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januaryembrs · 1 year ago

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TROUBLE ALMOST ALL MY LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader

Description: The ONE time the BAU needs you + the FOUR times you need them.

word count: 24k (what on earth was I thinking)

trigger warnings: mentions of spencers addictions + use + side affects. MOMMY ISSUES thankyou ambassador Prentiss. hostage scene + injuries. mentions of forced/pressured marriage. fem!reader. reader and Emily struggle to bond.

authors note: We never meet Emily's dad nor do we see a picture so while reader is given a nickname of Bugsy, she still keeps her real name (no use of y/n) and is given ZERO physical descriptors. ALL of my fem!readers should feel included here, let me know if this is not the case! also I don't speak any language besides English however she does speak many because of her mom, so I really tried to get it right, message me if I'm being stupid!!

series masterlist | next chapter

[this] means its spoken in another language.

—

‘trouble on my left, trouble on my right,

I’ve been facing trouble almost all my life’

1. the one where you become a translator.

“I’ll make some calls, I may still have some friends in the Eastern countries,” Ambassador Prentiss announced to the room, standing from her place on the plush sofa.

A case had landed quite literally in Emily’s lap when her mother had come by that morning asking for Hotch, a Russian migrant looking for her father with a ransom note and a sliced off finger shoved through her mailbox, wedding ring still attached.

It wasn’t every day Emily wished she’d brushed up on her Russian, but today of all days she was struggling to keep up.

“We don’t have much time, we need a division of labour,” Hotch’s serious face settled, the time constraints making him just that bit more dictatorial, “Morgan, someone needs to go to the Chernus’s house in Baltimore in case they are contacted again,”

“What about the language barrier?” Derek raised, smoothing a hand over the short scruff of his beard, “We can’t have the unsub speaking with the family directly. He could say anything to them without us knowing,”

Bugsy would hate to admit she fit the criteria for youngest daughter of a workaholic mother and distant father to a tea, but Emily would say different.

Elizabeth Prentiss had never been a warm woman; Emily used to tell her the scowl was a side effect of the overplucking of her eyebrows, not the serious nature of her job. Her youngest girl once said her mother’s lips looked like she’d sucked a lemon. Of course they admired her work, but world peace meant jack shit to a little girl wanting nothing more than a mother’s hug.

Despite the fact she’d pushed away her husband and both her daughters in favour of her career, the one useful thing about being the Ambassador’s daughter wasn’t just the money, but the widespread culture the girls had been crammed full of since they could so much as beg for a sippy cup.

“Baltimore, you say?” Emily asked Hotch with a somewhat doubtful wince, “I mean you could always-”

“Absolutely not,” Her mother cut her off, rubbing the stress lines already creasing her forehead at the very notion of her other daughter, despite the fact Emily hadn’t even finished her thought.

Emily’s sigh was a reflex, the years of her mother cutting her off sparking the frustration on instinct.

“She lives right in the city, Mother, it can’t hurt to have her just talk for them-” Emily tried to bargain, only for the sharp mouthed Ambassador shoot her a frown.

“End of discussion, Emily,” Elizabeth snipped, her manicured fingernails twitching with annoyance, “Your sister is much too young for an assignment so serious,”

Emily rolled her eyes with a scoff, as if the two had slipped back into the role of rebellious teenager and scathing mother without much thought.

“She's twenty-two, mom. She’s getting her masters degree for Christ sakes, she’s not ‘too young’,” The dark headed woman fought back, clicking her pen a few times as if the spring loaded ink would take away some of the temper Elizabeth seemed to flare up.

Her mother’s lips pursed, in the way Bugsy hated, in the way that meant she was going to be mean.

“Immature may have been a better word, then,” She replied, and Emily seemed to pause. She couldn’t argue with that. “Or perhaps lazy, or puerile; callow, wild, irresponsible. Would you like me to name more?”

“Asinine would be a good term; deriving from the Latin asinus it not only means foolish, but to be stubborn and lazy like an ass,” Spencer input helpfully to the Ambassador, only for his bright smile to fade when he saw the daggers Emily stared at him with, “Sorry, I love word games,” He muttered into his lap.

“Asinine. Perfect, Dr Reid,” Elizabeth said, and Emily could only roll her eyes harder.

Hotch huffed, the victim’s daughter watching between the two women’s quarrel with wet eyes, the ice box with her father’s finger clenched tightly in her lap, the cold of the limb bleeding into his own gaze.

“Unfortunately, Ambassador Prentiss, despite just how asinine your daughter might be, Morgan is right. Having the Unsub possibly speaking with the family without us understanding what he’s saying could prove fatal,” He explained, ignoring the way the older woman’s mouth scrunched in bitterness. They didn’t need to be profilers to see that despite how tempered the relationship between Emily and her mother was, a tension seemed to fall between the women the moment the younger Prentiss was mentioned.

Spencer was sure he was the only person who even knew Emily had a little sister.

“Very well, but don’t be surprised when you find your hands full of the girl,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head as she led the victims, a mother and daughter that seemed to cling to one another for comfort as if to rub salt in her matriarchal wound, into the break room to get away from the frosty atmosphere that now lingered around the table.

Emily sighed, picking around her fingernails the way she did when she was bothered.

“I’m going to hate these next words that are gonna come out of my mouth,” She started with a long exhale, “But my mother’s right. Bugsy is a handful. Just try not to get her wound up, that girl smells fear,” She looked to Reid who seemed none the wiser, “I’m talking to you, wonder boy. She’ll eat you up and spit you right back out,”

Spencer gulped quietly.

Derek only chuckled, slapping a hand down onto Emily’s shoulder, “Relax, Prentiss. Your mom’s just got you all worried. Need I remind you I grew up with two sisters? This will be a piece of cake,”

–

Those were the famous last words of Derek Morgan.

Loud, heavy metal music jumped through the wooden door, so loud Morgan worried his three polite knocks would go unheard as the two of them waited outside her dorm for her to answer. Morgan was about to knock again, figuring the music had drowned out the first lot, when the door swung open and a frown the spitting image of Emily’s stressed expression met their gaze.

She looked so different to their Prentiss, but the way she seemed already scorned by the two of them told them they had the right woman.

“Miss Prentiss?” Morgan asked formally, though he felt the warmth grow when he caught sight of a beat up friendship bracelet around her wrist amongst newer gold chains, five white blocks spelling out her sister’s name pulling tight on her skin, as if she’d quickly outgrown the thing but hadn’t the heart to remove it.

It was then that he and Reid seemed to both reel back slightly at the fact she was standing in a large shirt, ratty around the edges, and what seemed to be a pair of men's boxers covering her bottom half, clearly not suspecting particularly important visitors.

She looked him head to toe with a frown, a dozen piercings in her ears, her hair highlighted with streaks of cardinal red, as if he was the one confronting her in his underwear, before she moved onto Spencer, who’s face seemed to be getting hotter by the second as he forced his eyes away from her bare legs.

“Are you guys strippers? Did someone send strippers to my door?” She asked, strawberry gum smacking between her lips as her gaze seemed to finish mulling over Spencer’s tall form and returned to Morgan.

“Emily sent us.” Reid said shortly, the music blaring in his ears making it difficult to focus on what it was she was saying, “As co-workers, no-not strippers. We’re with the FBI,”

He hated loud noises anyway, cringed at the sound of particularly cutting rock songs, but since he’d developed his … problem, the dilaudid had him feeling like someone was clawing at his skull, tugging his brain through his ears.

“Emily sent you here?” She asked with a scoff, looking the two up and down again. They both easily caught the way her face hardened, “Are pigs flying today or something?”

