#he ALWAYS sounds out of breath when he sings it literally always
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"Are you going to be okay?" + Bucktommy
No. No, I am not đ Please remember this is an angst prompt and that I love you so, so much đ
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your smile and the sound of your voice | T | 1.2k
âAre you going to be okay, Buckaroo?âÂ
Hen taps the neck of her beer against his and nudges his shoulder.Â
âYeah, of course.â He checks his phone again and sees the text heâs been waiting for from Eddie.
Be there in 5
âYeah,â he says again, brighter and easier. Like heâs suddenly got more room to breathe.
She fondly rolls her eyes, letting him know sheâs not buying it but sheâs here for him all the same.Â
His gut twists with nerves, like he inhaled an entire roll of Mentos and chased it with a two liter of Coke. Heâs fine, though. Heâs more than likely tachycardic, and heâs sweating like a pig, but heâs good. Honestly.Â
Why wouldnât he be? His family is supporting him through one of the more dramatic moves heâs ever tried to pull off. And he didnât have to say a word for them to buy into his unhinged plan. They just- did. Albeit with many unvoiced concerns communicated in shared glances and whatever telepathy thing Hen and Chim have going on. Still, theyâre here and heâs so, so grateful. Heâll want them to celebrate or if⌠well, he just needs them either way.
He taps his foot nervously, gripping the karaoke mic tighter and watching the seconds tick by on his watch. And then he sees him. His world stops when Tommy notices him. Their gaze locks across the room like one of those cheesy rom coms that Tommy loves. The kind theyâd watch on the couch, or in bed together on a lazy afternoon. Buck wishes it was actually one of those meet cute moments where the main characters have a love at first sight experience.Â
Instead, Eddie and Chim are nudging Tommy towards the front of the bar, urging him not to turn and run. All so Buck can cut his heart open and bleed out on the stage for him â for them â and hope he has enough time before his veins run dry.Â
Tommy reluctantly sits on the bar stool strategically placed front and center. Heâs flanked by Eddie, Chim, Maddie, Hen, Karen and Josh like a group of off kilter secret service agents. And yet heâs still looking at Buck with this mix of adoration and exasperation. Like nothing changed and heâs just here to watch his boyfriend be an idiot.
Buckâs heart pounds behind his ribcage and itâs all he can do to stay standing. He takes a swig of his beer, not that it does much when his mouth feels drier than the Sahara. Hopefully Tommy will understand needing a little liquid courage if only because he knows how much Buck hates singing in public.Â
âReady?â The DJ asks him.
âReady as Iâll ever be.â
Buckâs eyes flick to the screen, knowing his piece begins immediately. Thereâs no intro or lead up. Just Buck and whateverâs left of his dignity.Â
âIf you change your mind-â he winces as his voice cracks, âIâm the first in line. Honey, Iâm still free, take a chance on me.â
Christ, itâs so off key but heâs on a roll now and gaining confidence with every note.Â
âGonna do my very best and it ainât no lie, if you put me to the test, if you let me try!â Buck sweeps his free hand over his torso, peacocking in every sense of the word.
Tommy scrubs at his face, looking for all the world like he wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole. Not that Buck blames him.Â
âPlease donât make this harder.â Tommy sighs. Silently begs with a pleading look.Â
Buck sings louder to drive the point home. âYou want me to leave it there, afraid of a love affair. But I think you knoooow, that I canât let go.âÂ
Even with Tommyâs palm covering his mouth, Buck can still see the smile glowing in those blue eyes he always wants to stay lost in.Â
He steps off the stage, flirty and confident as his friends make room for him to circle the man heâs over the goddamn moon about. The man heâs so fucking in love with that heâs willing to humiliate himself in front of their colleagues. âYou say that I waste my time, but I canât get ya off my mind. No, I canât let goooo. âCause I love you so.âÂ
Buck shrugs playfully, drinking in the embarrassed smirk heâs so familiar with. Just one of the dozens of expressions heâs catalogued over their months together. And tortured himself with in the weeks since Tommy broke his heart. Both of their hearts, really.Â
By now, the crowd is clapping and cheering him on as he sings his lungs out, strutting around like the lovesick fool that he is.Â
âHoney, Iâm still free. Take a chance on me!âÂ
The song fades out, coming to an end as he slides on his good knee. He stops in front of Tommy, panting and flushed, baring his soul for everyone at the badge and ladder to see. Except he only needs one person to see it. To see everything and not be terrified.
âI know I fucked up before and I- I rushed things. And I know this isnât how any of this should have happened. But you wouldnât answer me or- or return my calls or texts.â His jaw trembles, voice breaking as tears drip off his chin. âYou can take your time, baby. Iâm in no hurry.âÂ
Buck risks reaching for Tommyâs hand, threading their fingers together. âTommy. Sweetheart. Take a chance on me. Again. Please.â
It feels like a truce, like a fresh beginning. Like the start of something.
âEvan.âÂ
Buckâs blood fizzes like champagne, bursting with hope. Tommy smiles, a lopsided thing, and oh Buck can hardly sit still long enough to hear what comes next. But he has to, he needs to be patient. Not impulsive, not like before.Â
âBuck,â Tommy corrects.Â
The world seems to collapse around him. His chosen name sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Like a sour note in an otherwise beautiful aria.Â
A tear escapes, rolling down Tommyâs cheek, past his now wobbly lip. âI wish I could. This is- itâs sweet and no oneâs ever done anything like this for me before.â Tommy looks up at the ceiling, just like he did that night in the loft, and then meets Buckâs gaze again. âYou are gonna be someoneâs once in a lifetime. I just know it. But not-â Thereâs a strangled sound between them, from god knows where. Maybe itâs Buck, maybe itâs Tommy. Maybe itâs both.Â
âIâm sorry,â Tommy whispers.Â
In a blink, Buckâs hand is empty and Tommyâs weaving through the crowd. Leaving him all over again.
âNo, wait! Hold on!â Buck drops the microphone, ready to chase after him this time. Like he didnât before. Like he should have. He apologizes as he knocks into tables and past servers until heâs finally out in the cool night air. He licks the salty tears from his lips, frantically searching in every direction. It hasnât been that long. Buck was seconds behind. Tommy has to be here.Â
But heâs not. Thereâs no sign of him in the crowds of people walking by. People laughing and talking and living their lives with fully formed hearts. All of them ignorant to Buck and his despair.Â
âWait,â he rasps, falling to his knees in the middle of the filthy LA sidewalk. âPlease wait.âÂ
#friends don't let friends suffer by themselves with ABBA on repeat#i would say i'm sorry but i think we all know that i'm not#hippo writes#hippo gets mail#james tag đ#bucktommy#tevan#kinley#hurt no comfort#ficlet#bucktommy ficlet#now if you'll excuse me i'm gonna go lay down for a while#and maybe cry forever about it#evan buckley#tommy kinard#please donât divorce me#đĽşđđ
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andrew lloyd webber or whoever the fuck, in their infinite wisdom: and because the dancing in Misto's song is so demanding, we will have Tugger do all of the singing :)
every third goddamn non replica or revival out there: but what if :) misto sang :) part of :) his own song :)
#im exaggerating that number obviously but#he ALWAYS sounds out of breath when he sings it literally always#WHY can Tugger not sing it the man is Right There and doing NOTHING#cats mexico 1991 where munk sings part of misto's number when tugger is offstage YOU are the only bitch in this house i respect#anyways im watching mexico 2013#cats fan on main
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SINS OF DEVOTION [2/3]
ship: father charlie x fem!nun!reader warnings: nsfw đ (p in v ; fem. receiving hand-job/fingering; overstimulation; creampie, wrap before you tap kiddos; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery) word count: 3.6k a/n: wasn't planning on expanding the one-shot, but here we are. i literally stayed up 7+ hours to write this just cuz i got a bunch of praise in the notes đŠ i'm weak... anywho this is a continuation of my previous one-shot, 'đđđđđđđđđđđđ đđđđđđđđ.' If you haven't read that yet, I recommend starting there to understand the progression of their relationshipâŚ.final part: đđđđđđ đđđđđđđđ
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Ever since that night, you couldn't look Father Charlie in the eyes. How could you, when the manâthe symbol of the glory of the Father aboveâhad been buried between your thighs like a man starved?
Just looking at him brought back all the feelings, the emotions that twisted and churned inside you, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed.
Every time you saw him in the chapel, his gaze lingering on you from across the room, your heart would race, your skin tingling with the memory of his touch.
You would try to focus on your duties, your prayers, but the image of him kneeling before you, his mouth claiming every part of you, would flash in your mind, making you falter. Your hands would tremble, your voice would break, and you would feel heat rising in your cheeks, knowing he was watching you.
And he was always watching you.
His eyes would find yours whenever you entered a room, his gaze dark and intent, filled with a hunger that hadn't diminished in the slightest since that stormy night.
You could feel it even from a distanceâthe way his eyes seemed to follow your every movement, as if he was marking you as his. It made your breath catch, your body reacting in ways you couldn't control, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through you.
It was a regular Sunday mass when he finally cornered you; a neighboring pastor was visiting, giving a sermon, while you were cleaning out one of the confessionals.
The faint sound of the sermon echoed in the background, the low, rhythmic cadence of the visiting pastor's voice carrying through the church. You were kneeling on the ground, scrubbing the tiles, your sleeves rolled up to keep them out of the soapy water.
The scent of cleaning solution hung in the air as you worked, your humming soft, almost absent-minded, a gentle hymn that you barely even noticed yourself singing.
You were so absorbed in your task that you didn't notice the shadow fall over you until it was too late. You looked up, startled, your eyes widening as you tried to regain your composure.
"I'm sorry, this confessional booth is out of commission at the moment, I'm cleaningâ"Â Your words trailed off as your gaze traveled upward, and your breath caught in your throat when you realized who was standing there.
It was Father Charlie.
His presence filled the small space, and you could feel the air grow heavy around you, your pulse quickening as his eyes locked onto yours. There was something about the way he looked at youâsomething dark and knowingâthat made your heart pound, your hands freezing where they rested on the damp cloth.
The brush slipped from your fingers, falling back into the soapy water with a splash that sprayed droplets onto the floor and your habit, snapping you out of your daze. You stuttered, "F-Father Charlie," quickly standing up, giving a short bow. "Blessed Sunday morning, Father."
Charlie's lips twitched up into a smile as he stepped further into the cramped confessional booth, the door closing with a soft click behind him. "Blessed Sunday to you as well, Sister ____."
Your eyes flickered to his lips, your breath catching as your mind flashed back to how he had used that very mouth to bring you to the brink of pleasureâhis lips, his tongue, every sinful movement etched into your memory. You swallowed hard, your face warming at the thought, your hands fidgeting as you struggled to look anywhere but at him.
You cleared your throat, your voice coming out small. "Is there... is there anything I can do for you, Father?"
Charlie hummed thoughtfully, taking another step closer until he was right in front of you, the space between you almost nonexistent.
Your gaze dropped to his chest, the black fabric of his cassock filling your vision, the scent of him overwhelmingâsomething warm and clean, with a hint of incense. You could feel your heart pounding, your breath hitching as he spoke, his voice low and deep.
"There are many things you could do for me, Sister," he murmured, his tone shifting, darkening, as his lips curled into a smirk. "We could pray... or perhaps," he paused, his eyes glinting as his voice dropped even lower, "you could help me find a different kind of release."
Your eyes widened at the crude implication, your gaze shooting up to meet his, only to find him already watching your face, his eyes hooded and dark, filled with a hunger that made your stomach twist.
You felt heat pooling low in your belly, the tension in the small space between you almost unbearable. You shook your head slightly, your voice coming out in a whisper, shaky and unsure. "Father Charlie, we shouldn't... we can't..."
Charlie didn't answer, not with words. Instead, he took another step forward, his body pressing against yours as he used his arms to cage you in, one hand bracing against the wall of the confessional beside your head. His other hand moved to cup your cheek, his fingers tilting your face upward, forcing you to meet his gaze.
You could feel his breath, warm against your skin, his face so close that your noses almost brushed. His eyes were dark, filled with something raw, something that made your knees feel weak.
He leaned in even closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his voice a whisper, almost pleading. "Do you know what you do to me, Sister? How you push me to sin, how you make me want things I shouldn't?"
His hand left your cheek, moving down to grab your wrist, guiding your hand between your bodies, pressing it firmly against the hardness straining beneath his cassock. Your breath caught in your throat, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you felt him, your eyes widening, your entire body tensing at the sensation.
"Feel that?"Â he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "That's what you do to me. Every time I see you, every time you look at me with those innocent eyes... you make me lose control."
You felt your heart racing, your mind spinning, a mix of fear and something elseâsomething dark and thrillingâcoursing through you as Father Charlie's hand held yours in place, his gaze locked onto yours, unrelenting, his lips brushing against yours in the barest of touches, waiting, coaxing you to give in.
Your thoughts raced. So many times since that night, you had fantasized about him, dreamed about him fully taking you, about giving in to the desires that had been eating away at you. But now, with him right in front of you, so desperate, so wanting, it made you dizzy.
You were a nun, a devoted daughter, a wife to the Lordâyet here you were, on the verge of surrendering. Your lips parted as you took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, trying to cling to the last shreds of your faith.
But then you licked your lips, and you saw how his eyes immediately zeroed in on the movement, darkening with something almost primal. His gaze was intense, unblinking, and you felt the pull, the weight of his need, and it made something inside you snap.
With all the bravery you could muster, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his.
It was soft, a gentle peck, barely more than a brush of your lips against his, but it was enough to make your heart race like you were running a marathon.
For a moment, you thought you could pull back, that this brief kiss could be enough to satisfy whatever it was burning between you.
But then Charlie groaned, the sound deep and raw, and before you could pull away, his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you back to him, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. His tongue slipped between your parted lips, invading your mouth, exploring, tasting.
The kiss was nothing like your timid attemptâit was fierce, overwhelming, consuming.
You felt his tongue caressing the inside of your mouth, tracing the shape of your teeth, stroking your own tongue, coaxing it to move with his. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world, as if he was savoring every second, every taste.
You felt your head grow light from the lack of air, your body trembling, but still, you were locked in the kiss, unable to pull away, unable to do anything but respond to him.
Your hands moved of their own accord, one of them gripping the front of his cassock, the other reaching up to tangle in his hair. The soft strands slipped through your fingers, and you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the way his body seemed to hum with tension, with need.
Charlie's other hand moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the hard lines of his body pressing into yours, the heat of him searing through the thin fabric of your habit. It made you feel like you were drowning in him, in his touch, his taste.
You whimpered against his lips, the sound muffled by the kiss, and he responded with a low growl, his hand tightening on your waist, his lips moving more insistently against yours.
Charlie pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as he panted, his breath hot and heavy, mingling with your own. His eyes were dark, filled with something raw and unrestrained, and he let out a low groan, his voice rough with desire. "I wish so badly to mark you up, to strip you down right here and lose myself in you," he murmured, his words sending a shiver down your spine. The explicitness of his words made your cheeks burn, your face flushing as you pressed it into his neck, trying to hide your embarrassment.
But he wasn't done. He tilted your chin back up, his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek, his eyes searching yours. "But it's too risky," he whispered, his voice filled with regret, and something almost feral. "So I'll settle for something much quicker."
As he spoke, his hands moved down, fingers traveling lower, bunching up the fabric of your tunic around your waist. His touch was frantic, almost desperate, his hands squeezing and kneading every inch of you he could reach, as if he couldn't get enough.
You could feel his fingers digging into your thighs, your hips, pulling you closer, pressing you against him, and it made your head spin, made your body ache with a need you didn't quite understand.
Your hands trembled as they found their place on his shoulders, your fingers hesitating, curling slightly in the fabric of his cassock. You wanted to touch him the way he was touching you, to let your hands explore, but you were too shy, too overwhelmed.
The intensity of his presence, the way his body felt against yours, it all left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.
Charlie's gaze remained locked on yours, his eyes dark and filled with something raw, something that made your pulse quicken. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low murmur, almost a growl. "You don't have to be afraid... just let me take care of you."
Your breath hitched, your body tensing as you felt his hands venture lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. Your eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping your lips, but it was quickly swallowed by Charlie as he covered your mouth with his own, his lips moving against yours, silencing your small cries and whimpers.
His fingers moved with purpose, finding your most sensitive spot, rubbing slow circles against your clit. The sensation made your knees go weak, your body trembling against him as he worked you with an expertise that left you breathless.
You tried to pull away from the kiss, to catch your breath, but he wouldn't let you, his mouth insistent, his tongue coaxing yours to move with his, swallowing every sound you made.
Your hands clung to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric as you felt his fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance before slowly pushing inside.
A muffled whimper escaped your throat, your body tensing at the intrusion, the sensation both strange and thrilling. He moved slowly, his fingers stretching you, coaxing your body to relax, to accept him. You could feel every movement, every inch as he filled you, his touch deliberate, patient.
His lips never left yours, his kiss growing deeper, more demanding, as if he could feel your hesitation and was trying to coax you further, to draw you into the darkness with him. He pulled back for just a moment, his forehead resting against yours as he spoke, his voice a low whisper, thick with desire. "You feel so good, Sister... so perfect. Just let go for me."
Before you could respond, before you could even catch your breath, his hand moved to your thigh, his fingers curling around your leg as he lifted it, wrapping it around his waist.
The new angle made everything more intense, his fingers sinking deeper, his thumb brushing against your clit, drawing a shuddering moan from your lips.
The warmth in your belly grew, turning into a small flame that licked at your insides, consuming every thought, every hesitation; your body responded to his touch, your hips moving against his hand, seeking more of the pleasure he was giving you.
Charlie's breathing grew shallow, his eyes darkening as he watched you, his gaze roaming over your flushed cheeks, the way your lips parted, the soft gasps escaping your throat.
Your thighs trembled, your body growing tense as you felt the pressure building, the sensation coiling tightly in your core, threatening to snap at any moment.
But just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, just as the first waves of your orgasm began to crest, Charlie stopped. He pulled his fingers away, leaving you gasping, the sudden emptiness almost painful.
A soft, desperate whimper escaped your lips, your eyes fluttering open, wide and confused as you looked up at him.
He met your gaze, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he brought his fingers to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he sucked them clean, his tongue swirling around each digit, savoring the taste of you. "You taste so sweet, Sister," he murmured, his voice thick with lust, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "I could spend all day between your thighs... but right now, I need something more."
He shifted, his hands moving to the waistband of his robe, shuffling the fabric around as he freed himself. You couldn't see anything, the fabric obscuring your view, but you felt itâthe hard, heavy length of him brushing against your inner thigh, the sensation making your breath catch, your leg twitch involuntarily at the contact.
Charlie moved with a practiced ease, his hands gripping your hips as he shifted you, lifting you as if you weighed nothing.
Your back pressed against the wall of the confessional, the cold surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body. He adjusted his hold on you, his arms wrapping around your thighs, lifting them until both of your legs were hooked around his waist.
You felt exposed, vulnerable, the position leaving you completely at his mercy, but there was something about the way he looked at you, something in his eyes that made your heart race, made your body ache for more.
His gaze locked onto yours, his eyes filled with a mix of lust and something deeper, something that made your breath hitch, your fingers clinging to his shoulders as he held you up, pressing you against the wall. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his breath warm against your lips, his voice barely above a whisper. "You drive me mad, Sister... Forgive me, I can't hold back any longer."
He adjusted his hold on you, one arm wrapping tightly around your waist, holding you up against the wall with ease while his other hand moved beneath the ruffled fabric of your habit.
Your legs hitched open wider, instinctively allowing him more access as you felt the warmth of his hand trailing up your inner thigh, his fingers brushing against your skin. The anticipation made your breath catch, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited, your body aching for his touch.
You gasped softly as you felt something blunt press against your clit, moving up and down your slit, the sensation different this timeâfirmer, hotter. You thought it was his fingers again, but then Charlie let out a soft sigh, a quiet, breathless "fuck" that made your eyes widen, the realization hitting you all at once.
He wasn't using his fingers. It was him, the hard length of him brushing against you, spreading your slickness as he moved, the pressure making your head spin, your body growing even wetter at the sinful, blasphemous intimacy of it.
His movements were slow, deliberate, his eyes locked on yours as if daring you to look away, to deny what was happening. But you couldn'tâyour gaze was trapped by his, your lips parted as soft whimpers escaped, the sound swallowed by the heavy air between you.
Charlie's breath grew more ragged, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Do you feel that, Sister? Do you see what you do to me?" His voice was thick with lust, his words a mixture of reverence and something far more depraved. He moved his hips, sliding himself against you, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body, making you moan softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders.
His lips moved to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin as he began to push inside you, his voice low and shaky as he muttered a scripture, the holy words twisted by the desire lacing his tone. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..." His voice trailed off into a deep, guttural groan as he sank deeper, the stretch almost too much, a sharp burn that made you gasp, your eyes squeezing shut as your body struggled to adjust to him.
Charlie paused for a moment, his forehead resting against yours once again, his breathing heavy, his eyes searching your face as if looking for any sign of hesitation. But you were too lost in the sensationâthe way he filled you, the way your body seemed to mold around him, the burn slowly giving way to something else, something that made your toes curl, your breath hitching as you nodded, a silent plea for him to keep going.
He smiled, a dark, almost tender smile, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, "Perfect." His hips moved again, slowly at first, his movements careful, deliberate, as he began to build a rhythm, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure through you, the feeling overwhelming, all-consuming.
And as you clung to him, your body trembling, you knew there was no turning back, no escaping the hold he had on you.
The two of you got lost in one another, the heat between you burning like a fire, desire crackling like embers, growing hotter with every movement. Charlie's pace quickened, his breaths coming out in harsh pants, his groans muffled as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body pressing against yours as if he couldn't get close enough.
The rhythm of his thrusts grew more erratic, each one more desperate than the last, the intensity making your head spin, the pleasure building until it was almost too much.
You could hear him, his voice a mix of groans and soft, needy whines, his lips brushing against your neck, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. His hands gripped you tighter, holding you in place as he moved, the friction, the pressure, everything pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
Your body tensed, your muscles clenching around him as the band inside you finally snapped, the pleasure washing over you in a blinding wave. You gasped, your head falling back against the wall, your eyes squeezing shut as your entire body trembled, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, riding out the high.
Charlie shuddered in your arms, his own body tensing as he felt you tighten around him, his movements growing sloppy, desperate, until he finally stilled, his hips pressing against yours as he let out a low, guttural groan.
You felt the warmth of him spreading inside you, the sensation almost surreal, the realization that you had pushed him to this point, that you had made him lose control, making your heart pound even harder.
He stayed like that for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes half-lidded as he looked at you, something almost soft in his gaze.
Slowly, he pulled away, his hands moving to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your flushed cheeks as he leaned in, his nose bumping gently against yours, a small, tender gesture that made your heart swell.
Charlie's eyes held yours, his gaze intense, filled with a mix of emotions that you couldn't quite decipher. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, his voice still thick with the remnants of his desire. "Pleasure is deceitful... as it was for the harlot, yet I cannot resist you."
A/N: alright guys, chill with the praise and notes or i won't be able to get rest đđŤśđžđŤśđžjkjkjk keep them coming i'm a whore for them đĽ´
#xani-writes: father charlie mayhew fics#grotesquerie#father charlie mayhew#father charlie x reader#father charlie smut#charlie mayhew#priest x nun#nun reader#smut#x reader#naive girl#reader insert#fem reader#x female reader#female reader#one shot#nicholas alexander chavez#charlie mayhew x reader#father Charlie mayhew x reader#nicholas chavez#nicholas alexander chavez x reader#father charlie mayhew x reader#father charlie#nicholas chavez smut#nicholas chavez x reader
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easy living
pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader
summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?
tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing
a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.
i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all
ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI
The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when youâll get something close to free reign with your voice again.Â
Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.
Youâll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.
And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. Youâll never be able to have a pet bird. Youâll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didnât really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You donât see why you shouldnât just lay here on the couch forever.Â
On the other side of the coffee table thereâs a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isnât startled awake. Itâs so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you.Â
You want to look at him, but you fear that youâll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the⌠creatures wonât go, right?
Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know heâs awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. Youâd been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunderâ enough to learn that he has family across the world.Â
You canât imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know whatâs become of them. You canât even begin to fathom the fear that heâs feeling, as much as youâre despairing.Â
Ericâs big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?
No, youâre definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and canât be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that youâre lying.
Eric knows youâre lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?
You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile thatâs indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he canât make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.
You donât have a coffee maker that doesnât also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you.Â
On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you.Â
Ericâs lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. Youâre able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.
Bloody American.
Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. Youâll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.
You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; youâve lived alone, youâve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But itâs so difficult to be sitting next to someoneâ someone you feel you could really get to likeâ and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt.Â
Youâll never be able to know what Ericâs laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. Heâs right there next to you, heâs risked his life to save you once already, and yet heâs so far away. Youâll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?
Heâd created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know heâd probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and⌠well, you werenât just gonna leave him, scared and alone.
