancements that made it all possible. (Y/N) listened with rapt attention, her eyes shimmering with wonder and admiration for both the exhibits and the man beside her.

Each artifact held a story, a piece of history waiting to be unraveled. Spencer's explanations brought life to the static displays, turning them into vibrant tales of human courage and scientific progress. He pointed out the intricate details of each spacecraft, each spacesuit, each photograph, as if they were sacred relics in a grand temple of human achievement.

As they entered the lunar module exhibit, (Y/N) gasped in awe at the sight of the actual spacecraft that had touched the surface of the moon as well as a piece of rock from the moon that was free for visitors to touch. She reached out a hand as if to touch it, but stopped herself, as if afraid to disturb the fragile connection between past and present.

Spencer noticed her hesitation and smiled softly. "It's okay, you can touch it," he encouraged. "Feel the history in your fingers."

(Y/N) tentatively reached out and brushed her fingertips against the cool, pitted surface of the moon rock. A jolt of electricity seemed to pass through her as she made contact, connecting her to a distant world that had once seemed so unreachable. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, overwhelmed by the weight of history and the magnitude of human achievement.

Spencer watched her with a mix of admiration and fondness, his heart swelling with a bittersweet ache at the sight of her emotional response. He longed to reach out and comfort her, to share in this moment of vulnerability and connection, but he held back, knowing that some experiences were meant to be felt in solitude.

As they moved on to the space shuttle exhibit, Spencer's voice took on a reverent tone as he explained the intricacies of space travel and the courage of those who dared to venture into the unknown. (Y/N) listened intently, hanging onto his every word as if they were precious treasures. The stories of the astronauts and their daring adventures resonated with her in a way she couldn't quite explain. It was as if each tale of exploration and discovery tugged at something deep within her, awakening a yearning for the stars that had long been dormant.

After exploring the wonders of the cosmos in the Air and Space Museum, Spencer suggested they visit the Museum of Natural History next. (Y/N) eagerly agreed, her curiosity piqued by the promise of delving into the mysteries of the natural world.

The moment they stepped into the museum, a wave of earthy scents enveloped them—the musty aroma of ancient fossils, the fresh green fragrance of preserved plants, and the tangy scent of minerals. (Y/N) took a deep breath, savoring the rich tapestry of odors that surrounded her as they ventured deeper into the exhibits.

Spencer guided her through halls filled with towering skeletons of dinosaurs, exotic taxidermy specimens, and sparkling gemstones that seemed to whisper tales of ancient worlds and forgotten creatures. His voice, now a gentle hum of fascination, wove intricate stories of the natural wonders before them, each exhibit a chapter in the never-ending book of Earth's history.

With every step, (Y/N) felt herself being transported back in time, her senses overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and scents of a world long gone yet preserved within the walls of the museum. She marveled at the sheer diversity of life that had once inhabited the planet, from the majestic bones of a towering T-Rex to the delicate wings of a butterfly frozen in time.

As they reached the Butterfly Pavilion, (Y/N)'s eyes lit up with childlike excitement. She walked among the lush greenery, her fingers gently trailing over velvety leaves and vibrant petals as she inspected each plant with keen interest. Spencer watched her with a soft smile, his admiration for her knowledge and passion shining in his eyes.

"It’s like stepping into a living kaleidoscope," (Y/N) breathed, her voice hushed with wonder. "Each butterfly and moth, every plant here tells a story of adaptation and survival. Look at this one," she gestured to a plump monarch butterfly sipping nectar from a bright orange bloom, "did you know they migrate for thousands of miles to escape the cold?"

Spencer was happy to listen intently to her spout knowledge that he already held, captivated by the gleam in her eyes and the animated gestures that accompanied each explanation. He found himself falling even more deeply under her spell as she shared her wealth of knowledge, her voice growing more animated with each tidbit of information.

As they wandered through the pavilion, (Y/N) pointed out the intricate patterns on the butterflies' wings, explaining their purpose and significance with a mix of scientific precision and unbridled enthusiasm. Spencer couldn't help but be swept up in her passion, feeling a warmth bloom in his chest at the sight of her so fully immersed in her element. Her rarely used PhDs in Botany and Microbiology shone brightly through her words and actions as she explained the importance of every living thing within the enclosure down to the network of fungal mycelium in the dirt, making Spencer see her in a whole new light. The way she spoke about each species of butterfly or moth, each plant or fungus they saw, showcased not only her expertise but also her deep love and respect for the natural world.

Spencer found himself hanging onto her every word, just as she had done with his tales of space exploration earlier. He admired the way her eyes sparkled with excitement, the way her hands gestured animatedly as if conducting a symphony of knowledge and wonder.

As they reached a secluded corner of the pavilion, (Y/N) knelt down beside a cluster of milkweed plants, her voice soft and reverent as she explained their importance to the monarch butterflies. Spencer watched her intently, a sense of peace settling over him as he observed her in her element. He then checked his watch, his eyes widening in realization as he saw the time. They were going to be late for the dinner reservation he had managed to secure at the new Italian restaurant (Y/N) had been longing to try for months. With a gentle touch on her shoulder, Spencer interrupted her explanation about the symbiotic relationship between the milkweed plants and monarch butterflies.

"(Y/N), as much as I hate to interrupt your fascinating lesson, we should start heading out. We have a dinner reservation," Spencer said apologetically, a hint of regret in his tone.

Startled by the mention of dinner, (Y/N) straightened up, her eyes widening in surprise before a sheepish smile crossed her face. "Oh gosh, I completely lost track of time! I'm so sorry, Spencer. Let's go."

They hurried through the Butterfly Pavilion, their steps quickening as they made their way to the exit. Spencer opened the passenger door for her as they approached his car, and they soon found themselves seated inside as Spencer started the engine. The warmth of the setting sun bathed the interior in a golden glow, casting long shadows across (Y/N)'s face as she fastened her seatbelt. She glanced over at Spencer, her eyes shining with a mix of excitement and anticipation for the evening ahead.

The drive to the Italian restaurant was filled with comfortable silence, the only sound the soft hum of the radio playing a mellow jazz tune in the background. Spencer stole glances at (Y/N) from time to time, admiring how the fading light accentuated her features, casting her in a soft, ethereal glow.

Arriving at the restaurant, they were greeted by the tantalizing aroma of garlic and tomato sauce wafting through the air. The cozy ambiance of the place enveloped them as they were led to their table, nestled in a corner with a flickering candle casting dancing shadows on their faces.

As they perused the menu, (Y/N)'s eyes widened in delight as she scanned the offerings, her excitement palpable. Spencer couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm, feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the romantic candlelight surrounding them. This moment, this simple act of sharing a meal with her, felt like a glimpse into the life he had always wanted but never dared to reach for.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with laughter and shared stories. (Y/N)'s eyes sparkled with joy as she recounted a hilarious mishap at work, and Spencer found himself hanging onto her every word once again. It was moments like these that made him forget about his own worries and fears, immersing himself in the present moment.

As the waiter brought out their food, the table was soon filled with plates of steaming pasta and fragrant sauces. The first bite sent a burst of flavors dancing on (Y/N)'s tongue, and she couldn't help but close her eyes in bliss. Spencer watched her savor each mouthful, her expression a symphony of delight and contentment. The flickering candlelight played on her face, accentuating the curve of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes.

Spencer's gaze lingered on her, a sense of longing tugging at his heart. He wanted to freeze this moment in time, to etch it into his memory forever. The warmth of the restaurant, the soft glow of the candle, the sound of (Y/N)'s laughter – all of it wove together into a tapestry of perfect happiness.

But beneath the surface of their shared joy, Spencer felt a pang of bittersweet realization. This was just a moment, a fleeting interlude in their lives. Tomorrow, they would return to their separate paths, their separate dreams.

As (Y/N) reached for her glass of wine, her hand brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity through him. Their eyes met, and in that brief moment of connection, Spencer felt a surge of courage wash over him. As they finished their meals, the waiter returned to their table with a flourish, presenting a tray of decadent desserts that Spencer had secretly ordered while (Y/N) was in the bathroom. A smile played on his lips as he watched her eyes widen in surprise and delight at the unexpected treat.

"Spencer, you didn't have to do this," she murmured, her voice soft with gratitude.

"It's my pleasure," he replied, his tone gentle yet tinged with a hint of nervousness. "Would you like to enjoy it here or take it to go and eat it while watching something?"

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering between the cozy restaurant ambiance and the promise of a quiet moment elsewhere. After a brief pause, she decided, "Let's take it to go."

Spencer nodded in agreement and politely requested the bill. As he settled the payment, a sense of resolve settled in him, guiding his actions as they left the restaurant. The cool night air caressed their skin as they walked towards Spencer's car parked just around the corner. He opened the passenger door for her, a gesture that was both chivalrous and intimate.

As they drove through the city streets, (Y/N) couldn't shake off the feeling of curiosity that gnawed at her mind. Why were they headed to Spencer's apartment instead of hers, as she had anticipated? Her thoughts raced, trying to find an explanation for this unexpected turn of events.

Upon arriving at his apartment building, Spencer handed her the to-go boxes with their desserts before unlocking the door. A sense of bewilderment washed over (Y/N) as she followed him inside. Before she could voice her confusion, Spencer moved behind her and gently covered her eyes with his hands, guiding her further into his apartment.

The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air as (Y/N) let herself be led by Spencer through the dimly lit hallway. Her heart raced with a mix of anticipation and curiosity, her trust in him unwavering as he guided her with careful steps. The soft shuffle of their feet echoed in the corridor, creating a rhythm that seemed to match the beat of her own pulse.

After what felt like an eternity of darkness behind her closed eyelids, Spencer's hands finally left (Y/N)'s eyes, revealing a mesmerizing sight before her. As she blinked away the temporary blindness, a gasp escaped her lips at the magical scene that unfolded in front of her.

The room was transformed into a whimsical wonderland – an elaborate pillow fort stretched across the space, twinkling with fairy lights that cast a warm, inviting glow. Soft blankets cascaded down like waterfalls, creating nooks and crannies that held the promise of cozy comfort. The air was scented with old books, eucalyptus, and lavender, adding to the ethereal atmosphere that surrounded them.

Spencer watched (Y/N) with bated breath as she took in the sight before her. The flickering lights danced across her face, illuminating the awe and wonder reflected in her eyes. It was a moment frozen in time, suspended between reality and a dream.

"Happy birthday, (Y/N)," Spencer's voice was barely a whisper, filled with a vulnerability that he had never dared to show before.

Tears welled up in (Y/N)'s eyes, moved by the effort and thoughtfulness he had put into creating this enchanting surprise. She turned to face him, her heart overflowing with emotions she struggled to put into words.