“We’re here to ask for your help on a case,” Spencer rushed through a sweaty brow, “Emily said you’d be able to act as a translator for us and some Russian citizens who are being targeted,”

She sighed sceptically, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame, “Any strippers or non-strippers can fraud an ID. Emily’s name was in the paper just the other week. I’m gonna need a little more than that,”

She keeps track of her sister despite the supposed distance between them. Spencer was quick to profile, his mind whirring at all the ways she reminded him of her sister down to the way she raised her eyebrows expectantly at them.

“Emily was born October twelfth, 1970 at 7:12am, graduated from Garfield High School in 1989,” Spencer said as if reporting the weather, her eyes narrowing in on him all the more coldly, “She attended Chesapeake Bay University and speaks six languages, as I expect you do from moving so often with your mother. She coined your nickname Bugsy from your childhood love of ladybugs, which she said you grew out of by the time you turned eleven yet the name stuck, though you still like counting the spots to identify their species. Your parents split when you were five and your father moved in with his now wife, born September ninth-”

“Alright- alright. What are you, living in her walls?” She interrupted incredulously, before turning her attention to Derek who seemed to hide a chuckle with a cough. “Either you really are a stripper or you’re a terrible friend,”

“She loves Kurt Vonnegut,” Derek held his finger as if to prove her entirely wrong, although not much else came to him. Maybe he was a bad friend, he thought guiltily, or maybe he simply lacked an eidetic memory like the wonder boy next to him, who had been about to tell her how old she was when Emily’s pet betta fish died, “Slaughterhouse 5?”

Rolling her eyes, she grunted at them, kicking her door open for them to enter.

“Everyone loves Vonnegut; only losers under a rock dislike Vonnegut,” She drawled, edging back into her room, the heavy bass rock growing in volume as they followed her in, “I’ll be ready in a second- Emily’s always bugging me about wearing pants,” She said vaguely, scanning around the dirty dorm, until she found one particular pair of jeans laying half under her bed, quickly yanking them up her legs. “Come in, come in.”

She flicked the speakers way down to which Spencer took a breath of relief. His eyes fell to the laptop that had been set up on her desk, the five different textbooks littered around the spare space, energy drinks and empty mugs filling the cracks where he could barely see the generic white of the table top, his nose crinkling. About as gross as he’d expect from a college student.

“Emily said your Russian was pretty good,” Derek made conversation, his eyes wandering over the various posters plastered over her walls, some fraying round the edges from where she had likely been moved from bedroom to bedroom when the Prentiss’s inevitably had to move country again.

“Yeah,” She snarked, pulling a nicer top over her head, “Kinda tends to happen when you live in Russia,”

Morgan raised his eyebrows to Spencer who seemed to give him the same look back, though the latter was biting back a snicker at her words.

How in the hell was she the Ambassador’s daughter?

–

“This all involves Russian Mafia, it’s really beefed up here the last ten years or so,” Agent Cramer, a tall, slim man who looked entirely overwhelmed by the workload on his shoulders reported, as she listened intently.

She had been somewhat de-briefed in the car, Emily messaging her for the first time since Christmas, the message a simple: “Have you met with Morgan and Reid yet? Make sure to put on pants,” to which she sent her a thumbs up emoji. She didn’t have much to say to her at the moment, barely even knew her sister anymore.

“It started off mainly in New York and LA but they send lieutenants from the old country,” Cramer went on, and she caught Reid scratching his arm beneath his shirt. She knew it was mozzy weather, and he was already under the blaring sun in a little sweater, it wouldn’t surprise her if he felt a bit prickly.

“Pahkans,” She interrupted, the man named Gideon shooting her a glance as she dug through her purse.

“Your Mom do much work about the Mafia?” He asked, as she produced a clear nail varnish.

“Here and there, I had to sit with her in her office for a whole Summer once when I got caught sneaking out. Picked up a few things, though,” She said, holding the polish out to Spencer, nodding to his arm, “Here. Supposed to help bug bites,”

He looked at her as if he wanted to say something, perhaps question her sources for such an old wives tale, but he stopped himself quickly, taking the varnish out of her hand with a dejected nod.

“Thankyou,” He muttered, shoving it in his pocket.

Three months he’d been in this rabbit hole. She had noticed it in a matter of hours.

“They open up branch offices in other cities. Baltimore, Saint Louis, Chicago, Dallas, the list goes on,” Cramer added, nodding at her words, “They’re mainly offshoots of the Odessa Mafia and they’re especially tough to crack from a law enforcement standpoint. I mean beside being well organised with sophisticated technical equipment, there’s Vory v Zakone to contend with,”

“The thieves code, eighteen principles they live by,” Reid jumped in before she could, to which she nodded as Gideon looked to her for more.

“It means ‘thief in law’, or ‘thief with code’. It's a system of repeatedly jailed convicts that have been crowned or ‘made’ with a strict list of ideals, breaking them usually means death,” She explained, kicking a stone between her feet.

“It’s like bible to these guys. We’re not gonna be turning any of them informer anytime soon,” Cramer said. Gideon seemed to tune the three of them out however, his gaze locking on the house across the street, where a curtain twitched, and a man’s face appeared in the window, watching the crime scene with guilt.

“Then we’ll need a witness who will talk,” Gideon replied, heading straight towards the neighbour who seemed just a little too invested in what was happening, much more than a concerned third party should be. Though, she had barely noticed, digging through her purse once more for chapstick.

“So, you study Russian or something?” Cramer asked as she applied it gently, Spencer swore he could smell the cherry flavour from where he stood beside her.

“I lived in Moscow until I was six, moved back to France, then back to Italy, then Algeria for a bit. Bounced around Europe for a bit longer, but I still speak better Russian than anything else,” She clarified, and she saw Cramer’s eyebrows shoot up, “Military brat except I don’t get the cool discount at the store,”

“You must have had a lot of friends though, going to so many schools,” Spencer added, and though there was nothing teasing about his tone, she laughed sharply anyway.

“You’re funny,” She snarked, but smiled at him anyway.

Spencer had never been called funny in his life. ‘Funny looking’, ‘funny sounding’ maybe, but never funny.

In fact he was so confused by what she had meant, whether it had been a taunt or genuine that he almost missed the sound of the whole street locking their front doors, dead bolting their lives away when a black prius, an expensive one at that, pulled through the street and swerved into park next to them.

“Guess who,” Cramer bit, her eyes ripping away from where Gideon had the door slammed in his face.

Detective Cramer aged by about five years when two tall men got out of the luxury car, opening the door for a shorter man in the back seat, their faces thunder.

“You familiar with them?” She asked, shoulder brushing against Spencer as she turned to watch the men approach, entirely aware of the .9mm on each of their hips.

“Arseny Lysowsky,” The detective identified, his voice cold, eyeing the two men who flanked the leader, towering over them.

“Agent Cramer, how are you?” Lysowsky smiled at him, which oddly enough seemed somewhat real, as he also took stock of the three other people around him. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, noting her lack of gun and badge, trying to decipher if she was local or just a very unprepared fed.

“Lysowsky, what brings you out?” Cramer asked, a tightness to his tone, his hand all too eager to grab his own pistol.

“I heard Chernuses had problems,” He kept it vague, didn’t reveal too much, and looked back at the victim’s house with a scorned frown.

“How did you hear that?” Gideon challenged, stance unwavering as the mob leader turned to meet his cold gaze.

“And you are?” He asked, a sinister smile on his face that flipped her stomach. She didn’t like the tension that had overcome the little patch of sidewalk they took up, and she was quick to notice how Spencer moved towards her.