You, too, were scared and alone.
Ericâs hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether youâre okay with such an intimate gesture.Â
Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. Youâre slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.
But youâre a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Ericâs shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough.Â
The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you.Â
Youâll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. Youâll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. Youâll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. Youâll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.
âDo you think itâs worth it?â You whisper, so faintly that itâs barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. âTo try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you donât exist?â
Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way youâd done to him.Â
âI think itâs worth it to try to survive.â His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, âSo survive with me, yeah?â
You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. âI canât stand not talking to you.â Itâs so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else.Â
Eric takes it in stride. âYou are talking to me.â He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me.Â
âNot like this,â you breathe to him, because thatâs really what it isâ itâs a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. âI want to talkâ I want to get to know you.âÂ
âWell, this isnât so bad, is it?â Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. âWhat do you want to know?âÂ
His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. âWhatâs your favorite song?â
âEasy Living. Billie Holiday.âÂ
âYouâre kidding.â Youâre blushing, hot in the cheeks. Youâre imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didnât think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.
âAbsolutely not.âÂ
âSomehow⌠I canât picture you listening to jazz.âÂ
âPicture it all you want,â he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, âMy granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But whenâ when he died, the records went missing. I couldnât find the song until a couple years ago,â he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur.Â
You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls⌠nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear.Â
âYou have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?â Eric nods in your hands. âI wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish⌠I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, Iâll take it.â Youâre nodding as well now, like youâre trying to convince yourself of it. âIâm telling you this because I donât know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I donât want to waste it passing notes. Okay?âÂ
âOkay.â He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that donât come, and then he nods. âOkay.âÂ
Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like itâs pressing in on all sides. Ericâs hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that youâre still holding his. Youâre near sitting in his lap with how close youâve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.
You think you should pull away. You donât.Â
Ericâs thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. Itâs so featherlight itâs barely thereâ his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. Youâd let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. âEricââ
He closes the gap and kisses you. The way youâd said his nameâ or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumbâ had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system youâd worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. Heâs scared, he said as much last night. Youâre scared, you said so just now.Â
Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you canât jabber at him, there are some things you just canât put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you canât think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.
Itâs stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, âOne day? Thatâs all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?â And theyâd be rightâ maybe itâs not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.
Your hands find Ericâs chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like youâre half-drowning. Itâs harder than you expected.Â
âBeen wanting to do that all morning,â Eric whispers. And just like that youâre falling again, faster this time, like heâs just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.
You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. Itâs the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin.Â
Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier.Â
Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like heâs been shocked beyond belief. You didnât honestly intend for this to happenâ you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate.Â
How do you get your feelings across when talking isnât really an option? When innocent attraction becomes⌠whatever this is?Â
You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet.Â
Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window.Â
You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. âYour eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,â you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You canât help itâ you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. âYouâre so pretty.â
Eric whimpers. Itâs a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but itâs still too loud for the world that youâre in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.
âDo you want me to stop?â You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. âWant me to keep going?â Eric nods his head yes.Â
Heâs shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he canât hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins.Â
You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. âYou have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?â He nods. âWe canât make a sound. Okay?âÂ
Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you donât want to be mean, you just donât want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.
You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadnât dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You donât necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You donât think it would add to your sex appeal right now.Â
He doesnât notice the lack of a strip teaseâ heâs already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until youâre stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder.Â
So. Eric doesnât need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again.Â
His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You arenât sure if he wants to take his time, or if heâs going slow so that he doesnât make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but wonât risk making you moan.Â
Itâs so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, youâre having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when heâs basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs.Â
Then, Ericâs hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue.Â
Knees buckling, you collapse into Ericâs lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face thatâs way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief.Â
Ericâs brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, âYouâre too sweet for me, Eric.âÂ
He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. âMaybe one day I wonât have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.âÂ
The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking youâ that this isnât even him as normal, that heâs having to hold so much backâ makes you burn hot all at once. That this isnât something heâs planning on doing once. That thereâs a âone dayâ that he sees in the future with you in it.Â
With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again.Â
Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you.Â
You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap.Â
This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness.Â
There isnât a lot of movementâ you canât risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head.Â
Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and itâs the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesnât seem to mind it.Â
You know heâs close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. âFeels so fucking good,â comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but thereâs that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does.Â
To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. Itâs just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down.Â
Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after heâs spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.
Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. Itâs cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet.Â
To keep you quiet.Â
Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Ericâs head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Ericâs ear, and youâre nothing if not a talker.
âEric?â you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. âIâm glad that I met you when I did. Even if itâs terrible timing, Iâm glad we met.â
A sweet, tired smile flits across Ericâs beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. âIâm glad, too.âÂ
You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. Heâs such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table.Â
You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other.Â
On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss.Â
And then, Billie Holidayâs voice plays for only you two to hear.Â
Living for you is easy living, Itâs easy to live when youâre in love And Iâm so in love, Thereâs nothing in life but you.
#eric a quiet place day one#eric a quiet place x reader#a quiet place day one#roses*#eric x reader#eric a quiet place day one x you#eric a quiet place x you#eric a quiet place day one x reader#eric fan fiction#eric x you#joseph quinn
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stubble toji but u squeal when he eats u out
had to take a minute to breath nonnie bc oh my god
stubble toji is insufferable with it too, because he knows how you normally react when he's pressing the rough texture of his jaw against your skin. god knows he'll take advantage of it in every possible situation.
taunts like crazy, saying things like "what's wrong, doll? still hate the feelin'?â even as his hands grip your thighs and spread them apart. you scoff, cheeks practically on fire as you look down at his smug grin.
"quit teasing, toji."
he just chuckles throatily, chin brushing over the skin of your inner thigh just barely, and he mentally notes the way you shiver at the feeling.
toji already drives himself crazy when he eats you out, mostly because the choked moans and whines that he can pull from you with a skillful flick of his tongue has his pride singing.
but when you squeal in between your gasps, caught off guard by the rough sensation in between his licksâthat is a different high all together.
he groans against your skin when you do, stubble pressing deep against it as he suckles at your clit eagerly.
the sound, quite literally, goes straight to your core.
âah fuck baby, thatâs it,â he grunts, fingers tightening around your thighs in a way you know will leave marks. he deliberately presses his jaw into you when he can, eyes hooded as he hears the sound it pulls from you. âfeel good, huh?â
âuh huhââ you nod eagerly, unable to stop your hips from bucking into his tongue as he teases your clit and laps up your juices. âso good.â
an evil smirk as he pulls back, chin glistening and eyes satisfied. âthought you always whine about how my stubble is too scratchy.â
âit is,â you huffâadamant. âyouâre always tormenting me with it.â
âdonât hear you complaining now,â he murmursâsmug. his lips find your clit again, sucking and licking until your vision goes hazy. âstill want me to shave?â
youâve never said no quicker in your life.
#[đŞâ mdni. đ]#[đŞâ asks. đ]#FROTHING AT THE MOUTH#NONNIE YOURE A GENIUS FR#i just know heâd be so smug about it too#loves the idea that he can pull a sound like that from you with just a slight difference in texture#i need to be sedated#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#toji x reader#jjk drabbles#jjk smut#toji smut#fushiguro toji x reader#toji headcanons#toji x you#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jujutsu kaisen smut#toji zenin x you#zenin toji x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk
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Brighten Up the Sky
This started as a prompt from the lovely @satiresunflower, (though it is pretty much unrecognisable from the prompt she actually gave. She did give me permission to go wild though, so this is what you get lol)Â
This starts in Chapter 14 of ACOWAR, so some of the sentences are taken verbatim from the original text. I did change it into 3rd person, because me trying to write in 1st person never ends well. I also think there is a longer story in this particular idea, but quite frankly, I donât have it in me to write it right now.Â
Summary:
A Mating Bond between her younger sister and the Night Courtâs shadowsinger was the last thing Feyre had expected to spring upâŚbut then, maybe it did make sense.Â
Warning:
Public Displays of affection, kinda Nesta bashing, but like...she has her reasons?, Cassian being annoying
(Lovely dividers thanks to @cafekitsune)
âWhere are my sisters?â Feyre asked, the thought clanging through her head as jarring as a pealing bell.Â
Her sisters
Rhys paused for just a moment, his hand slipping from her hair as his smile faded. âElain and Nesta are at the House of Wind.â He straightened, swallowing. âI canâtake you to them.â Every word seemed to be an effort.
But he would, Feyre realized. Heâd shove down his need for her and take her to them, if that was what she wanted. Her choice. It had always been her choice with him.
Feyre shook my head. She wouldnât see themânot yet. Not until she was steady enough to face them.
âTheyâre well, though?â
His hesitation told her enough.Â
âTheyâre safe,â Rhys answered quietly.Â
"Thatâs good," Feyre murmured as she took a deep breath in an attempt to calm the swirling, churning emotions inside her chest.
Her sisters...her sisters were safe. That was something. That was enough. For now.Â
Only then she realised something else.
âYou said Nesta and Elain are at the House of Wind,â Feyre pointed out, her hands clenching, her heart beating faster. âWhereâs Alana?â she demanded, singling out her younger sisterâŚsingling out her half sister.Â
The result of their fatherâs dalliance with a maid during her motherâs pregnancy with Feyre. Alana was just 6 months younger than her. Alanaâs mother had died during childbirthâŚso their father had been saddled with another squealing infant that his wife was ill-pleased with.Â
Nesta liked to say that that affair had eventually killed their mother. Feyre thought it to be ridiculous. It had been a fever and Alana had nothing to do with it, because she had been a literal childâŚand Alana had lost her voice to the very same fever. Feyre could still remember her singing like a pealing bell when she had been a childâŚand thenâŚthen she hadnât been able to anymore. Even talking was near impossible for Alana, her throat unable to produce any sounds.Â
Even as Alsna had been thrown into the cauldronâŚHer mouth had been open in a silent scream, but no sound had come out of her mouth.Â
A shudder ran through her at that memory.
Alana. Her sweet, quiet younger sister. The sister that always smiled too sweetly and saw too much with those sharp eyes of hers.Â
"Where is Alana?" She repeated. The silence in the room hung thick in the air as Rhys continued to hesitate.
A prickle of unease started to make its way up her spine.Â
âRhys, where is Alana?!â she demanded, her voice rising.Â
âSheâs safe, I swear,â Rhys hurried to promise her. âSheâs not staying with Nesta and Elain but sheâs safe. She should be here soon. I thinkâŚeverything elseâŚyou should ask her about that.â
His words did little to soothe her worries, the unease that now clawed up her spine stronger.
âYouâre not telling me something,â she pointed out, her brow furrowing. âRhys, what are you not telling me?âÂ
She thought back to the last time she had seen her sisterâŚthought back to her being poured out onto the wet stone floor from the cauldronâŚnot a noise had come from herâŚnothing. She hadâŚShe had been poured out of the cauldron and had just kneeled on that stone floor as they had forced Nesta into the cauldron after her.Â
She hadnâtâŚshe had beenâŚabsent. Like the cauldron had taken too much from her.Â
And then, in the moment as Mor had pushed Lucien away from Nesta and Elain, Feyre had seen Alana lunge.Â
Not for the King of Hybern. Not even for Mor, who would have been closer to herâŚBut for Cassian and Azriel for some reason. She wasnât sure what had been Alanaâs reasoning. Wasnât sure whatâŚRhys had grasped all three of them and winnowed them away.Â
Her heart was now hammering.
âWhat did you do with her?â Feyre demanded, her voice growing panicked. âWhat did you do with Alana? Why isnât she staying with Nesta and Elain?â Feyre asked, her voice forcedly calm. âRhys, what is going on?â
There was another moment of hesitation, another moment of silence, before Rhys finally replied. "She justâŚopted to stay elsewhere."
Those words did little to reassure her.
"Where?" Feyre pressed, her eyes narrowed.Â
Rhys sighed. âHow about you get into that bath that should be ready by now?â he suggested. âIâllâŚtell you some of what happened. But I do think that some of the things should come from Alana and not from me,â he pointed out drily.Â
The last thing she wanted to do right now was take a bath, the last thing she wanted to do was to be pacified with pretty words and nice things. That was the last thing she wanted.
But...he was right. She needed to be clean.Â
Feyre growled at her mate, but stomped into the bathing chamber, stripping out of her clothing. Her fingers were near-black with dirt and caked blood.Â
Rhys snapped his fingers, and her skin was nearly instantly pristine again. âTell me what happened,â Feyre said flatly, as she sunk into the blood-hot water. âWhy isnât Alana staying at the House of Wind?â
Rhys was silent for a moment as he looked at her, his mouth in a grim line.
Then he let out a deep sigh, sitting down on the edge of the bathing tub. âA lot of things happened,â Rhys said drily. âBut the biggest reason why Alana isnât at the House of Wind is mostly thatâŚI canât guarantee Nestaâs safety, if she keeps spewing some of her venom in Alanaâs direction.â
Feyreâs brow shot up at that, her heart skipping a beat. âWhat?â she demanded. âRhys, what are you talking about?â That didnât soundâdidnât sound like...
To say that Nesta and Alana didnât get along was an understatement. Nesta gave Alana the fault for seemingly everything and AlanaâŚwell, she played deaf. And even more mute than she normally was. Even when Feyreâs sister hadnât been able to talk, she had been more than able to communicate if she wanted to, either with her expressive face, or her hands. And still, Alana had pretended like it wasnât happening. Elain was no better to herâŚElain liked to ignore Alanaâs very existence.
But Alana wouldnât have done anythingâŚAlana wouldnât haveâŚ
âAlana doesnât lose her temper,â Feyre said carefully as she looked at Rhys. âShe doesnât.â
âShe didnât,â Rhys said drily. âMy spymaster did.âÂ
A puzzled frown crossed over her face at that. âAzriel?â Feyre asked, her eyebrows furrowing. âWhat did he do?â
Azriel had lost his temper with Nesta?Â
âIf Cassian hadnât been there, I think Azriel would have torn out Nestaâs throat with his bare hands,â Rhys said with a grimace. âIt wasâŚbad.â
Feyreâs jaw dropped.
Azriel, tearing out Nestaâs throat? With his hands? ThatâŚthat didnât sound like him. Not at all.
âI...â Feyre had no idea what to say. Why would Azriel have done that? Feyre couldnâtâŚOf course, she knew that Azriel was capable of great violence, but he had neverâŚshe had never seen him lose his temper with a member of his family. Had never even through that that was a possibility. Whatever Nesta had said, must have beenâŚ
If he had gotten this angry on Alanaâs behalfâŚWhat exactly had been said?
"What did Nesta do? What did she say?" Feyre asked, her voice hard. "What did she say to warrant that reaction from Azriel?"Â
Rhys grimaced, shaking his head. âYou donât want to know,â he said, his voice low. âTrust me, you do not want to know what she said. It's...complicated."
"Complicated, how?" Feyre demanded as she towelled herself off, walking back into the bedroom and pulled on comfortable clothing, her worry mounting. "What could possibly be so bad that you don't want to tell me?"Â
If it was bad enough that Rhys didn't want to tell her what exactly happened...what exactly had been said.
"Well, thatâŚâ Rhys trailed off.
"Tell me," Feyre demanded again. "What exactly happened afterâŚHybern?"
Her mate gave in, holding out his hand and she joined him sitting on the edge of their bed.
Their bed.
She was home. Finally.
Rhys sighed.
âAfter HybernâŚMor dropped Nesta and Elain off at the House of Wind and then came back to the Townhouse. I hadâŚI had Azriel and Cassian, and Alana tooâ Rhys said quietly and Feyre swallowed. Azriel and Cassian were healed. Rhys had told her thatâŚbut somehow she hadnât been able to believe itâŚuntil she had seen it.Â
âAmren tried to stop the blood flow from the literal hole in Azrielâs chest. I didnât notice at firstâŚAlana was kneeling at Azrielâs sideâŚcovered in his bloodâŚholding his head on her lapâŚâ Rhysâs violet eyes seemed to be far, far away, as he nearly shuddered, just thinking about it. âAzriel wasâŚin and out of consciousnessâŚbut he was justâŚhe was just holding onto her.â
Feyreâs heart was lodged in her throat. Azriel, nearly dead, was justâŚholding Alana. Her head was spinning as her mind worked hard to comprehend this.Â
âThe mating bond snapped for them,â Rhys finally said quietly.Â
Feyreâs eyes widened. Her mouth went suddenly dry.
TheâŚthe mating bond? Alana and Azriel? Mates?
âThe mating bond,â she echoed faintly. âTheâŚthe mating bond.âÂ
Feyre was quite sure that her jaw dropped. And that she stared at Rhys like he had just grown a second head.
âAzriel and Alana?â Feyre asked, unable to believe that. Azriel and Alana?! The brooding shadowsinger and spymaster of the Night Court and her youngest sister?
Azriel, who seemed to have a thing for Mor and had never looked at another female as far as Feyre was aware?
Rhys winced at her look.
"Yes, I know," he said quietly, wincing. "That wasâŚmy reaction too. I didnât see it coming. I donât think that anyone saw this coming...especially not Azriel."Â
Feyreâs mind was racing.
Azriel and Alana. Mates.
She couldnâtâŚshe never would have imagined it. Never seen it coming. Not in a thousand years.Â
âHave theyâŚâ she wasnât even sure what she was asking.
âThree days late,â Rhys said with a sigh. âThey were not willing to wait.âÂ
âThree day?!â Feyre demanded. As far as she knew, Alana had never even entertained the thought of a suitor. Not that there had been any men that had looked over the fact that she was a bastardâŚand mute. They had never bothered to look further and Alana had never fussed about it either.Â
"Three days," Rhys repeated. "The moment Azriel was well enough to be mobile again, they mated." Rhys shuddered, his face scrunching up in distaste. âThey are insufferable. The both of them.âÂ
"What do you mean, insufferable?" Feyre asked. A million thoughts were running through her head. Alana and AzrielâŚmates. They mated.Â
"They could not stay away from each other," Rhys said, shuddering again. "They were...touchy. All the time. And so very...cutesy and sweet with each other. Gods, they are nauseating."
Feyreâs eyebrows rose at that. Alana and Azriel. Touchy? Cutesy and sweet? She could barely even imagine it. Alana...and Azriel. Being affectionate.Â
"Sheâs sitting on his lap constantly," her mate groaned, rubbing his eyes hard. "And he is justâŚconstantly touching her. I donât even think that they have gone a whole five minutes without touching each other."
"And the looks," her mate continued drily. "Gods, they are exchanging these looks. You would have thought that they are the soppiest, lovesick couple in existence. I did not ever need to see Azriel making heart-eyes at Alana. That wasâŚtraumatising."
Feyre pressed her hand to her mouth to muffle a snort. Azriel, making heart-eyes? That was a sight that she could not quite imagine. SheâŚshe hadnât even thought that Azriel was evenâŚcapable of making heart-eyes.Â
"Cassian and Mor kept poking fun at them. At every opportunity, which they definitely got often. Alana justâŚignored them. But AzrielâŚ" Rhysâ lips curled into a smirk. "He was not as amused as Alana by their teasing. He kept threatening violence every five minutes."
Feyreâs eyes widened at that, a laugh escaping her.
Azriel threatening violence for every five minutes that someone teased him about his new mate? She could not picture that either.Â
"Cassian started making kissy faces at Alana just to see if Azriel would lose his temper," her mate said, a broad smile on his face. "And let me tell you, he nearly clawed out Casâ eyeballs for it."
"So she's staying here?" Feyre asked carefully.
Rhys shook his head, his expression growing more serious. "She's at Azriel's house," he explained with a sigh. "It's...the cauldron left her with some...abilities. Sheâs a daematiâŚof sorts, at least,â Rhys said with a grimace. âWe are still trying to figure outâŚhow exactly it works. You and meâŚwe need to concentrate if we want to read somebodyâs thoughts. AlanaâŚshe said it was like she was standing in the middle of a market square and everybody is shouting at her,â Rhys said quietly. âWe havenât yet found anybody with shields solid enough to keep her out.â
Feyre swallowed at that. Alana, a daematiâŚof sorts. Having no control over whose thoughts she heard. No control over how loud everything was.Â
âItâs like every mental wall, doesnât even exist for her," Rhys said with a sigh. "Being around Amren gives her a headache too apparently. Azriel and Cassian are the most relaxing to be around according to her. There minds seem to be...even, analytical."
It sounded like a living hell. No control, no shields. Nothing.
âIs sheâŚâ Feyreâs voice was quiet. âIs she doing alright? Considering everything that happened.âÂ
âSheâs fine,â Rhys promised her. âAlana is probably doing the best of them all,â Rhys said, something like amusement bleeding into his voice. âShe can tell you all about it."
There was a knock at the door at that moment.
Feyre tensed as her eyes flew to the door.
âThatâs her,â Rhys said quietly, placing a soothing hand on her leg. âAre you ready?âÂ
Feyre took a deep, steadying breath, pushing down her worry and her nerves.
âIâm ready,â she said.Â
âFeyre!â
Her sister's voice. Her sister's voice.
Feyreâs heart skipped a beat as her body went rigid.
She couldnâtâŚshe couldnât believe it. After so longâŚafter believingâŚbelieving for so long that she would never hear Alanaâs voiceâŚ
Feyre remembered with a shudder the sight of small, slight Alana in her translucent nightgownâŚbeing poured out of the cauldron onto the stone...She looked nothing like she did now.
She looked well.
That was the first thing Feyre realised. Colour on her cheeks, dark, pin straight hair pinned away from her face and these devasting doe eyesâŚ
Feyreâs eyes roamed over her sister, drinking in the sight of her. Alive. Well. Whole.
She could barely believe it, her mind struggling to catch up.Â
"You can talk," Feyre whispered as Alana hugged her. Â
She grimaced.
Kinda. This is easier though, she answered, her mental voice slipping into Feyre's mind without her even noticing. My throat hurts if I talk too much.
It was strange, having a voice in her mind that was not her own. Different from when her mate spoke to her down the bond. It was moreâŚpronounced. Clearer, somehow.Â
"AreâŚâ Feyreâs voice broke again, her eyes roaming over Alana again. âAre you really alright, Al?âÂ
She drunk in her sister's face, the pale skin, the freckles that covered her face...she had been pretty as a human but as a fae...as a High fae she was gorgeous.
Alanaâs eyes, her sisterâs eyes, were still the same. Still that same dark, endless brown that had always seemed to hold so many secrets. She had never met anyone who could hold as many secrets as Alana had.
She looked so healthy, so well and Feyre felt a lump form in her throat.Â
She had to fight the sudden urge to cry, as she pulled her sister into another hug. Her sisterâs slender arms wrapped around her, pulling her in tight. Like she was never going to let her go again.Â
I am alright, Alana promised fiercely. I am better than alright. I am...I am so happy, Fey.
The thought in her mind brought another wave of tears to Feyreâs eyes. She held on to her sister tighter, burying her face against her neck as a sob escaped her and she inhaled her sisterâs familiar, comforting scent. Pomegranate and Vanilla, with an underlay of Azriel.Â
He treats you well? she asked, cradling her sisters face in her hands. She didn't think that Azriel would...mistreat her but...
Alanaâs eyes darkened as she thought of Azriel and her expression softened as a faint smile crossed her face.Â
Feyre swallowed again. This was different. This wasâŚher sister had never smiled like that. So open. So happy. So filled withâŚlove.Â
And then, very carefully, Feyre felt how Alana pulled at her mind in some sense and then dropped a memory.
For just a moment, it felt like she was in her little sister's body. And she stared at Azriel who looked at her, at Alana with utter and complete adoration, scarred hands cupping her cheeks so gently.
Feyreâs breath caught in her throat at that.
She could feel, could understand the feeling of Azrielâs warm, scarred hand against her skin. The way how the pads of his fingers ran over her jawline, the way how his thumb traced over her lower lip. The way how those hazel eyes of his were filled with nothing but love.Â
A shudder ran down Feyreâs spine. That look, the way how Azriel had looked at her sisterâŚit was like the expression in Rhysâ eyes when he looked at her.Â
Her eyes flickered to Rhys, where he was patiently waiting in a corner.
He was looking at her with that same look in his eyes. The same look that Feyre knew was mirrored in her own eyes. It was the same, that look. Pure, utter devotion.Â
It was the look of a man completely and utterly in love.Â
Feyre swallowed as she turned back to Alana, her mind whirling. This wasâŚAlana, her sisterâŚher quiet, shy, closed-off little sister. And Azriel, the Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court. The one that no one saw as anything but sharp and deadly and a ruthless killer.Â
He didnât hurt you, did he? Feyre asked weakly. She didnât think he would butâŚ
Alanaâs expression softened. Her hand gently came to rest on Feyreâs arm and she shook her head, a small smile on her face.
He was gentle as possible, Fey, Alana promised quietly. Gentler than I would have expected. He made sure to go slow, to be careful. He wasâŚhe was everything I could have wished for. He has never hurt me more than I wanted.Â
Feyre let out a long, shaky breath she didnât know that she was holding.