"Spencer, this is... it's perfect," she finally managed to say, her voice trembling with emotion. She reached out to grasp his hand, holding onto it as though afraid this magical moment would slip away if she let go.

As they settled into the cocoon of blankets and pillows, Spencer grabbed his laptop from his desk and popped a DVD into the disc player. The opening to a movie he had never seen but had heard her talk about multiple times, Clueless, played in the background but all he could do was look at her. Under the twinkling of the fairy lights he could almost swear she had to be a fairy herself. That’s the only thing he could think of that would explain her beauty.

As the movie played on (Y/N) explained to Spencer that it was actually an adaptation of her favorite novel by Jane Austen, Emma, which did little to make him feel the main character was more likeable but watching her happily chatter about the movie filled him with a sense of comfort and affection. This is how it should always be, he thought to himself, wrapping his arms around her as she settled against his chest.

They sat and cuddled in a comfortable silence until it was broken by her voice, soft and timid as she said, “hey Spence?”

“Hm?” He hummed into her hair, his eyes closed.

“Why did you do all of this?” She queried, sounding like she was on the verge of tears, which immediately pulled Spencer from his half asleep haze.

Spencer thought about his next words carefully, taking so long that (Y/N) was about to ask if he had fallen asleep before he finally responded. “After seeing you so heartbroken last night and seeing how Warren just tossed you aside like you didn’t matter I just felt like I should show you how much it means to me that you exist." His voice was gentle, barely a whisper as he confessed the depth of his feelings for her.

(Y/N) felt her breath catch in her throat at his words. The vulnerability in his voice touched her heart in a way she had never experienced before. She turned to look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and care reflected back at her.

Tears glistened in her eyes as she reflexively leaned into his hand as he reached to cup her cheek, caressing it with a tenderness that spoke volumes. "Spencer," she murmured, her voice filled with emotion, "you didn’t have to—I’m not worth all this—I-I don’t—"

He placed a finger on her lips, silencing her words. "That’s what I’ve spent all day trying to show you, (Y/N). You are worth it. You are worth everything to me," he whispered, his gaze unwavering.

In that moment, (Y/N) felt a rush of emotions swell within her, a mix of disbelief and overwhelming gratitude. Her heart pounded in her chest as she gazed into Spencer's eyes, seeing a depth of love and sincerity that she had never expected to find. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, wrapping around them like a warm embrace.

As they sat there, suspended in time, (Y/N) felt a gentle tug at her heart urging her to lean forward. She hesitated for a moment, uncertainty clouding her mind as she debated the implications of such a gesture. Could she allow herself to be vulnerable again after everything she had been through? Was it worth risking her heart for the possibility of something more?

But before she could overthink it any further, Spencer's gaze softened even more as he leaned in towards her. In the briefest moment of hesitation, his lips hovered centimeters away from hers, silently asking for permission. And just as he began to pull back, (Y/N) plunged forward, closing the distance between them as she pressed her lips against Spencer's. It was a tender, tentative kiss filled with all the unspoken words and emotions that had lingered between them for so long. The world seemed to stand still as they shared this intimate moment, their hearts beating in harmony.

Spencer was momentarily stunned by the sudden turn of events, but as he felt (Y/N)'s warmth against his lips, all doubts and insecurities melted away. When they finally pulled away, they were both met with flushed cheeks and wide eyes. There was a charged energy in the air, a newfound connection that sparked between them like a flame igniting in the darkness.

"(Y/N)," Spencer whispered, his voice barely above a breath as he searched her eyes for confirmation.

(Y/N) simply smiled, a radiant expression that lit up her face with joy and relief. “I love you, Spencer,” falls from her lips before she crashes them back against his.

#criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #light angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfic

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tanvi-financeblogger · 2 years

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pepurika · 6 days

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I really like Remy and Jamis but I sort of got my hopes up that this was going to be more of a sapphic oriented story since the main character is a girl and she had that one moment with those ladies at the pub. that is a me problem though. however i'm really grateful for all the ladies in the comic, so many people don't know how to write women and yours feel so real

*sjcreams from on top of a mountain*

I KNOW AND I AGREE BUT PLEASE GIve me a chance im trying very hard to squeeze in everything here within a certain timeframe and i have so much still to tell, MORE GIRLS INCOMING SOON

(perils of having things and stuffs happening behind the scenes and time is against me but i assure you i have Plans and i am working hard to make them happen)

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thewulf · 4 months

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Beneath the Healer's Touch || Azriel

Summary: Request - I was wondering if you could write an ACOTAR fic with Azriel as the reader’s mate where the reader is Madja’s apprentice, but she rarely ever asks her to personally treat their patients, like she’s just there to assist with the equipment and materials and stuff and the IC never really questioned it... Read Rest Here

A/N: Wasn't planning on putting two Az fics out in a row but I just had to write this. Love it so much, thank you for the requests :)

Pairing: Azriel x Female Reader (Night Court Healer Reader)

Word Count: 5.6k +

TW: Use of Magic (fluffy), yelling

You huddle against the rough fabric of the medical tent situated perilously close to the front lines. As Madja’s apprentice your role in the Night Court has always been subdued. Your presence nearly as invisible as the shadows where you often stand. A shy but observant female fae, you’ve adapted to watching and learning. You assisted with the preparation of healing instruments and materials rather than engaging in the direct act of healing itself. Madja, the seasoned healer you serve under has never asked you to step beyond these boundaries . That was until today.

Outside of the tent the clash and clamor of war reverberate through the air. A constant reminder of the stakes at play. Inside the tent the atmosphere is thick with the scent of blood and herbs being punctuated by the groans of soldiers bearing the fresh scars of battle. Each day the flow of injured warriors increases, overwhelming even Madja’s formidable skills.

Her usual calm efficiency begins to wane under the strain. Her movements growing more frantic as she tries to attend to multiple critical cases simultaneously. The limited space of the tent is filled with the wounded and the air is heavy with desperation and the iron tang of blood.

Seeing the desperation in Madja's eyes as she struggles to keep up you begin to feel the weight of every unattended soldier pressing down upon you. Your hands which were so accustomed to organizing and managing the background needs itch to do more — to heal and to help directly.

In a moment of sheer necessity Madja turns to you with a look of grave urgency. "I need you now, more than ever," she says over the din of suffering. Her voice thick with exhaustion. "You must help me heal them. We are losing too many. I have called for more help, but I need you today."

As the urgent call pierces through the chaotic sounds of the medical tent you look into Madja’s eyes feeling the weight of her plea. Your heart races but your response is calm and resolute. “I’ll do it,” you say quickly. The words almost catching in your throat.

Madja reaches out, her hand briefly squeezing yours. A gesture laden with both gratitude and apology. “I’m sorry to ask this of you,” she murmurs as her voice laced with regret as she glances at the wounded waiting for attention.

You shake your head dismissing her concerns with a small, reassuring smile that you hope masks your nervousness. “It’s alright, Madja. I’ll be okay,” you assure her while stepping closer to the first of many soldiers who need your help. Your voice is stronger than you feel, imbued with a determination that you muster from the depths of your commitment to heal. Despite the personal cost.

With a deep, steadying breath you prepare yourself for the task ahead knowing each healing touch will draw the pain into your own body. But in this moment of desperate need your resolve is unwavering. You are ready to face whatever comes for the sake of those who depend on you.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you step forward. Your usual place behind the scenes abandoned for the harsh reality of frontline medical work. You approach the first soldier laid out before you. His injuries severe and daunting. As you extend your hands to begin the healing a part of you recoils knowing the personal cost you will soon pay. With a deep breath you brace yourself against the incoming tide of pain that will transfer to you as you heal him accepting the burden as the price of your newfound duty.

In the stifling heat of the medical tent, you move from one soldier to the next. Your hands becoming conduits of both healing and suffering. The first soldier’s injury—a deep gash across his arm—closes under the gentle press of your palms but the sharp sting of the wound sears through you as if the blade had cut into your own flesh. You stifle a gasp, biting down on your lip to keep composed as the pain lingers. It was a cruel echo of the soldier's relief.

With each healing the burden grows heavier. A fractured leg brings an ache that settles deep into your bones making you falter for a moment as you steady yourself against a tent pole. A burn from a fire spell sends waves of searing heat coursing through your skin. You struggle to maintain the calm exterior expected of a healer. Despite the agony each touch brings you press on being driven by the urgent need around you.

The soldiers were unaware of the cost you pay with each healing thank you with weak smiles and hoarse words of gratitude. You return their thanks with nods and a faint smile making sure to hide the toll their pain exacts upon you.

Throughout all of this the Inner Circle is embroiled in their own battles too consumed by strategic planning and counterattacks to notice the quiet suffering of Madja’s apprentice. They see you sometimes as a fleeting figure moving among the cots, but the depth of your sacrifice remains unseen being masked by the chaos of war and the stoic mask you wear.

The pain accumulates as a collection of injuries that are not your own yet reside within you. As the day wears on you feel yourself weakening. The physical costs of your hidden ability dragging at your limbs making each step heavier. Each breath shallower. Still, you continue, the need to help, to heal, pushing you beyond your limits. The cries of pain are a call you cannot ignore even as each healing tears a little piece from your own reserves of strength.

In the privacy of brief moments alone when you can lean against the cool canvas of the tent and close your eyes, the reality of your situation presses close, intimate, and overwhelming. How long can you sustain this? The question haunts the back of your mind, but you push it away instead focusing on the faces of those you’ve saved on the necessity of your pain for their relief. This is the path you’ve chosen. Hidden in shadows yet illuminated by the faint glow of altruism, bearing silently the scars that no one else can see.

As dusk begins to settle over the camp casting long shadows between the rows of tents Azriel returns from a skirmish. His usually composed expression tightened with discomfort. The shadows that constantly swirl around him seem agitated reflecting his unease. He carries a minor wound. A laceration on his arm that under normal circumstances would be a trivial matter for a healer of his caliber. However, this wound is tainted with faebane, a substance notorious for its ability to thwart fae healing magic.

You watch from a distance initially noticing the way he grimaces as he presses his fingers against the jagged edge of the cut attempting to coax his own magic to seal it. But the faebane embedded in the wound repels each attempt. And with each failed healing his frustration grows. An exceptionally rare crack in his usually impenetrable demeanor.

Recognizing his struggle, you approach him tentatively. The weight of the day’s healings presses heavily on you. Each step toward him a battle against the fatigue that threatens to buckle your knees. “Azriel,” you call softly not wanting to startle him.

He looks up and for a brief moment you’re caught in the intensity of his gaze. His eyes that were usually so guarded and unreadable were now openly display his vexation and pain. "It's this damned faebane," he mutters almost to himself as his hand falls away from the wound.

Stepping closer you offer a small, reassuring smile though your body screams in protest. “Let me try,” you whisper while extending your trembling hands towards his arm.