He, by far, wasn’t the best shot on the team, but he was sure Hotch and Prentiss would have his and Morgan’s heads if any harm came to her.

“Churneses said they hadn’t told anyone,” Agent Gideon ignored his question, hands firmly planted on his hips. If he was unnerved by the criminal in front of him, he never showed it, not even when Lysowsky’s grin widened horribly.

“It is a small community. Word gets out,” He said simply, looking past him to the neighbours house that had kicked Gideon to the curb, “Are you a friend of Gorban’s?”

A second of silence passed between them, neither of them backing down from the moral standoff they’d engaged in.

“Mr Gorban wouldn’t talk to me,” Gideon admitted, and Arseny only smiled again, flicking a look at the house behind him, as if hearing his dog had obeyed without command.

“Would you like me to talk to him for you?” The threat was there clear as day, clear enough to have Gideon’s eyes narrow, “I can’t promise something will come of it,”

“You!” In a second, Natalya, the victim she’d briefly met when Morgan had pulled up around an hour before, had stormed out of her house, her black kitten heels clicking against the concrete, “Where’s my father? He has my father!”

“Wait a minute,” Derek called, restraining her where she stood, trying to pull his muscled arm from her shoulder, “Do you know he has your father?”

“He’s responsible for all of this,” She spat, her eyes cold as she glared at the three men with vitriol hate, “Why everyone’s afraid, him and his animals,” She threw a hand up to his bodyguards that seemed barely contained by Cramer’s silencing hand.

“I am only here to help,” Lysowsky replied, confident and calm in his words, though not as taunting as the agents would have thought, as if he truly cared for her.

A vast difference to the sadistic mob boss Cramer’s team had painted him to be.

“Help?” She laughed woefully, tears in her eyes, “You’re a dog,”

“Natalya,” Arseny said in a warning, the way a teacher would to a student, as her breath rattled in her chest through a weep.

“How exactly can you help them?” Bugsy braved to speak, Gideon and Reid both flashing her a look. She’d always had trouble holding her tongue.

Lysowsky turned his attention to her then, his eyes running down her figure, still deciphering whether she was armed; she looked much too young to be an agent.

“In any way that they’d like me to, darling,” He replied, the disdain in her frown clearly not deterring him in the slightest, though again the act of concern held up in his own grimace, “As I said this is a small community. If one is in pain, we’re all in pain.”

Natalya weeped behind Morgan, sniffling as the boss made his way over to her, “Natalya, [you didn’t have to bring in outsiders],”

The younger woman’s ears pricked up as he spoke in his native language, Spencer’s eyes flicking to her from behind his sunglasses.

“[Let me help you],” He continued, taking a step towards Natalya, unthreatening yet she saw Morgan tense, his fingers twitching towards his gun.

“[My family will never come to you for help],” Natalya hissed back, also in Russian, her face contorted in disgust, “[Get away from my house],”

“[You are not right, Natalya],” He replied, yet again the concern in his eyes was either genuine or very well faked, “[You have made the wrong decision],”

Taking a step away from the victim that wept with a scorned sneer, he looked back to the agents, noting the way the youngest of them glared at him hotly, before retreating to his car.

“What did he say? Did he threaten you, Natalya?” Morgan asked, the woman watching the group of men drive away, as if Mr Chernus wasn’t still missing and they hadn’t just bumped themselves up to number one of the suspects list. “Talk to us and we can do something about it,”

“He said I made the wrong decision,” She said wetly, frustration turning on Derek as he pushed her for an answer, “I hope I didn’t,”

With that she stormed off back into her house, the same stomping of her kitten heels in her wake, leaving the agents to all look between one another before they simultaneously turned to look at Bugsy, questions hovering on all of their lips.

“What did he say exactly?” Gideon asked without frills, a hand rubbing his brow. Relaying the information, the men’s faces all drew into frowns as they heard Lysowsky’s parting statement. Gideon huffed, turning to Morgan and gesturing for him to follow Natalya inside.

“Morgan, keep an eye on her, Reid and I are going to Cramer’s office to look over the files,” He looked at her then, worry lines littering his otherwise friendly face, damn near scowling as she looked over at him, “You are here to interpret, you understand? You do not speak to the suspects, that’s our job.” He growled, watching her with disappointment, the same tone a father used when scolding a petulant child, “Do you have any idea how much danger you could put yourself in? These guys won’t hesitate to take you out the second we’re not around, kid,”

“But-” She started with a bite, though her whole fight left her when he silenced her with a raised hand.

“Buts are for cigarettes, kiddo,” He interrupted, and Spencer winced slightly, knowing he’d heard that one a few hundred times when he’d first started under Gideon and had yet to mature entirely. Reid watched something rebellious flare in her eyes, and he worried for a moment she might just slap his boss for the patronising tone he took, “Just keep your mouth shut, you’re doing great so far,”

She opened her mouth to protest, only to then register his words entirely and stay silent once more, appreciating his praise with a guilty smile. For once, she listened.

–

The grandfather clock chimed to tell them it was merely 11am; two hours until the unsub would start cutting more if they didn’t get the ransom fee, two hours to figure out who wanted Natalya’s family to suffer.

Said woman paced her living room at the sound of the hour, as Bugsy picked over the knick knacks on her fireplace, a small smile teasing her lips when she saw a picture of three small children grinning toothily at the camera.

She had never gotten any photo’s similar, Emily being fourteen years older. The majority of their childhood photos consisted of a very grumpy teenager holding her baby sister that seemed to squirm in the tight, formal dresses Elizabeth Prentiss had forced them into, identical scowls on their faces as they were made to sit for the picture.

There were some good memories, ones where Emily let herself be a sister and not a mom, where she would put makeup on her for fun and do her hair, let her have all the clothes out her wardrobe she thought looked nice, reading to her before bed, even letting her sister keep her pet corn snake when she left home for good.

But now, it seemed like she was too caught up in her super serious grown up job to give a shit that her sister lived just an hour away. Still messaged each other for holidays, but the last few times she’d braved a call to the eldest Prentiss, it had gone unanswered. They argued the majority of the time they spoke, or there was an awkward long silence in between words, whichever was worse, but they each knew the other would come running if they were to ever need them so desperately.

“Are you hungry? I could make something?” Natalya offered kindly, Derek having a poke through her collection of books that sat on the end table, though he’d have a tough job reading them as she’d already caught most of them were in her home language.

“Oh, no thanks. I’m fine,” He replied with a small smile, putting down the books to calm the clearly on edge woman that looked to the twenty-something year old hopefully.

She shook her head, “I’m good, thanks,” which seemed to deflate her entirely as she sat next to Derek with a sigh.

“I guess I’m like my mother. When she’s upset, she cooks,” Natalya said with a sad huff of a laugh, running a hand through her short, dark hair.

“Yeah, mine does too. I think that’s just a mom thing,” He replied, and Bugsy felt the two of them look at her as her finger traced the old brass ornaments gently, “How about you, baby Prentiss?”

She snorted, “You’re kidding, right?” smiling bitterly, “My mom never cooked for us, she said we needed to figure it out for ourselves rather than relying on the staff. Didn’t stop her from trying to end world hunger though,”

It wasn’t lost to Morgan the way her eyes trained on the picture of Natalya and her mother, cuddled together with genuine love in their embrace, the snarky humour as she spoke, the same longing Emily seemed almost too good at hiding from them.

“Your mother is a great woman,” Natalya complimented, though she missed the way the girl’s face steeled over, chewing her bottom lip as if to stop herself from snapping at the woman who meant well. She said nothing. “Where is your mother?” She turned her attention back to Derek who seemed the more talkative of the two of them.