SheâŚshe had been worried. Worried for her sweet little sister, being together with a man like Azriel. Who was dangerous and deadly andâŚand lethal.Â
What do you mean with no more than you wanted? she demanded suddenly. Alana just grinned at her, her laugh like a pealing bell.
A shudder ran down Feyreâs spine again. AlanaâsâŚher sisterâs voice, the sound of her laugh. It was the most wonderful sound that she had ever heard. She couldâve started bawling like a child, but the thought that Alana dropped into her mind just completely derailed her.
He knows what I like, and heâs happy to oblige.Â
Feyreâs eyes widened and she choked on nothing.
SheâŚoh Gods. Her face heat in a blush as Alana just continued smiling at her innocently.Â
This was her sister. Her quiet, shy, closed-off sister. That was how she remembered her. And nowâŚand nowâŚshe was standing in front of Feyre, smiling at her like a cat who had just devoured an entire bowl of cream, telling her that her stoic, broody, deadly Spymaster of a mate was apparentlyâŚinto thingsâŚÂ
Her sister smirked at her. Alana! Her shy, little sister, who had never even so much as looked at a male with interest, stood in front of Feyre, a smirk on her face as she told Feyre that her mate knew what she liked.Â
I was surprised too, you know, Alanaâs voice echoed in Feyreâs mind. But wellâŚI like it, and heâs happy to oblige. Heâs very good at itâŚÂ
But the look on Alanaâs face, the utter contentment in her eyes, and the feeling ofâŚof lust from her sister, made it even more mortifying.Â
Alana was happy. Her sister was happy and well, and she just radiated happiness. Feyreâs heart soared, seeing her sister like that after so long. And even the horrifying bits, Feyre could push past.
Seeing her sister happy like thisâŚthat was worth a bit of mortification and discomfort.Â
So she swallowed her mortification, and just pulled a face at her smirking sister.
Enough with the gory details, for the love of the Mother. she chided her in her head. Alana just let out another pearly bell kind of laugh.
You should come downstairs. Nuala and Cerridwen have given Lucien some clothing and showed him to a bathing chamber. Lunch should be served soon, if you are hungry, Alana said into her mind.
I am famished, Feyre confessed in her mind. âLead the way,â she said aloud and Alana just rolled her eyes, taking her by the arm and pulling her downstairs.Â
And then something else came to her mind. What did Nesta say to you?
Alana sighed. Nothing that matters, her sister said easily as they reached the dining room. Azriel and Cassian were waiting for them.
And then Feyre saw how her sister turned from happy to radiant as soon as she saw Azriel.Â
Feyre watched with ill disguised horror, as the spymasterâs shadows came over to Alana, seemingly swarming around her. Whatever bits of naked skin they could findâŚin this case her hands and face, because she wore a long sleeves high necked gown, they caressed. Nearly sweetly.Â
Alana absentmindedly drew her fingers through one tendril as she floated over to Azriel, sitting down onto his lap like that was an utterly normal thing to do. Feyre could just stare as Azriel pressed a kiss against her sisterâs cheek, one scarred hand possessively spanning her waist.
Like this was normal. Like this was something they had done dozens of timesâŚlike it was the most normal thing in the world. Like this was their usual routineâŚand Alana smiled at him, broadly, pressing a kiss against his cheek in greeting.Â
It was...it was surreal, watching Alana like this. So much more open, less reserved than Feyre had ever seen her. And the way how Azriel looked at her...Feyre had never seen him express such open and utter adoration before.Â
Cassian made a retching sound, catching Feyreâs attention. Azrielâs eyes darkened as he threw an icy look in Cassianâs direction. Alana just snuggled deeper into Azrielâs chest.Â
Azriel let out the smallest of chuckles at Alanaâs behaviour in his lap, one of his hands coming up to gently play with a strand of her dark hair as he pressed another kiss to her forehead.Â
The quiet, brooding Spymaster of the Night Court, who could be downright terrifying when he wanted, completely and utterly smitten by her little sister.Â
Feyre could just stare.Â
She had not for one moment thought that they wouldâŚwould be a good match. But here they were.Â
Alana...Feyre had never seen her sister like this before. So open, so happy. So...unreserved. She was like a cat, settled in the lap of her male, letting him pet her like she was...like he owned her. And it seemed like Azriel would gladly claim ownership too. The possessive, proprietary look on his face told Feyre all she needed to know.Â
âGet a room, for the love of the Mother,â Cassian drawled with a disgusted look on his face as Azriel buried his nose in her sisterâs hair and Feyre shot him another dirty look. Alana just stuck her tongue out at him.Â
Azriel just bared his teeth at Cassian, a silent warning to watch his tongue in the direction of the woman in his lap, who was busy playing with the buttons on his fighting leathers.Â
âWhat did Nesta say?â Feyre repeated as she sat down herself.Â
The reactions were immediate.Â
Azriel growled.
Feyre couldnât help but flinch slightly. That growl...she hadnât heard him make that sound before. It sounded utterly terrifying. Alana didnât even flinch. She just touched Azrielâs chest in a soothing gesture and Azriel immediately quieted down, holding her even tighter.Â
It doesnât matter what Nesta had to say, Alanaâs voice echoed in her mind.
âIt absolutely does,â Feyre muttered, feeling some anger rising in her. Her sister deserved better than what Nesta had to say.Â
I donât care what she says, Alana replied in her mind. She can believe whatever she likes. She is entitled to her opinion.Â
âShe can be quiet about her opinion,â Azriel hissed. Only then Feyre realised that her sister must have been projecting her mental voice so that everybody could hear it.
"Azriel." Alana's voice was soft. "It's alright. We both know the truth. It doesnât matter what she believes"
Azriel looked down at her and a slight frown appeared on his face. He gently cupped her sister's chin, his hazel eyes staring into her dark ones. Feyre could practically hear the silent conversation between them.Â
Cassian sighed. "Nesta found out about the mating bond between Azriel and Alana and she didn't take it well," he told Feyre drily.
Of course, she didnât. Of course, she didnât. Feyre ground her teeth together.Â
"So what exactly was said?" she asked sharply.
Cassian and Rhys shared a look as Azriel let out another warning growl. Feyre ignored him.Â
I want to know, Feyre snapped towards Alana. Her sister stiffened.Â
Feyre, Alanaâs voice echoed in her mind, a hint of warning in her tone. Feyre pushed down a wave of irritation.Â
Tell me, Feyre demanded. She was done with secrets. Done with not knowing things.Â
Itâs nothing, Alana tried to brush her off and Feyreâs irritation flared up in her stomach.Â
It is not ânothingâ. Feyre snapped at her. Her sisterâs face was a stoic mask as Azriel let his hand span across her stomach.Â
Nesta made a comment about how she was surprised that Azriel hadn't ripped me apart during our...mating. But maybe she shouldn't be surprised because I was a whore anyway, Alana finally answered. How a brute like him was all I amounted to, given that I was a bastard...and then there was some more stuff in that rant about how unfair it was that I had landed on my feet but Elain is...well...Elain isn't doing so good, Alana answered flatly.
Feyre felt her blood boil in her veins. Of course, Nesta would say something like that, the bitter, twisted...- Feyre bit down on the string of curses burning on her tongue.Â
Nesta isn't doing well, Feyre. You can't take what she is saying right now to heart, Alana warned her softly. You haven't been in her mind...it's...it's bad.
Feyre felt some of her anger cool down ever so slightly. But that didnât mean she wasnât pissed off at Nesta for what she had said. Even if...even if Nesta wasnât doing well.Â
That doesnât change anything about what she said, Feyre said through gritted teeth.Â
I am not defending her, Alana said firmly. I love Nesta. Doesnât mean that I like hearing her talk about Azriel like that. But Feyre... her voice grew softer. I have seen her mind. Her thoughts. She isnât in a good place right now.
Feyre grimaced, feeling her anger slowly disappear. She didnât like it. She didnât want to. But...maybe Alana was right. Nesta was her sister, and Feyre loved her. Even after everything that had happened between them.Â
Still...what she said... Feyre said weakly and Alanaâs lips quirked.Â
I know, she said gently. I was angry too. I nearly tore her head off. But Azriel...he was furious. Iâve never seen him like that before.Â
Feyre didnât need to be told how furious Azriel had been. The look in his eyes, the clenched jaw and the growl that Feyre had heard...she didnât need anyone to tell her how the usually stoic male had been absolutely furious about what Nesta had said.Â
"I'll talk to her," Feyre said aloud.
She ignored the dubious look that Cassian and Rhys were giving her. Her sister just smiled at her softly and nodded.Â
Talk to her gently, she urged in Feyreâs mind. Please. And donât...donât try to defend me. It will only start a fight.Â
Feyre winced. Even though, she didnât like the thought of it and not defending her sister went completely against her nature, she knew that Alana was right. And her sister could read her thoughts with ease anyways.Â
Iâll bite my tongue, Feyre promised her. Alana smiled at her again, that smile that lit up her entire face. Feyre felt her heart clench at the beautiful sight.Â
âThank you,â Alana said happily, her voice like the most wonderful sound. Feyre had a feeling that that was the thanks not only for agreeing not to defend her but for just...not making a scene. Feyre felt a small, answering smile tug at the corners of her own lips.
Instead, she watched her sister pick up a piece of bread from the plate in front of Azriel and hold it up for him to eat without another word. A silent gesture of acceptance.
Azrielâs lips twitched as he looked at his mate, sitting on his lap like she belonged there. But he obediently opened his mouth, a subtle sign of complete surrender to Alana.Â
Cassian made another retching sound. Alana ignored him.
Azriel was the one who kissed Alana.
Feyre could have gone quite a long time without that sight. Especially because it wasn't a simple peck on the cheek or a quick kiss to her lips.Â
Feyre could have gone forever without seeing her sister like this, settled in the lap of her mate, their bodies pressed together tightly as Azriel kissed her, devoured her, his hands possessively splayed out on her slender waist.Â
"Now you are just fucking with me," Cassian said with a sigh.
Alana just broke out in a fit of giggles as Azriel threw a glare in Cassianâs direction.Â
âMaybe I am,â Azriel mused, as Alana settled back into his lap. Azrielâs one scarred hand was back to playing with a strand of Alanaâs hair. âJealous?â he asked lightly and Cassian actually growled at him. Azriel snorted, his hand possessively covering Alanaâs stomach, who was smiling like the happiest person in the world.Â
âShut up,â Cassian huffed. âI am not jealous. I just donât want to know what you two get up to at night.âÂ
"Only at night?" Azriel asked drily. "Brother, you have much to learn."
Feyre groaned internally at the hint in Azrielâs voice as Cassian looked a little ashen, while Rhys burst out laughing and Alana let out another one of her pearly-bell like laughs.Â
âStop tormenting him,â Rhys said with a chuckle as Cassian tried to recover. âHeâll have nightmares for weeks if you continue like this.âÂ
âThat sounds like a you problem,â Azriel replied, completely unrepentant, ânot ours.â Alana was still giggling, a sound like tinkling bells in Feyreâs ears.Â
âOf course you say that, you bastard,â Cassian said with a sigh as Azrielâs hand on Alanaâs stomach started to slowly wander upwards.Â
Feyre could see how Alanaâs cheeks flushed slightly in response to the possessive touch. How her breathing quickened ever so slightly. Azrielâs lips twitched as he noticed it too.Â
"We'll let you deal with Lucien," Alana said suddenly, gaining her feet quickly. "We'll see you at dinner. Az?"
âComing, sweetheart,â Azriel said and Cassian made another retching sound as Feyre could feel the waves of possessiveness coming off Azriel in waves. Her sister was his.Â
In a matter of heartbeats, they were gone. Feyre was left with Cassian and Rhys who were both looking at her intently.Â
"Yes, they are always like that, if you wondered,â Cassian said with a roll of his eyes. "I think they are still in the Mating Frenzy."
âMost likely,â Rhys agreed with a chuckle. âBut they also donât seem to care who sees it. Mor is still horrified from walking in on them a few weeks ago.âÂ
âSo would I be in her shoes,â Feyre said honestly and Cassian snickered.Â
âThey are insufferable, arenât they?â He said with a grin. Rhys just chuckled. âSo utterly happy.â
âYes,â Feyre agreed, the image of the two of them, completely oblivious to the world around them still in her mind. âUnbelievably so.âÂ
âTheyâre also completely and utterly devoted to each other,â Rhys mused. âIt isâŚkind of sweet.â Feyre nodded thoughtfully.Â
It was sweet. The way Azriel looked at her sister, how he was so utterly possessive about her. And AlanaâŚthere wasnât a hint of hesitation about her when it came to Azriel.Â
"As long as she's happy," Feyre said quietly. As long as Alana was happy.
#acotar fanfiction#azriel x oc#azriel x reader#azriel fanfiction#azriel fanfic#Azriel x Archeron!Reader#Brighten Up The Sky
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WHO'S AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME? | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [10]
description: the one with Cat Adams + the one where she tells him.
length: 13k
warnings: literally just watch 11x11, mention of vomit, blood, alcoholism. mention of pregnant wives??
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âwhoâs afraid of little old me?
you should be,â
She remembered when she was little when she would wake up so early even the birds hadnât uttered a morning chirp, her stomach grumbling because she usually hated the fancy stuff they had for dinner and ended up leaving it on her plate. She remembered thinking her mother would be no use, that Elizabeth would tell her to go straight back to bed, even if she whined and cried that she wanted breakfast, remembered thinking Louise, the au pair that usually took the morning shift, wouldnât be in for another hour or so, and she certainly wasnât tall enough to reach the cabinets yet.Â
Which left her with Emily.Â
Nineteen year old Emily, who was already in and out of the house with college, her hair a box dyed black, singed from all the crimping and hair spray. Emily, who liked to take her to the park even if she pretended she was too old, who played Barbies with her and helped her cut all their hair off probably because she figured that was better than her constant urge to do whacky things with her own locks. Emily, who had never wanted a little sister really until Elizabeth had brought home the carrier and suddenly she had never loved ten chubby fingers and toes so much.
She remembered waking Emily up, usually by pulling herself up onto her sisterâs MĂśtley CrĂźe themed bedding and prodding at the girlâs shoulder until she stirred, how Emily would lead her down the long, ornate hallway into the kitchen, when the only sound in the house would be their bare feet padding along the cold tiles. How Emily would yank two bowls out of the cupboard, tipping a generous dose of coco pops in each of them, back when they were full of sugar and real chocolate, not the healthy crap they sold nowadays.Â
It would just be the two of them at the breakfast table, crunching on their spoons, five year old Bugsy no doubt dribbling the brown milk down her chin and pyjama top, but she was happy. Because she had her big sister.
She stared down at the dregs of cocoa that whirled into the white milk as the cereal sat there longer, because she was only picking at it really, and it had nothing to do with the fact she was almost certain they had changed the recipe since she was little.Â
âI was thinking,â She said after a moment or so, while Spencer pottered around the kitchen, fixing them both a pot of coffee that she usually was usually bouncing over to grab at this point in the morning. Except today she felt sluggish, lost in that maze of thoughts that only Spencer could really unpick, and the second sheâd started speaking his head whipped over the counter to where she idly stirred her breakfast, âAbout what you said when Gideon⌠We could probably afford to start looking at buying a house soon, what with the mortgage rates dropping,âÂ
She looked up at him hopefully, hoping he couldnât sense the hesitation on her breath because he usually knew what she was thinking before she said anything, and for once she wished he didnât have that crazy ability to read her mind, only to see him with a small if not saddened smile.Â
When Gideon had passed, Spencer had gotten in his head that they needed to leave the apartment, that if the Jason Gideon could have been caught unaware, then they werenât safe either. Of course he hadnât meant it, at least not entirely, but Gideon passing had spun the logic half of his brain that spouted the statistics that they were no more in danger now than they were before heâd gone, but still it was something heâd been thinking about. A house meant more space; more space meant they could stop tripping over each other's laundry, meant they could get the bigger shower theyâd always talked about, maybe even a tub. A house meant the garden he knew he always wanted Niko and Sergio to have now they were grey around the whiskers and couldnât run so fast.Â
âI think thatâs a great idea,â Spencer said, picking up their mugs of steaming hot goodness and carefully stepping towards her, gently sliding the drink over to her as the liquid sloshed and threatened to dip over the edge, âIs there any place you want to look?âÂ
He left his own mug in favour of circling his arms around her shoulders and pulling her in for a soft hug, her head falling beneath his chin where she sat on the barstool.Â
Kissing her hairline gently, she heard him inhale her shampoo scent, and she plonked her spoon back in the bowl to wrap her arms around his waist, squeezing herself into every crevice that they werenât already touching.Â
âI donât care,â She said, tilting her head to look up at him with love sick eyes, only to see him already besottedly gazing at her, and she guessed by the way his lips draw up at the corners that he didnât realise he was still smiling, âAnywhere with you is good enough for me,âÂ
He looked down at her in that way he usually did, expression soft and sweet and entranced, but she saw the traces of worry in his gaze, âYou feeling okay? Today is going to be⌠hard,âÂ
Bugsyâs expression faltered slightly, and she turned away to push her face into his stomach so he wouldnât see the doubt lingering in her eyes. She nodded anyway, even though she knew he would catch her in the lie.
After Scratch, Hotch had ordered her to take three months off for a psych evaluation, had granted Spencer at least a month of holiday to watch over her because he knew Reidâs head would be all over the place with worry if heâd returned to work without her. It was like asking Garcia to leave her computers and fluffy pens at home; it just wouldnât work.Â
By the time she was cleared to come back, despite the recurring nightmares of that day still eating away at her sleep, Hotch had set her up to work solely from the office, strictly no field work.
He liked to think it was for her own safety, for her own good since he saw the way she pounded coffee like it was juice while Spencer lingered around her with a worried stare. But if he had to be honest with himself, Hotch couldnât get away from the things Scratch had made him see just as much as she couldnât. He couldnât escape seeing her throat slit like she was a lamb for slaughter, the life leaving her eyes as she faded away. And it was the thought of her carotid artery spraying over his boots that made him want to lock her up in bubble wrap and never let her go.Â
But that was feasible in their job, not really. So desk duty it was.Â
âYou donât have to go with us into the field, you can always stay with Hotch and Garcia,â He offered, stroking her hair behind her ear and tempting her to look back up at him with gentle fingertips under her chin, and when she saw the unease in the muddy hues, she squeezed him tighter, knowing the past five months had been just as hard on him.Â
âNo, I want to,â She protested gently, her hands weaselling under his shirt and onto the warm, soft skin of his back, pawing at him like a cat trying to settle. âIf youâre being made this womanâs number one target, I want to be there on stand by,âÂ
And he couldnât really argue. Because no matter what frame of mind he was in, even if it had been him captured and tortured, he would never let her go out as bait and not be there breathing down her neck.Â
He sighed, the urge to protest stuck in his throat and all he could think to do was bring his lips to hers gently in a soft kiss, because his resistance to her being put in the line of danger would only be futile.Â
She hummed into the kiss, his hands skirting over her back and she swore she would be content if the rest of her life was spent in Spencerâs arms, in the warm mornings at their kitchen table just the two of them, and the idea of that last part spun her stomach into turmoil all over again.Â
What if he freaked out? No, scratch that, he was definitely going to freak out. Spencer hated change, hated having things dropped on him, and Diana was already getting worse with the symptoms of Alzheimers she had begun presenting. He had more than enough on his plate as it was, and she knew she was the only thing that could keep his head from exploding with the worry, even if she was sometimes the cause of it. Heâs always been a worrier, and part of her despised herself for the fact that he had shot out of bed every single night sheâd been in the midst of a night terror, when the room spun and Peter Lewis seemed so real and so close and she woke up screaming. Because sheâd brought him enough stress and trouble, and now she had an extra helping of it dished up and ready.Â
It wasnât one of those things she could keep to herself, not even if she so desperately wanted to sit on it and mull it over for a few months. She needed to tell him soon.Â
Spencer looked down at her eyes, the way theyâd glazed over slightly, and he wished he could crawl into the space where her thoughts bounced between one another if it meant he could figure out what had gotten her so twisted up the past few weeks. She hadnât been herself entirely since Scratch, but she had been getting better. Sheâd started getting more sleep, seemed less jumpy when they were in the quiet of their apartment, and part of him thought maybe that was why she wanted to look at houses. A fresh start. And yet overnight, sheâd had this guilty look in her eye like she was suddenly a million miles away, and he hated it. Bugsy had never been distant, which seemed odd to think considering she was burying her hands and face into him like she had no intention of letting him leave. But there was something in the depths of her brilliantly big mind that seemed to hold her tongue for her.
He kissed her again, hoping it was all in his head, hoping she wouldnât keep things from him because it was them and they always told each other everything. Even if it was gross and weird and inappropriate, everything.Â
And he thought maybe it was because he was going on a date with another woman, using himself as live bait to flirt and charm and seduce an assassin in order to take her into custody without fuss. Yeah, that was probably it. He couldnât say he would be all too pleased if it had been the other way around and he would be watching her ravish another man even if it was just for the job.Â
That was definitely it. There couldnât be anything else.Â
âYou know I love you,â He said as a statement, yet she nodded as though it was a question, and he kissed her again because heâd regretted not doing it a hundred times a day the second heâd seen her in that closet, regretted not seeing the fact she was more than likely uncomfortable with her boyfriend of two years wining and dining a murderer. âWhatever I say when Iâm there with her, you know I love you, more than I could ever love anything else,âÂ
He seemed so sincere, his eyes turning into that soft puppy like frown, and it only served to drive the knife in deeper as she nodded, her hands wrapping into his hair and pulling him down to kiss her again, this time just a little harder like his lips could wipe away the pit in her stomach. Because it was Spencer, and she was lying by omission, and god did she need him to know how much she loved him before things went wrong and they changed and-
âWe have a little time right?â She said, his hands taking the hint as they pulled her to her feet gently, cereal long forgotten in a chocolate slush, and his hands reached down to cup her ass in the way he was more than used to doing now. Didnât stop him from blushing however.Â
âY-yeah we have time,â He said, and she barely let him finish his sentence before sheâd claimed his mouth again, not that he was complaining. She looped her fingers through his belt buckle, stepping backwards with his guidance towards their bedroom, and he hummed through a moan when he felt her run the other hand through his already messy bedhead, tugging on the ends of his curls gently.
âGood,â She responded, with a drop of that natural Bugsy cheekiness he was used to, and the sound of it made him smile. Maybe it was just the job after all, âI think I need a demonstration on just how much you donât mean whatever you need to say to her,âÂ
He smirked, because she was more like herself than she had been in days, and god was she pretty when she smiled at him before they had sex, like she knew what was coming, like she knew what she did to him. He wouldnât be surprised if she could hear his heart thumping in her ears just as clearly as he could.Â
âI think youâll need multiple demonstrations,â He said, his fingers looping in between her buttons on her trousers and popping them apart softly because theyâd done this before, rushed it so they werenât late for work, and ended up ripping good jeans, âGather multiple sets of data before you draw a conclusion,âÂ
He kissed down her neck and her small laugh became a moan, âI think itâs pretty much the only way, Doctor Reid,â
He laughed, and she felt it against her pulse, the sound of it making her shiver as he shoved the door open with little remorse for the way it slammed into the wall. And she made a promise to herself that once theyâd caught their UnSub, she would tell him, even if it meant all of this would change.Â
â
He arrived at the restaurant five minutes early, his suit steamed and neat, a single red rose in his hand. His skin was already crawling at the idea of flirting with another woman, but Spencer knew none of it was real, knew he was just doing his job. Still it didnât diminish the desire to glance where Bugsy and Rossi were sat in a booth, because heâd seen her in that red dress a thousand times before, and yet it still made his jaw drop the second he saw her in it. Â
The brief had been black tie, something to fit in with the five star restaurant, and god had she delivered. He ought to have protested, told her that she was too distracting and maybe insisted she stayed in the office if she looked so striking, but then again she could have worn a bin bag for all he cared, he would still be fighting the urge to look over at her.Â
He chose the seat with Bugsy at his back as to eliminate his urge to stare at her, because Dave could keep her safe, the rest of his team could watch her, he had to trust that.Â
He lay the rose on the other side of the table, fiddling with the other parts of the cutlery to make sure everything looked perfect, even though in his mind he was thinking of all the things Bugsy would have been saying if she was his date tonight. She probably would have made a comment on his suit (she already had before theyâd even stepped out the hotel, just as heâd given her arse a quick squeeze with cheeks even more crimson than her dress because she looked divine), probably would have offered to go to the in-and-out down the street instead because she never cared about splashing out on dates, just being with him was enough.Â
Adjusting his jacket a little, he waited, trying to keep his head far away from his girlfriend, although that was much easier said than done. He couldnât remember what his brain was like before it was filled with thoughts of her.