As your fingers brush against his skin a shock of connection jolts through you. Stronger and more profound than anything you've felt with the other soldiers. It’s as if his very soul resonates with yours. A hum of compatibility that whispers of a deeper bond. Your heart stutters in your chest but you focus on the task at hand pushing away the implications of what this connection might mean.

You press your palms to the laceration and immediately a sharp pain slices through your own arm, mirroring Azriel’s wound. You stifle a cry by biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. The sensation is intense, more so because it’s Azriel’s pain you’re sharing now. Despite the agony you pour your energy into the healing being driven by a newfound desperation.

Azriel watches you. His expression shifting from one of pain to concern. "You don’t have to do this," he starts. His voice rough with his own discomfort and the growing worry for yours.

But you shake your head pushing through the pain with a determination that frightens even you. "I can handle it," you lie. The words barely a whisper over the throbbing in your arm. As the faebane slowly loses its grip and the wound begins to close a wave of dizziness hits you. So strong that you sway on your feet.

As Azriel steadies you with his shadows curling anxiously around his form he is acutely aware of the pain coursing through his arm, mirroring the wound he just healed. As a shadowsinger he has always been attuned to the deeper often hidden emotions of those around him. He was capable of sensing the unspoken pains and secret fears that others carry silently. However, this experience is startlingly intense. A raw echo of agony that pulses through him with unusual clarity.

The pain he feels as you heal him doesn't feel like his own. It’s as if he’s tapped into a direct stream of your suffering. This connection, though new and unexplored, unnerves him. It is more profound than anything he has experienced through his shadows before. Almost as if the pain itself has a voice, whispering of shared suffering and mutual burden. He struggles with the realization that he is feeling your agony so vividly. The lines of empathy blurring into something deeper. Something he can't quite understand yet.

In this moment as the faebane's resistance fades and the laceration begins to heal, Azriel finds himself grappling with a mix of concern and a peculiar sense of protectiveness. The intensity of the connection doesn’t fit into the usual confines of his abilities or past experiences. While he doesn't comprehend the full extent of what this means—far from realizing the potential of a mate bond—he recognizes that something significant lies beneath the surface of this shared pain. This unexpected insight into your sacrifice doesn't just alarm him. It shifts something fundamental in how he perceives you. Compelling him to reassess the nature of your relationship and his instincts towards you.

His hands were gripping your shoulders with surprising gentleness. "What is this costing you?" he asks. His voice laced with a rare note of vulnerability having felt a trace of your suffering through the nascent bond neither of you yet understands.

You want to reassure him. To tell him it’s nothing but the shadows in his eyes seem to see through you, recognizing the depth of your sacrifice. In this shared moment of pain and healing the unspoken truth of your connection lingers heavily between you. A secret laid bare by the battle scars you both carry.

You meet Azriel's intense gaze seeing the concern etched in his features threatening to unravel the composure you've fought so hard to maintain. His hands on your shoulders feel both grounding and alarming. As if they're the only things keeping you from collapsing under the weight of your own sacrifices. "I need to keep going," you manage to say. Your voice a strained whisper that barely conceals the weariness lacing each syllable. "There are others who need me."

Trying to inject a note of reassurance into your tone you add quickly, "It's part of healing, Azriel. I'll be okay." Even as you speak the words you feel the hollowness behind them. A contrast to the truth of your pain. But you're determined not to let him see just how much it's affecting you not wanting to add to his burdens.

With a gentle but firm push against his hands you step back pulling away from his comforting grasp. "I have to go," you insist, turning towards the next cot where another soldier lies moaning in pain. You don't look back almost afraid that if you do your resolve will crumble under the weight of his worry and the unspoken connection that you both feel but don't yet understand. You move forward, each step fueled by a mix of duty and the urgent need to escape the intensity of his scrutiny and the complicated emotions it stirs within you.

Azriel was still visibly troubled by the earlier interaction. With your evident strain he insists on accompanying you as you move from one wounded soldier to another. His presence is a silent, watchful shadow that lingers just at the edge of your vision. While the others of the Inner Circle are engaged in the throes of battle, Azriel has chosen to remain by your side. A decision that speaks more of his concern than any words could.

As you press on each healing session takes more from you. Draining your energy, drawing more of your strength. Azriel observes closely noting the increasing pallor of your skin and the subtle tremors in your hands each time you withdraw them from a wound. Despite your attempts to mask your pain, each expression, each falter does not escape his vigilant gaze.

As you lean over a severely wounded soldier focusing intently on sealing a deep, life-threatening laceration the accumulated pain from your healings surges like a tide, overwhelming and relentless. The sharp and unyielding agony lashes through you, blurring your vision and weakening your knees. You feel the darkness creeping in at the edges of your consciousness threatening to pull you under.

In a desperate bid to maintain control you reach out not for Azriel but for the tent’s support pole—a futile attempt to steady yourself. Yet, your hands grasp only air as your strength finally fails. Before you can process the fall Azriel’s arms are around you. His reaction swift and sure. He pulls you gently against him cushioning your collapse as he lowers both of you smoothly to the floor of the tent.

In this moment your pride battles with the undeniable relief of his support. You hadn't called for him. You hadn't wanted to admit that he might have been right about the danger of your condition, yet here he is, the one catching you as you fall. His presence is both a comfort and a confrontation. A not-so-subtle reminder of your own vulnerability.

Azriel cradles you against his chest. His expression a mask of concern etched deep with the lines of fear for your well-being. He doesn’t speak immediately instead opting to brush a gentle hand across your forehead, pushing away strands of hair matted with sweat. His touch is soft, almost reverent, as if he’s both trying to comfort you and reassure himself of your presence.

Around you the battle's distant roars continue but within the tent a quiet bubble of stillness envelops you both punctuated only by your labored breaths. Azriel’s gaze is locked on your face searching for any sign of recovery. Looking for any indication that you might overcome this bout of weakness.

In his eyes there is a flicker of something more—something beyond mere concern. It's a profound realization of your sacrifice. Of the silent suffering you've endured to heal others. And with this realization comes a fierce protectiveness. A vow forming in the depths of his being. He holds you closer, a silent promise cradled in the curve of his arms, that from this moment forward he will do whatever it takes to protect you. To ensure that this burden of pain is no longer yours to bear alone. The bond between you seemingly mysterious and undefined becomes his anchor. The thing he clings to as he silently pledges to be the safeguard you might not admit you need but he knows you deserve.

The pain you've been shouldering now echoes clearly through the bond that neither of you fully understands yet. But its intensity is unmistakable. Azriel feels each pang as if it were his own. A shared torment that binds you together with an ironclad tether. His face was mere inches from yours and is etched with deep concern and something akin to fear. "Hold on," he urges. His voice a low, desperate command. "Stay with me."

As Azriel holds you in his arms feeling the distressing ebb of your consciousness his protective instincts surge into high alert. The warmth from your body seems to be fading and your breathing becomes worryingly shallow. Typical signs that your physical limits have been catastrophically breached. Panic tightens its grip on him. A vivid contrast to the usual calm demeanor of the shadowsinger.

"Madja!" he calls out desperately. His voice piercing the relative quiet of the tent with an urgency that rattles the air. The shadows around him stir reflecting his growing desperation. He needs her expertise, her understanding of your mysterious condition that now seems perilously close to claiming you.

Madja rushes through the flaps of the tent with her healer's bag clutched tightly, the sight that greets her—a formidable Azriel cradling you, pale and barely conscious—draws a sharp intake of breath from her. She kneels beside you both. Her experienced eyes quickly assessing your condition.

"What happened?" she demands. Her voice thick with worry and confusion. As she lays her hands on you seeking to gauge the extent of your depletion Azriel's gaze hardens.

"She's been healing the soldiers, taking their pain onto herself," Azriel explains. His words rushed. His tone laced with both accusation and fear. "She collapsed just now. How could you not know the toll it was taking on her?"

Madja's expression crumbles into one of profound guilt and regret. She meets Azriel's intense gaze with a resigned sorrow. "I knew," she admits. Her voice a whisper of remorse. "I knew, but I thought we could manage it—keep it under control. I feared the implications of her gift being fully exposed. I thought I was protecting her."

Azriel’s anger wanes slightly instead replaced by a sharp pang of understanding. He knows all too well the complexities of hiding one's true capabilities in a world that might not understand or might exploit them. However, his concern for your well-being remains paramount.

"She needs help now, Madja. What can we do?" he asks with his voice softening but still tinged with urgency.

Madja nods. Her focus turning entirely to you. "I can stabilize her for now, but we need to rethink how she uses her gift," she says as she begins to channel her own healing magic into you. A gentle flow designed not to heal but to sustain.

As Madja works Azriel holds you closer. His thoughts racing with concern and resolve. He watches the slight return of warmth to your cheeks under Madja’s skilled care, feeling a blend of relief and determination surge through him. A promise forms in his heart. Not merely to protect you but to truly understand and support your unique gift, no matter the cost.

However, the demands of the ongoing battle pull at him. Madja noticed the conflict in his expression speaks with a calm authority. "She must rest now, Azriel," she advises with her voice steady. "And they need you. The battle isn't over yet."

Reluctantly Azriel nods. The weight of his responsibilities clear on his face. He leans down with his lips brushing your forehead in a gentle kiss. His assurance of returning to you. "I'll be back soon," he promises. His voice a whisper meant only for you. With one last lingering look that conveys all his worry and care he stands and leaves the tent. His figure soon disappearing into the fray.

The war rages on demanding every ounce of Azriel's focus and skill. Yet his thoughts frequently stray back to the medical tent, to you, lying there in recovery. Each moment he can spare he finds himself glancing towards the tent. His mind racing with scenarios of returning to you.

As the last echoes of battle fade and a weary peace begins to settle, Azriel's duties finally allow him a moment to breathe. He wastes no time. The moment he is able he rushes back to the medical tent with his steps quick with urgency and anticipation. Pushing through the tent flaps, Azriel’s eyes immediately seek you out. He finds you awake but visibly exhausted propped up against some pillows. The sight of you, alive and recovering, though still weak floods him with relief.

“I’m here,” Azriel breathes out as he quickly crosses the space to your side before kneeling beside your cot. His hand reaches out brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with a tenderness that belies his warrior's exterior. “How are you feeling?” he asks. His voice low and filled with concern. His eyes scanning your face for any sign of pain or discomfort.

Azriel’s presence instantly eases some of the weight pressing down on you and relief softens your features. "I'm exhausted," you admit but manage a weak smile. "But I'll be alright, just need some rest." Your eyes meet his and even in your weariness there's an undeniable relief that reflects back from his gaze. An unspoken understanding of the solace you both find in each other’s presence after the chaos of battle.