“Chicago. That’s where I’m from,” He replied, watching Bugsy turn away from the two of them to inspect more of the Chernus’s trinkets on their walls.

“I’m from Dolgoprudny. Just North of Moscow.” Natalya replied. Opening her mouth to add something else, she was cut off by a knock at the door and the three of them froze in their place.

“Are you expecting someone?” Morgan asked Natalya in a hushed tone, reaching for his gun and heading for the door.

She shook her head, “No,” She whispered back. Morgan pulled the curtain back the smallest inch to see a small blonde boy staring back, a box in his hands and a bored look on his face.

It all happened too fast from there, Natalya opening the door for the neighbourhood kid, opening the box to see a decapitated ear, the blood fresh and pooling in the bottom of the box. It couldn’t have been taken longer than an hour or so ago, unless they were keeping the parts on ice.

Bugsy’s hand slapped over her mouth, Natalya’s scream piercing through her as she shoved the box into Derek’s hands, fleeing to the toilet, and she heard the woman retching. Part of her felt the same nausea settle in her stomach, looking away from the body part with a wince as Derek got straight on the phone to Gideon.

“They didn’t wait, man. They sent a box with-” He swallowed thickly, “With Mr Chernus’s ear inside.”

Gideon replied, and whatever it was, it had Derek looking back to her. He agreed, hanging up the phone and rooting through his pockets, producing a set of rattling keys, holding them out for you between the tips of his fingers.

“Gideon wants you, kid. He said they’re at the Little Kiev restaurant, they’re going to talk to Lysowsky,” Morgan said, grimacing as he held the ear away from her, “You sure you’ll be okay to drive?”

“I’d rather be on the road than look at what’s in that box,” She said in disgust, taking the keys and heading out to the car.

She thought it best for everyone she didn’t tell him she hadn’t yet got her licence as she made her way over to the restaurant.

“Reid and I will do the talking, just see if anything he’s saying connects with Vory v zakone, think you got that?” Gideon instructed her the second she got out of the car, taking the keys and handing them back to Reid who gave her a small nod.

“We think the reason it was Mr Chernus who was targeted has something to do with the code,” Reid explained, his hands in his pockets as the three of them approached the restaurant, “You said earlier you understood the tenants,”

“Why me, though? I thought I was just translating?” She repeated Gideon’s earlier words, almost cocky that they needed her.

“Lysowsky would feel the need to show face in front of men like Morgan and Cramer, even in front of Natalya since she lives locally. Between the three of us, he had less reputation to uphold, less so with a young woman like yourself,” Reid added, holding the door open for her to go in front.

And so there she was, trailing behind Gideon and Reid over to where Lysowsky sipped a spoonful of borscht, as she tried not to marvel at the grandeur of the establishment inside. Clearly, Arsney had money to build a place like this, and wasn’t afraid to be flashy about it either, that much was apparent from the other clientele that tended to their beers around their own tables, Rolex watches and designer shoes adorning nearly every one of them. She hated to think of how many ears or fingers those suits had cost.

“Would you like something to eat?” He asked, a chunk of bread in his hand dipping into the thick sauce, seemingly unbothered that they were there, “This borscht is exquisite, it’s my mother’s old country recipe,”

“Didn’t you forsake all your relatives when you swore the thieves code?” Reid asked, which she guessed was hit foot in to get Lysowsky to talk.

“I didn’t forsake her recipes,” Lysowsky replied with a shrug, looking to her where she seemed to be staring at his plate, “Borscht?”

She shook her head, her nose wrinkling, “Much preferred stroganoff, mom used to force me to have borscht to make sure I ate my veggies,”

His eyebrows raised, surprise written over his face, before he gave a short laugh.

“[Where are you from]?” He asked in his mother tongue, gesturing for the three of them to sit down, though his eyes lit up as he watched her carefully.

“[I was born in DC, but my mother worked in Moscow for a few years],” She answered shortly, and he seemed to find it even funnier that the near child they’d brought along on their case spoke as fluently as he did.

Laughing with a heavy hand smacking on the table, he gestured to a nearby waiting staff to come over.

“What are you having then, borscht for the gentle man?” He looked at Reid and Gideon, the former shaking his head while Gideon nodded with an awkward smile.

“I’d love a taste,” He said, though any enthusiasm seemed to have drained out of his voice.

“And what is the little lady having?” Lysowsky asked, his eyes falling back to her, as she straightened in her seat.

She chanced a quick glance to Gideon, who nodded at her to play his game. She had not expected to be so deep in criminal territory when they’d said they needed a translator, and truly they hadn’t planned on getting her in the field until they realised she would know much more about this than they would.

“Do you have sharlotka?” She asked, returning his smile wearily as he clicked at the waiter who all but bolted to the kitchen.

“A sweet tooth. I like it,” Arseny replied, shovelling a heap of beets into his mouth, “Our favourite was always Leningradsky,”

“Ours?” She prompted, giving a polite thanks to the waiter who returned too quickly with a slice of cake. She caught Spencer glancing at the bowl with intrigue, the hunger clear on the quiet man’s face. Gently pushing the bowl and clean spoon towards him, he flicked a look up at her, “Apple cake,” She whispered, sending him a small smile, “Really yummy with the sugar on top,”

“Mine and my mother’s,” Arseny replied, though Gideon and Reid both caught how he paused before he replied, as if he had to think about the answer he was giving; the oldest tell that it wasn’t entirely true, “We didn’t have much when I was a boy, but that was always our dessert of choice,”

She stopped for a mere second, missing the moment when Spencer spooned the tiniest bite of the cake into his mouth, trying to ignore the way his tongue exploded in the sweet, fruit taste. He hadn’t eaten anything properly in days, and maybe that was why it tasted so good, but more likely it was just the fact that everything sweet tasted even better when he was on his come downs.

“We need to talk, Arseny,” Gideon interrupted, ignoring the way Spencer pined to go back in for a second mouthful, but chose to hand the bowl back to her with a small smile.

“We are on first name basis?” Lysowsky asked, shaking his head, and she took a small bite of the sweet cake for herself, “I still don’t even know who you are,”

“I think I understand something about this,” Gideon replied, his thumbs tapping together, the waiter returning with his borscht, “You have a problem,”

“I do?” The pahkan titled his head at the agent, the annoyance clear on his face.

“That’s why you came to the Chernus’ house this morning,” Gideon answered, unbothered as he began to scoop the borscht onto the spoon, the apple cake in her own mouth going down a treat.

She kept her head down, took tiny bites of the dessert that certainly tasted like a fresh baked sharlotka. But her thoughts lingered on what Lysowsky had said, about his own favourite pudding.

It made no sense that he would have ever tasted Leningradsky shortbread, not for the time that he was born, nor with the amount of money he claimed his family lacked. Infact, the way he fully pronounced his vowels, the akanye, the stress he put on certain parts of his words, all pointed to the same dialect you’d heard back in Moscow, more central than anything else.

So how on earth would he have eaten the so-called ‘Royal Cake’ that had only been made eight hours from there, in the town it grew its name from.

There was something glaringly obvious about his story missing.

“A man like me?” She tuned back into the conversation, swallowing another mouthful down as Gideon took another bite himself, though it seemed the topic had turned sour as Arseny wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin.

“Four watchtowers and a convict signifies a stay in prison,” Spencer cut in, nodding towards the tattoos branded across his knuckles, “Each one of those crosses symbolises an individual sentence,”

“Twenty three years in prison in the Ural mountains,”

But she was still stuck on what it was she was missing. It had been such an odd thing to lie about, particularly when he’d even admitted himself that they hadn’t had much money, so he clearly hadn’t been lying to fake a reputation.