The ring sat in his sock drawer, buried in one of his older pairs that he hoped she wouldnât go after since heâd made the mistake of putting it in with his boxers and almost got caught within a day when she went to steal some ready for bed and heâd chided himself for the sloppy work. He knew he wanted to ask her, thought he might even bring her to a fancy place like this, maybe prepare a small speech that attempted to tell her how much she meant to him even though he knew there wasnât enough words for such a thing. Would he hide it in the cake? No that would be cheesy, she found cheesy overdone. Would she even like it done in public? No, she would hate that, he would wait until they got home, maybe even try that thing sheâd wanted to do in bed for a few weeks, and then when they were done-
âSpencer?â A woman appeared at the table, a woman who by all accounts was objectively pretty, yet he felt that small kick of victory when he recognised her from the FBI database.Â
Cat Adams. Assassin. Mastermind. UnSub.Â
âCat?â He said with practised naivety, and this time he forced all thoughts of his loving girlfriend from his head like they were about to be tainted by the woman standing in front of him, âHi,â
âHi,â She replied, her grin too bright and sparkly for anyone to ever guess she was a killer though he supposed that was the point,
âHello, itâs nice to finally-â He cut himself off when she leaned up to hug him, her face drawing closer to his suddenly and she looked like she was gearing up for a peck on the lips. Forward. Much more forward than heâd given her credit for, and his stomach flipped in discomfort as he leaned away, âOh s-sorry, I have kind of a germ thing,â He excused, which wasnât a total lie.Â
Also my girlfriend is sat ten feet away and I can already hear her clenching a fork ready to ball your eyes out like a melon, he wanted to say, though he kept his snark to himself.Â
âOh, sorry,â Cat said, holding her hands up in surrender, and looking up at him with what he knew to be false innocence. But he played along, because the sooner they caught her, the sooner he could be done with the entire thing.
âIâm kinda weird with hugs,â He explained, his face boyish as he gestured her to take a seat, because at least then he could put some distance between them, âPlease, sit down,â
She smiled dizzily, slipping her jacket off to reveal a blue dress that accentuated her pixie short hair, her collar bones that could cut glass, her small, sleek figure, and she adjusted her straps as an excuse to divert his attention to her breasts.
âThatâs like the oldest trick in the book, get some new material, bitch,â Bugsy mumbled under her breath, drowning her venom in sparkling apple juice disguised as champagne from where they sat in a dark corner booth and Rossi chuckled, shaking his head.Â
âI wouldnât worry about boy genius having a wandering eye, kid. Reid is more devout than my mother on Easter Sunday,â He said, picking at the starter theyâd ordered as a way to seem busy. She hummed, diverting her attention into her chicken salad, making sure she wasnât looking at the happy couple for too long as they talked awkwardly, âDo you think you could take her?â
âI know I could take her,â Bugsy responded in a clipped tone, and Rossi sniggered, and they heard Tara and Derek do the same down their earpieces.Â
âIt was a joke,â Cat said, to something they hadnât quite caught, though by the looks of it they were still just making small talk, âA bad joke,â
âNo, no, it was funny,â Spencer said reassuringly, and he chuckled, though Bugsy knew off the bat it was fake because she loved making him laugh and it sounded nothing like that. They fell into an awkward silence and she could hear Spencer scrambling for things to talk about because if she walked away their lead to the other assassin went right with her.Â
âCan we start over? Hi, Iâm Cat,â The woman said, fixing her skirt with a shy smile. She certainly didnât seem like a killer, Bugsy thought, where she glanced at her in her peripheral. She certainly was pretty, spritely even. A little too eager to kiss a guy she just met.Â
âHi, Iâm Spencer,â He replied, in that nervous tone he usually got when she flustered him.Â
âIs it true you have three PHDs?â Cat asked with, well, cat-like eyes flicking between sly and seductive, and Bugsy could see how any man who wasnât as smart as her boyfriend would fall for the act.
âYes, thatâs true. I do have three PHDs,âÂ
âWhatâs your favourite book you read last year?â She pressed and Bugsy sipped her juice to stop herself from answering for him.
âIâve honestly never read a book I havenât loved,â He said, deflecting the subject, while his girlfriend smirked into her almost empty plate.Â
Demons by Fydor Dostoevsky, she corrected to herself because she knew heâd gone back to it more than a handful of times.Â
âTell me about your wife,â Cat went in for the kill, her timid smile morphing into something wicked as she watched Spencer squirm.Â
And the second sheâd said it something had reared its ugly head inside him. Because try as hard as he might, all he could think about was Bugsyâs face and that damn ring.Â
âIf you donât mind, Iâd erâŚâ He cleared his throat, wondering why it was so difficult to get through a single conversation when theyâd ran through the plan a million times. He knew she would ask, and yet all he could do was get defensive thinking about Cat damn Adams setting her hands on the woman he wanted desperately to marry, âIâd rather not talk about her,â
âMight as well get it out in the open right? I mean, itâs why weâre here,â She said smugly, like that innocent bounce in her step had wiped right away, revealing the murderess underneath, âHow long have you been married?â
âFour years,â He lied, though he thought back to JJâs wedding that same amount of time ago and how beautiful she looked in her dress and her cast and how heâd wished it was theirs.Â
âWhen is she due to give birth?â Catâs eyes narrowed at the man, pushing her hair behind her ear in a playful manner.Â
Bugsy stopped, licking her lips and hoping Rossi wasnât watching her as she finished off the last of her sparkling juice, raising a hand to a passing waiter to order a second round.Â
âYou having another one, Grandpa?â She said innocently, despite the stink eye he gave her and nodding to the non-alcoholic beer heâd ordered.Â
âWatch yourself,â He said as the waiter retreated, and she snickered into her meal, âGrandpa will knock you on your ass,âÂ
âYou would never, Hotch would hate that kind of paperwork,â She said setting her cutlery on the side of her plate to signal she was done, âHR would have a field day,â
âI wanna hear you say it,â The line crackled in their ear as Bugsyâs drink arrived at the table, and she couldnât help but think the womanâs seductive voice could easily pass for a call girl. She chanced a quick look over at their table, her heart rate spiking when she saw the woman all but eye fucking Spencer with a bit of her lip, like the thrill of the chase was half the fun for her, and Bugsy felt the disgust settle in her stomach.Â
âTo have her killed,â Spence replied, and she looked away then, the bitterness settling on her bottom lip in a sneer. She didnât think for one second that Spencer would think the woman was alluring, it didnât make him flirting any easier to watch.Â
The UnSub smiled wryly, looking down at his arm, âLet me see your ring,â
Spencer froze, holding his hand out hesitantly, the feeling of the gold band entirely alien on his finger even though he was trying to get used to it for the sake of the case. Catâs hand shot out like a snake striking, holding his ring in between her perfectly manicured fingers, her eyes roving over the jewel.
âYou know what that is?â She said with contempt, shaking her head, âA noose, only it doesn't kill you all at once it kills you slowly, day by day,âÂ
And he couldnât have disagreed more, in fact the only thing that was killing him was the fact he had been dumb enough to wait so long to propose to the woman he loved more than life itself.Â
Spencer Reid, dumb and in love.
âYou ever feel that way?â She said, ripping him out of his thoughts, and he nodded wordlessly, sighing for effect.
âI feel that way all the timeâ Except his every day was spent wondering just how he ever got so lucky, how he managed to fall in love with the same woman who gave him apple cake when he couldnât remember the last real meal heâd had because he was three months deep in an opioid addiction and having her look at him like he hung the damn cosmos.Â
âTake it off,â She ordered, and Spencer tried flashing her a surprised if not charmed smile, though his hackles were slightly raised, âAs a sign of your commitment. To me,âÂ
He bit his cheek, knowing better than to argue back if he was playing the part of the down beaten husband, and began twisting the gold ring off his wedding finger, handing it over to her expectant palm.Â
âIf she sticks to the pattern, sheâll take him to a secondary location and then kill him.â JJ observed, sipping on her mocktail in her own fancy, ruffled dress, shooting Tara and Derek a look where they played the part of a sweet couple on a date.Â
âIâd like to see the bitch try,â Bugsy said through a wide fake smile, her face showing no symptoms of anger except the flash of teeth.Â
âDonât worry sweetheart, weâre not letting it get that far,â Rossi added, and the two of them clinked their drinks together in a ringing chink, âHotch, do you two have a visual?â
Penelope confirmed with a few taps of her keyboard, and Hotch nodded as Spencer confirmed with a small flick of his eyes he could hear the feed, âAlright, all agents stand by. Dr Reid will give the green light, donât move until we have it,âÂ
âTwenty four carats?â Cat asked, twisting the ring in between her fingers with a smug grin like she already knew the answer.Â
âYeah,â Spencer replied, looking down at the band and back up the soulless dark hues of the black widow woman.Â
âTwenty four k times⌠four years. Means this ring should be dinged and nicked, but,â She huffed, reaching into her purse under the table, and Bugsy damn near spat out her juice when she heard a gun load through the mic, âThis sucker is brand new. Youâre not married.â
âWhat was that, was that what I think it was?â Penelopeâs stressed tone rushed through the ear piece, and the sound of it plus the smell of the chicken sheâd just eaten made Bugsyâs stomach turn again.Â
Except this time she felt it coming up into her throat, the same way sheâd found herself feeling queasy for a few days. Spencer had thought she had a stomach bug, had tried to get her to stay home with some mint tea, but this was more than the last few times. It was like her anxiety clenched her gut in a tight grip and twisted painfully, and she lurched forward, slapping a hand over her mouth.Â
âKid?â Rossi said, his brows frowning at the expression on her face, and she immediately began untucking her napkin from her chest.Â
She needed to make it to the bathroom now, hoped on everything that the sudden movement didnât distract where Cat held a gun to Spencerâs midriff beneath the table.Â
âWhat is she doing?â Morgan hissed into the mic, while Hotch and Penelope began barking protests.Â
âOh, good lord, Bug, stay down, you donât know what that psycho is going to do!â Penelope squealed, watching Bugsy rush out of the booth seat, a hand firmly over her lips, and Aaron brought a hand to his head, a splitting headache forming at the sight of the youngest agent rushing for the bathroom.Â
âPrentiss, what are you doing, you could blow your cover,â He snapped, though there was no anger there, and she could only switch her mic off for what was about to happen, knowing the team had much bigger things to worry about.Â
Bursting the doors open, she dived for the nearest stall and fell to her knees, head in the bowl before she could hock up her guts over the floor, and then came a horrid retching sound.Â
Spencerâs eyes widened at the table, hearing his team yelling out orders at the one person he couldnât keep track of, and it took everything in him not to turn in his seat to investigate for himself what happened for her to flee the safety of the table, or go after her even. Because even if he wanted to, even if he needed nothing more than to make sure she was okay, he couldnât move an inch. Not with the gun being pointed at all of his important organs by the experienced killer with a smile.
âDo you know why Iâm so good at my job?â Cat asked in a sweet tone, her eyes cold and calculating as she cocked the gun beneath the seat.Â
âBecause you kill without compunction or remorse,â Spencer bit, the flirty look in his expression long gone the second heâd heard the rest of his team calling for his girlfriend. He needed to keep his head, Bugsy was safe so long as she was far away from the woman pointing the gun at him. Having the weapon aiming for him he could deal with.Â
âThat only gets a girl so far in life,â Cat agreed with a nod, her jaw setting in a hard clench, âNo, itâs because I think through every possible outcome and then I plan accordingly,â
And Bugsyâs stomach seized hearing her voice so cold and viscous, and she would give anything to hear her partner flirting with that bitch of a woman if it meant she knew he was safe. She emptied her stomach again right as she heard their UnSub speak once more.
âYou see, I didnât walk into your trap. You walked into mine,â
And with that Bugsy gave another hurl.
â
âSpencer, why did you take time off from the FBI?â Cat insisted, her voice nails on a chalkboard, and he felt the apathy on his face flick into slight annoyance.Â
Bugsy. Because Bugsy had been ill, because she hadnât been sleeping, because she hadnât been herself for a few months, because his mom had gotten worse, because they needed him.Â
Spencer would take the bullet before he ever told her about Bugsy, because he knew for a woman who loved male attention, telling her about the girl he loved most in the world would only draw a big target on her back, and he would never dare to put her at risk. Never again.Â
Not a single hair on her head, heâd promised. Not even a scratch.Â
âYou can ask me as many times as you want but Iâm still not going to tell you,â He snipped, making sure to keep his face expressionless if he really wanted to sell the deal that she was a nobody to him.
Her mouth tightened in frustration, âThen youâre cheating, and I donât like cheaters,â
âYou donât get everything you want just because youâre pointing a gun at me under the table.â He stated blankly, his team waiting on bated breath to see if they needed to send in their back up since JJâs cover had already been blown. âYouâre not the first killer to point a gun at me, youâre not even the first woman to point a gun at me. Sorry.âÂ
Catâs smile shifted into something akin to a snarl, and she leaned forward on her elbows, and Spencer matched her challenge with cool ease. âYouâre really gonna take this all the way, arenât you?âÂ
And Spencer smiled wryly, because her composure was collapsing beneath her, âYeah,â
âSo am I,âÂ
âDave, go,â Hotch ordered, and Rossi drew his gun beneath a napkin, shuffling to his feet, âPrentiss, where the hell are you?âÂ
And she knew she was wasting time, but her stomach had picked the worst time to flip. Perhaps it was the anxiety, or the pressure of a gun being pointed at her love, or maybe it was bad chicken. Either way her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, her legs weak where sheâd crouched on the floor, and she chided herself for not being able to pull it together when Spencer needed her.Â
And as if her nerves werenât rattled enough, she heard Spencerâs mic mute out, and she knew then that the time for sticking her head in the bowl and screaming at herself to get up was over. Spencer was in trouble. Two of their agents' cover was blown. With Tara and Derek sitting the opposite end of the restaurant, he was alone if Cat Adams decided to pull that trigger.Â
Spitting the rancid taste from her mouth into the toilet, she reached up for the flush, wiping her mouth with a handful of toilet paper.Â
âHotch,â She tuned in, and she heard the sighs of relief as he and Penelope seemed to both ease slightly at hearing her voice, âIâm back, howâs Rossi?â
âHis coverâs blown, heâs heading out to find JJ,â Hotch responded, his heart rate in his throat the second heâd heard her sound through. He knew it would be unfair if he pulled her from field work for another three months, but the second sheâd disappeared from their screens, heâd already began thinking of the excuse he could give if it meant he knew she was kept out of harmâs way, âWhere are you, are you hurt?âÂ
âNo, no, just,â She cleared her throat, leaving the stall and heading for the sinks, âBad chicken I guess,â
Taking a handful of cold water up to her mouth, she swilled the liquid around to try freshen herself up, sputtering it back into the sink and running the back of her hand over her lips.Â
âDo you need to get out of there?â Hotch asked, the concern thick in his tone, almost as clear as it was on his brow as he leaned in to Penelopeâs monitor, âLewis and Morgan have got eyes-â
âNo, Iâm not leaving him out there,â She protested, leaning over the sink with an exhausted huff, âI canât head back to the table, sheâll know I was with Rossi,âÂ
And as if she had spoken a plea to the universe, one of the waitresses waltzed through the bathroom door carrying glass cleaner and a bunch of fresh toilet paper under her arm, smiling sweetly at Bugsy who seemed like any other patron of their restaurant.Â
Her eyes snapped over the girlâs body, figuring she was about the same size, perhaps a tiny bit bigger than herself, she almost audibly heard the click of the idea and before she knew it she had reached out to grab the girlâs attention.Â
She just hoped it worked, because otherwise the scolding she was going to receive from Hotch wouldnât be worth it in the slightest.Â
âHereâs what Iâm gonna do, Iâm gonna penalise you by adding ten minutes because I actually did learn something important.â Cat said with a smirk, her finger flicking over the clock on his phone as she prolonged the countdown, and Spencer squirmed where she shuffled closer to him, close enough that their knees were touching and he could feel where the toe of her heels were teasingly stroking up his calf, like threatening him and his team for information was getting her off. He felt filthy, like heâd need a dozen showers before he fell into his girlfriendâs arms, and part of him considered skipping the whole dinner and speech, asking her the second he saw her again if she would be his wife.Â
Because this, having another woman so close, was making him sick.Â
âOh really? Whatâs that?â He snapped, his patience wearing thin as his lips pressed in a straight line.Â
âYour back up, I flushed them out,â She replied with a smirk, looking around the room with an arrogance Spencer wished he could wipe right off of her face, âItâs just me and you now,âÂ
âHi, how are we all doing this wonderful evening?â A chirpy voice came from the end of the table, slamming two menus down between them hard enough that their attention snapped to her immediately. Spencer felt his eyes morph into horror, though he fought hard to hide it, as he saw a familiar face, the same one that had been running through his mind since, well, forever. Her red dress was gone, replaced with a maroon shirt and a black pencil skirt, her hair tied back in a neat bun and she had a pen pushed behind her ear for good measure as she smiled at them tightly.Â
Bugsy had really done it this time.Â
âMy name is Emily and Iâll be your waitress. Can I get you started with some drinks?â
â
âPrentiss, what in godâs name have you done?â Hotch barked, as she waltzed behind the bar, ignoring the looks from the barman that clearly had never seen her working there before.Â
âIâm making sure Spencer has back up if she decides to get trigger happy,â She bit back, snagging a pitcher of water from the fridge and two crystalline glasses, placing them on an upturned tray.Â
âAnd what happens if she gets trigger happy towards the waitress that wonât leave them alone?â Morgan snipped, shooting her a look where their table faced the long, walnut coloured bar that wrapped around the back of the establishment.Â
âWell then, I guess we pray thereâs a doctor in the house that isn't Spencer,â She huffed, plastering a fake smile on her lips, and carefully shuffling the tray onto her palm, âYouâre going to have to take me out yourselves if you think Iâm leaving him there alone,â
And they huffed, Hotch running a hand through his hair. Because they knew she wasnât kidding. God help the man who tried to stop Bugsy when she had her mind to something.Â
And with that resounding silence, she listened to Spencerâs mic, hoping to catch a foot in to the conversation.
âYou should have seen right through me the moment you walked in, but you didnât,â He said, and she didnât need to take a glance at Catâs face to know she was getting more than riled up. Why was she here? What happened to staying with Rossi where it was safe? It was her first day back in the field, what was she doing? He didnât think heâd ever been so angry, though he knew if he scratched the surface of the feeling heâd find it was fear. And unfortunately for the woman sat opposite him, heâd stopped pulling his punches because of it. âYou couldnât. Because you canât get to the man you really want to hurt, so you need to hurt every man who reminds you of him,â
Catâs face flashed with what he could have sworn was hurt, before her eyes steeled back over and she shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadnât hit straight home, âThatâs kind of boiler plate psychology, isnât it? Iâm just another girl with daddy issues,âÂ
âYouâd be surprised how many killers do what they do because of their parents,â He snapped back, because he couldnât dare take his eyes from their UnSub, no matter how desperately his gut told him to check on Bugsy. âIf itâs so boilerplate, let's test that theory. How hard did you look for him?â
Her mouth screwed up in bitterness, âVery hard,â
âAnd how disappointed were you when you realised you will never find him?â Spencer drove the knife in deeper, watching Catâs resolve fade under his hateful stare, âYou needed some other outlet for your rage and for a while this worked, but it also tripped you up,âÂ
And Bugsy stopped, because Spencer always had a way of saying the exact right thing that made her brain tick into genius, like everything about him made her the best version of herself even if he didnât mean to. That was what tripped her up. Her father.Â
âHotch, itâs her dad,â She murmured, flashing a couple of customers an easy smile as she took the plates off their table, because Cat would catch on way too fast if she seemed to be the only person not be doing a job, âThatâs what she wants, thatâs her endgame,âÂ
And there was only a single second between them, before Hotch caught up to that wonderfully big brain of hers, âSerial killers with an endgame will do anything to get to them, even if it means taking themselves down with it,â
âWhy would I make you sit here for thirty minutes?â Catâs voice crawled down her ear piece as she burst through the kitchen doors, dumping the plates at the pot wash and looking to where JJ and Rossi were talking with the manager.Â
âBecause youâre stalling,â Spencer said, though he didnât have that usual tone that told her he was sure of himself, and she knew from the direction it was going that something was missing. Theyâd missed something, otherwise theyâd have Cat in cuffs by now.
âThen you donât know me at all,â She hissed back, and Bugsy shook her nerves out through her fingers, peeking at where they were sat through the thin glass pane on the door, âDo you think I would show up here without an escape plan. Or is that just what another girl with daddy issues would do? Maybe if you hadnât fallen victim to your own gender bias, and yes all men have gender bias, even you Dr Reid, you would have recognized that your entire strategy was based on one faulty detail. Can you see it?âÂ
Spencer paused, his frown shifting on his face, âYouâre not here alone,âÂ
âAnd my partner? Less paranoid than you think,â She said, and by the sounds of it the smirk was back on her face, and Bugsy fought the sneer twitching at her lips.Â
âYou planted a bomb in the building,â Came Spencer's response, the grave realisation setting all three agents into motion. JJâs head whirled to where their youngest stood by the door, her eyes widening at her partnerâs words.Â
And for a second she wanted to beg Bugsy to take cover outside, to get out while she still could, because it had been a miracle the last time a building had exploded around her and sheâd only broken a few bones. JJ didnât think she could stand to grieve her for good, not the girl who had already gone through so much for them. All because they had missed it.Â
But she knew better, knew Bugsy would fight tooth and nail to stay if Spencer was still in the building. Knew that that argument would only be futile, a waste of time, because the Prentiss girl was not leaving.Â
âWeâll go check it out, you stay put,â JJ ordered, drawing her gun to her side as Rossi did the same and Bugsy nodded, âDonât do anything stupid, donât draw attention to yourself, Spencer knows what heâs doing,âÂ
And Bugsy paused before she answered, choosing to give them a slow nod because she already had a good idea of what her next move would be, and it absolutely did not involve staying put.Â
Like hell she would stay put while he was there.Â
With that, JJ and Rossi turned on their heel to head for the stairs leading underneath the building, and Bugsy picked the tray back up, right as Lewis burst through the revolving doors, a serious look on her primped face.Â
âWe need to evacuate,â Tara said, and Bugsy nodded, flicking a look behind her to where the rest of the kitchen seemed to be waiting on their order, because the second JJ had flashed the FBI badge, they had frozen.
âYou get the customers out safely, Iâm going to buy us some time,â Bugsy said, and Tara watched her slip through into the restaurant, the tray pressed against her stomach.Â
This was stupid. Stupider than sheâd ever been, but her thoughts struggled to make sense whenever Spencer was in trouble. And it was like she saw the splash of his brains against the table, the same way sheâd seen it in Lewisâs house all on the ceiling, like she could see now just what his organs would look like when Adams shot him however many time in the abdomen.Â
She couldnât think like that. They would be okay, they would figure it out together, they always did. They always managed to put their heads together when they were in trouble.Â
Being in danger together seemed like a much better bet than having to watch the love of her life killed in the middle of this damn restaurant because she hadnât done anything. She wanted to do everything with him for the rest of her sorry life, and if that meant sitting at the nozzle end of a pistol with him, then so be it.Â
She just hoped he would forgive her quickly.Â
âAll we want to do is-â She heard Spencer begin, the other waiters filtering out of the kitchen with shaken looks on their faces, as they carefully slipped their patrons the bill that had already paid off, asking them to leave calmly and quietly.Â
âMinimise collateral damage, I get it, Iâm not mad,â Cat snapped back, rolling her eyes, âItâll give me the cover I need to slip out. I just need to know itâs clear, so do me a favour and tell your boss that nobody leaves until its safe for me to do so,âÂ
Spencer chewed his tongue. He couldnât let her leave, not when they had her so close, not when they were pursuing Penelope, not when they were so close to catching the woman responsible for so many kills.Â
Spencer hated losing, he hated knowing that she was about to get away because he had been too wrapped up in his overwhelming thoughts to figure out her plan, too busy fretting over the two women who meant the most to him to think ten steps ahead like he usually did.Â
Heâd been sloppy, even though he knew he should cut himself some slack. His fiancee, girlfriend, had been tortured, his mother facing a different kind of terror in her mind altogether. He hadnât been thinking about work, heâd been thinking of the house they were going to buy with the picket fence and the porch swing and the mortgage, and the damn ring-
âWell?â Catâs goading voice ripped him out of his reverie, and he huffed in defeat, âSpencer?â
âYou can leave,â He murmured, the agitation scratching at his skin because he was struggling to think of a final card to play. He was usually so good at games, usually won every single one of them. But his head couldnât settle when Bugsy wasnât near, when he couldnât make sure she was safe.Â
Cat shuffled out of the side of the booth, her eyes flicking across the restaurant for her contact, and Spencer had barely opened his mouth in protest before he watched the UnSub walk straight into a waitress, a false smile slipping on her face as to not raise alarm.Â
âIâm sorry, I wasnât watching where I was-â And yet his breath hitched when he spotted the hair heâd ran his fingers through just that morning yanked into a bun, the lips he could kiss for an entire lifetime curled in disdain, the body he worshipped refusing to move out of the way for the woman in a hurry.Â
And it seemed Cat only realised that the woman who had brought them water wasnât a waitress at all, despite her plain face that had faded into the background, despite the fact Spencer hadnât given her a second glance; Only when she heard a gun cocking behind the serving tray at her stomach did the fake smile drop from Cat Adams face.Â
Because she hadnât flushed out Spencerâs back up. Not while Bugsy was still alive and breathing.Â
âSit back down,â Bugsy growled, keeping her tone low but with enough bite that Catâs eyes narrowed to hide the surprise.Â
âWell, well, seems I hadnât planned for everything, I thought a pretty face like you would know better than to pull a gun on a woman with her finger on the big red button,â Cat said wryly, though Bugsy caught her eyeing up her chest as if to be checking for a bullet vest, âMove out the way, sweetheart. You donât want this to get ugly,â
Spencerâs jaw flexed as he ground his teeth, though he kept his breathing even. What was she doing?Â
He didnât care that he had no more power over her than anyone else on the team, he wanted to drag her out of the room himself if it meant she would stop throwing herself in the way of danger.Â
âUnfortunately, sweetheart, thatâs not happening.â Bugsy snapped back, her expression melting into something rogue, something teasing as she leaned towards Cat with a challenge in her eyes. âYouâre going to sit back down, and Iâm going to show you exactly why you should have accounted for a pretty face like me,âÂ
âYouâre stalling,â Cat snickered, trying to push past the waitress, who wasnât a waitress at all but an FBI agent, only for her hand to shoot out and grab her wrist, tossing the tray on the table.Â
Spencer felt his heart lurch into his throat as he saw both of them pull their guns to waist height, a blink and youâd miss it kind of movement, and it was like heâd seen the game set and matched then and there.Â
Bugsy wasnât backing down. And neither was Cat.