"You had us worried for a while there," Azriel says. His voice a mix of relief and mild reprimand. His eyes scan your face still searching for signs of pain or lingering fatigue. His concern palpable but not overwhelming. "Madja told me you'd recover but seeing it for myself makes all the difference."

Your smile deepens slightly at his words. You were grateful for his concern and the straightforward honesty that always marked your interactions. "I'll be fine, Azriel. Really," you assure him with your tone aiming to put him at ease. "It's good to have you back though."

In the days following the battle, as the camp slowly transitions from a place of urgent healing back to routine operations, your strength begins to return. With each passing day the pain and exhaustion that had once clouded your vision start to fade instead replaced by a growing vigor that Madja assures you is a good sign of recovery. Azriel, true to his word, visits often. His presence a constant reassurance as the camp breaks down around you. The war finally declared over.

Once you're deemed well enough to travel Azriel accompanies you back to Velaris. The journey was facilitated by the magic of winnowing is quick but disorienting. A dramatic shift from the dusty tents and the sharp smells of medicine to the lush, serene beauty of the Night Court. Back in Velaris the city seems to embrace you both with open arms. The familiar sights and sounds of the vibrant city life, the cobblestone streets lit by lanterns and the murmur of the Sidra River, provide a comforting backdrop to your continued recovery.

A few nights after your return, once you feel stronger and more like yourself, Azriel invites you to join him on a balcony overlooking Velaris. The balcony was part of a high vantage point in the House of Wind and offers a breathtaking view of the city spread out beneath a canopy of stars. The transition from the harsh realities of war to this peaceful setting marks a significant shift in your healing process—both physical and emotional.

Seated together on the balcony the atmosphere between you is one of tentative peace. A reprieve from the chaos of the battlefield. The evening air is cool and carrying the gentle scent of night-blooming flowers. There’s a quiet that allows for softer, more intimate conversation. Here with the distance from the front lines you both find the space to reflect on the recent events and the impact they’ve had on each of you discussing thoughts and feelings that the war left little room to explore.

This tranquil setting in Velaris which was far removed from the demands of war allows you both to see each other in a new light. Appreciating the resilience and strength each has shown, and perhaps, beginning to understand the deeper bond that seems to have formed in the crucible of conflict.

Azriel breaks the silence between you with a gentle voice reflecting the calm of the night. "I've been thinking about your healing abilities. About your gift," he says before pausing as if searching for the right way to broach the subject without overstepping. "It's a heavy burden you've carried… taking on others' pain."

You nod appreciating his careful approach. "It can be overwhelming," you admit. Your voice low. Sharing this truth with him feels both vulnerable and relieving. "Especially knowing that each time I heal, I take a little bit of that pain into myself."

The softness of his gaze as he looks at you speaks volumes, and he shifts slightly closer. "Perhaps we can find a way to ease that burden," he suggests. "Explore methods to shield you or at least to share the load." The idea of sharing this part of your life with Azriel, having him understand and perhaps help carry the weight, brings a warmth to your heart. It’s a tentative step towards deeper connection and you find yourself hoping for more.

"And how about us?" Azriel adds after a moment, the question hanging between you like a delicate thread. "These past weeks, feeling everything that you have felt... it’s made me realize how deeply connected I am to you. More than I anticipated." The admission hangs in the air and is charged with an unspoken depth of emotion. You felt it too. The inexplicable pull towards him. Something beyond mere friendship.

You smile a soft, genuine expression that lights up your eyes. "I feel it too," you confess. "It's like there’s something between us, something... more."

The conversation flows more freely now, the initial hesitance giving way to a hopeful exploration of what might be. Neither of you mentions the word 'mates,' still dancing around the full depth of your bond, but there’s an unspoken acknowledgment of the significance of your connection.

As the night deepens between you, you and Azriel make promises. Not grand declarations but quiet vows to support each other. To explore the depth of your bond and understand the extent of your powers together. It's a mutual commitment filled with the promise of discovering not just the mysteries of your abilities but also the potential of what you could be to each other.

With the city of Velaris sparkling below and the tranquil night wrapping around you there’s a sense of beginning. Of possibilities waiting to be explored. Together you watch the stars comforted by the presence of each other and hopeful for the future.

In the quiet of the pre-dawn, you and Azriel linger on the balcony ensconced in the gentle embrace of Velaris' early morning serenity. The sky is a tapestry of deep blues and purples and begins to lighten at the horizon, heralding the dawn. The air around you is charged with the quiet anticipation of the world waking up. A fitting backdrop for the profound moment unfolding between you.

Azriel's gaze remains fixed on the horizon, but his mind is clearly elsewhere—on the revelations of the night, on the words that now hover on the edge of being spoken. Finally, he turns to you with his expression open. He was vulnerable in a way that you've seldom seen from the reserved shadowsinger. "There's something undeniable about the connection between us," he begins. His voice soft, reverent almost. "It goes beyond what we’ve had. Beyond friendship.” You meet his gaze feeling the truth of his words resonate within you. It's a truth you've sensed but haven't dared to define until this moment.

Finally finding the courage to speak what he’s discovered he steps closer making sure to bridge the gap between you. His presence enveloping you in warmth. "I've felt every echo of your pain, every ripple of your joy as if they were my own. It's more than just empathy… it's a bond, a deep, unbreakable bond." His hands find yours. His touch gentle but firm. "I believe we're mates," he says. The words charged with emotion and an unspoken plea for you to feel the same.

Your heart leaps. The simplicity and sincerity of his admission cutting through any lingering doubts. You smile, not just with your lips but with your entire being, accepting the truth of his words and the bond they confirm. "Azriel, I've sensed it as well," you reply with your voice soft yet filled with wonder. "It’s as if there’s been a song woven into the fabric of our days, subtle yet persistent, waiting for us to finally hear it and understand its tune."

Azriel's smile in response is a thing of quiet joy. A uniquely rare and tender sight that stirs something deep within you. He pulls you gently closer and you find yourself wrapped in his embrace. The city around you awakening as the first light of dawn spills over the edges of the world.

In the tranquil embrace of dawn Azriel holds you close. His heart beating a tentative rhythm against yours. His voice carries a rare vulnerability that makes the air around you thrum with the weight of his words. “Do you want that?" he asks softly. His breath warm against your hair. "To always be there for each other. To face whatever this world throws at us, together, as one?"

He pulls back slightly as his hands were still gently cradling your face. His eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. This question isn't merely rhetorical. It's a genuine, open-ended inquiry into your desires. A request for your heart's agreement with his. Azriel's usual certainty is replaced by an endearing, hopeful uncertainty. Highlighting how deeply he values your consent and participation in this burgeoning bond.

You look into his eyes. Into those deep pools of night that have seen so much sorrow and solitude, now laced with tender hope. The dawn casts its first gentle rays illuminating the sincerity and slight apprehension on his face. This moment, this question, isn't just about confirming a bond. It's about choosing to build a future together.

"Yes, Azriel," you respond. Your voice steady and sure, a soft yet resolute affirmation that echoes the depth of your own feelings. "I want that more than anything."

Azriel's response is immediate. His eyes reflecting a profound relief and joy that seem to brighten the very air around him. A broad, genuine smile spreads across his face transforming his usually stoic expression into one of pure elation.

"You've just made me the happiest male in all of Prythian," he breathes out as his voice is rich with emotion. The sincerity in his words resonates deeply echoing the significance of your acceptance.

His arms pull you closer. The warmth of his embrace enveloping you as he whispers, "We'll face everything together, side by side. No matter what comes we won't face it alone."

"Always," you echo back, your voice a soft yet resolute affirmation. The certainty in your agreement strengthens the bond between you weaving your fates together with threads of shared strength and mutual understanding setting a path forward together in the intertwining dance of your shared lives.

Azriel’s smile deepens at your words. His relief and joy palpable. The certainty of your mutual promise solidifies the bond between you weaving your fates together with threads of shared strength and understanding. His hands that still cradling your face shift slightly and his fingers brush tenderly across your lips. A touch so gentle it sends a shiver down your spine.

The intimate gesture holds a world of meaning. As he gazes into your eyes the warmth and intensity of his emotions are clear. He leans in, his breath mingling with yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. Then with a tenderness that quickly deepens into something more he pulls you in for a kiss.

What starts as a gentle meeting of lips soon transforms into a kiss filled with passion and longing. As if all the emotions and realizations of the past days and weeks are being poured into this single, breathtaking moment. Azriel’s kiss is both a promise and a declaration, sealing the bond between you with a fervor that leaves you breathless.

Your arms wrap around him pulling him closer responding to the depth of his kiss with equal intensity. The world around you fades away leaving only the two of you entwined in a moment that transcends everything else. As the kiss lingers it becomes clear that this is not just a bond forged in the fires of battle but a connection that will shape your future, side by side, whatever may come.

ACOTAR Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @hiireadstuff @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @lilah-asteria @fandomarchiveilyd @nickishadow139

Request Taglist: @aelinwya @mira-says

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bumblesimagines · 1 year

Text

Imagine:

Being the Frey girl betrothed to Robb Stark

Request: Yes or No

Did not intend for this to be long

~~~

It was supposed to be the perfect day. Many little ladies dreamt of their weddings, dreamily wondering about their future husbands and the family they'd create together. Your dreams of the perfect wedding had been brief, crushed quickly under the boot of your father, Walder Frey, and you were forced to accept that you'd be marrying out of duty rather than true love.

There'd been some hope and a spark of relief when your sisters had rushed to your bedchambers, giddy and eager to speak of your betrothed: Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell. He had visited briefly and been allowed his pick of the litter, but when he provided no response, your father chose for him. You knew of the Starks of Winterfell. They were an honorable family and close as could be. And from the accounts of your sisters, Robb was a handsome man. Young, handsome, eyes blue as sapphires, pretty brown hair, and incredibly polite. You hadn't seen him as you'd been occupied the day of his visit, but everything your sisters told you filled you with glee. An honorable, kind husband who you'd surely fall in love with.

Or so you thought.

You'd been there when one of Walder's men had requested his time and spoke of Robb. The words that followed had sent you reeling, stomach twisting and heart shattering. Robb had a lover. A healer from Volantis named Talisa Maegyr. Your father's rage had been brief, calming when the man assured him Robb still planned on wedding you. He hadn't broken his promise to House Frey, and that had been enough for your father. You shouldn't have been surprised. Walder himself had fostered many bastards throughout his countless marriages.

"A man has needs." He'd said, curling his bony fingers around his ale and bringing it to his mouth. He cared little for the tears forming in your eyes. "I cannot fault him for that."

You spent the rest of the day weeping in your room with your sisters around you, murmuring comforts and trying to brighten your day.

"You'll be Lady Stark and Queen of the North soon, dear sister." One had attempted, a brush delicately going through your hair. "His mistress will be just that. A mistress."

But it hadn't been that. No, you wept because a mistress before the wedding had even been planned meant a loveless marriage where you'd have to battle for your husband's attention, battle to ensure you had his child first. You'd seen firsthand how much a loveless marriage affected a bride. Your father had many wives after the death of your own mother, each of them young and full of light that dimmed with each passing day until they were a hollow and empty shell. You wept for what could've been a happy future far from the grim place you called home.

But the sadness turned to bitterness and anger over night. The Stark's prided themselves on being loyal and honorable, sticking to their oaths and promises even if it meant putting their own happiness aside. Why couldn't Robb done that for you? Why had he taken a lover so quickly after the announcement of your incoming wedding? He hadn't cared about how shameful it would be for you. How humiliating. You'd be known as Lady (Y/N) of Winterfell, the woman who'd been cast aside before ever meeting her husband.

The wedding date had arrived sooner than later, something you loathed. You stared at the reflection in the mirror as both maids and kin tended to you. They brushed your hair, powdered your face, and tightened the wedding dress to your body while fawning over how beautiful of a wedding it'd be. They praised you at the end, gushing over how pretty of a bride you'd be. They hadn't thought to realize that Robb would be envisioning his little healer in your place when you walked down the isle.

You ensured to keep a stoic expression throughout the ceremony, not even mustering a smile for your husband when he lifted the veil and took in your appearance. His eyes, as pretty as described, had widened considerably and flickered over to the pews where his family sat. The ends of his mouth had quirked up into a smile and he muttered a soft 'my lady' before turning to the Septon. You would've scoffed if it weren't for the stare Walder gave you.

The ceremony went by in a breeze and you kept your stoic, cool composure, even when your father had lowly whispered for you to smile after being seated. He no longer had control over you. You relished in the thought. The only good thing that had allowed for you to have an appetite as Starks, Freys, and other allies celebrated. You spent most of the celebration searching for her until you noticed Catelyn Stark speaking with a young woman who stared at Robb hopelessly. Talisa, you presumed from the frankly exasperated look on Catelyn's face. She was pretty, you'd give him that.

"Are you feeling well?" Robb asked quietly and reached for your hand, delicately placing his over it and staring at you with knitted brows. You pulled your hand away swiftly and set it on your lap, eyes moving onto your beloved sisters to keep your emotions in check.

"No." You answered after a brief pause. Robb was handsome, incredibly so, but his presence alone irritated you. You had to act quick before the bedding ceremony took place, a tradition your father insisted on keeping alive. "I feel unwell, Lord Stark. I'm afraid I'll be retreating early."

"Shall I go with-"

Rising from your seat, you shook your head, still refusing to meet his eyes. "No, My Lord. That will not be necessary." You carefully lifted your dress and breezed past your father, ignoring the glare he speared into your back as you glided down the steps and toward the exit.

Slipping out into the familiar halls, you exhaled deeply and released your gown. It dragged along the stone floor, dark gray clashing with white. You itched to get out of it as soon as possible. The thought of burning it crossed your mind but it felt too childish, too improper of a lady.

"My Queen." A voice echoed down the hall and you halted. Queen of the North and Lady Stark of Winterfell. Right. Your new titles. No longer one of Walder's many overlooked daughters. You looked over your shoulder, spotting her auburn hair first, a signature trait of the Tully family. Catelyn Stark.

"My Lady." You greeted her, turning to face the older woman. She smiled sweetly, gazing at you with the warmth of a mother. Catelyn grew closer and took your hands into hers, smile turning into a shamed smile.

"I am deeply sorry for what my son has done." Her voice sounded sincere, full of guilt and shame. She shook her head. "I taught him better than that. He knows better than that. But rest assured, that woman will not cause problems for you."

You'd nearly forgotten. Eddard Stark had returned home from the war with a bastard son called Jon Snow and raised him as a trueborn alongside the rest of his children. You remembered the murmured rumors of how Catelyn detested him and had fostered a particular dislike for bastards. Perhaps that dislike extended to mistresses.

"She may share his bed, that is true. But he is my husband now, and as his wife, I have duties that I will not forget. I can assure you, Lady Stark, I will give your son an heir and do what needs to be done for House Stark to prosper, just as you have done these many years." Her eyes softened considerably, fingers lightly squeezing the palms of your hands.

"Oh, sweet child." Catelyn cooed gently and brought a hand to your cheek. You yearned for your mother's embrace, her soothing words. You pressed your lips together to keep them from trembling. "You shall make a wonderful queen and a wonderful wife. I... I will ensure Robb does his duties as husband. You need not stress over Talisa."

"I appreciate it, Lady Stark. I'm afraid I'll be heading to my- our bedchambers for the rest of the night. Please assure everyone that I am well." You pulled your hands from hers and lowered your head in respect to the monarch before turning and resuming your walk down the hall.

Another deep breath and you reached the one of the many guest bedchambers. Most of your belongings had been packed up for you, likely already sitting in Robb's tent out on the field. You dismissed the servants that offered to help you ready for bed, only agreeing to have a warm bath drawn so you could relax after the day's events.

Slipping out of your wedding dress, you watched it slump on the cool floor and stepped out of your shoes. You released your hair and ran your fingers through it as you dipped one leg into the bath and then the other. The water dug into your skin, easing away at the tension in your muscles. A soft sigh of relief escaped past your lips, shoulders dipping below the surface. You leaned your head back against the wall of the tub, eyes fluttering shut and mind forgetting about the day.

You would've stayed in the tub for the rest of the night, even slept in it, if it hadn't been for the sound of the door creaking open. Your eyes snapped open and you lifted your head, gazing down at the water as heavy boots stepped across the room. Robb passed by the tub, shedding his coat and draping it over a chair. You brought your knees up to your chest when he turned.

"I thought you would've been asleep by now." He spoke softly, undoing the buttons of his vest. "Are you feeling better?"

The consummation. You nearly grimaced. "No."

"Should I call for a maester?"

"It's likely nerves, My Lord."

"We're husband and wife now. You may call me Robb." He gave a boyish smile and you turned to look at the towel perfectly folded on the stool beside you. You reached for it and let it unravel outside of the tub, eyes jumping back to the Stark. Robb's fingers had paused on the last button, attention trained fully on you but when he noticed the icy look, he turned his back. You stood, the water sloshing around as you dried yourself and retrieved a nightgown.

"I would like to sleep in my old room tonight. It's likely the last time I'll see it."

"I'd like to believe that, (Y/N). But I am no fool. I am your husband, you may speak openly with me." Your jaw clenched at his words. He claimed to be no fool yet remained oblivious to your anger. "And I hope you'll grow comfortable enough to sleep at my side."

Picking up a candle, you lifted it to the lantern keeping the room lit and pulled away once the fire flickered onto the end of the wax. "I believe your lover would prefer otherwise, My Lord. I bid you goodnight."

He blinked. "(Y/N)-"

"I bid you goodnight."

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unorthodoxfaithxx · 6 months

Text

Soft Yandere Simp ogling Camgirl Reader

There are no words that come to mind when he sees you for the first time. His mind completely goes blank, enthralled by your EVERYTHING to the point of no return.

He immediately bookmarks your webcam page, knowing that he’s probably going to be recklessly spending his money on you from now on. But hey, it’s okay. After all, it must be love!

His mother always told him growing up to cherish the people he loves, so he does just that. Within days, your not-so-high income quadruples, spurred on all by one man, him. He quickly becomes your most generous viewer.

He drops money during your stream to ask the most basic questions: $10 - What’s your favorite color? $20 - Do you like sushi? $15 - What’s your least liked movie? $5 - Bowser or Mario?

He laps up every bit of information you give him. You say you prefer muscular guys? Rest assured that he’s already hitting the gym. You hate politics? He swears he’ll never bring them up. You like flowers? Expect to be showered with them once he gets your address. (He WILL find your address.)

It goes on like this for a while.

The two of you converse a lot on stream. You begin to ask for his preferences, being your number one viewer and all. He eventually buys you outfits, lingerie he thinks would look best on you, and feels immensely satisfied when you wear them during streams.

You grow to enjoy his antics, and behind the scenes, despite knowing you shouldn’t, you eventually can’t help your curiosity and ask for his contact information.

When you send him a DM, he feels like he’s died and gone to heaven. You two hit it off quite easily — him having done enough research and questioning to figure out what type of guy you like.

Before you know it you’re giving him private shows, and he cherishes every moment, always tipping you a fat sum afterwards. You continue doing regular streams, and despite not liking that others get to see you so intimately, he respects your line of work and knows that he’ll always be your favorite. And you can bet your ass he’ll be in every stream, supporting his favorite girl in the whole wide world.

He’s not even interested in sex anymore, he just wants your time. Phone calls with you are his favorite activity of the day, where the two of you can just talk about the randomest of things. He grows greedy, wanting more of your time to himself.