So why lie?

She was ripped out of her stumped silence when Natalya entered the restaurant, her voice grabbing the men’s attention immediately.

“Mr Lysowsky. You said you could help me,” She said, her purse over her shoulder and her own car keys gripped tightly in her hand as if she’d all but thrown herself out the vehicle to get there faster.

“Don’t you already have help,” Lysowsky snapped, clearly Gideon had dug under his skin enough to garner a reaction.

“I made a mistake,” Natalya replied, barely meeting Bugsy’s gaze as she stared at her from her seat at the table. “I talked to my father on the phone,”

The girl frowned at her, “That’s a lie,” It came out before she could hold herself, brows furrowed at whatever it was she was trying to pull. Gideon said her name in a reprimand, though he too was looking at the woman as if she’d grown a second head.

“Thankyou for coming, but I don’t need your help,” The woman met her confused look with a saddened expression, nodding to her solemnly.

Leave it alone, she seemed to be saying, there’s nothing more I want you to do.

And with that, the two of them left the restaurant, Natalya walking by his side obediently, her purse tucked in close under her arm, as Morgan and Cramer filed in from the parking lot, watching their only leads drive away without a fight.

–

The team were quick to head back to Natalya’s home, only to find the ear missing and the finger gone too, the only evidence left of any crime being committed leaving with the victim’s daughter herself.

“She’s not here, and the garbage was never taken out,” Morgan said with a grimace as he walked down the front steps to meet the four of them on the sidewalk.

“Her dad just went missing, surely we can cut the girl some slack-” Bugsy words were hidden in a huff, rolling your eyes at the man who cut a glance to her.

“No, no. When Hotch first talked to us, he said she noticed her father’s car in the driveway when she took the garbage out,” Morgan explained, his shades blocking the way the cogs turned behind his dark eyes.

“Right?” Reid asked, his own sunglasses now covering his eyes that winced at the brightness, surrounding them.

“Garbage can in the kitchen is completely full, she never took it out.”

“She lied,” Gideon said with finality, the penny beginning to drop for him too.

“She could be half way back to Dolgo-whatever by now,” Morgan scoffed, his arms smacking against his side as the lightbulb went off over her head, the final puzzle piece falling into place.

“Dolgoprudny?” Spencer asked, exchanging a glance with Cramer, “Isn’t that where Lysowsky’s from-”

“Yes, YES, of course!” She exclaimed, grabbing onto Spencer’s arm as he spoke.

He looked at her with wide eyes, not that she could see since his shades blocked the way, only to feel her shake him harder in the midst of her enthusiasm. Part of him wanted to rip his arm out of her grip, waiting for the sickness to crawl up his throat at a strangers germs touching him, but the oddest part of him reasoned she had the same germs as Emily did, that the fifty percent DNA the women shared negated the fact she was a stranger, just as it did when he met Jack. Jack had Hotch germs. Bugsy had Emily’s. He didn’t feel so sick thinking of it like that.

“I knew I was missing something,” She said, turning to Gideon, “He was lying before, about his favourite dessert. There was no way he could have had Leningradsky with his mother. Given his age, at that time in Soviet Russia, shortbread was incredibly expensive, only extremely wealthy families could have eaten it. That, and given the Central dialect he speaks in, I’d pinpointed he lives somewhere near or around Moscow, which means there was no way he was eating that cake considering it was only ever baked in one shop at first, one way up in Leningrad, where St Petersburg is now, like nine hours away from Moscow-”

“What’s your point?” Cramer asked, tired of the somewhat slew of thoughts she’d been saving until she knew for sure what she meant.

“Before when he said it was ‘our favourite’, I don’t think he was talking about him and his mother,” She explained, looking to see if Spencer at least understood what she was getting at.

“It was him and his own child…” Spencer finished, as Morgan’s phone began ringing.

“Yeah, what?” He asked, the frustration clear in his tone that they were all still without the evidence needed to pin it on Lysowsky, “You’re sure? Uh-huh. Okay, thanks doll,”

The four of them looked at him expectantly as he nodded to her, “Garcia just got into the bank’s system, somebody wired 500 thousand dollars into the account ten minutes ago,”

“Who wired it?” Spencer asked, though he was still reeling from the way she’d touched him, the way her voice went up about five octaves and a dozen decibels.

“She didn’t say, but the name on the account is Lyov Fulenko. She says that’s Lysowsky’s wife’s maiden name. Fulenko.” Morgan replied, and her brows furrowed.

“Why did she bring us into this?” Gideon asked, though the solemn look on his face said he already knew, “Because she needed to put pressure on the other victim,”

Gideon headed towards Mr Gorban’s house once more, though it was clear he had already sketched out in his head who was their unsub and Natalya’s involvement, he simply needed the confirmation.

Morgan clapped a hand on her back, “Nice job, baby Prentiss. Those were some mean profiling skills out there,”

She frowned at him, scoffing, “I’m not a profiler, that’s Emily’s job. It was just basic linguistics really; more a display of how I need to lay off cake for a while.”

The man kissed his teeth with a grin, “Don’t put yourself down. What’s your degree even in?”

She shrugged, picking under her nails for something to do, “Individualised genomics and health.” She said as if it were child’s play, though Spencer’s head shot to her.

“Biotechnology?” He asked, and she glanced at him with a nod, “What’s your thesis on?”

Gideon had returned by the time he’s asked, and began corralling the two of them back to the car, “We’re heading back to the restaurant. We need to speak with Lysowsky again,”

But it had fallen on deaf ears as Spencer looked at her expectantly.

“Just some new research into prenatal screening, nothing too fun,” She simpered, climbing into the back seat as he nodded with her.

“I read a fascinating paper on the uses of hCG in a woman’s body-”

“Reid,” Gideon cut him off with a short glance from the front seat, “Continue this conversation once we’ve found Mr Chernus alive,”

Spencer blushed, feeling like a kid caught in the cookie jar, “Sorry, sir,” He looked over at her, only to see her hiding a smile to herself.

He thinks it was then he’d decided Emily had been wrong about her.

“You paid the ransom already,” Gideon said plainly, the four of them trailing behind him as he followed Lysowsky to a small seating area in the front of the restaurant. She could tell the whole way Spencer had been itching to ask her more questions about her paper, barely contained as his fingers had twitched in his lap, but he seemed to straighten himself out once she’d reached the restaurant, “You paid all the ransoms,”

“Sit,” The boss ordered, barely glancing at them as he held his strong whiskey up.

“Are they going to kill Mr Chernus?” Morgan asked, cutting to the chase as Lysowsky spared him a bored glance.

“No,” He replied shortly, the look on his face about as grumpy as when they’d left.

“The account is in the name of Lyov Fulenko. Lyov is a man’s name.” Spencer input, crossing his arms as the boss glared at him, “A son’s name. Vory v Zakone. Never have a family of your own. No wife. No children.”

“Lyov,” He looked at her then, gesturing to her with the glass of strong liquor, “You know what it means?”

“The Lion,” She replied gravely, steeling herself against his dark eyes.

“No one else would be so stupid,” Lysowsky ran a hand over his weathered face, swigging his drink as if it was the only thing keeping him talking. “At first it didn’t mean much. It was a way of letting him earn his own money. I could afford it, it came from the fund. And no one questions the use of the fund-”

“Where is he?” Gideon asked, his elbows on his knees as he leaned in.