âI make it a habit of knowing what kind of women are going on dates with my boyfriend,â Bugsyâs hand tightened around her wrist, watching the surprise flicker in the womanâs eyes, and she scoffed, âWhat? You really thought all that flirting and nervous glances were real?â
And the woman said nothing, her ego clearly a little hurt, though Bugsy was just sticking to the profile, and the profile said she revelled in male attention.Â
âCat got your tongue?â Bugsy snipped through a grin, even if her chest was pounding at the feeling of the gun pointing at her abdomen, âWell, lucky for you I have a present for you. On the condition you sit back down and play my game,âÂ
âYou think Iâm going to fall for that shit?â Cat seethed. It was one thing to outsmart a man, that was fair game, that was easy pickings for a woman like her. But a woman, a woman who seemed to love playing with her food as much as she did. That was different, âWhat is it, a reduced sentence? The good TV in my two by four cell? You can keep dreaming, I donât want your worthless promises,âÂ
âIâd hardly call your daddy dearest worthless,â Bugsy mused, and she watched Catâs expression falter, âA dead beat drunk maybe, but worthless? A little harsh considering you waited so long to meet him,âÂ
Cat paused, eyes flicking over the womanâs face for any signs of a lie, âYou have my father?â
And Bugsy smirked, âDo I look like Iâm bluffing?â But her face was set in stone, and Cat hated to admit she seemed too confident to be lying, âWhy donât you make this a little easier for everyone and sit back down. Iâm not done with you yet,â
The murderess scowled, her shoulders straightening as she ripped her wrist out of Bugsyâs grip and retreated back to the booth.Â
And it was only then that Bugsy looked at Spencer, his eyes wide in a horrid mix of terror and rage, and it was a sight she swore she never wanted directed at her again. But she couldnât leave him, he had to understand that. Because if all the bets were off, if all the cards were dealt, she knew he would need to be dragged screaming from the building before he left her to deal with a hostile UnSub alone.Â
And Spencer knew that too, of course he knew that. Yet it didnât diminish the sickening worry bubbling up in his chest as the women sat down at the table, and their game had a playing field.Â
âSo, I take it this is the darling wife you wanted killed,â Cat sneered, and Spencer didnât dare take his eyes off the woman with the gun, even if Bugsy did have one pointed right back at her, âI donât blame you, Iâd want to be rid of her too,â
And they both knew it was a dig, a stab in the interest of getting them both riled up. But it wouldnât go far. Because despite the anger Spencer felt dwindling in his chest, he always worked better with her. Like a puzzle piece in the tangle of his mind had clicked into place, and suddenly they were a team again, and she seemed more like herself than she had in months, an ease about the way she leaned back in the plush seat despite the fact her finger was resting on the trigger.Â
âHave you ever played Catâs cradle?â Bugsy asked her, knocking her knee against his as if sheâd heard his thoughts. They were together in this. Together. Even if the building went up in flames and bullets and the plan went to shit. Just the two of them, the way theyâd always been.Â
And he felt himself ease back too, something akin to security shifting over him. They always were safer together.Â
Catâs eyebrows raised as Bugsy dodged her comment, âWhat, do you want to braid my hair like sixth graders, too? What about it?âÂ
Bugsy shrugged, reaching over with her free hand to the glass of water sheâd set down for the two of them, âThe way I see it, Cat, you have got those little paws caught in yarn and are scrambling to get out of it,â She chuckled, taking a quick sip, âNow, if we were to let you go, youâd end up walking out of here scot free, and who knows, might even blow up the whole building anyway. But, if we help you out of this little tangle youâve got us all in, then maybe we cut a deal that doesnât involve all of us going out in a ball of flames and champagne. Sounds good right?â
The womanâs lips pursed tightly, her head tilting in annoyance, âAlright. Get on with it, no one likes a show off. How did you find my father?âÂ
Bugsy smirked, âWell that was pretty easy once you have access to the files we have. We traced your birth record to a Daniel Adams, who did in fact leave the country in 1987 but returned in 2012. Based on confidential records in rehabs and sober living houses, which in turn pointed us to flophouses and soup kitchens.âÂ
The brunetteâs eye twitched, like the girl had just spat in her face, which was what it felt like, and she felt the taste of her own medicine was just as sour as sheâd always presumed.Â
âHe couldnât put twenty four hours together sober, sweetheart,â Bugsy summarised, shrugging her shoulders as if it was no big deal to her, just another bum on the street, âYou can probably imagine our surprise to find that he lives here in DC,â
âWhere?â Cat hissed, and Bugsy snickered, shaking her head and taking another sip of her water.Â
âIâm an agent, not a miracle worker. It wasnât that simple,â She replied, boredly tracing her finger over the restaurants emblem they had printed on the napkin, âI found him on the street, showed him your picture and said Iâd like to ask him some questions about his darling daughter,â
Catâs lip pulled down in annoyance, her matt red lipstick smudging with her pout, âAnd?â
And perhaps Bugsy was being cruel. Perhaps she was playing into the profile that indicated Cat needed someone to match her wit and zeal if she was going to listen. Men, she could squash like bugs. Bugsy, ironically, not so much.Â
Perhaps she was thinking about how sheâd reached into Spencer's pants to retrieve his gun, and wanted some of what she was saying to hurt.Â
âHe didnât even know he had a daughter,â Bugsy said simply, with a small shrug of her shoulders, and she watched the womanâs onyx brown eyes glisten with unshed tears as the realisation crashed on her, "Didn't really seem to care,"
âHe-he didnât remember me?â Cat asked, the tease that had been there half an hour ago wiped clear from her tone, and Bugsy shook her head.Â
âNope,â She said, popping the last syllable, âAlcoholism really rocks your brain. Sorry, honey,â
Adams scoffed, shaking her head with venom, âYouâre not sorry. Sorry is what people say when they donât understand,â
And Bugsyâs brows raised, a bitter empathy flicking in her gaze. Quick, but not so quick that Cat didnât catch it, and she shuffled in her seat.Â
âOh,â Their UnSub paused, the trodden down look on her face rekindling with interest, âBut you understand, donât you? What, does your father like a good beer or ten, princess?âÂ
Bugsy snickered emptily, âOfcourse I understand,â She said, leaning over the table to hold the womanâs glare, because like hell would she back down just because Cat was treading on home ground, âI havenât spoken to my father in five years. He picked the hot wife and holidays to Aruba over his little girl and he thought a new pony or two would make up for all the times he forgot Christmas. I canât even remember the last time he sent me a birthday card on time, and yeah he was a bit of a mean bastard once he'd had a whiskey,â She shook her head with contempt, and she felt Spencer knock his knee against hers gently, but she only watched the viper woman with careful eyes. And to her shock, Cat seemed like she understood her, like she had some kind of respect for her telling the truth. âDonât look so surprised. Iâm very good at making sure old guys like that get whatâs coming to them. Or is that just what another girl with daddy issues would do?âÂ
Catâs face seemed to shrivel in frustration when she heard her words repeated back to her, âIs that really why you came here today? To help me?â And Bugsy tilted her head, knowing their UnSub was running out of time, that her window of opportunity was closing with the patrons of the restaurant getting antsy to leave. âDo you know how many men have told me they want to help me?â
Letting her expression smooth into empathy, she leaned forward, her tone dropping into a hushed murmur, âThat may well be true, sweetheart, but from where Iâm sitting, Iâm not a man,âÂ
And Cat paused, something like regret drifting over her face, before she spoke again, âDo you want to know how that worked out for them?âÂ
And with that, JJ and Rossi watched the C4 chargeâs switch to green, indicating their line was live and ready to blow.Â
âHotch, she just armed the bomb,â
Bugsyâs expression dropped an inch, the sight of it making Catâs lips curl into a cheshire smile.Â
âYouâre not the only one with a loyal partner, honey,âÂ
But the Prentiss woman was quick on her heels, watching Morgan and Tara rise from their place at another booth, heading towards a woman sitting at the bar on her phone, and she forced her lips together to stop herself from looking too smug to cause suspicion.Â
âIt seems so,â Bugsy agreed with a nod, handing her gun off to Spencer beneath the table.Â
If he was confused, he didnât show it, probably because he trusted that big brain of hers with everything in him, even if he was mad enough he could feel the annoyance oozing from his hot cheekbones. Yet to the rest of the restaurant, Cat Adams, included she hadnât moved an inch.Â
âBut, there is one thing I can guarantee about this partner of yours,â She said, leaning over to pour herself another glass of water casually.Â
Cat hummed in content, âOh, right? Whatâs that?â
And Bugsy smirked, barely raising the glass to her lips as Morgan pounced on the Bomber, ripping the phone out of her hands and causing the patrons around her to yelp, âSheâs sure as shit not as clever as me and my husband,âÂ
Catâs head whirlled around to see her partnerâs face slamming into the hard wood of the bar, Tara yanking the cuffs from her belt, and she barely had time to flick back to the two agents facing her before a pitcher of ice cold water was thrown in her eyes, her thick mascara running down her cheeks and blurring her vision. Spencer dove over the table and grabbed her gun from her grasp as Bugsy ripped her out of the booth with rough hands.Â
She threw her to the ground in the few seconds she was disorientated, her hands tightening around her wrists as make shift cuffs, and she saw Spencer hurrying to grab the real things from his pockets.Â
âThat was a cheap shot, youâre a cheater, you said youâd play fair,â Cat barked, her cheeks pressing against the rough carpet as the agents cuffed her, ignoring her protests and shoves.Â
âHoney, this is me playing fair,â Bugsy snapped with a cruel smirk, âYou threatened my friends, you stuck your hand in my boyfriendâs pants, and pointed a gun at him. Believe me I could have done so much worse,âÂ
And with that Cat Adams was hauled off the ground by the two of them, as they led her out to the police van waiting outside the restaurant.Â
â
The doors pulled open, empty, and Catâs face dropped, because her only silver lining on the entire outcome had been that sheâd be able to meet the dead beat dad that ran out on her.Â
That agentâs face had been so genuine as sheâd said it. It had seemed so real, and yetâŚÂ
âYou lied to me,â She said as Bugsy set her down on the bench, Spencer pulling another set of handcuffs from his belt and the two of them looked up at her, her lashes lining with disappointment.Â
âIf it helps, we really did try to look for him.â Spencer said, his tone blunt because she had a crazed look in her eye he didnât like one bit the second she stared at his girlfriend.
And even though she was the one in chains, heading for prison for a twenty year sentence at the minimum, she laughed. Cackled.Â
âIt doesn't matter anyway, I still won,â She said, that venomous gaze turning to Spencer because she had learned atleast two thing in the time sheâd been sat with the two agents that ruined her life.Â
One. Spencerâs mother had Alzheimers, that he hadnât been lying about. That she was sure was too real to be a story heâd pulled out his ass.Â
Two. The girl wasnât phased by insults or bites or cruel words directed towards her. Yet when it was at SpencerâŚ
âHow do you figure that one?â Bugsy said, her brow furrowing as she shook her head at the woman.
âIn ten years, Mommy dearest wonât remember anyoneâs name,â Bugsyâs head shot up at that, her lips curling into a snarl, and she forced her fingertips into her palm to stop herself from throwing a slap at the womanâs face, âBut Iâll remember yours,âÂ
Bugsy darenât react, no matter if her chest boiled in anger at the womanâs callous words. Spencer had to give that information up, give a small bit of his soft underbelly to get the woman to trust him enough not to shoot.Â
And she couldnât exactly blame him when he rose to his feet, darting out of the van with a clenched jaw, because the day had been an entire shit show, and she knew by the growl of annoyance he let out that their was a big conversation looming over her head, one she could only see ending in a fight.
It was just the two of them in the van, Cat entirely bound to her seat, and her painted lips had pulled into a grin the second heâd stormed off, her sleek eyes snapping to Bugsy who looked ready to slit her throat.Â
âOh, come on Princess, it was tit for tat,â Cat shrugged as if she didnât seem destroyed, âYou took my dad from me, I guess I had to do the same for that hubby of yours,â
Bugsy looked down at her, swallowing her rage with a purse of her lips, feeling her breath rattle with unfiltered animosity.
âYouâd make a shit profiler, for what itâs worth. What you profiled about him was all off,â She snarled, stepping away from the woman and looking down at her as if she was shit on the bottom of her shoe, âAt least heâs going to make a better father than the bum who would rather sleep on concrete than know you,â
And with that she slammed the doors closed behind her, darting off on Spencerâs heel.Â
+1. The one where she tells him.
She saw his stress lines, the way the dayâs events had weighed heavy on him. He sat on the sofa, his shoes thrown by the door after a tense drive home, and she'd found a space on the coffee table in front of him.
He was quiet, he had never been quiet with her, not in the years since theyâd kissed that first time in her room. He wasnât one for the silent treatment, she knew that much. Yet he was just that. Silent.
âAre you mad at me?â She asked, her voice that of a child as her brows scrunched together in worry. She felt the words bubbling in her throat, the thing sheâd needed to tell him for a week gnawing at her tongue, crawling itâs way out, only she worried that after what she had done, he might just be ten times more annoyed at her throwing herself in the line of danger.Â
He stayed quiet for a moment, and she thought this might turn into their first real fight in the two and bit years theyâd been together. Her skin went cold at the words that loomed over them, and she knew by the way he sighed alone he was pissed.Â
âYou canât do that,â He said, his voice a restrained bite, and he shook his head for good measure, âYou canât put yourself in the way of danger again, I canât do that again, not after Scratch.âÂ
Her throat closed up with tears, and she glanced at him, her fingers itching to take his warm hands in her own, her body begging to preen into him, have him kiss her and tell her he wasnât mad, that he still loved her, that everything was okay. But he wouldnât. Not because he didnât feel any of that, of course he still loved her, but the wet that lined his lashes told her all she needed to know. That seeing what Scratch had done to her had scared him enough that even the idea of her coming close to a hostile UnSub with a loaded gun, that straying from the plan that was designed to keep everyone safe, had tipped him into a grey area that had him both wanting to hold her close and never let her go whilst yelling at her in that broken cadence to show her just how hurt he was.Â
âIâm sorry, I just-â She choked, her eyes becoming watery and pathetic and she hated crying during arguments, not wanting to look weak but that was exactly how she felt. Weak. Like she had no backbone to lean on because she knew she shouldnât have intervened, but the snake-like woman undressing her boyfriend with her eyes while cocking a weapon at him had pushed her over the edge.Â
âOh, youâre sorry, that makes it much better,â Spencer shook his head, furrowing his brows and it was only when he leaned forward that the salty hot tears dribbled down his cheek. âYou- you canât just do that, Bugsy, you know that right?â
She nodded, the words building in her trachea like word vomit, like she wanted to scream the confession at him that she should have given him the second sheâd found out. âI know, Iâm sorry,â She said again, her words entirely warbled with guilt because sheâd never seen him so distraught, and she thought back to the horror that had spread on his face when sheâd sat down.Â
âYou canât do that to me, sweetheart, do you understand?â His tone had shifted, something a little softer and he grabbed her hands tightly when her shoulders hunched together, and she leaned forward to try to hide her cries in her lap, sitting silently like a scolded child, âWhat were you thinking? You just got back into the field today, you could have been hurt, you could have gotten someone else hurt-â
âI know, I know, Iâm sorry,â She sniffled, her expression truly guilty, because everything he was saying was exactly true, she could have gotten him shot. âI didnât think, I wasnât thinking, I just was worried thatâŚâ She trailed off, her heart rate spiking when the words almost slipped from her tongue. She couldnât tell him, not like this.
âWhat?â Spencer pressed, because he didnât like the look of whatever had just passed over her face, and she shook her head in denial, âBug, tell me,âÂ
âNo, I canât,â Her breath clogged in her chest, coming out in a shaky rattle, and it was then that he leaned forward even more, trying to dip his head down to catch her eye, "Not like this,"
âPlease tell me,â He begged, his eyes still stinging where another wave of tears threatened to burst at the seam when she shook her head again, her chin pressing down into her chest because he hated this. He hated arguing with her. âIâm sorry I yelled, I didnât mean to, honey, I just got- worried.â
âI know,â She said quietly through another sniffle, rubbing her cheek on her shoulder to dry it, âI know, Iâm sorry I didnât think it through I just,â She took a deep breath, because she knew she needed to tell him, knew there was no more running from it.Â
He lifted a palm to her cheek, his thumb skirting under her eyelashes, and he forced himself together because he could never stand to see her cry, not when it was partially his fault, âWhat?âÂ
âI just canât do this without you,â She murmured, her heart in her throat, and it only made it difficult to swallow. She chanced a look at Spencer, his eyes wet and red and worried as she continued, âI canât be the one to tell this kid their dad died because I didnât do anything,âÂ
âWhat..â He started, his brows immediately falling into a frown as he looked at her. She swore she could hear every single contraction of her heart muscles in her ears, the blood rushing through her veins making it sound like waves crashing on a shore right in her eardrum.Â
âItâs still fixable,â She jumped in, before he could say anything, like she needed to justify immediately what sheâd said, or even just talk to fill the silence because she hated not knowing what he was thinking, âItâs only five weeks along, I still have time to⌠fix it-â
âFive weeks- you-youâre pregnant?â Spencerâs eyes were wide, with horror or shock she had no idea, nor did she want to find out judging by the way he had turned pale, reading between the lines, âW-What- fix it? Is that what you want to do?âÂ
She stopped, because he seemed to be keeping a lid on his emotions, trying his hardest to sound calm and somehow that made it all the more worse. Because she would rather him get angry, or get frustrated and tell her this was too soon, or tell her there was no way he was ready to be a father, because at least then the pressure of it wasnât on her back to decide for both of them.Â
But he would never, and she didnât know why sheâd ever second guessed him. He wasnât yelling, or turning away, or leaving her the second things got tough, because it was Spencer. And Spencer would never. Spencer gave her the choice of what she wanted to do.Â
She stopped, her lungs suddenly feeling just that bit tighter, as she shrugged pitifully, and she thought this was perhaps not the most ideal way to tell someone youâre pregnant, âI-I donât know, I thinkâŚâ She stopped, because what did she think? Sheâd been so wrapped up in worrying about what Spencer would think, worrying about his mom and her nightmares and Cat God Damn Adams that she hadnât even let herself entertain the thought of a little them.Â
But if she said she didnât like the idea of a little boy with Spencerâs hair and glasses and smile, if she said she couldnât see the photo album his mom had handed her full of pictures of their kids butt naked and watering the flower beds, she would be a liar.Â
âI think⌠it would take a lot of work, I mean itâs a baby for christ sakes, Bugsy, of course itâll take work,â He nodded slowly as she chided herself, but she felt his hands tighten on hers, and the tiny gesture gave her the encouragement she needed. She took another breath, that boy with brown curls and her eyes in a jedi costume flashing through her head, âBut.. I think having a mini you is everything I could have ever wished for,âÂ
His lip quivered for a minute, and she worried sheâd said the wrong thing. And thenâŚ
He smiled, wider than sheâd ever seen him, like she could count every single one of his teeth, and she copied him despite the way a frog leapt into her throat, and she saw his eyes line with a fresh set of tears.Â
âReally, weâre really doing this?â Spencer asked, quietly, like someone could hear them, or perhaps he couldnât believe himself even as he said it. He thought his chest was about to explode, thought his heart could never love someone so much as he loved her, thought it would never beat the same way again as it had before heâd been told he was going to have a baby with the woman heâd been in love with for nearly nine years. She nodded, her shy smile turning into something happy, maybe even excited as he pulled her in for an achingly sweet kiss, his hands cupping her cheeks as he kissed her lips over and over and over again, ignoring the salt that trapped in her skin, and he realised then he had started crying just as much as she had. Two wailing saps sitting in their living room, happier than theyâd ever dreamed they were allowed to be. âI love you, I love you, I love you more than anything, I was so stupid, Iâm so sorry I shouted-âÂ
She chuckled, shaking her head, and drawing him back in for a long, silencing kiss, âI was stupid, very stupid.â Bugsy said, the weight lifting off her chest like a dumbbell had been moved, and she could breath again. Because Spencer kissed her like he wanted to merge their bodies into one, like he didnât care for breath anymore as long as he had her lips on his, and she couldnât help think if that was what he thought of her too, âNo more being stupid from either of us. Kidâs got to have at least one smart parent,â
He smiled, enough joy in his eyes to make her think she was handing him the universe. And yet that was exactly how he felt. Like everything he dreamt of as a kid, when he was in his room wishing his dad had stayed because sometimes looking after his mom was tough on a twelve year old, or when heâd held Henry for the first time and thought maybe he wouldnât be terrible at it by the time it was his turn.Â
He looked at Bugsy, the idea of their kid growing inside her, about the size of a petit pois pea at five weeks, and Spencer damn near felt like heâd won the lottery.Â
And all thoughts of Cat Adams were gone from both of their minds, the viper woman she wished she had gotten a good right hook to when sheâd had the chance entirely unimportant now.Â
Because they were going to be a family, more so than they already were. And Bugsy felt as though she couldnât love Spencer any more than she already did, but she could love his baby more than sheâd ever thought possible.Â
--
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#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#matthew gray gubler x reader#i love bugsy & spence#spencer reid fanfic#dr spencer reid#spencer reid#criminal minds fic#criminal minds#matthew grey gubler x reader
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Comfort
summary | Aemond isn't lovable, he never has been. In his insecurity he finds you. He always finds you.
pairing | Aemond Targaryen x fem!wife!reader
tags | not proof read (when is it ever), mentions of death, grief, killing of innocents, war crimes (kinda), low-key shitting writing I'm not gonna play with ya'll. Genuinely just angst
w.c. | 1.4 k
note(s) | Loosely based off of Conan Gray's "Alley Rose". This is literally pulled from my ass cause I wanna write but I didn't know what to write so I'm just going off the dome.
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Aemond was a vice. He corrupted everything he touched and everyone he loved. He made the wind stop singing and the moon stop shining. At least, that was what everyone had told him, or made him, believe.Â
But you were different. Somehow in this dark and cruel world Aemond found a beacon of light. He found you. You made him feel. Anything. Everything. All at once. He felt overwhelmed with you; How could someone like you-internally unsullied and outwardly unbroken by the horrors and disappointments of life-be so comforting to him, and yet also find comfort in him.Â
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He laid his head on your chest, his large hands gripping your sides as you ran your fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes, sighing as he melted in the embrace. You two said nothing yet a million things at once. âYouâre safe with me.â âI love you.â âYouâre going to be okay.â All these things circulated Aemondâs mind instead of the normal, self deprecated thoughts that lead him to do drastic things.Â
He looked up at you, his eye softening as he caught you already staring at him. He breathed out slowly, his large palm stroking your sides absentmindedly.Â
âYou keep me sane.â He whispered, staring into your eyes as he slowly trailed kisses up your naked body. âSaneâŚcomfortedâŚâ He murmured, his eye fluttering closed at the feeling of your soft skin against his chapped lips. âLoved.â He finally breathed out, before resting his forehead against the side of your neck. Heâd often do this, breathing words that seemingly didnât make sense, but felt like small praises to you.Â
You smiled, looking down at your hands. You slowly laced your hands with his, admiring how they looked together-as if these two specific pairs of hands were always meant to melt into the hold of each other.Â
âI am glad I can be such a comfort to you, Aemond. Just as you are to me.â You breathed out, bringing his hand up and kissing his knuckles.Â
âWhy?â He asked.Â
âWhy what?âÂ
âWhy do you feel comforted by me when I am so broken?âÂ
You paused for a moment, thinking over your answer as you played with his long fingers.Â
âBroken things can be mended.âÂ
âSometimes I fear that I am too broken to be mended.â He sighed heavily, closing his eye and nuzzling his head against your neck.