Like it was meant by fate, the two of you start dating, and by then he can barely mask how he truly feels. He’s constantly calling you, sending you heartfelt texts, wanting to video call, and sending you gifts. One day he’ll buy a plan ticket just to visit you. But until then, he wants as much of you he can get virtually.

Your friends warn you of his clingy behavior, but you find it sweet.

#male yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere male #yandere writing #yandere x reader #yandere drabble

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harrysfolklore · 10 months

Note

yes for tom!! (bday anon!!)

first of all HAPPY BIRTHDAYY this is short but i didn’t want to leave you without your bday blurb 🥹 hope u guys like it

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

gifs by @ssoveia <33

Birthdays were never your thing.

Surely growing up you had a lot of good memories when it came to celebrating your birthday, but as you grew older you forgot the magic behind celebrating your birthday.

However, that changed when you started dating Tom two years ago, he always made sure to make your day special and make you feel loved and celebrated.

In your first year together he threw you a big party in a rooftop in New York City, getting all of your friends and close family together. For your second, you celebrated in a more intimate way with a small trip to Greece.

However, this year you didn’t have any expectations on how would you celebrate your day, since Tom’s schedule was beyond busy with the press, promo and premieres of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.

You were extremely proud of him and everything he was achieving, so you wouldn’t blame him if he happened to forget your birthday, he was doing what he loved the most and that was enough to make you the happiest ever.

As the morning of your birthday approached, you woke up feeling a bit disappointed, knowing Tom had to leave early for the some promo shoot for the movie. The empty side of the bed only echoed his absence.

However, when you when you headed the stairs, a full breakfast and a gorgeous bouquet of flowers greeted you, accompanied by a note in Tom's handwriting.

"Happy Birthday, my love. I'm sorry I had to rush off. I hope this brightens your morning a bit. We'll celebrate tonight. Love you x . - Tom."

Just as you were admiring the bouquet, your phone ringed with an incoming video call from Tom.

"Hey, birthday girl!" Tom's face beamed through the screen. "How's your day been so far?”

"It's been good, actually," you smiled fondly at him, "Breakfast and the flowers were such a lovely start"

"Look, I'm really sorry I couldn't be there to say Happy Birthday first thing in the morning," his voice sounded distressed and you couldn't help but feel for him, "I'll make it up for you tonight, I promise."

"Don't worry about it, baby. I completely understand. I know how crazy your schedule is right now," you assured him, "You're doing what you love the most and I'm so proud of you for that."

"Yeah, it's been non-stop. But that I hate that it's keeping me from being there for you on your special day."

"Honestly, you being so busy doesn't take away from the fact that you've made it special already," you shrugged, smiling at him, "And I know whatever you have planned for tonight will be just amazing, so stop being so hard on yourself!"

"About that," he smirked before continuing, "Make sure to be ready at 7. I'll pick you up."

"Whatever you say, handsome," you rolled your eyes with affection, "As long as I would love to stay here, I know you have to go back to work."

"Shit, I do," he said realizing that crew members were already looking for him, "Happy Birthday again, my love. You're amazing."

ending kinda sucked lmao i hope u like this bday anon happy bday

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politemenacephd · 6 months

Text

The Surrogate: Part II

Miguel O'Hara X Peter B. Parker X GN!Reader (+18) Part one Part Three Series Content: Planned pregnancy, Breeding kink, PinV sex, Oral sex, Threesome, Web knotting, Aftercare, Possible Angst/fluff.

Miguel and Peter want a third child, and apparently they've run out of options. That is, except for you, their friend and colleague. They offer to cover everything, and the pay is life-changing. There's just one catch: they went to concieve naturally.

Notes: Oh boy here it comes time to give the boys a baby

As you approached the HQ you were a ball of nerves.

It was finally time to go in and get started.

After a few months of planning you were ready to begin the surrogate process. The whole process had been pretty smooth overall, almost too smooth. Miguel and Peter had let you hire a family friend as your lawyer, with Miguel paying every fee, and over each month you’d made sure the contract was fair.

You had been hired to be the men’s surrogate until completion, which didn’t have a set date on it but merely ended at whichever point you gave birth and the child was handed over into their custody. They would provide for your needs and health, and you would do your best to conceive for them.

You were allowed to leave at any time, though. It’d been a little difficult working out the details of leaving, especially regarding what happened if you were pregnant and had to stop, but Miguel and Peter had remained respectful. Eventually you’d worked out a plan that compromised what needed to be compromised, and so you stepped into the next phase: the actual conception.

It was a situation you were happy with. You felt safe, and soon you’d have a ridiculous amount of income. Right now, all you had to do was one, fairly simple job: From now until whichever point you conceived, you would be having intercourse with Miguel and Peter.

Simple enough, yes, but God, just the thought of it still made you weak. As you glanced up at their apartment, their windows glowing orange against the darkened skyline, you felt a pinch of nerves.

One of the things you’d agreed, just for the sake of convenience, was for you to move into Miguel’s plush new place at the top of the HQ, alongside him and Peter. Their girls lived with them too, but for tonight at least they were being babysat by a relative, and you’d been assured they had had the situation explained to them in the most child friendly way possible.

Later on things might have to change, but for tonight it was just about working out your dynamic and ensuring everyone was comfortable, and also getting the first attempt right.

It hit you hard, the idea that you might walk away from tonight pregnant with either of their babies. You kept thinking back to Miguel’s confident smirk in the bar, assuring you it wouldn’t take long. Why had he seemed so sure, and why did you so willingly believe him?

You sucked in a sharp breath and made your way in.

Your journey took you up through multiple elevators and beams and staircases as you ascended the HQ, which gave you more time to overthink. By the time you finally reached the apart you were a ball of nerves.

‘Okay… Okay, just, relax’ you told yourself. ‘Relax. Relax. You’re good. You’re all good.’

The moment you rang the doorbell the door swung open, causing you to flinch and yelp. You were met with Peter’s flushed and gleeful face as he threw himself through the door and around your little body, pulling you into a hug.

“HI! Hi, there you are! Oh- looking wonderful, muy bien, come on in!”

Before you could even get a word in he was carrying you into the apartment. Not shepherding, not pushing, carrying. He lifted your body was ease in a bridal carry and brought you through into the open-plan living room and kitchen area, babbling the whole way.

‘Miguel was worried you’d be late- OH, don’t tell him I told you that though, he’ll freak out, but I told him you’d be early and look who was right!”

‘A-Aha, yeah, uh- Peter, please could you—’ You stumbled on your attempt to request being put down as he gently shifted your weight, jolting you in his arms like a cat.

God, he was so strong. Deceptively strong. He felt nice, too. He was warm, toned but squishy, probably nice to cuddle. Perhaps, you didn’t want to be put down *just* yet.

‘Ah- never mind. Hi, Peter’ you said with a slight laugh. ‘I wouldn’t have thought me showing up early was such a surprise, you’re paying me enough for this.’

‘NO! I mean we’re paying a lot sure but it’s all worth it! I was just—’

‘Peter. Put them down.’

That dark, husky voice filled the apartment, rendering you both speechless.

You fell to the floor and immediately spotted Miguel leaning on the kitchen island. You felt your face go warm at the sight, as your chest seemed to tense in on itself.

He was just as pretty as usual, hanging around in loose joggers and an old shirt which left little up to the imagination. You were surprised to see as he moved around the kitchen that he also clearly wasn’t wearing boxers either, because the definition and light swing of what lay underneath caused your throat to seize up.

‘Thank you for coming’ Miguel said as he approached. You nodded hard, now trying your best to look anywhere except his perfectly toned V cut abdomen as it poked out beneath his shirt. He coughed before speaking. ‘Do you, uh—’

‘It’s okay, Miguel. I know you hate small talk’ you quickly said, cutting him off. To your relief you’d read him right; he did that gorgeous little half-smile down at you, his brows raising ever so slightly.

‘Mm. Good, thank you. This is why you’re my friend, hermosa/o’ he said with a throaty chuckle, only for Peter to appear at his back. ‘OUR friend’ he whined. Miguel shot him a bombastic side eye but ended up just shrugging and chuckling again. ‘Mm. Okay. Our friend. Perdón, mi amor.’

You watched slightly stiltedly as the two men butted noses and kissed, just a small peck before parting. You realized that you’d never really seen them being affectionate around the workplace, or even out in public like at the bar, so this was a surprise.

You almost didn’t notice Miguel turning back to you until he spoke.

‘Did you take the injections?’ Miguel asked. You awkwardly nodded.

You’d been given homework to do, mostly consisting of quite painful injections to stimulate ovulation. They sucked, hard, they made you feel awful and they burned when injected, but it was an important step.

‘And you’re ovulating?’ he asked next.

You felt your face burn up again as Miguel leaned in. He took your jaw into his hand and tilted it, seemingly trying to read something in your expression. This wasn’t an unusual move for him, especially with friends when he suspected they were lying, but right now it felt so much more intense.

‘I—yes, I have the app, I did everything on the list. I took the injection, I’m ovulating, I’m in the fertility phase, it- yeah.”

Miguel grunted, slowly retracting his hand. He looked pleased. Despite trying to keep a professional air about you, you felt your legs growing weak at his subtle little smile.

‘Good. I appreciate it.’ He turned and moved over to the counter as you awkwardly stood in the middle of the living room. Peter was still watching you, his face eager. You shyly smiled back at him.

‘So, do we, uh—’

‘Are you comfortable getting right into it?’ Miguel asked, pre-empting your question. You took a moment to decide but eventually nodded. ‘Yeah. I think so, aha, we- we got all night to talk, talk, afterward…’

The way Miguel chuckled at that made your sex throb. It was so sweet, so husky, so *smug*, in a way that was so unlike him. He glanced down at you in a way that highlighted his smooth, muscular neck, his eyes slightly lidded as he smiled.

‘Interesting. You think we’ll get tired?’ he asked.

Was- was he, teasing you? You blinked and swallowed, only to find your throat dry. ‘You... You have to get tired eventually, right?’ you said with a slight laugh, hoping it was a joke. Miguel’s smile widened.

‘Huh. Interesting’ he repeated. He held your gaze until he saw your smile falter, watching that sweet realization hit you that, no, he wasn’t joking. Peter was forced to step in to elaborate instead.

‘Oh no, no, no, Miguel doesn’t get tired’ he said, pridefully slapping the larger man’s chest right over his pecs. ‘Trust me, he will exhaust you. I’ve had to skip school runs because my legs just don’t work the next day.’

You raised a brow at that. ‘Ah… W- then, why are you two even taking turns?’ you asked. The two men glanced at each other. You saw them communicating silently; Miguel arched his brow and grunted, clearly implying something, as Peter raised his brows even higher and grunted back. The two turned to you in unison.

‘Miguel doesn’t get tired per se but he does get… well, empty’ Peter said, being as coy as possible. ‘He needs to re-charge, we both do, so, taking turns? Makes it easier! Plus, Miguel is…’

‘Rough’ he murmured, emphasising that word with such a husky tone. You almost collapsed.