“What else could I do?” He was ignored, “I couldn’t admit I wasn’t blessing the kidnappings, I couldn’t even admit my son existed.” He huffed when he saw Gideon’s face unmoving from the glower, his question still unanswered, “Chernus will be home in a few minutes. You should be there, he will need medical attention,” He shooed them away, with his final words, drink sloshing in his hand. His face darkened, impossibly so, and the five of them looked at him, something sad and remorseful shining back.

“What are you gonna do?” She asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

“Vory v Zakone.” He said heavily, nodding to her, “We take care of our own troubles.”

It was a silent journey back to the Chernus’ house.

Morgan and Reid pulled up to the campus, the younger girl in the back seat almost dozing off with the rhythmic hum of the engine, the evening sun much nicer on Spencer’s sensitive eyes.

“This is you, baby Prentiss,” Derek’s voice jolted her out of the half sleep she was in, straightening herself from where she had her head pressed against the window.

“Thanks,” She muttered, rubbing her eyes and unbuckling herself as they did the same, assuming they wanted to walk her back to her dorm since it had gotten dark, “I’ll be okay on my own, campus security should be out by now,”

“You sure?” Reid asked, flicking his watch up to his eyes to see the meagre 6:13pm staring back at him, “I thought they started at 7,”

She blinked at him, her eyebrows quirking for a moment, “How do you know that?”

“Johns Hopkins was my backup option- well actually it was my third, I much preferred Caltech’s curriculum, Yale was my second-” He started, flicking a glance to her where she waited for him to finish, “Not that Johns was bad, there were just better- alternative options out there-”

“Don’t shit your pants, I’m hardly the dean of the university,” She chuckled indignantly patting them both on the shoulder before sliding over to open the door, “Nice meeting you both, I’ll just get back to my mediocre college with my poor curriculum, nothing like the solid gold bathrooms at Caltech-”

“I never said that!” She laughed again, with her whole chest, at his defensive tone as she stepped out the car, hand on the door to shut it behind her.

Leaning down to give them both a wave goodbye, Derek’s voice stopped her again, “Baby Prentiss, do us all a favour and enrol yourself into forensics, we need more people on our team,”

Smirking at him, she shook her head, “Very funny. Never gonna happen. I like my little slides and samples, thankyou,”

Slamming the door on the two of them she headed for the front gates, swinging her purse over her shoulder. She was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, and she quickly realised she’d been too tired to even realise a set of footsteps jogging after her.

Maybe she should have taken that walk home after all.

Whirling around, her eyes widened as Spencer had clearly not been leader of the track team as he was half out of breath just from the few feet he’d covered, though she reckoned she could have guessed that seeing his lean ribs beneath his shirt.

He shoved a business card in her face as he caught his breath, though it was more just his name and credentials followed by a phone number.

“I-I don’t have email otherwise I would-” He huffed, scratching his forehead as she frowned and looked at him.

“I’ve never been hit on via business card before,” She bit her lip with a smile, reading over the card again as he choked on his words even more than before.

“N-no, I-” He spluttered, ignoring the way Morgan beeped the horn for him, seemingly in a debate with a ticket metre that had caught him parked on yellow, “If you needed us for anything, or if you needed a second pair of eyes for your thesis, I’m happy to help,”

“You don’t have faith in the dummy that got into Johns?” She asked, and his head couldn’t shake fast enough, though he seemed to catch her teasing and shared her smile, “Thanks, Dr Reid,”

“Spencer’s just fine,” He said, giving her a small nod and a wave as Morgan’s palm bounced on the horn a dozen times. She flashed him one more smile, pocketing his number and heading back to her dorm, wondering what the doctor would think about the paper due in tomorrow she’d yet to get started on.

+1. The one where you get arrested.

The case had been heavy. They’d felt it in the car on the way back to headquarters. A little girl, molested and groomed by her own uncle, his own wife covering for him.

His mother always told him love makes you do crazy things, but Spencer hoped that whatever part of him worth loving would at least stay sane by the time he found the one. He was loyal to his team, to his mother, but that was where he drew the line. He was loyal to his family, undoubtedly so.

Yet so was Emily.

The call came to the second SUV, her phone set up to hands free mode, quickly flicking to answer the call on speaker, the other half of the team ahead of them on the freeway.

“Prentiss, speaking. Who is this?” She spoke clearly to the unknown number, her knuckles going white at the wheel when she heard a nervous laugh.

“It’s me,” Her sister mumbled through the speaker, “You wouldn’t by any chance be near DC would you?”

She huffed, cursing the knack Prentiss women had for showing up at the worst times.

“Can’t this wait, I’m on the clock,” Emily hissed, her finger edging towards the ‘End Call’ button, “I’ll call you after,”

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up!” As if sensing her movements, she all but screeched, “This was my one phone call, they won’t let me have another,”

The car went silent for a moment, Spencer’s eyes narrowing on the dash from his place in the passenger seat, JJ also leaning forward from the back with a frown.

Emily grit her teeth, her upper lip twitching the way it did when she was mad.

“What do you mean by one phone call? Where are you?” She bit in a cautious tone, though knowing how reckless Bugsy tended to be, she had a pretty good idea.

The hesitation on the other end of the line was palpable, as was the way she awkwardly cleared her throat.

“Fairfax County Jail,” She murmured sheepishly, “But it wasn’t my fault, these assholes don’t know what they’re talking about, I swear-”

“Stay there and keep your mouth shut,” Emily ordered, her expression furrowing into a sneer, “And for the love of god don’t antagonise the officers,”

The agent didn’t even wait for a response, knowing it would probably be something snarky, her mind already racing at what the hell her sister could have done this time, every worst possible explanation jumping to the forefront.

“I’ll call Hotch and tell him to turn around,” JJ offered, her fingers already searching her contacts for their boss, as Emily sighed through her nose.

“Tell him not to worry, I’ll drop you guys back to headquarters, make my way there myself,” She said, picking the skin of her nail softly with her thumb.

“By the time we’ve reached Quantico, visiting times will be over and she’ll have to stay the night,” Spencer pointed out, his own surprise evident. Sure, she had certainly been a personality when they had met, but a criminal seemed a stretch.

“Maybe it would teach her a lesson,” Emily mused, shaking her head to herself, “Who am I kidding, that psycho would Shawshank her way out of there by dawn,”

“You don’t actually think she would hurt anyone do you?” JJ said, the dial tone ringing out from the phone she held to her ear.

“Wouldn’t put it past her. She once cut a girl's pigtail off for wearing the same dress as her on her birthday,” Emily winced as Spencer’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.

“I thought getting swirlied was bad,” He muttered, watching out the window as Emily made a U-turn at the traffic lights. He and the now twenty three year old had been bouncing research papers back and forth for a few months, the odd one every week, Bugsy even once joking it was much more interesting and riveting than foreplay, which had his face red hot at his desk.

She was like that, he’d quickly realised, had a vulgar sort of humour about her, yet he couldn’t help the snigger that came out whenever he’d receive one of his papers back through the mail with pink writing scrawled all over his ideas. The little hearts that dotted her exclamations whenever she wrote “AMAZING!”, the odd time she’d written “sexy ideas, doctor Reid” which he’d come to understand meant it was really good. He’d even gotten back the drawing at the end of the paper of a stickman of the two of them, his hair a curly scribble and a purple tie which told him immediately who was who, her line of a hand pointing at his caricature with the speech bubble, “everyone point and wave at the smart man,” which had made him laugh.