âPerhaps it is the broken pieces that make you Aemond Targaryen. Perhaps it is the fact that you are so easily broken down that makes you the man that you are.â You replied.Â
âThat man sounds weak.â He scoffed, his hands tightening slightly around your hand and waist. He always feared that he would lose you. He would never leave you, you were too precious to him. You were too much of a comfort to him to let go, which in truth, is why he thought that youâd leave him someday. He depended on you and your comfort so much that he feared at times, it could be suffocating.Â
But you didnât mind. When you saw Aemond, you saw the broken boy of his youth, deprived of what he could have had; Love, affection, acceptance. You wished to give such things to him. You wished to make him want for nothing, as long as he had you.Â
âThat man sounds vulnerable,â You corrected, pulling away from him slightly to stare down into his lilac eye. âVulnerability is what carves connection, Aemond.â At your words he hummed, sighing heavily as he replied,Â
âVulnerability kills people like me.â âOnly if you are vulnerable to the wrong people.â She breathed out, remembering all the times he tried to be vulnerable with his mother, only to have her manipulate and abuse the vulnerability to try and get into her sonâs mind.Â
âEveryone seems to be the wrong person.â He replied.Â
âEveryone? Even me?â You asked.Â
âNo. Never you.â He answered.Â
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âYou burned down Sharp Point?â You questioned, and the offense in your tone almost made Aemond flinch. Aemond clenched his jaw, holding his hands behind his back as he looked out over the terrace.Â
âIt needed to be done.â âWhy? To prove your worth? Solidify the fact that you will stop at nothing if it means to gain something?â You almost laughed at the notion, and Aemondâs anger got stronger. How dare you question him? The Prince Regent, the protector of the realm?Â
âI have my reasons.â He answered.Â
âReasons you have yet to share with me-â âI neednât share everything I do with you. You have no taste for political jargon such as this.â You scoffed as he spoke, staring up at him in disbelief.Â
âPolitical Jargon? Aemond you killed and harmed innocents.âÂ
âThe cost of war.â Your heart stopped. You didnât expect him to be so callous, so heartless when it came to the very civilians that the crown deepened on. Suddenly, he continued, âI must go to Harrenhal.âÂ
âWhy?â
âTo face my uncle.â
âAnd if you die?âÂ
âAt least it will be done in battle.â He spoke, you softened. Aemond would never admit it, but he did fear death, the great beyond that no one knew about nor wished to experience. You stepped forward, gently wrapping your hand around his. A gesture not of forgiveness-you thought that you could never forgive him, for being so cruel-but a gesture of comfort. Because even if Aemond was a cruel man, he was no monster, at least not in the depths of his heart. And even if he was, monsterâs needed comfort too.Â
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The next morning Aemond would leave for Harrenhal. You watched as he readied his horse to ride to Vhagar. You studied him, looking for any signs of anxiety or uncertainty. But of course, you saw none. Aemond was good at the mask he wore, good at keeping it on but never good at taking it off.Â
You stepped forward, taking his hand in both of yours. He looked down at your hands for a moment, before he sighed and brought the hand up to his lips.Â
âI will return.â He murmured, kissing the soft skin of your knuckles. You smiled at the feeling, sighing softly as you spoke,Â
âI have no doubts that you wonât.â Aemond seemed pleased by this. He leaned down, pressing his lips against yours in a quick, hurried manner before pulling away. He studied you for a moment, not because he was afraid to forget your face in the eye of death, but because he needed a reminder of what he wished to come home to, of what was at stake.Â
___________________________________________Â
The news of Aemondâs death came to you quickly, and in the dead of night as you sat by the fire. A guard had come to you with the news.Â
Your husband has passed, princess. At the hands of Daemon Targaryen.Â
You felt your world crumble and your very being shaken. He had died, fighting like a true Targaryen. Yet the notion did not comfort you. It did not bring you solace to know that your husband had died like a Targaryen. You had longed for his arms, for his loving gaze and gentle caresses.Â
Grief did not even begin to describe how much pain you felt. You had lost your husband, your childhood friend, everything that you had based yourself around; your past, present, and your future, gone.Â
You screamed, as the servants gossiped, for days. You cried until your eyes bled, and you screamed until your throat felt as though it would throw itself up.Â
You blamed Alicent for making her son like this. You blamed Viserys for never being there. You blamed Daemon for landing the killing blow on your husband. But, you feared that above all you blamed yourself.Â
You could not have stopped the murder of your husband, nor his inevitable death, but the idea-the slightest notion-that you could have held him back for mere moments, or that you could have asked him to suspend the trip, genuinely anything to make him stay. Yet you didnât, and the idea gnawed at you.Â
Not even a full moon after Aemondâs death you died of what only the Maesterâs could describe as heartbreak. And in the afterlife he waited for you. And there was light in the darkness again.
___________________________________________
Not proud of this one guys đŤ
#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#house of the dragon aemond#aemond angst#aemond targaryen fanfiction#prince aemond#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#prince aemond targaryen#hotd s2#hotd season 2#hotd#house of the dragon season 2#sonolynn
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It started when Kuroo referred to you as his âkaraoke wife.â Kenmaâs face twisted into one of clear disgust. âWhat does that even mean..â Kuroo threw an arm around your shoulder and gave you a smug look. âCare to explain?â
You rolled your eyes but couldn't hold back your smile. âIt means we only go to karaoke if the other is going.â The team gave you an unimpressed look as Kuroo gestured for you to go on. You sighed and avoided eye contact, mumbling, âWe also only do duets with each other.â
You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as Fukunaga let out a giggle and Yamamoto muttered, âI wish I had a karaoke wife,â under his breath.
Kuroo chuckled, sensing your discomfort. âWhat she means is, weâve got a vibe when we sing together. Like, thereâs this chemistry between us that just clicks. Itâs like we can read each otherâs minds, you know? We can start a song without saying a word, and it just flows. Perfect harmonies, smooth transitions⌠Itâs like weâre in sync. Like we *get* each other, musically.â
The team looked between you and Kuroo with varying degrees of skepticism. Kenma raised an eyebrow. âUh-huh, chemistry, sure.â
âYou know,â Kuroo continued, leaning back and grinning, âThereâs a special kind of magic when youâre so in tune with someone. We can make any song sound like itâs meant for us. Ever heard of âThe Power of Loveâ?â He looked to you, eyes glinting. âItâs like, you and I? We can turn even the cheesiest love songs into something everyone wants to listen to. And donât get me started on our âShallowâ duet. We had the whole room cheering.â
You felt the familiar rush of both pride and bashfulness. âItâs not that impressive,â you muttered, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. You were secretly proud of the way your voices blended, the effortless way you made each performance feel unique.
âAre you kidding?â Kuroo scoffed, clearly enjoying the teasing. âIâm pretty sure we make every karaoke night legendary. I mean, do you see how we make the crowd react? They go wild. It's not just the songâitâs us. Weâve got that... thing.â
The team was silent for a moment, trying to process what Kuroo was saying. Finally, Fukunaga spoke up, a teasing smile creeping up on his face. âI donât know, man. If Iâm ever looking for a duet partner, I might just steal (Name)Â away from you.â
Kurooâs face immediately shifted into mock offense. âTry it. Youâll regret it.â
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. âYouâre being a little dramatic, arenât you?â
âNope.â Kuroo leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave. âYou and I? Weâve got karaoke magic. Iâm not just letting anyone ruin that.â
You couldnât help but laugh, the embarrassment from earlier melting away in the warmth of Kurooâs words. He always knew how to make you feel special, and even though the teasing never stopped, you had to admitâit was kind of nice to be his âkaraoke wife.â The team might not get it, but you knew. When you two sang together, nothing else mattered.
But just as the moment seemed to settle, a voice rang out from Yamamoto, his grin wide and mischievous. âKuroo, you do know you two are terrible, right?â
Kurooâs confident smile faltered slightly, his eyes narrowing playfully. âExcuse me?â
Yamamoto shrugged with a grin, and Kenma, looking utterly bored, added dryly, âI mean, you both sound like two dying cats trying to harmonize. Itâs not really the chemistry you think it is.â
The whole team, seemingly in agreement, nodded along. âYou guys literally canât stay on key for more than a few notes,â Fukunaga chimed in, barely suppressing his laughter.
You blushed, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. âOkay, okay, maybe we're not great... but itâs fun, right?â
âYou and Kuroo are the worst,â Kenma said, deadpan. âYou sound like youâre trying to hit notes that just donât exist.â
You couldnât help but burst into laughter at the realization. âWeâre not that bad,â you protested, but even you knew it was true. Kuroo, despite his confidence, was as tone-deaf as they came, and your singing wasnât much better.Â
Kuroo threw his hands up dramatically. âYouâre all just jealous of our unmatched charisma!â
The team snickered, and Yamamoto playfully patted Kuroo on the back. âSure, buddy. But hey, weâll still cheer you on. Youâre great... at making everyone else sound better.â
With that, you and Kuroo exchanged a look, both of you trying not to crack up. Despite all the teasing, you knew one thing for sureâkaraoke with Kuroo was never about being the best. It was about having fun, creating memories, and laughing at how awful your singing was. And honestly? That was more than enough for both of you.
note: kinda short but oh well
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#hq x reader#hq#haikyuu x female reader#fem!reader#hq drabble#kuroo tetsurou#kuroo x reader#haikyuu kuroo#kuroo testuro#kuroo tetsuro x reader
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the dare / lando norris x reader
pairing: lando norris x reader
song: gorillaz - dare
summary: a casual night of drinks with friends turns into something more when lando dares you to take a leapâliterally and emotionally. What starts as playful tension soon leads to confessions of long-hidden feelings, and a kiss that changes everything between you
wc: 2.3k
The evening had started like any otherâcasual drinks with friends, the sound of laughter and chatter filling the warm night air. You were all gathered at a beachside bar, the ocean in the background, and the atmosphere relaxed. It was the kind of night where everything felt easy, and nothing was planned.
Lando had been his usual selfâcharming, playful, always the center of attention without really trying. You couldnât help but be drawn to him, even when you tried to focus on the group conversation. He had that effect on everyone, but lately, it felt like his attention was a little more focused on you.
As the night wore on, and more drinks flowed, the groupâs energy shifted to something more playful. A few rounds of truth or dare had already been thrown around, with people taking turns doing silly challenges or confessing embarrassing secrets. Youâd managed to dodge anything too wild so far, but when Landoâs eyes met yours, a grin spread across his face that sent a shiver down your spine.
âAlright,â he said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you. âI dare you to do something.â
You raised an eyebrow, half-expecting him to challenge you to chug your drink or answer a ridiculous question. âWhat kind of dare?â
His grin widened. âSomething fun. Something that gets you out of your comfort zone.â
You narrowed your eyes at him. âLike what?â
Lando gestured toward the nearby pier, where a group of people had gathered around a tall diving board that jutted out over the water. The platform was lit by a few scattered lights, and you could hear the splash of people jumping into the ocean below.
âHow about a leap off that diving board?â he suggested, his tone light but his eyes sparkling with mischief.
You glanced at the board, feeling your stomach flip. Heights werenât exactly your thing, and Lando knew that. But the way he looked at youâchallenging, playfulâmade it hard to say no.
You groaned, throwing your head back dramatically. âSeriously? You couldnât have dared me to sing karaoke or something?â
Lando chuckled, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. âYou could do that too, if you want. But I think the diving board will be way more fun.â
You bit your lip, debating whether to back out. But you knew you couldnâtânot with the way everyone was looking at you now, waiting to see what youâd do.
âFine,â you said, standing up and giving Lando a pointed look. âBut if I do this, you have to do something just as crazy.â
Landoâs grin widened, and he stood up beside you, extending his hand for a shake. âDeal.â
The group cheered as you made your way toward the pier, your heart pounding in your chest. The cool night air brushed against your skin as you walked, and the closer you got to the diving board, the more your nerves started to kick in.
âStill feeling brave?â Lando teased as he walked beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours.
You shot him a look. âIâm not backing out, if thatâs what youâre asking.â
âGood,â he said, his voice softening. âYouâve got this.â
There was something in his tone that made your heart skip a beatâlike this wasnât just about a silly dare anymore. The air between you felt charged, like the playful tension had shifted into something more serious, something that neither of you had addressed yet.
As you climbed up the steps to the diving board, you could feel Landoâs eyes on you, watching your every move. The board swayed slightly beneath your feet as you reached the edge, and you took a deep breath, staring down at the water far below.
âJust jump,â you muttered to yourself, trying to psych yourself up.
But then you heard Landoâs voice, soft but steady, cutting through your nerves. âIâm right here. Youâre gonna be fine.â
You glanced back at him, standing at the base of the steps, his expression serious but encouraging. And in that moment, something clicked. This wasnât just about the dive anymore. It was about the unspoken tension between youâthe months of playful banter, the lingering looks, the way he made you feel seen in a way no one else did.
Taking one more deep breath, you closed your eyes and took the leap.
The fall felt endless, your heart racing as the wind rushed past you, and thenâsplash.
The cold water enveloped you, shocking your system but also filling you with a sense of exhilaration. When you surfaced, gasping for air, you could hear the cheers from your friends on the pier, and through the noise, you saw Lando grinning down at you, his eyes shining with pride.
You swam back to the dock, pulling yourself up onto the wooden platform, dripping and breathless. Lando was the first to meet you, his hand extended to help you up.
âYou did it!â he said, his voice filled with genuine excitement.
You laughed, wiping the water from your face. âYeah, and now itâs your turn to do something crazy.â
Lando smirked, still holding your hand. âIâm not sure I can top that.â
âYouâd better try,â you teased, your pulse still racingânot just from the jump, but from the way his hand lingered on yours, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that made your breath catch.
The group began to filter back toward the bar, leaving you and Lando standing on the dock, the sound of the waves lapping against the pier. The energy between you shifted again, the playful tension giving way to something heavier, more charged.
Landoâs eyes searched yours, the playful smirk fading as he stepped a little closer. âYou know, you didnât have to do that. I wouldnât have pushed you.â
You shrugged, trying to play it off even though your heart was pounding. âA dareâs a dare.â
He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. âYeah, but I think thereâs more to this than just a dare, donât you?â
Your breath caught at the intensity in his voice, and you realized with a start that he wasnât talking about the dive anymore. The air between you felt thick with everything you hadnât said, all the moments that had led up to thisâthe teasing, the looks, the way he always seemed to be right there, just a little too close for it to be purely platonic.
âWhat are you saying, Lando?â you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
He took a deep breath, his eyes softening as he reached up to gently tuck a strand of wet hair behind your ear. âIâm saying that maybe itâs time we stop pretending this is just a game.â
Landoâs words hung in the air, his hand still lingering by your cheek as you stood frozen, heart racing. The noise from the bar and your friends had faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in this bubble, on the edge of something youâd both been avoiding for so long.
âStop pretending?â you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.
He smiled softly, his gaze unwavering. âYeah. I think weâve been pretending for a while now.â
You swallowed, your mind reeling as you tried to process the weight of his words. It wasnât like you hadnât thought about itâabout him, about the chemistry that simmered between youâbut youâd always brushed it off, convinced that it was just part of the playful banter you shared.
But now, standing here with him, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating off his body, you realized that maybe you hadnât been imagining it. Maybe there really was more.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. âLando, Iââ
Before you could finish, he stepped closer, his hand moving from your cheek to your waist, pulling you just a little closer to him. The proximity made your head spin, the scent of the ocean mixing with the faint traces of his cologne.
âIâve liked you for a while now,â he confessed quietly, his voice so soft you almost didnât hear it. âBut I didnât want to ruin what we have. I didnât want to push you into something you didnât want.â
Your heart pounded in your chest, every nerve in your body suddenly alive with the weight of his words. âI didnât know you felt that way,â you admitted, your voice shaky. âI mean, I thought maybe sometimes, but I didnât want to⌠assume.â
Lando chuckled softly, his thumb brushing gently against your waist. âYouâre not assuming anything. Iâve been trying to hold back because I wasnât sure how you felt. But now, standing here with you, I just⌠I canât pretend anymore.â
The vulnerability in his voice, the way his eyes searched yours for some kind of reassurance, made your heart swell with warmth. He wasnât just being playful or teasing this timeâthis was real, raw, and honest.
You took a deep breath, your chest tightening with the realization that you felt the same way. âI think Iâve liked you for a while too,â you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. âI just didnât know what to do about it.â
Landoâs eyes lit up with a mix of relief and excitement, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. âSo⌠what do we do now?â
You couldnât help but smile at the simplicity of the question, like the answer was both obvious and terrifying all at once. âI guess we stop pretending.â
Lando grinned, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes, but this time it was softer, more intimate. âYeah. I think that sounds like a good plan.â
Before you could say anything else, he closed the small gap between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was gentle, almost tentative, like he was giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted to. But you didnât. Instead, you melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest as you deepened the kiss, your heart pounding in your ears.
The world around you disappeared, leaving just the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands on your waist, pulling you closer like heâd been waiting for this moment for monthsâmaybe even longer. It wasnât a rushed kiss, or one filled with the frantic energy of something long overdue. It was slow, deliberate, filled with all the emotions youâd both kept bottled up for so long.
When you finally pulled back, both of you slightly breathless, Lando rested his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed, like he was savoring the moment.
âWow,â he whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips. âThat was⌠worth the wait.â
You laughed softly, your hands still resting on his chest. âYeah. Definitely.â
For a moment, neither of you said anything, just standing there, wrapped in each otherâs arms, the cool night air brushing against your skin. The playful banter that usually defined your relationship had given way to something deeper, something that felt more real than anything youâd ever experienced before.
After a while, Lando pulled back slightly, his hand still resting on your waist. âSo⌠does this mean I win the dare?â
You rolled your eyes, but you couldnât help the smile that spread across your face. âOh, shut up.â
Lando laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he leaned down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. âIâm serious! I dared you to do something outside your comfort zone, and look what happened.â
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. âI donât think kissing you was part of the dare.â
âMaybe not,â he said with a grin. âBut Iâd say it was a pretty good result.â
You shook your head, unable to stop the smile that tugged at your lips. âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd yet, you still kissed me,â he teased, his hands finding their way back to your waist.
You bit your lip, trying to hide the smile that was threatening to break free. âYeah, well⌠I guess I donât regret it.â
Landoâs expression softened, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. âNeither do I,â he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur.
The weight of his words, the sincerity in his gaze, made your heart flutter in a way that you couldnât ignore. This wasnât just some silly dare, or a fleeting moment of fun between friendsâthis was real. And it was something you both had been avoiding for far too long.
As the night continued, you and Lando made your way back to the bar where your friends were still hanging out, but everything felt different now. The playful teasing between you had shifted into something more meaningful, and as you sat down beside him, you couldnât help but feel like the air between you was lighter, easier.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and conversation, but every time you caught Landoâs eye, you were reminded of the kiss, of the unspoken feelings that had finally been brought to the surface. It wasnât just a dare anymoreâit was something more, something that had been brewing between you for months.
And as the night drew to a close and Lando walked you home, his hand wrapped around yours, you couldnât help but feel like everything had changed. Not in a drastic, life-altering way, but in a quiet, steady way that made you realize that thisâwhatever it was between you and Landoâwasnât just a fleeting moment.
It was the start of something real.
#f1#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 one shot#formula 1#lando imagine#lando norris#lando norris one shot#lando x reader
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Simple
Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Imagine
ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+
Word Count: 1k (Itâs a quickie)
C/W: Itâs all smut. Itâs literally nothing but cock sucking, okay?
Bucky Barnes enjoyed the simple pleasures in life.
A heaping stack of warm, buttery pancakes drizzled in maple syrup.
A glass of oaky, barrel aged bourbon, neat.
The sultry, nostalgic, slow jazz of the 40âs playing over the speakers he still couldnât quite figure out how to connect his Bluetooth to.
His copy of J.R.R. Tolkienâs âThe Hobbitâ, worn and weathered from all the times heâd read it cover to cover while lounged lazily in his oversized armchair.
But perhaps the greatest pleasure he enjoyed was the feeling of his pretty babyâs pink, swollen lips wrapped around his thick and needy cock.
Heâd had plenty of blowjobs before, many hot, wet mouths gagging on the impressive length of him but none, none of those encounters could ever compare to your ministrations.
He was smitten with you long before youâd knelt before him but it wasnât until the first time you sucked the very soul from his body through his throbbing cock that he was fucking done for.
You were his, forever.
There was just something so beautiful about the way your soft hums of contentment vibrated through his shaft like you were singing him the chorus to the sweetest song ever composed.
The way your eyes fixed on him half lidded, attentive and responsive to his every twitch and pulse against your tongue. It wasnât just the sheer skill of pleasing him that you possessed but the level at which you so clearly enjoyed the act itself.
Your eager wiggle on your knees while you suckled at his frenulum, your hand wrapped firmly around the girth of him as you traced the sensitive, velvet flesh of his cockhead against your soft, plump lips.
Oh God, the wanton groan that rose from your throat when you teased the tip of your tongue to his slit, lavishing the salty flavor of his precum on your taste buds.
And you hadnât even put him in your slutty little mouth yet.
Heâd always let you lead, slowly descending on him with your hands splayed on his muscular thighs, batting your lashes at him once he brushed the back of your throat as if waiting for him to cup your jaw and stroke your cheek affectionately with the calloused pad of his thumb like he always did while you âtook a momentâ to adjust to his size. Part of him wondered if you really needed to adjust or if you just wanted to savor the look in his eyes as he committed the lewd image of you to memory.
Youâd breathe heavily through your nostrils- the exhale blowing gently against the soft, dark curls at the base of his cock and the inhale shuddering like you were basking in the scent of him.
The first time youâd lapped at the seam of his sack with your tongue while he was seated to the hilt down your throat his toes curled as he gripped the arm of the chair with white knuckles, hissing out a string of curses.
Always so responsive to his body, you slowly eased off him, your hand stroking languidly along his thick shaft, applying firm pressure to the tip as you dipped down to gently draw his heavy balls into your mouth. The whine that erupted from his chest was a sound heâd never made before but then again, heâd never had a woman show much- if any attention to his sack during a blowjob, let alone roll them around in her mouth like they were a goddamn delicacy.
Lord have mercy when you descended on him again, your cheeks hollowed, your tongue flicking and swirling along his length, one of your dainty hands holding him firm at the base as you cupped and fondled his saliva-slicked balls with the other.
Somehow you even made gagging look seductive, inhaling sharply through your nose while your eyes watered and drool dripped down your chin, trailing across the hollow of your throat and leaving a wet sheen across your pretty tits.
Oh yeah, you absolutely had your tits out. Hell, you loved to be naked on your knees for him. It only made it that much easier for you to snake a free hand between your thighs, rubbing slow, gentle circles over your aching clit with the sweet arousal that wept from your cunt with how utterly turned on you were by sucking his cock.
Youâd lose your fucking mind when he twisted your hair around his fist, shameless moans bubbling up from your chest as he bucked his hips, fucking himself down your throat. As soon as heâd pick up that merciless rhythm youâd slip two, sometimes three fingers into yourself, frantically pumping them to mirror his tempo until you came with a strangled cry, tears pricking at the corners of your lust-hazed eyes.
Holy hell thatâd be his tipping point.
Heâd hold your head firmly in place, his massive hand flexing against the back of your skull, his cock pulsing as he throws his head back, a deep and primal moan ripping through his chest as he comes hard enough to make his fucking ears ring.
Words of praise would fall from his lips in a breathless whisper as he caressed your cheek, lazily rutting his hips forward while you greedily swallowed down every last drop like it was your well deserved reward for your tantalizing efforts.
âSuch a good girl.â
âSo fucking pretty when you choke on my dick.â
âOh baby, yes. Fuck, swallow it.â
âShit, youâre so goddamn perfect.â
Sometimes when you were feeling extra submissive youâd sit back on your heels and open your mouth, proudly showing him the pearlescent fruits of your labors, pooled on your tongue.
Youâd wait patiently, drooling unabashedly with a slack jaw as he tucked his spent cock away, zipping up his jeans and slowly buckling his belt while he kept you naked on your knees awaiting his order.
Heâd pinch your cheeks in his large hand and dip down to press a kiss to your forehead, his chest swelling with pride at the power you allowed him to hold over you.
All the while, youâd stare up at him obediently with smoldering eyes until heâd nod, his lips twitching up into a crooked smirk before heâd finally speak his command in a low, gruff voice.