‘Yeah! He is. Oh, you’re a kinky devil you are. I love you so much. But anyway, yes, so that’s why the switch. Hope that’s still okay’ Peter added on at the end, fixing you with an affectionate and open smile.

‘Aha, uh- yeah. Yeah, it’s all good. You guys really want that baby, huh?’ you said, your smile now slowly returning. While Miguel’s smirk turned shy Peter dramatically moaned.

‘We want it SO BAD! The girls are so BIG now, even Mayday can tie her own shoelaces, and all I wanna do is just cradle them in my arms and watch them babble nonsense and pretend to have a full conversation with them when all they can say is ‘babababa’—’

‘Peter.’ Miguel’s hand on Peter’s waist brought him to a stop. You noticed the way he subtly squeezed him. ‘We need to actually get started if you want that baby’ Miguel gently insisted.

At that Peter’s eyes turned to you again. You saw a spark in them you hadn’t seen before, and he quickly held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Okay! Okay. Baby time. Follow me, pretty thing’ Peter crowed before promptly grabbing your hand, dragging you into the bedroom. Miguel took his time before following in.

‘Okay, so, this is your room’ Peter explained as he flicked on the lights. You were taken aback by how nice it was. The dark, hardwood polished floors with a rug in the centre, highlighting the rich white king-size bed pressed up to the wall. You whistled at the huge, underlit wardrobe doors built into the right side wall, the mirrors on the ceiling and walls, and the glass wall overlooking the beautiful city beyond. It was a glittering cascade of neon lights across a dark canvas, a sight you'd usually never get to see.

‘My room?’ you stammered.

‘Mhm! Well, it’s the guest room, but for now, your room’ Peter crowed. He seemed to be enjoying your gawking.

‘It- what does your room look like then?’ you muttered half to yourself in disbelief.

Peter gently drew you to a stop in front of the bed. When he looked you over he had a slightly mischievous smile on his face. ‘Well, you’ll find out soon enough. Don’t you worry. Miguel, ah- he sells patents for technology he makes on the side back to the city, that’s how he affords everything here. It’s how he funds the HQ.’

You blinked in surprise. How had you not known that? ‘Oh, really? Huh…’

‘And, it’s how he’s gonna fund you, my little angel’ Peter suddenly cooed, pressing one firm hand to your abdomen. He squished it gently, his free arm pulling you into a hug before letting go again. ‘Thank you, again’ he whispered, his eyes deeply sincere. ‘Thank you for doing this.’

You just nodded, a little flustered internally at the sudden affection. ‘I-It’s fine’ you replied gently. ‘It’s, all fine. Thank you for uh, giving me the opportunity? I guess?’

His mischievous smug grin grew a little wider. ‘Uhuh. The opportunity. Speaking of which, shall we get you undressed?’

You felt that warmth thudding in your lower abdomen increase alongside your heart rate. You nodded. ‘Yeah. Yeah, of course, ah—’ You paused only to watch Miguel slowly enter through the bedroom door, gently shutting it at his back. He gave you a curt nod, essentially bidding you to continue. ‘Yeah. Let’s, do that’ you finished, before gently grasping your shirt.

You struggled to remove your clothing while the two men watched. Peter tried to be polite by looking to the side and whistling but you could feel his eyes drifting back, his whistles occasionally lowering in pitch as he stared before shifting back up. Miguel, however, kept his eyes firming on you.

You were surprised, as you undressed, to see his shaft already twitching beneath his joggers. The fabric was pitching to accommodate the size, and his eyes were fixed on you, roaming without shame or concern. Was he getting off on just this? The thought made you so giddy.

The moment you were naked Peter rushed in to pick you up and carefully lay you down on the bed. ‘You doin’ okay? You still good to go?’ he asked, his brown eyes wide and gentle. His care was a comfort, with his hand brushing your forehead and his soft, brown eyes fixated on your face. You shakily nodded.

‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m- fine, I’m ready.’

‘Good! Good. Okay, big guy, you ready?’

As Miguel approached, your breath hitched. He was eyeing you up with those wolfish eyes. They were such a deep red they seemed to glow in the dim, peaceful ambiance of the bedroom. ‘Mm. I’m ready’ he replied.

He stripped his shirt aside and yanked down his joggers, carefully kicking them aside to reveal his fully naked form. You audibly squeaked. He was huge.

The suit didn’t leave much to the imagination, apparently. He was hairless spare for a soft, thin line of dark hair running up his pelvis and a scattering on his lower legs and upper arms, leaving you a good view of his body. His skin was rough, scarred, with many lines overlapping over his rippling abs and hefty chest. His waist tapered in above his slim hips before sloping out into his heavily muscled thighs, both thick and slender.

And then, of course, your eyes drifted to his pelvis. His cock was gorgeous, there was no other word to describe it. Thick, veiny, perfectly curved. You had a sudden knot of anxiety over trying to take such a thing, but the soft throbbing in your clit urged you to ignore that thought.

He must have noticed you staring as he allowed a ghost of a smirk to creep onto his face.

Miguel clambered up and knelt on the bed, with his clawed hands resting on your own upturned knees. You squeaked a little as he curiously shifted them apart, noting the sight of your spread form. You suddenly felt extremely shy to have him gawking at your spread sex so curiously.

‘Oo, he likes you’ Peter cooed, still stuck in his teasing, flirting stage.

‘W-What?’ you stammered. Miguel shot Peter daggers with his eyes, imploring him to be quiet, but Peter couldn’t be silenced. ‘He likes you. That face he makes, with the eyes. They get a little bit brighter when he sees something he likes. I notice it when I wear anything too tight, it's like a… like a cat locking onto a mouse.’

‘Peter’ Miguel hissed, his fangs now bared in a desperate attempt to claw back his professionalism and ideally his dominance. Peter just chuckled. ‘Sorry’ he whispered. ‘I’ll be quiet.’

‘Yes. You will’ Miguel grunted, before finally turning back to your spread body. Now you could see it; those wolfish red eyes, darting down and drooping slightly as he took in your body. You felt his fingers grip a little tighter around your knees, his lips parting ever so slightly. He was already hard, but you saw his member tight just a little as if he was tensing it.

‘Now… You remember the deal, with intimacy?’ he asked softly.

‘Y-Yes.’

‘You are still comfortable with the terms we agreed?’ he asked, his voice softening even more.

‘Y-Yes’ you repeated. You caught him licking his teeth as he nodded.

‘Okay. Then the same rules apply. We'll be gentle this first night, just- the basics, to get you used to it. Your preference is oral, so, I will perform that to make insertion easier. Peter will ensure you’re comfortable throughout, and I’ll use my tongue to make you orgasm and also to loosen you up. Is that okay?’ Miguel explained. You just barely remembered to nod; the grip of anticipation was squeezing your guts like a fist.

It was time to start.

Miguel gestured to Peter with his shoulder and the man nodded, with the two moving in unison to either side of your torso. Peter settled on his side with his head by your own, his hands trailing over your chest, while Miguel sank down onto his belly with his head between your legs. Your legs twitched a little as you felt his hot, lurid breath hit your spread lips.

‘Y-You guys seem, pretty confident in your technique, huh?’ you said. You were struggling not to stutter.

Miguel didn’t respond; he just shot you a glance. You nearly buckled beneath the confident grin on his face. ‘Oh, we’re- quite confident’ he promised. As his mouth vanished behind the slope of your belly and sex, Peter gently gripped you tighter.

You felt the breath. You felt his lips brushing your inner thigh. You felt his groan, his tentative lick.

You tensed so hard it hurt. Here goes.

‘Okay, gently now, gently—’

‘AH—’

You couldn’t help it; the moment that flat, wet, rough tongue hit your clit you gasped and moaned, your hips arched involuntarily to try and get closer. Almost immediately Miguel responded with a muffled moan of his own.

In seconds that quiet, friendly façade fell apart. Miguel gripped your hips in his clawed hands, his talons just barely piercing your skin, and he began licking at you ravenously while Peter groaned in your ear.

‘Oh, there we go, good little thing, well done’ Peter whispered, urging you to moan again. Miguel was grunting as he buried his tongue against your clit, lapping and circling and sucking where he could. His breath kept hitting that sensitive nerve spot in rapid pants, either in grunts from his nose or in pants from his mouth, and every time it made you buck and squirm.

‘F-Fuck, ah- o-oh my god’ you stammered breathlessly. You knew it was coming, but you hadn’t been expecting this. You lay back and practically melted as Miguel lulled you with his mouth.

‘Oh, yeah, that’s it’ Peter murmured to himself. His eyes were fixed on your spread legs as Miguel hungrily lapped at your wet folds, his glowing eyes and sharp nose the only part of him visible as the rest buried itself into the nook of your lips. He absently started to palm his own cock beside you.

‘Oh, you both look so good’ he groaned. His sweet, encouraging praise in your ear only stirred you up further. ‘Go on daddy, give ‘em some more.’

With a soft growl Miguel tipped your hips back, holding you in place as his enormous, rippled shoulders forced your legs further apart. He spread you with his fingers and began gently snaking his long tongue down inside your cunt, pumping you with a good wet inch or so until you were audibly screaming.

You could feel his satisfied grunts vibrating through to your insides as he continued to prob them, slathering you in saliva and venom until it dripped onto the sheets below.

‘Miguel- f-fuck, ah—’ Your muffled gibberish words caught Peter’s attention, who reluctantly stopped rubbing himself to that gorgeous display and instead stroked your cheek.

‘You okay, sweetheart?’ he whispered. You shakily nodded.

‘Y-Yeah, I’m- I’m, great, just- a-ah, fuck, Miguel!’

Peter’s concern turned to soft chuckling as he realized you were just unbearably overwhelmed. He leaned in and kissed your jaw, his lips brushing up towards your ear. ‘Mm, he’s good, isn’t he? The best. I know what he can do with that tongue, and he must think you taste good to get that deep. Thanks for letting him practise, you pretty little thing.’

You could barely hear Peter’s filthy mouth over the drumming of your own heartbeat.

It wasn’t long before the sweet motions of his tongue stretching you out drew you toward your climax. He’d switch between sucking your slit and stretching you out until the double stimulation tripled over in your gut, tipping you right over into orgasmic spasms, and with the smuggest eyes possible he watched you squirming on his tongue as he tasted every second of it.

Peter was quick to soothe you, but Miguel had only been emboldened. He had a job to do, and he wouldn’t stop until it was done.

You caught a glimpse of his jaw as he withdrew, shimmering with your slick like a pearly sheen. He made eye contact once, his eyes a dark and bloody red, and with your unblinking attention he wiped his face with the back of his hand only to lick it off again. You could only whimper in response.

While you panted and tried to catch your breath Miguel began slowly mounting from the front. You looked up and watched those dark, foreboding eyes peer down at you from above.

‘I will, try to be gentle’ he said. You could hear the desperation behind his soft words. The man was twitching with excitement, his veiny cock already peaking thick drops of pearly pre-cum as he approached. You could see his tongue pressed to his teeth, his lips parted so he could pant.

You hadn’t expected him to be so aroused by this. You’d expected he just wanted this for business purposes, but you were starting to realize he might just be fulfilling something more here.

He spoke, then, and fully confirmed your theory.

‘Time to get you pregnant’ he breathed, his voice husky and wet, dripping with a deep and erotic urge. Peter chuckled. The man was also biting his lip, clearly enjoying the display his partner was putting on.

‘Miguel thinks he can get you pregnant first go’ Peter whispered in your ear. Miguel shot his partner a glance and ever so slightly curled his lip.

‘That’s because I can.’

You shuddered at his confidence, as did Peter. You were both brought to your metaphorical knees beneath the intensity of those bloody red eyes. The man reeked of potency, and when he spoke, you didn’t doubt him.