She was odd, toeing the line between childish and witty, nothing like the scholars he usually worked with, and the writing he usually sent back on her papers were all in standard black ink, his own pharmacist handwriting staring back at him as he crammed in his every thought of her research into the margins. If she couldn’t read it, she hadn’t said, but he liked to think she took notice of it all, even if it wasn’t strewn with stars and doodles and the occasional flirt he knew meant nothing. He knew her from her writing, knew her from her ideas that sometimes kept him up at night thinking more about them, but the two of them hadn’t spoken directly, most certainty hadn’t seen one another since that day with the Chernus’.

Emily hummed, fingers drumming on the wheel, entirely unaware of the thoughts rattling around in Spencer’s head, then again that’s how it always was, “I just pray to god she’s listened to me for once in her damn life and keeps quiet,”

“Fucking bitch. The nuns in Moscow hit harder than you,” She spat, blood dribbling from her split lip. She wasn’t entirely lying, but god did her mouth sing with pain as she tried to muffle a moan.

“You got jokes, pig lover?” The other woman asked, a tattoo covering half her cheek, her nose crooked from the shiner the Prentiss girl had already given her. “Won’t be fucking laughing when I’m done, bitch,” The woman was quick to tackle the girl around her stomach, slamming her into the hard concrete of the holding cell. Bugsy felt her skull rattle, the wind whooshing from her chest as rough hands grab her shirt and pin her down harder.

The younger girl reached the nerve under her opponent's armpit, the soft of her ribs, twisting until the woman gave a bark of shock, and she took the opportunity to shove her off, climbing on top of her as they both scrambled for some sort of control.

“I got one for you. What’s got a broken nose, a black eye and doesn’t know what’s good for her?” She swung twice as hard, the other women in the cell rattling against the bars as if watching a matador taunt a bull, the air thick with excitement as the two of them cursed eachother out.

Emily’s sigh was audible across the room as the wardens separated the cat fight, the largest of the officers all but grabbing her sister by the scruff of the neck like a feral beast, dragging her over with stubborn feet to where the BAU stood in the lobby, eyes widened at the state of her.

“You better start acting your age, little girl. Mommy’s not gonna be around forever to save you,” The officer hissed in her ear, manhandling her over to where Emily glared daggers into the side of her head. She knew that look, it was eerily similar to mom’s that time she’d been caught sneaking out of the house, something in the warm brown of Emily’s eyes frosting over into a cold blackness. Fury.

She chewed her words for a moment, waiting until the man had turned around with a grunt of acknowledgement to the badge Emily had flashed to get his attention, before she spoke.

“She’s not my mom, she's my sister, dumbass-” Emily slapped a hand over her mouth, gripping her shoulder with the bear-like strength her jagged nails possessed when she was mad, the scoff of disgrace leaving her mouth as her team trailed behind the two of them.

“What the hell happened, baby Prentiss?” Morgan asked, ignoring the way Emily’s heated gaze turned on him, “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Don’t entertain her, Morgan,” Emily seethed, all but shoving her into the back of the SUV. She looked up at her sister with an open mouth, the guilt flashing in her eyes as she wavered under the pointing finger Emily jabbed in her face, “Don't you even dare,”

“But-” She stammered, cut off when she saw the glare intensified, if that had even been possible.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you for the rest of the day unless you’re prepared to give me a good explanation why I’ve dragged my team out here to save your sorry ass,” Emily hissed, and the girl’s mouth bobbed a few times, feeling the rest of the team watching as she got thoroughly chewed out.

“Wait-” Emily’s hand lingered at the car door, ready to slam it in her face as she rubbed her cuff over her chin, mopping up the damage. Her head tilted for a moment, hoping her sister had something good to say, only for it to be; “He just called you old, I hope you realise that,”

Emily’s gaze darkened, slamming the door shut with an anger she imagined her mother had kept warm for the past twenty three years, whirling around heatedly when she heard a snigger from one Derek Morgan.

“Damn, mama, hear the girl out.” He said, slapping a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he passed, heading back to their own SUV, “Maybe she’ll surprise you,”

If Emily was going to bite anything back, she didn’t. Instead she ran a hand over her brow, the group disbanding to their cars now the problem child had been picked up from daycare, except for Hotch who watched the older Prentiss with a scowl, despite the worry in his eyes.

“Hotch, I’m so sorry, just take it off my timecard, I’ll cover all the costs,” She said shakily, her own frown adorning her face as she felt herself blush from embarrassment under her boss’s gaze.

“I understand she’s your sister, but this was a gross misuse of agent time and resources, Prentiss,” He said, his gaze drifting to where Spencer sat next to the girl, pulling a packet of tissues and hand sanitizer out of his satchel while JJ rooted through her own purse for a plaster, “Don’t let it happen again,”

Emily nodded vehemently, flushed with anger, her palms sticky as she wiped them on her jeans.

“Absolutely sir. Believe me, this ever happens again, she’s on her own,” She replied, though they both knew she didn’t mean it. Emily would never.

He nodded stonily, deciding quickly that it was punishment enough that she felt so ashamed, he knew from his years of arguments with Sean what it was like to have a sibling stray so far.

“We can fill out reports in the morning, just get Reid and JJ home,” Hotch said, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder as he passed her to head towards his own vehicle, “And try not to kill each other in the company car. It doesn’t look good on paperwork,”

She beat off the smile on her lips as she got back into the driver's seat, the air that engulfed the four of them foul as she glared over her shoulder and into the back. Spencer twitched in his seat uncomfortably, his hand still passing over tissues to the bloodied girl.

“So, you gonna tell me what that was about?” Emily asked, her tone brittle and warning, not in the mood for any snarky response she could give, “Or is this old lady going to have to lay into you some more,”

The smell of strong ethanol engulfed her nose as she held the soaked tissue to her face, frowning into her lap silently and avoiding the burning stare as Emily stuck the keys in the ignition and started the car.

“Let’s start with why you were there,” JJ input, the same tone of voice she used as when talking to victims, calm and motherly, unlike the pissed off snarl Emily gave, “You wanna tell us why you were arrested?”

“You two really gonna pull the good cop, bad cop on me?” She snapped, her lip swelling around the wound, tongue grazing it softly despite the heavy taste of the sanitizer.

Emily said her name in a warning, her last warning, and she knew better than to push her luck even more, the SUV pulling out of the station and onto the road.

“I was just shopping for groceries,” She started, fiddling with the bloodied tissue, wincing under her tongue stroke, “Store clerk made a pass at me, I told him I wasn’t interested. So he put a pack of smokes in my handbag while I wasn’t looking; the alarms went off. I didn’t even know what was happening until security grabbed me at the door,”

JJ flashed a glance at Emily, like two parents deciding an appropriate punishment, the brunette’s lips straightening out into a line.

“You’re telling the truth?” She asked cautiously, glancing in the rear view mirror to see how her sister balled the mess of paper between her palms.

Rolling her eyes, she gladly accepted the other packet of tissues Spencer slid over the leather seat between them.

“I went out for milk and oranges, I was not looking to get picked up, Em,” She bit back, groaning when she felt it jostle the cut, “And certainly not for cigarettes, you know I only smoke on New Years,”

Spencer looked at her with a frown, and she caught his confusion quickly, pulling another leaf of paper from the packet.

“Emily and I had a rule after she caught me smoking when I was like fourteen, that we could have one cigarette between the two of us on New Years eve,” She explained, JJ also perking up to hear it, “So that by the time morning came around, it would be last year’s mistake, and it would be like it never happened,”

JJ smiled to herself, remembering the time she caught Roz sneaking one of her dad’s cigarettes on the back porch back when she was just ten. She remembered the little secrets the two of them kept back then, held them even all these years later.