âSwallow.â
Taglist (Taglist is open):
@badbunnybabygirl01 @suz7days @truthfulliarr @lilacka @writtingrose @samsgoddess @loveisallyouneed1125 @vicmc624 @millercontracting @wildernessflora @mydorkyboys @blackhawkfanatic @honestlywork @ladyvenera @cavity-exe @ihavetwoholesforareason @km-ffluv @shortnloud @mrs-katelyn-barnes @somnorvos @22rhianna2006 @misshale21 @angelbaby99 @deans-spinster-witch @kezibear @acornacreacure @buckys-wintersoldier @terry2227 @wintrsoldrluvr
A/N: Yeah, idk where this came from-
I was feeling feral again.đ
đSj
#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x reader imagine#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes smut#avengers smut#marvel smut
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omg can i request 141 (separately ofc) with a reader that can sing? like they come home to the reader lost in the song and they're just standing there like 𫨠literally blown away lol
omg yeah of course you can!! this is so domestic and cutesy thank you đ¤˛đŠˇ
pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x female readerÂ
warnings: none pure fluff!! soap being like in love ? that should be a warning cause heâs so damn cute thanks xxx
a/n: the songs I put in here and definitely the ones that came on while I was writing LOL. is it obvious whoâs my favorite? I feel like it is đ
Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List
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Price:Â
Price can hear the music outside your house as he stops at the door. He shakes his head, hoping the neighbors couldnât hear it at least. He unlocks the door and is hit with something he never expected: you singing.Â
âEvery time he smiles I let him again!â You sang. Price stands there, dumbfounded as you sing along with Bridget Mendler. Heâs starstruck, lips parted and hand stroking his beard as he watches you. Your voice fluctuates with each note, pitching high or low with the song. He never knew you could sing. Heâd been out to karaoke bars with you, but you always denied going up. He canât understand how when you sound like this.Â
âEverything is fine when⌠JESUS!â You scream at the sight of your boyfriend just staring at you.Â
âWhen Jesus?â Price chuckled.
You have a hand over your heart. âDonât sneak up on me like that.âÂ
Price ignores what you said, more focused on what he just witnessed. âCanât believe youâve been hiding this from me.âÂ
âHiding what?âÂ
âYour voice. You âought to be on stage, love.â You feel heat rush to your cheeks at the comment. He takes a seat on the couch, grabbing your hand. âCâmon, donât stop on the account of me. I want to hear more since you wonât sing at karaoke. Humble of you to not embarrass everyone else.â He kisses your knuckles, gazing into your eyes.
You laugh at him, grabbing the TV remote. That was totally the reason you didnât sing at the karaoke bars. You flip through the videos, humming. âGot any song suggestions?â
Price smiles. âPlenty for you.âÂ
Ghost:Â
Ghost sighs, dropping his bags outside your doorstep. His hand fidgets in his pocket, searching for the house key. He was eager to get back to you, having been away for what felt like years (it was only a few months). Honestly, he was always eager to come home now, knowing you were waiting with a warm hug and his favorite food.Â
He fishes the key from his pocket, unlocks the door, and grabs his bag. The scent of your home floods him, vanilla candles and freshly baked bread. For a second, he just breathes in the familiar air of his flat and then thereâs you.Â
He blinks, watching you completely unaware of his arrival. Youâre in the kitchen, one of his old shirts and a whisk in hand singing.Â
It suddenly occurs to Ghost, that heâs never heard you sing. He loves you in all ways, so normally heâd say heâs biased but by god, are you an angel?Â
Your voice is melodic, matching the pitch with the singer perfectly and carrying like it was effortless. You should be on Broadway, hell you should be on a tour! How could you have kept this from him?Â
You finally turn around, singing into your whisk, and jump when you see him. âSimon!âÂ
His mouth opened and closed, balaclava discarded as soon as he was home. âYou can sing?â He asked stupidly.Â
You drop the whisk into the bowl, fighting the heat in your cheeks as you step towards your beloved boyfriend. âYeah.âÂ
He embraces you, swaying side to side. âHow come I was unaware of this?âÂ
You shrug, looking at him. âYou never took me to karaoke night.âÂ
He laughs, a sound you missed for months. âOh, love, I will be taking you to all karaoke nights from now on. You have the voice of an angel.â
You beam at him. âYou think so?âÂ
Simon kisses your forehead. âI know so.âÂ
Gaz:Â
Gaz fidgets with the lock pad on your door, carrying your takeout order in one hand as he presses the code in. Heâs expecting the sound of your dog barking to greet him, but his met with something even better â your voice. He drops the takeout on the kitchen table, listening to you. Heâs not sure where you are, maybe the bedroom but he doesnât want to interrupt you.Â
You're belting out Honeymoon Avenue by Ariana Grande, and he swears you might be her. Your voice blends together, you donât miss a note and you hit the vibratos with an impeccable ease.Â
He shakes his head, smiling to himself. How was it that someone like him landed someone with a voice like that? Gaz thinks he might just sit in the kitchen listening to you sing forever. He could die standing here with you in his ear and he would die a happy man, for sure. Your voice gets louder and you round the corner.Â
He just smiles at you, watching your eyebrows furrow in shock but continuing to finish out the song.Â
âCoasting like crazy, can we get back to the way it was!â You sing, watching Gazâs starstruck gaze. âWhen we were on honeymoon avenue.â You grab his hands, jumping and singing somehow still not faltering and making him dance with you.Â
âYou like that?â You giggled, as the song closed out.Â
âI didnât know you could sing.âÂ
âI think we ALL sing,â You joke, watching Gaz roll his eyes at your reference.Â
âDarling, how did I get someone so perfect as you?â He asked, wrapping you in his arms.
You look past him at the takeout bag. âBy fetching me food thatâs how.âÂ
âIf I keep doing so will you keep singing for me?âÂ
You kiss him softly. âOh, baby I will always sing for you.â
Soap:Â
Soap is a man in love. He knows this, you know this, the 141 knows this. Anyone with a pair of eyes would know this. He canât help it, youâre literally just the light out of his life. His eyes spark to life and his smile nearly doubles in size when he sees you.Â
Everything about you is perfect. You could do no wrong to him. In fact, you could run him over with your car and he would profusely apologize to you for even being in the way.
Heâs that whipped for you. And the man knows everything about you. Heâs got a list on his phone with your go-to order from every restaurant, your favorite color, ice cream flavors, all of it! Nothing gets past him.Â
Except this.Â
Soap is stood in the middle of your entryway, grocery bags in hand, and jaw on the floor. Here you were, his love, wrapping in one of his blankets, with a TV remote and karaoke. The thing was, he couldnât tell it was karaoke. You were flawless in the delivery of the song, your pronunciations clear, every high and low note flowing through you like it was nothing.Â
Again, he already thought you were perfect but his was a whole new level. Your voice was silky smoothing, making him weak in the knees. You couldnât get more perfect, but here you are.Â
âBaby,â He said. âYou didnât tell me you were a singer.âÂ
You turn around to face him, a bit startled. âYouâre back!â
âAnd you sing!âÂ
You pause the karaoke. âSurprise?â
He sets the groceries on the floor, walking over to you. âYouâre so perfect, you know? And you keep getting better and better.â
âBabe,â You whine at his words. He had a way of making you feel so loved with just that.Â
He grabs the remote from you. âWanna do a duet?âÂ
You grin and wrap your blanket around you both. âThe day I say no to that is the day Iâm dead.âÂ
#this is so cute and domestic AAAAAH#John price#Simon riley#kyle garrick#john mactavish#captain john price#simon ghost riley#kyle gaz garrick#john soap mactavish#kyle garrick x reader#soap x reader#ghost x reader#gaz x reader#price x reader#simon riley x reader#john mactavish x reader#cod#call of duty#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#task force 141#tf 141#tf 141 x reader#tf 141 x you#cod x you
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Morally Grey - An Azriel Imagine
Characters: Azriel x Archeron!Reader
Word Count: 3.4k
Summary: Cassian drags the IC to his new obsession: open mic night at Rita's, and much to his delight, Azriel has been paired up to sing with the Reader.
Warnings: Alcohol, suggestive language.
A/N: My first ever imagine is HERE!! Honestly I've been so nervous to put this out as it's all very new to me, but I really hope you guys enjoy it! I'm really looking forward to see how my writing develops as I post more, but for now, I hope you enjoy my first post! It's just a load of silly fun tbh. And finally, thank you so much to @sarawritestories for helping me out with the ending, you're the best! <3
Soundtrack: 'Morally Grey' by April Jai feat. Nation Haven
Disclaimer: GIF isn't mine - credit to whoever it belongs to.
Ritaâs was bustling.
As it always was on a Friday night, really. They probably should have known better than to come on a weekend, but the welcoming vibrancy of the bar was a welcome reprieve from a long weekâs work. Y/N took a deep breath as the music hit her, exhaling as she let any remaining stress seep from her body and into the night.
Before she could think too much about the busy days sheâs had as of recently, a hand grabbed each of hers - one perfectly manicured, one covered in swirls of black ink - and pulled her in the direction of the bar. Mor flagged down a barman who recognised them immediately - it wasnât a rare occurrence for the Night Courtâs Inner Circle to make an appearance here.
After a moment, she handed her a shot glass filled with bright green liquid. âBottoms up, youâre gonna need it tonight,â she grinned, already having necked her own. Feyre giggled as Y/N raised a questioning eyebrow at the blonde, throwing back her shot anyway and wincing at the tangy liquid.
âAnd why is that, exactly?â Y/N cocked her head at her friend, whoâs brown eyes danced with excitement.
âOh come on,â she rolled her eyes playfully, already flagging down the barman for yet another shot, just for herself this time. âYou really think Cassianâs going to let us miss out on tonight? Heâs been preparing his song with Rhys for days.â
Itâs true - Cassianâs favourite night of the week was their newest tradition, open mic night at Ritaâs. Four songs, four duos, randomly selected. Or so he says, anyway. He probably matched himself with Rhysand so he could convince him to sing Mysterious Girl together.
Feyre gripped Y/Nâs hand from her other side, clearly trying her hardest to hold back a squeal of excitement. âHow are you feeling?â She knew that there was more to that question than meets the eye. It wasnât a secret that Cassianâs little game had paired her up with Azriel, much to his delight.
She put on her mask of indifference that she had mastered over the months of knowing the shadowsinger, refusing to give any details away of her incessant feelings for him that prodded at her constantly. âI am feeling absolutely fine, High Lady,â she smiled, eyes shining, but a scoff from her left interrupted her.
âPlease,â Mor drawled, looking at her with a face that said, donât even try. âYou literally canât fool anyone, especially not us, so drop the act.â
Okay, so maybe she hadnât mastered her mask as well as she had initially thought, her twinâs nod of agreement cementing that conclusion. âOkay fine, but what do I have to be nervous about? You are all the ones who should be nervous when we out-sing you.â She smirked at them, but they shared a knowing look.
âThere it is, changing the subject,â Feyre chuckled, nursing her drink in her hand. Y/N scowled at her, but she could never actually be mad at her. Frankly, she was more irritated by the fact that she knew her so well. âWhat? Y/N, this is what happens every time we bring him up.â
She opened her mouth to argue, when an arm was slung over her shoulder, and Feyreâs. âLadies,â Rhysandâs melodic voice sounded over the music as he appeared between the sisters. He nodded at Mor with a grin, who was already on her⌠third, or fourth shot? Who knows. âCass will have a temper tantrum if I donât drag you all over to the stage right now.â
Feyre rolled her eyes with a laugh and allowed her mate to spin her into his arms, and they both made their way over to the Inner Circleâs area of the bar. Y/Nâs heart warmed at the sight of them, knowing that her twin, her double in every way, had found her happiness. Mor looped her arm through hers as they walked behind them, her eyes following Y/Nâs gaze. âYouâll have that soon, you know.â
Y/N looked over at her. She was so breathtaking, her brown eyes contrasting her golden hair, and her signature red dress hugging her flawless body in all the right places. Any male or female in this room would be lucky to get her, and yet, she didnât care. Next to her, though, Y/N felt like nothing. As if Mor could sense her thoughts, she squeezed her arm affectionately. âCome on. Tonightâs the night youâre going to show that other side of you- oh donât give me that look, I know itâs there.â
Y/N huffed, a lighthearted sound, and shook her head softly. âI wish I had your confidence,â She murmured, a dry joke.
âBabe, youâre sexy. When are you going to realise that?â The sheer certainty in Morâs voice had Y/N raising her eyebrows at her friend, who simply nodded, as if agreeing with herself. âChannel it tonight. Iâll be watching.â She winked, and released her arm as they arrived at their own table right in front of the stage.
Rhys and Feyre had already taken their seats at the centre, High Lord and Lady looking elegant as ever. Cassian sat to Rhysâs right, his excitement akin to a golden retriever, as Amren, who was sat next to him, clearly tried her hardest not to throttle him. Next to Feyre sat Azriel, his looming shadows making the already dark bar appear pitch black in his presence. There were two empty chairs to his left, and finally Nesta sat at the end of the table, clearly trying to make the most of as much peace and quiet as she could get before the nightâs shenanigans unfolded. Mor was quick to take the seat next to her, leaving Y/N between her and Azriel. He gave her a short smile as she sat down, ever the emotionless. âAre you ready?â
The low, icy voice of the shadowsinger never failed to take her by surprise. If the living embodiment of darkness could talk, it would sound like him. She looked at him, his hazel eyes glowing even in the darkness, and replied, âAre you?â
Before Azriel could respond, a flute of sparkly champagne slid from Y/Nâs left into view. She turned to see Nesta, wordlessly handing her the drink, with grey-blue eyes that told her that she, too, thought she needed an extra little liquid confidence tonight. She noticed Mor biting her lip so hard she looked as though she may explode, and she rolled her eyes, a smile playing on her lips as she turned back to Azriel. To her surprise, it appeared as though a similar grin was tugging on those lips as well.
He merely raised his glass to hers, eyes shining with a grin that he wouldnât let fully show on his face. She picked up her own glass and clinked it against his, matching his honey gold gaze.
Let the night begin.
Itâs safe to say that the performances of the night were⌠well, entertaining. Cassian was a little too excited dragging Rhys up to perform their number first, giving major boyband energy up on that stage. Feyre was in fits of laughter, but Nesta looked like she wanted to claw her eyes out⌠but perhaps secretly enjoyed it behind that mask of disgust. Y/Nâs two sisters were up next with a rendition of Love Story in which Nesta was surprisingly involved, followed by Amren and Morâs take on Lady Marmalade, which was frankly the worst thing anyone had ever heard. If the monster lurking beneath Amrenâs skin was anything like her singing voice, then Mother help us all.
It wasnât long before her friends were cheering and whooping as Y/N stood from her seat - the final song. âGet him girl,â Mor whispered as she passed her, Azriel on her heels. She felt the shadows licking at her ankles as she ascended the steps to the stage, gripping the microphone that had been handed to her on the way.
As Azriel situated himself to her left, she stole a quick glance at him. He was looking at the floor, uncharacteristically tense under the gazes of all their friends. It was no secret that Azriel had the most beautiful voice youâd ever heard, a gift from the Cauldron itself, but it occurred to her now that maybe no one else had heard it before. Aside from her, at the couple of short practices they had done. Even then, she didnât think he was giving his all.
Y/N faced the front and prepared for the music to play - she was more of a seasoned performer than Azriel. She had played her fair share of gigs around Velaris, a good handful of which on this very stage. If she was showing some confidence, she hoped that it would spark some inside of him. She steeled herself, breathing in deeply as she raised the microphone to her lips, and the music began.
âHeâs got gold eyes, crooked smile, knows that he drives me wild,â
She felt the heat of the spotlight on her as she let her voice ring through the bar. It was soft, to begin with, giving the song room to breathe, to build. She looked over at the man she was sharing the stage with, noticing tension already lost from his shoulders at the sound of her voice. His eyebrows were raised ever so slightly, and she knew then that heâd realised how sheâd changed the lyrics to fit him, those perfect golden eyes.
âCanât help myself, no Iâm not in denial,â
The smile she sent his way was telling, it spoke a hundred words. But it wasnât just her grin that conveyed the message she sent: youâre okay, youâre with me, move with me. There was something between them, an invisible thread connecting the two of them, body and soul and mind. Certain thoughts, certain feelings - she could feel his, and he could feel hers. A bond like this had meaning, they both knew this, but neither of them were bold enough to explore it, acknowledge it. Across that bond, she beckoned him: Azriel, youâre with me, and Iâm with you⌠play with me.
âI know heâs no good for me,â
There was a flicker of something in the shadowsingerâs eyes, as if his mind had decided to pull him down an alternative route to the one he was prepared to go down, the one where heâd back out and run. A shadow of a smirk lingered on his lips, as his own shadows danced around him excitedly, egging him on. The weaving tendrils were clearly more than satisfied with the idea that flashed through their masterâs mind, whatever images Y/Nâs words had conjured up. Azriel, play with me.
âBut when he gets down on his knees,â
The spark in his eyes only seemed to brighten as he brought the lyrics to life, sinking slowly down onto his knees before her. The shit-eating smirk he wore on his face in response to her evident surprise could have sent her to her own knees as she beheld him, kneeling, for her. Mother spare her. A quick glance to her right at the others confirmed that they had all had the same reaction she had, and she feared that the bar staff may have to assist in picking their jaws up from the floor. Azrielâs face was challenging, knowing, yet almost the picture of innocence as she felt his response in her mind: You told me to play with you. She sent one word back at him: Bastard.
If he was going to play dirty, so was she.
âHeâs so eager to please, knows the right frequencies,â
He reached a hand out as if to touch her - where, she wasnât sure - but she grabbed it before he could make any contact. Scars felt rough against her soft skin as she walked slowly, teasingly around him and she sang the chorus, her heeled boots tugging her posture upright so her body curved in all the right places. She caught Feyreâs eye as she circled Azriel, still knelt on the floor and looking as though he was more than content to stay there forever. Y/Nâs sister looked like her eyes were about to bulge out of her head, her smile growing so big that Y/N thought it would be too big for her face. Next to her, Rhysand simply winked, an encouraging smirk boosting her confidence.
âThey say heâs morally grey, what can I say? Greyâs my favourite colour,â
As she made her way back to the front of Azrielâs view, still gripping his hand as he held it upright for her to use, she slowly lowered herself down to a squat in front of him as she sang the line. From this angle, she was now much closer to his face than before, and she noticed the subtle sheen of lust glazing over his eyes. It almost made her lose balance - almost. She brought his hand gently to her lips, placing a chaste kiss onto his marred knuckles, and he took in a sharp breath. Most people flinch when they see his hands, or grimace, or turn away. Not Y/N. No, she thinks Azrielâs scars are part of his story. The backstory to a warrior, a survivor. Scars are not the memory of what happened, but a testament to who you have become.
âMorally grey, what can I say? Greyâs my favouriteâŚâ
She rose to her feet, prepared to give Azriel some space to begin his verse, remembering the nerves that clung to him barely a minute ago. As she began to turn, taking the first step away from him, something cold slithered around her ankle, and one around her waist. The shadows pulled her straight back to where she was as the music lowered, and held her in place, as if they knew that hearing his voice would send her to the floor. And Mother above, they knew her well.
âWhat can I say? No I donât pray, but for your body, Iâll worship,â
She could have sworn her knees buckled, but she couldnât tell from the shadows holding her still. Azrielâs voice was like silk, so soft and pure, yet it lit her insides on fire in a way that sheâd never felt, burning her up like a beautiful, dying star. If his voice was to be the thing to send her to her death, then so be it. She would die very, very happy. He reached out once again, and this time she did not stop him as he ran his hand up her thigh all the way to her waist from his position on the floor. Even kneeling, his Illyrian frame was intimidatingly large, her body standing not too much taller than his. His eyes watched his hand intently as it traced the curve of her side, as if they didnât have an audience, one that was most definitely gaping at Azrielâs sudden brazenness.
âGirl donât be afraid, my loveâs a grenade, just be a good girl, you can take it,â
Like an angel rising from the ashes of war, Azriel stood slowly, wings flaring as he rose to his full height. His gaze was already intense when she was the one looking down at him, but now that he was the one towering over her, the darkness in his eyes shot electricity straight through her body and into her core, her head reeling with thoughts so sinful that nothing could save her. His hand on her waist squeezed on the words good girl, and she was forced to bite her lip hard to stop herself from reacting in a way that would later be incredibly embarrassing. His eyes tracked the movement, lingering on her bottom lip as she released it from her teeth with a pop.
âCall me insane but for you, I was made, Iâd burn the world down if itâd make you feel safe,â
The fire in Azrielâs eyes blazed as he took one step toward her, and another, and another, closer and closer. The upper hand that Y/N had held up until now had slipped, yielding step after step backward, her control completely faltering. She had always known that doing this with Azriel would likely create some⌠tension between the two of them, and he must have known, but Cauldron, this was unlike anything she had ever expected. Azriel was so close that she felt his body heat, felt her face warming, likely for everyone to see under the harsh glare of the spotlights.
âItâs you that I crave, and nothing compares to your taste,â
Y/N couldnât help but feel like Azriel meant every single word he was singing. No, he didnât write the lyrics himself of course, but the way his eyes burned with such feeling, and⌠what looked to be desperation, told her there was much more to this than meets the eye. And Gods⌠the way his voice cracked ever so slightly with a primal need as those final words left his mouth had her praying to whatever higher powers she could to forgive her for the damning shivers he was sending straight to the very heart of that taste he craved so badly.
As the chorus rolled around once more, their voices finally blended as one, and nothing had ever sounded so right. Azrielâs shadows danced freely around the two of them, creating a tornado of darkness, of intimacy, where they were right in the eye of the storm. The song continued, and the pull between the two of them was magnetic, almost hypnotic as they completely forgot about the audience they had; their family who were most definitely gaping like fish out of water. Y/N could feel Azrielâs warm breath on her face as he sang, his angelic voice whispering less-than-angelic promises that only she could hear in the way it trembled.
Y/N honestly didnât think that Azriel could get any closer - what she failed to consider was that the shadowsinger was in so deep that he wasnât planning on stopping until there was absolutely no space left between them. As the song once again softened, Azriel took his chance and leaned impossibly closer, abandoning his vocals in favour of a different use of that mouth. Y/N inhaled sharply as Azrielâs lips brushed against hers, gently, experimentally. Some instinctive part of her that knew this was right pushed her forward to press her lips a little harsher against his, earning a shiver from the shadowsinger. She heard a soft rustle coming from behind him as his wings twitched from the anticipation.
As he pulled away, Azriel heard a shaky exhale escape her lips, caused only by the feeling of him, the heat of two bodies pressed close together, the rush of meeting the lips of the person who, deep down, you know is made for you. Your partner. Your mate. That shiver he elicited from Y/N was the final straw - the last thing he needed to cement his plans for the night. His face still inches from hers, he whispered with a voice so low he wasnât sure it had even come from him, âYouâre mine tonight.â
One moment, the IC were watching dumbfounded at the scene playing out in front of them, some wondering if they really should be averting their eyes (apart from Cassian, who sat with a shit-eating grin on his face). The next moment, the stage was empty, a whisper of shadows the only thing left standing in their wake. Azriel had disappeared in a flash, winnowed to who knows where, taking Y/N with him.
âGoddamn, Az,â Rhys chuckled into his drink after a beat of shocked silence. âNicely done.â
âNo! But they didnât even finish their song!â Cassian pouted, gesturing wildly at the empty stage as the music still played from the speakers.
âSomehow I donât think thatâs their priority right now, Cass,â Mor giggled, practically vibrating from excitement and pride, exploding with glee at what had taken place since her little pep talk earlier.
Rhys set his glass down on the table in favour of throwing an arm over the top of Feyreâs chair. âItâs about time those two did something about the obvious, right?â
As Feyreâs eyes sparkled with delight for her twin, she giggled at his words, overjoyed at the knowledge that Y/N may at last feel the happiness of having a mate. A partner for all eternity. âYeah⌠finally.â
#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#acotar fanfiction#acotar imagine#azriel#acotar x reader#azriel x reader#azriel shadowsinger#azriel imagine#azriel fluff#azriel x you#acotar x you#acotar imagines#azriel imagines
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Fictober Day 14: Sickfic
Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Prompt: Sickfic (đź)
Summary: Matt doesn't like admitting when he's sick, but his behavior says more than a thousand words.
Warnings: Fluff, mentions of vomiting, sickfic (the flu, to be more precise), Matt being a mess, established relationship, mentions of nudity (nothing sexual, but Matt's Devil is on display)
Word Count: 1.1k
A/n: I always wonder what it would be like for Matt when he gets sick because my senses are out of whack when I'm sick, so he must be in hell, right?
Read Me On AO3!
Matt Murdock doesnât get sick.
At least, thatâs what he tries to tell himself.Â
His immune system is strong, and people with a strong immune system donât get sick. Except, his logic is incredibly flawed, and when he does get sick, he refuses to admit it until heâs quite literally on the brink of death. Youâve learned this the hard way over the years; he turns into a feverish, disoriented, ridiculous man-child whenever heâs down with something.
The door falls shut behind you, a bag from the local pharmacy in one hand and chicken broth take-out in the other. Matt managed to catch himself the fluâagain. You told him that is what he gets for going out in the dead of night, but he never learns.