With you both now silenced Miguel settled himself down, easily spreading your legs with both hands to make way for his body. He leaned in and bent your legs down with him, pushing them into a mating press. He saw the rush of adrenaline in your face, the mixture of nervous fear and excitement. His eyes softened a little.

‘You okay?’ he murmured. You nodded just a little too fast.

‘Y-Yeah. Yeah, I’m—fine.’

He nodded back. His eyes darted over you once more to ensure you weren’t too tense, too stressed, before pressing a quick kiss to Peter’s jaw. The two didn’t need to share words. Peter leaned back with his arm around your head, and Miguel in a planking position pushed down towards you.

You watched his cock approaching with bated breath. That thick, veiny rod disappeared down between your thighs, leaving you with only the sensation of his member nudging at your wet pussy. You bit your lip and braced.

With a soft grunt, Miguel started trying to enter you.

At first, he simply couldn’t. He pulsed at you a few times, smearing your cunt with pre-cum as he tried to ease your muscles aside, but he couldn’t get more than a few inches in. The size difference was just too clear.

He wasn’t angry with you. You could see him fighting his impatience for your sake. Peter was left to soothe your gabbled apologies with promises that it was fine, they had time to try, while Miguel shifted to using his fingers instead.

‘My fault, should have—done this first, hermosa/o. It’s my mistake.’

You gasped aloud as he worked his calloused index finger inside you. He pushed right up to the knuckle before brushing your g-spot, admiring the way you bucked and moaned, before switching to lightly pulsing it in and out of your cunt.

All too soon his finger was sopping. He noted the thick strings of slick accumulating on his thick digit with a sense of pride, and slowly shifted to two. You moaned again, louder this time, and seemingly unable to help himself Miguel began leaning into it. He started pulsing harder, his eyes fixed on your hips as they pathetically rocked against his hand.

‘Mm, there we go. You like that? Is that good?’ he purred. Your moans vibrated through his soul, fuelling his ego. He slowly started fisting his cock as he watched.

‘That’s it’ he whispered to himself. ‘That’s it. Ah—I’m going to breed this. I’m going to breed this. I’m going to put a baby in there, sweet thing.’

His hand was making the most obscenely wet noise at this point. The heavy clap of his wet fingers was all that covered up his lewd mantra.

‘My baby’ he grunted, almost growling. ‘My baby, plumping you up, urgh—’

He made it to three fingers before becoming too desperate to wait. He pulled out his hand and quickly let Peter lick them clean, giving his partner just a little attention as he whined and licked your juices into his mouth, before pushing your knees down and mounting again.

This time, it came easy. He pushed into you with one hard grunt and let you feel every single inch slipping up to the tightest point, only stopping once he’d fully bottomed out. You screamed.

‘Urgh- uh, fuck, argh- so tight’ he panted. He didn’t waste time on soaking in you, as with a mind that utterly fixated all he could think about now was getting you stuffed with his seed. He started to pump his hips back and forth the moment he got inside.

‘That’s it, that’s it’ Peter whispered, getting you warm and comfortable as he watched his partner's enormous form rutting between your legs. He noted your wet lips and desperate moans, ensuring that you were enjoying yourself. ‘There, does he feel good?’ he purred.

‘Y-yea—yeah—y-a-ah—’

You couldn’t even get the words out. You were almost mewling as Miguel bent your back and started arching his hips, smacking them down onto your cunt with such terrifying vigor it almost made you wince. He was grinding up inside you, pulverizing those sweet, gummy walls, slipping against every soft ridge he could find.

His lips parted and he started to grunt with each rhythmic thrust, emphasizing the harsh slap of skin on skin with his own noises. ‘Uhn- uhn- uhn, que rico- uhn-’

It took you a little getting used to, settling into the rhythm of his body and his thick cock gently stretching you out. His claws on your knees were sharp, his breath on your face so hot that you started to sweat, and the power in his body was terrifying. He had to force himself to be careful with you. Every deep plunge into your cunt, each gentle pulse, could turn into a back-breaking move if he wasn’t careful.

He eventually had to lower his hands to the bed to stop himself from clawing at your knees. You lay back and tried to focus on the sensations. The warmth of his cock moving inside you, thrusting right up into your guts until your body began to grow flush with warmth. The wet slap of his hips as you began to coat his pelvis in thick, viscous slick. The beautiful sight of his inhuman body rippling between your legs.

‘F-Fuck’ you whimpered, unable to handle anything more. ‘F-Fucckkkk…’

Peter remained at your head as Miguel pumped. He was so gentle, soothing you and petting your face as your body was jolted back and forth.

‘A-Ah—’

‘Good, that’s it. You’re doing so good’ Peter whispered.

‘I’m close’ Miguel growled. His claws began tearing the sheets apart as his thrusts tripled in strength and speed, slamming into you repeatedly until the bed began to creak beneath the force. You could hear the springs giving out, and even the wooden base sounded like it was groaning at the strain. Your hips were numb at this point from his rough pumps, but you ate it all up.

It was utterly orgasmic, the sensation of being filled and fucked so thoroughly. You lay back and moaned your assent for him to finish.

‘Así así’ he praised breathlessly as he saw you give in, his tongue slipping as he felt his body tensing up to unload. It was pure heaven, almost rapturous for him. Finally, he got to do this, fulfilling the most primal itch in his brain. He clawed the sheets to shreds as he rutted and humped to completion.

‘Mm- mm- Así así, hermosa/o, lo necesito, lo necesito- ah, ay chingada- haz que me corra—!’

With a groan that echoed through the room he felt his muscles tense and unload, his cock swelling before finally spurting those terrifyingly thick ropes into your cunt. It was thick enough for you to feel it as it squished into every inch of space, coating your insides with his imprint, all while he panted and groaned against your cheek.

You felt every pulse, every gently expanse and release, as it hit both of you in waves; he’d just cum in you, for the first time, and if he got his way you’d soon be pregnant for real.

‘Ah… a-ah, that’s it… that’s it…’

You noticed his arms shaking as he slowly rocked to a stop. You could still feel him twitching a little as he stilled, throbbing against your overstimulated walls. He glanced at you from beneath his mop of sweaty hair, and gave you a soft smile.

‘Eh, hermosa/o…. There you go. That should do it…’

As you both collapsed Peter rushed into soothing both of you. He kissed Miguel’s jaw and cheek and lips, whispering how well he did and how beautiful his baby would look, and he stroked your forehead while whispering what a good job you did.

His attentive aftercare really was wonderful, but after a few minutes of soaking to ensure his seed had taken Miguel pulled out, and Peter switched tones. After all, you weren’t done yet.

‘My turn?’

You were too busy panting to reply as Peter swapped places with Miguel. All you could do was moan.

You watched Miguel sink down to his knees at your head. He was wiping sweat from his forehead, still panting, but he used what energy he had left to continue Peter’s work. He brushed your cheek with his calloused thumb as Peter carefully eased your legs up.

‘Shh, there you go’ Miguel purred in that deep, warm voice. ‘He’ll be gentle, don’t worry.’

‘I’ll be gentle, but be aware you- may cum again’ he said with a shrug as he shifted you into place and mounted from the front. You felt the brush of his member up against your clit and quivered, something that made him eagerly bite his lip.

‘Guey, don’t get too arrogant’ Miguel grunted back. Peter leaned in hard and kissed Miguel on the mouth, even licking his fangs before withdrawing. You’d never seen him so confident.

‘If you didn’t want me to be cocky, you should have stopped telling me how good I am’ he teased, before gently and slowly easing his cock inside you. Your breath almost immediately hitched.

Peter wasn’t as rough, but he shared Miguel’s ability to roll and rock his hips in just the right way. You could feel him intelligently sliding back and forth, snapping his thrusts in just the right way to stimulate every spot he needed to.

You could still feel the dull thud of him hitting at your tightest point, like a sharp pump right up into your guts. You instinctively grabbed at his biceps for support, something he eagerly encouraged as he started to get harder.

‘That’s it’ he whispered against your forehead. ‘That’s it. You take it just like that. You like it, don’t you?’

You didn’t even reply; he didn’t need you to. He bent you back into a near circle as he got down on his knees and pumped you until you drooled, manipulating every little soft spot on your body. He knew just how to curve his cock into your sweet spots, just the right angle to pull back and start carefully bobbing his hips in place so he was carefully rubbing one point rather than pulsing back and forth.

He let you scream, let you involuntarily shake in his grip, let you stare at him in shock, all with that same dorky, confident smile.

‘Mm- I can feel you in there, big man’ he grunted, eagerly biting his filthy tongue as he pumped in and out of your cunt. He made sure to make you clench him before speaking again. ‘Mm- so warm. You did good, beautiful man. Shame I’m just- using you as lubricant to finish the job.’

Miguel audibly hissed, a seemingly involuntary motion as he quickly tried to clamp his jaw shut, but Peter seemed to relish in the display. You felt him throb hard against the walls of your cunt as he started going faster.

‘Mm- that’s it, that’s it, come on—’

You felt Miguel settle as your body was being jolted back and forth, and you caught his glowering eyes glowing a little brighter as he watched. He was fixated on the little slither of Peter’s shaft he could see pumping back and forth, utterly saturated in both your click and his cum. You caught him biting his lip as his eyes narrowed to slits.

‘Mm..’ he grumbled. ‘Yeah…’

‘Come on baby, come on, that’s it, fuck—’

With a few hard, deep thrusts Peter unloaded his own thick ropes, tenderly cupping your hips as he pulled you in against him. The dull smack of your pelvis’s colliding filled the room alongside your frantic moans.

It was there, right in the middle of Peter’s orgasm, that he fulfilled his promise. He shifted his thumb to your clit and gave the swollen, sensitive nub a few gentle prods, all while deliberately creaming around your g-spot, and with a shudder you groaned into your second orgasm.

‘Yeah, that’s it, oh- well done’ he praised, still breathlessly thrusting. ‘Go on, that’s it, draw it all up. Good, good, well done, baby, well done. So proud of you.’

He let you whimper and spasm around his cock until your body went limp, and after soaking in you for another few minutes he pulled out and collapsed next to Miguel. The sound of your overlapping panting filled the otherwise silent apartment.

‘Good job’ Peter repeated after catching his breath, giving a slightly shaky thumb up. ‘Good everyone.’

‘Peter please shut up’ Miguel replied.

You got a good half an hour of rest, just lying in a sweaty, exhausted pile together as the city soundscape filled the silence.

You used the time to contemplate your position. So, this was it. You’d done it. From this point on, you could very well get pregnant.

You were still in a bit of a daze over how good it was. You knew they were attractive, you knew they were charming and charismatic and endearing, but this? You felt like your soul had been dislodged by one too many hard thrusts. You could still feel the imprint of both men’s shafts, the ghost of their throbbing members against your cervix.

With a sigh you let your eyes drift shut. Perhaps this would be a far more enjoyable experience than you expected.

You felt rather than saw Miguel moving. You thought perhaps he was getting water again, but you were surprised to feel his huge, clawed hands splitting your legs apart again. Your eyes shot up.

That dark smirk filled your gaze, as did those beautiful red eyes. You watched his shoulders roll, his muscles rippling in the beautiful neon light, as he lined himself up with your cunt again.

‘Ready to go again?’ he purred.

All over again, the knot in your gut began dragging you down. Your pulsing clit hadn’t had enough, and clearly, the two men hadn’t had enough either.

This was going to be a long night.

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