âHoney, Iâm home!â you sing.Â
Though instead of finding your boyfriend wrapped in a burrito of blankets in bed, where he should be, heâs standing in the middle of the living room, trying to wrestle the Daredevil suit over his clammy skin. So far, he has only managed to get half of it on, andâoh no, whyâhis pants are on the floor. No pants, and yes, no underwear.Â
From the looks of it, he is as hot as he is cold.
âUh,â you frown, âhello? What the hell are you doing out of bed?â
âI have toââ Matt tries to catch his breath, failing to find the opening in the fabric. âThe city. The city needs me.â
Heâs so congested you would have laughed at him any other day, but not today.Â
âNuh-uh. Your bed needs you,â you retort. âAnd for Godâs sake, Matt, put your pants back on!â
He tugs on the suit again, but itâs like watching a toddler trying to put on a pair of socks. Heâs too weak, too sweaty, and too feverish to even know which way is up.
âI donât⌠need pants,â Matt argues.
âYes, you do.â You put the bags down by the coffee table and grab his boxers off the floor. âNormally, I donât mind seeing you naked, but youâre sick, and sick people need pants.â
He frowns at you, head tilting in your direction. âNo⌠Is someone knocking?âÂ
You pause, trying not to laugh. âThatâs my heartbeat.â
âOh.â
âYeah.â
His hand drifts up toward your chest on autopilot, and the moment his fingers brush against the swell of your breast, you stop him. âThatâs my boob,â you say.
God, heâs exhausting. If you didnât love him so much you would turn around and run. The last time he tore off all his clothes, he ended up on the roof while it was snowing, trying to cool off. It sounded as though he was holding a seance, and you swore you would never make the mistake of leaving the rooftop access open again, not when heâs sick and doesnât know what heâs doing. His senses get cloudy, and he starts to hallucinate.Â
Fun times.
Mattâs hand stays there for a moment. âSoft,â he murmurs.
The groping stage is new, but you find it more endearing than anything. You take his hand away. âRemember what I said?â
âNo?â
âUnderwear,â you tell him, lips curling into a smile, âThen straight to bed.â
He retreats like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.Â
âAlright, come on. Youâre dizzy.â You start to guide him toward the bedroom. Maybe you can finally convince him to get some rest.Â
âNo, Iâm notââ Matt takes one wobbly step and immediately starts to tip forward, legs giving out underneath him.
You catch him just in time, which is a feat because he is heavy, keeping him from face-planting into the coffee table. âYep. Definitely dizzy,â you say.
He groans. Happens every time. âI donât get sick,â he insists.
You drag him over to the bed. âYou sure about that?âÂ
âIâm fine.âÂ
âSure.â You lower him down on the mattress, and for the first time today, he lets you. âLet me just get you your medicine, okay?â
âNo!â he whines.Â
âYes.â
He makes a face like a petulant child. âTastes bad.â
You sigh. âDo I need to wrap it in peanut butter for you?â
He doesnât answer, just grumbles something unintelligible. You grab the bag from the living room and the jar of peanut butter from the kitchen. âI donât have a boyfriend,â you scoop up a spoonful of peanut butter, âI have a dog.â
But itâs the only way he will take the cough syrup. Itâs the only way he will swallow the bitter taste of the ibuprofen. And it is the only way Matt will even eat something when heâs sick. âEat this,â you say, âand Iâll let you go back to sleep.â
Matt, still half-delirious, opens his mouth obediently, taking the spoon into his mouth. âItâs not even⌠that good,â he says.
Liar. You chuckle. âLie back, câmon.â
The bed creaks under your weight as you climb in beside him, pulling the covers up and over him. He hesitates, torn between telling you for the hundredth time that he is not sick, and he never gets sick, and just melting into your embrace like a candle on its last bit of wax. His body aches, his cheeks are burning, and he can barely breathe without breaking into a fit of toe-curling coughs. Heâs miserable, and he has to admit it. He has to admit it so he can restâso you can get your boyfriend back.
He loves you to death.Â
You brush your fingers through his messy hair. âCome here,â you say.
Matt presses his face against your chest. âI hate being sick,â he says.
It is the most honest he has been all day.
âI know.â You press a kiss to the top of his head. âYouâll feel better soon, I promise.â
âDonât wanna get you sick.â
âShh,â you shush him. âJust rest, baby. Iâve got you.â
He clings to you, his breathing finally starting to even out. He snores, and he wheezes, but he falls asleep, finally, still holding onto you like his life depends on it, and you are right where you need to be.
@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @ravenclaw617 @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler
#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x fem!reader#matt murdock fluff#sickfic#matt murdock#daredevil#daredevil x reader#lizzi's fictober 2024#charlie cox
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Hi could you please do another Apollo x reader?
â mornings with early bird! apollo and sleepyhead! gn! reader
â no warnings, kind of short
apollo always rose with the sun. side effect of being the godly representation of the sun. you, on the other hand, did not. which was why the bright lights behind your eyelids only made you groan and bury your face in the nearest and warmest surface available. even in your barely awake state you realized it was your lovers chest. seeking out the warm comfort of his embrace, you curled into him and breathed a sigh of content.
an amused humm made the surface beneath your face vibrate, a sound that lulled you back to sleep in only a few seconds. but apollo had different plans.
you felt the brush of his lips on your face, a gentle nip on your earlobe and small kisses to the corners of your mouth and eyes. any other times, his soft caresses and gentle pecks all over your face would have been more than welcome. not right now. "'pollo" you slurred in tired protest as he lightly pressed his warm lips to your temple, your cheek, your chin, your eyelids. every caress bringing you closer to waking up. and though this was by far the best way to do so, you stubbornly grunted and averted your face.
frustrated about your predicament, you turned away from him, grumbling something incoherent. you heard him laugh softly behind you. how could he be in such a good mood this early? your eyes were heavy, so were your limbs, the bed was soft and warm and the thought of leaving it made you shudder in discontent. you pulled your pillow closer and gave him the cold shoulder, hoping to ignore him so sleep could take you away once more. but he wasn't about to let that happen.
for a few minutes, he didn't do anything, but just as you were drifting back to sleep, you felt his fingertips run up your exposed arms, light as a feather but eliciting goosebumps on their way. when you didn't react, the brushing turned into gentle drumming as if he was playing the piano on your arms. now really fed up, you got a hold of your pillow and smacked it in his vague direction to the best of your tired abilities.
however, even that didn't deter him. only seconds later, his arms sneaked around your waist and his lips pressed a light kiss to the shell of your ear. "good morning, lovely, rise and shine," he hummed and you could hear the smile in his voice- and feeling on your skin as he pressed his nose to your neck. you ignored him and pretended to be asleep.
"i know you're awake, sunshine," he laughed softly into your ear.
"lemme sleep," you mumbled, too tired to shake him off- and far too comfortable in between his strong arms engulfing you whole. his low hum transformed into a hushed singing, carrying all the grace to be expected from the literal god of music. you didn't know the tune, nor did you know the language. it was foreign and very, very old.
as always when you heard him sing, you were in awe, unable too feel anything but comfort in his voice and salvation, surrounded by the sound of his ethereal singing. so much so that you only realized he was distracting you with his singing to sneakily pull back the covers when the cool air met your skin.
hastily, you ripped the covers from his grasp and rolled yourself up in them like a burrito. you countered his puzzled yet amused expression with a triumphant grin. his lips pulled up into a smirk, one that you definitely knew. in a desperate move, you wrapped yourself more tightly and hoped it would suffice.
the sun god cooed at your attempts, quick fingers coming up to gently but firmly unroll you. any further protests from you were silenced when he leaned down, still working on those covers, and pressed a warm kiss to your lips. as if on instinct, your lips opened for him to kiss you more deeply, hovering over you and unwrapping you like a present- one that he was about to enjoy fully.
you kissed him back, giving in and freeing your arms from the covers to sink them into his golden locks. "i have morning breath, 'pollo"
"hm," he breathed into your mouth, barely giving you a chance to breathe between kisses. "all I taste is you, sunshine, you're sweet as honey"
"whatever you say, loverboy" you smiled, feeling silly for the heat creeping up your cheeks. You sat up to take the initiative. deepening the kiss and letting your hands wander to his neck. this was what he had been waiting for, apparently, because his arms lifted you from the bed, into his lap and carried you when he swiftly rose from the bed.
you pouted at him. "foul play"
"sorry, love," he smiled warmly. from where you were looking up at him, the sun shone through the window behind him, surrounding his locks with a ray of light. "but I think the pancakes are burning to a crisp right now."
#greek mythology#greek gods#greek gods x reader#greek mythology x reader#apollo x reader#apollo x you#apollo#apollo fluff#apollo x mortal reader
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Your bestfriend was turning 19 today. For his birthday, you guys all decided to throw him a surprise party, although you were the mastermind behind most of the plans.
You guys managed to plan a day where you were all free and met up at the store to buy supplies for the party. Bakugo and Izuku picked up the cake, Bakugo insisting that he should be the one to hold it so ânone of you idiots drop itâ.
Mina and Ururaka handled the snacks and drinks, while you took care of most of the decorations, Denki by your side giving his two cents every time you made a decision. After you guys had bought the supplies, you carpooled over to Kirishimaâs house, you driving, of course. The atmosphere was mostly Denki spewing his nonsense, Bakugo yelling at him to shut the fuck up, Mina singing along to whatever the aux was playing, and Izuku and Ururaka chatting it up in the back. Honestly, itâs a surprise you were even able to drive everyone to Kirishimaâs place safely with the amount of distractions that you had to deal with.
After successfully making it to his place with all 6 lives, you all quickly ran inside to set up. Fortunately, you were able to keep everyone on track, and the decorations were done in half an hour. Bright red steamers hung down from the frame that led into the kitchen and balloons of all different designs floated gently around the room. Big balloons spelling out âHAPPY BIRTHDAY KIRISHIMAâ were carefully placed on the wall, visible to those who walked in through the front door. Everyone placed their party hats on, although Bakugo seemed a little more hesitant than everyone else. All the gifts were placed off to the side for him to open later. Finally, you had laid the cake out, bringing the â19â candles out when you hear the locking sound of a car outside the house.
You shut all the lights off and usher everyone to their spots, wanting to make this night perfect for your best friend. You hear the jingle of keys in the lock, walking closer to the entrance, and as the door slightly pushes open, you and everyone pop out of hiding.
âHAPPY BIRTHDAY!!â Everyone screams, Mina and Denki popping party streamers right in his face.
âAH! Fuck guys. Scared me so damn bad!â His crimson eyes drift to yours first, and he looks around, breathing heavily. He was in a black tank and shorts , probably coming back from the gym like always.
âWere you surprised?!?!â You exclaim, grinning from ear to ear. He walks in, placing his bag down as he admires all of your hard work.
âSuper surprised. Canât believe you guys did all of this for me⌠so.. manly.â It sounds like heâs on the verge of tears, and everyone starts laughing, watching him wipe away the tears that threaten to fall.
âWait how did you get in?â He looks around confused.
âDude. I literally have a key.â Denki says, enticing laughs from everyone.
âWell, should we do the cake?!â Ururaka says, and everyone cheers. Of course, you guys set it up as Kirishima goes to his room to freshen up. After a few minutes Izuku calls Kirishima to come down, and he walks out in a white tee and grey sweats. You canât help but notice how big heâs gotten recently, the gym is definitely doing wonders to his body.
He walks over, towering behind you as you raise the lighter to light the candles. Ururaka gets out her phone and you guys sing happy birthday for him. Before blowing out the candles, he glanced over to you, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Following his âbirthday wishâ everyone cheers once more, and Izuku takes the responsibility of cutting everyone a slice. Everyone walks over to his couch, and someone puts a movie on the tv though nobody ends up actually watching it. You guys hang out as bestfriends, and it warms your heart to see everyone enjoying the party.
It gets late, and everyone seems to be getting a little tired. Ururaka proposes the idea of everyone taking an Uber back home together, and everyone agrees, but you had something else in mind.
âYou guys go okay? Donât worry about me!â You smile at them, and they all obviously exchange looks with each other.
Denki walks over to Kirishima and whispers something in his ear, something that makes Kirishima flush red. Mina and Ururaka pull you aside aswell, bombarding you with questions.
âY/N youâve been spending a lot of time with Kirishima.. is something going on between you two?â Ururaka teases you, causing the tips of your ears to warm up.
âW-what! No of course n-â as you attempt to defend yourself, Mina interupts.
âGirl there definitely is. What you got planned for him tonight??â She says a little too loud for your liking, and you plead with her to be just a little quieter.
âOh my god guys. Itâs nothing!! Go home please!â You say, almost pushing them out the door.
âBye Y/N! Oh and you too Kiri!â She winks at you, giggling with Ururaka as they walk out.
You compliment everyone on their hard work, and Kirishima thanks everyone, closing the door as Bakugo is the last the walk out.
âOi.â Bakugo turns and sighs.
âDonât do anything stupid.. got it? He says nonchalantly before walking off towards the rest of the group.
You and Kirishima stand there for a minute, trying to comprehend what you just heard. Although you guys ignore the comment, you still canât help but feel embarrassed.
âSo uh. Y/N? Whyâd you decide to stay after?â Kirishima rubs the back of his head as he looks down, shy. Itâs unlike him to be so bashful, especially around you.
âJust wanted to hang out a little longer. Thatâs.. okay, right?â You assure, batting your long eyelashes at him, and he nods his head without hesitation. Itâs not like he can say no, especially when youâve got him in a trance with those deep brown eyes.
âYou wanna.. watch a movie or something? Or we can do whatever really itâs up to you like I donât m-â He starts rambling on, is he nervous? Itâs not like you guys havenât hung out alone together in the past.
Although now that you think about it, heâs been acting a little strange recently, like more than usual strange. A lot of the time he gets a little quieter around you, like heâs picking out his words carefully. You even catch him glancing at you, and you tease him about it all the time.
âKiri.. you good? Iâm fine with a movie!â You ask him concerned, and giggle at his stuttering. It seemed as though he stiffened up at your question.
âY-yeah.. sorry.â He relaxed again, and you guys walked towards the couch. After a good minute of scrolling through Netflix, you two agree on a movie to watch. He gets up to grab two blankets, but he returns one after you insist that you guys can share.
âLights off?â He asks, and you nod your head.
You can hear the soft padding of his feet on the wood floor as he makes his way towards you. He gets comfy on the couch, his back resting against the arm of the couch. You move in closer, laying your head on his chest and snuggling up on him under the blanket. He goes silent, and you can feel his heartbeat slowly speed up. Then, he takes his arm and gently wraps it around your shoulder, holding you close. You look up at him and smile, not aware of the position you just put him in.
As you two watch the movie, you move yourself to get more comfortable, and without realizing it, you grind your ass on his crotch. Of course, you were oblivious to what you had done, but Kirishima felt it. He groans quietly at the gentle friction you had unknowingly given him and he prays to god that you just sit still.
However, you still werenât comfortable. Again, you adjust your body, trying to find a suitable position. And again, Kirishima feels the plush fat of your ass grind over his crotch, a little harder this time. He chokes up, a whimper almost leaving his mouth.
Now heâs hard. He knew it would happen, and he wanted to prevent it but he canât really control that can he? All he can do is be thankful that the lights are off, otherwise you probably wouldâve seen his hardon. Although the thought of you seeing him in this state has crossed his mind so many times over the last few weeks.
âY/N, Iâll be back, gimme a minute.â You tell him to come back quickly, as Kirishima gets up and makes his way towards the hallway. He disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door.
He rushes to the sink, leaning against the counter. He looks down at his sweats.
Shit.
He was hard as a rock.
âFuck..â He whispers to himself. He knew when it got like this he was almost insatiable. Sometimes when he got in the mood.. you would cross his mind. Only you. Enticing him with your beautiful complexion and thick lips. Heâd always end up jerking his cock for hours, although he understood heâd never truly be satisfied.
But why now? Why when you were literally in his living room, waiting for him on his couch? He had to do something, it was so hard it nearly hurt. Maybe if he could just give himself some friction he could hold out until you went home.
He pulled down his sweats gently palmed himself over his boxers, causing him to gasp, a little too loud. If heâs gonna be indecent in your presence he should at least be quiet.
Heâs so needy. So, so needy. He would do anything for you to come over and help him but he knows thatâs not realistic. For him to think about you, his bestfriend in a way so lewd is so disgusting, so.. so filthy. He moans quietly, reaching into his boxers to pull out his already leaking cock. He inhales sharply at the familiar sensation, as he runs his trembling hand down the underside of his dick.
He exhales shakily, and begins stroking himself slowly, adjusting to his warm hand.
âA-ah..â he whimpers out, just quiet enough so that you donât suspect anything. Images of you pass through his mind. Images of your smaller frame, images of your beautiful smile and sounds of your heartening laughter running through his head. Youâre so beautiful.
What would you look like with his cock in your hand, in your mouth maybe? He covers his mouth with his free hand and squeezes his eyes shut. How can he think of you in such a vulgar way? Youâve been nothing but kind and respectful to him, and surely youâll be disgusted and never want to see him again if you catch him here.
His face flushes pink as his cock releases more precum. He picks up the pace and applies more pressure on his cock, using his thumb to massage the slit on his pink tip.
âNgh.. ah- ah..â he moans into the empty bathroom. Itâs only been a few minutes but the feeling of his hand jerking his cock is stimulating him so good. He whimpers and moans quietly to himself, pleading for who knows what.
Still, youâre laying on the couch, waiting for Kirishima to come back. Itâs been quite some time now, and heâs still in the bathroom. You get up, and make your way over to the bathroom, calling out for him.
âKiri? You okay in there?â You ask concerned, maybe he has an upset stomach, he did eat a lot of cake.
The sound of your approaching voice sends Kirishima into a state of panic. He cannot let you see him like this.
âY-yeah! Iâm good!â His voice cracks slightly.
âJust gimme.. gimme a second Iâm doing something.â You take his word and make your way back over to the couch. You just hope heâs alright. The sound of your footsteps gets quieter and quieter, and he sighs. A sigh of relief.
âGotta.. finish.. p-please..â He tells himself, his hand getting tired from stroking his cock. He stroked himself a little faster, using his other hand to play with his balls. He needs all the stimulation he can get.
âF-fuck..â Kiri cries out, biting down on his shirt in an attempt to muffle his loud sounds. He focuses on his sensitive tip, each graze of his finger making him squint. He leans against the wall and tilts his head back, chasing his release.
âNgh..!â He moans out, at a volume that you definitely heard. He keeps going though, disregarding the sound of your feet padding across the floor.
âKirishima. Are you okay? Iâm worried.â You say against the door, waiting for his response.
His heart stops.
His hand doesnât.
He whimpers again, his hips begin bucking up into his hand as he desperately chases that sweet release.
âY/N, Iâm.. a-okay.â He tries his best to sound convincing, and he fails horribly.
âKirishima. Iâm coming in.â His eyes open wide and his head turns towards the door.
âNo! Y/N don-â the door swings open, and there you are. In the doorway. Your eyes lock on his hand and bare dick. But he canât stop. He canât stop his hand from moving. He canât stop the whimpers and moans from leaving his mouth.
What a filthy sight.. your bestfriend.. staring at you with such needy eyes as he ruts his hips up into his hand. You freeze for a moment, trying to comprehend whatâs going on.
Once you do, you shut the door so quickly, chanting apologies from behind the door. Everything happened so quickly, and he finally realizes whatâs going on and lets go of his dick, still failing to orgasm.
âOh my god. Y/N Iâm so, so sorry. I.. I didnât want you to see me like this.â Kirishima blurts out, you two both still in shock. Heâs always had thoughts about you with your eyes on him as heâs masterbating, but now that itâs happened itâs more of a nightmare than a dream.
âUm. I-.. can you.. finish.. at least? I shouldnât have walked in on you.â What are you even supposed to say? Itâs not like you havenât thought about your bestfriend in sexual scenes like this but for it to happen right now? Youâre not prepared!
âUm.. I.. I canât. Itâs been like this for some time. I-it wouldnât go down.. donât know what to do.â He says quietly, embarrassed. He wants to disappear. To cry. Heâs sure youâd hate him now. But a part of him wants you to assist him in any way possible.
âIâm not really.. I donât know. Maybe I-I can help you..?â No way you just suggested that. Are you out of your mind, youâre nowhere near experienced!
His eyes light up, he wants to say yes, but he canât allow you to do this for him.
âNo. No, Y/N. Iâm sorry this is so disgusting, if you want to leave I understand. Iâm so embarrassed.â He tells you from the other side of the door. You feel bad for him. How long has he felt like this? Of course, you want him to come to you for anything but were you offering too much? But you canât leave him like this, especially since you interrupted his session.
âKiri, itâs okay. It could be like a learning experience..?â You try to lighten the mood with a half joke. You push the door open slightly, peeking into the room. His eyes avert yours, the tips of his ears and cheeks bright pink.
He glances at you with a look of guilt on his face, looking away again. But you smile at him, trying to alleviate some of the embarrassment heâs feeling. You walk over to him and place your hand on his cheek, causing him to look over to you. Your eyes lock with his crimson eyes and he admires your face. Youâre so kind to him. You look down at his leaking cock, heâs still hard. This poor boy.
You reach your hand down to his cock but hesitate.
âCan I..?â You ask him. He doesnât respond verbally, but he looks at you with a pleading expression, almost begging for you to help him.
You grab his cock, gently squeezing around it. He gasps, his abs flexing. He looks down at you, not sure of what to make of the situation.
âDo you.. like me? Kiri?â You ask, waiting for his response.
âSo much. Didnât want to.. ruin.. our f-friendship..â he says, whimpering in between each word. You question him further, wanting to know how long this has been going on for.
âSince the f-first.. day. You w-walked into class and I..â he moans as he tells recalls the memory of you. You had just transferred to the school and knew nobody at all. But you got your hair and nails done, and you and everyone else knew you looked good. Unsurprisingly, the boy with the bright red hair decided to walk up to you and show you around the school, soon becoming your best friend.
â..Iâve been.. d-desperate for you for a few..â he begins confessing, lost in the pleasure. Slowly, you increase the speed of your hand, making sure to squeeze his cock each time you reach the base.
âfew.. f-fuck.. months. Wanted.. n-needed you âs.. bad..â
âAnd..?â You coax more info out of him.
âI.. everytime it gets like this..â he says, referring to his cock.
âI-I think about.. you.. âm.. s-sorry.. ngh.. I would master-masterbate.. for hours. Never was s-satisfied though..â
Your bestfriend just confessed maybe everything? He has feelings for you and he jerks himself off thinking about you. All of this makes you realize that deep in your mind, you felt the same. But pushed the feelings back, for the same reason he did.
âYeah?â Your tone sultry, a tone youâve never used with him before. You loll your tongue out, allowing it to tease the tip.
âY-yeah.. Sh-shit.. even.. even dreamed.. about this.. happening. Never thought it w-would come true.â Itâs getting harder for him to form sentences, his brain malfunctioning.
âD-donât.. donât hate me.. please. âm sorry..â he pleads. Your heart hurts, how could he ever think such a thing?
âI could never hate you, Kiri. I promise itâs okay. You had to deal with this for so long.. my poor Kiri..â you coo at him, running your free hand down his abdomen.
He gazes at you, a lovesick expression plastered on his face. The use of âmyâ makes his stomach turn. He wants your love. Your praise.
You start to fondle his balls as you stroke his cock, causing him to twitch occasionally. His mouth falls agape slightly, his head falling forward.
âAh.. itâs.. c-coming..â he whimpers quietly, petting your head gently. His breathing is irregular now, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Heâs so cute, this unknown side of him.
âW-wanna be.. yours.. Y/N. Nobody else⌠let me, Y/N.. please.â He begins begging. You keep jerking him off, his legs getting weaker each stroke but he keeps thrusting his hips into your hand.
âY/N please.. close.. r-really close..â your long nails trace his defined abs as you run your thumb over his pink tip, pulling loud moans from the red haired boy. Heâs already been caught, might as well be as loud as he wants.
âC-cumming..! Y/N.. a-ah..!â He cries out, holding onto your shoulders for stability, his legs shaking. He squints his eyes and grits his teeth, his veined cock jumping each time it releases a thick spurt of cum. Kirishima is extremely sensitive to touch, his entire body twitching as he cries and whimpers shamelessly.
âF-fuck! T-thank you.. Y/N.. l-love you..!â Did he mean that? Or is he just lost in the overwhelming pleasure? You continue to stroke him through his high, careful not to overstimulate the sweet boy. Still thanking you, he begins to regulate his breathing.
You smile at him, noticing his flushed face and built body. He helps you off the floor, shyly looking away. You assure him that his feelings for you are reciprocated, and you would love for him to be your boyfriend, although it should be spoken about at a better time.
Still, you can feel the strong arousal radiating off of him. He wants more. A lot more, but he doesnât want to overstep your boundaries. The tension in the air is electrifying, both of you understanding that the other wants them just as bad. You want him so bad. But are either of you guys ready to take it to the next step?
Part 2 or nah đ
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