“So how did that lead to, well,” JJ gestured to her lip, “That,”

“Yeah, didn’t I specifically tell you to not antagonise anyone?” Emily chimed in, signalling she was changing lanes as they headed down the freeway for a second time that day.

“Technically you said not to antagonise the officers,” She pointed out, before Spencer had the chance to, shutting his mouth as he caught the glare Emily shot through the mirror.

“Keep talking,” The older Prentiss ordered, as Bugsy sighed and blotted her lip some more.

“That woman, Mira I think her name was, anyway, she recognised me from that picture mom had us take on Independence Day, the one they put in The Hill, and she asked me if it was true my sister was a fed,”

Emily’s fingers twitched at the wheel, knowing the status agents and even people associated with agents held in prisons; knowing just being a Prentiss in a jail cell held a big, dazzling price over her head that said ‘kill me, kill me!”

The air sucked out of the car, a look passing between JJ and Reid as they thought the same thing, waiting for her to go on.

“So then you hit her?” Emily guessed, the bitterness slowly ebbing as she understood maybe her sister wasn’t as unruly as she thought.

“No, I told her to leave me the fuck alone, but she said you guys sent her brother down for something a while back, and she asked again if my family were all Pigs,” She picked her nails, the blood stain on her sleeve staring back at her, “I told her if she didn’t stop calling you a Pig, I’d make her squeal like one. And then I hit her,”

Emily tried to pretend she didn’t smile hearing that, her cheeks tightening, lips pulling down as she fended it off.

“Is that good enough, officers, or will you be needing fingerprints?” The girl chimed after a moment, a weight seemingly lifted from the car as Emily quickly realised she had, for once, not been entirely at fault.

“I want a handwritten apology to my boss for wasting his time,” Emily demanded, her unforgiving gaze softening when she saw her smile, “And you owe my team coffee,”

“I can do coffee, coffee coming right up,” She agreed, shoving the used tissues into her purse with a crooked smile, “It’s a date,”

Spencers ears turned red, looking over the seat at where she dabbed at her lip gently. She didn’t look much older for six months, but she had gotten her nose pierced since the last time he’d seen her, unless he just hadn’t noticed it before, and the streaks of red were slowly fading out into a blush pink that said it was old, and he wondered if she’d done it herself in that tiny little cubicle bathroom of hers she shared with the four other girls in her block.

“You finished your stats papers yet?” He made polite conversation, though part of him was dying to know out of curiosity if she could crunch numbers and equations as well as she could in her own labs.

“Got two more this week, they’re kicking my ass man,” She replied with a huff, and he didn’t think he’d ever been called ‘man’ by a woman before. He knew if he’d known her in college, ignoring the fact he would have been twelve, he would have thought she may just be the coolest person alive, “I miss my labs with my microscopes and watching all the little baby cells move around in the ethanol. Stats are like, just not sexy,”

He smiled at her as she stared out the window, unaware of the way she’d managed to make DNA sound like a play pen full of kittens. He held off from telling her he found stats really quite sexy, knowing it would never sound the same coming from his mouth.

He pulled a leaf of the tissues from the packet, producing his own pen from his pocket and began doodling carefully so as not to rip the delicate canvas.

Sliding it over to her after five minutes as Emily and JJ made conversation in the front seat, she didn’t care that the grin tugged on her split lip, the reaction was instant, she couldn’t stop it if she tried.

Two stick men stared back at her, her hair a close match in texture and a childish triangle drawn as means of a dress, a very tall stick figure next to her patting her metaphorical head, a speech bubble coming from his mouth.

“Maths is fun!” It said, and she flicked a glance at him, her smile the most genuine he’d seen yet. He just smiled back.

+2. The one where you graduate

Emily felt the looks on her the moment JJ had mentioned Maryland. The case was a little under their pay grade, nothing more than a stalker, no bodies or bloodshed, but one very rattled woman that had turned to the communications liaison with fear for her life.

With Hotch and Rossi in Boston helping a case of their own, the rest of the BAU had been twiddling their thumbs waiting for something to come across their desk.

“This case is in my hands now, and if we do nothing and something happens to her,” JJ took a heavy breath, her eyes lingering on the three names Keri had given her in case of her untimely death, “I’ll be the one notifying her family,”

Derek, despite his own hesitations about using their time for a case like this, caved the moment he saw the guilt on the blonde’s face.

“Okay,” He shuffled the papers into a pile, Emily and Spencer gathering their own resources on the case and standing from the round table.

Luckily, one government SUV was more than enough to carry the four of them for the hour drive North, all of them well aware Hotch would flip if they used more funds than necessary.

JJ piled into the front beside where Morgan climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving Emily next to a particularly fidgety Reid. It took all of fifteen minutes of the man flicking a glance at her, his mouth quirking as if he were about to use it, before he thought better and looked out the window, and the whole thing would start again.

Derek, the less shy about his thoughts of the two men, even glanced at her through the rear view mirror, before he too returned his gaze out the window silently. JJ shifted in her seat, knowing she had to tread carefully around mentioning Bugsy to Emily, particularly after the last time they’d seen her. Emily had said they’d grabbed coffee once or twice since then, but that was all she spoke about it, which left her team walking cracked eggshells at the thought of bringing her up.

It seemed the three of them were bursting at the seams with the same thought, and it wasn’t until Reid cleared his voice, his puppy eyes stuck in his loop, that she had had enough.

“Does anyone here have something to say?” Emily huffed, Derek immediately reaching to turn the radio up the same time that JJ flicked the AC on for something to do. Realising they weren’t easily broken, she turned to Spencer who already looked slightly guilty, thumbing at his sweater, “Reid?”

“Did you want to see your sister?” He asked without hesitation, as if the words had fallen out of him, “You know, since we’re so close on this case. It would be a good excuse to-”

“You did say she owed us a coffee,” JJ pointed out, spurred on by Spencer’s nerves, “Wouldn’t mind cashing in if we’re coming all this way.”

“Morgan, do you have anything to add?” Emily asked with raised brows, though she already knew what was coming.

Derek chewed over his thoughts a second, “I’m just saying, you only get to see your baby sisters grow up once- you know, and it couldn’t hurt to see her even if she runs rings around you with that smart mouth-”

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on the case?” Emily cut him off incredulously, but received three knowing looks back. She met JJ’s gaze where the woman had swivelled in her seat to talk to her, and Prentiss was fast to catch the buried grief in her best friend’s eyes. She knew it pained her to even bring up sisterhood, let alone watch Emily throw hers away for the sake of a decade and a half between them. It was the desperation in JJ’s face that did it, knowing she would give anything to spend just an hour with Roz one more time, that had her drawing her cell out her pocket and calling the contact with the little ladybug next to it, “Fine,”

As a profiler she would have been tempted to ignore the way Spencer smiled into his lap; as a sister, her eyes narrowed at him.

The phone rang surprisingly only once before she answered, and she heard an unnaturally tame version of her sister answer.

“Emily?” She asked, her voice hushed, worried almost, “You okay?”

Her brows furrowed, “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” She got no more than a hum in return, somewhat agreeing though Emily could tell clear as day she was holding something back. “Look, we’re gonna be in Silver Spring, I was thinking tomorrow we could grab lunch-”

“Can’t, I’m busy, it’s an all day thing,” Her sister cut her off, yet it wasn’t rude or demeaning like usual. Nervous almost, sad, “Sorry,”

“What’s an all day thing?” Emily asked, the concern matching her words.

Her sister swallowed on the other end of the phone, before she found her words, or maybe even the balls to actually speak, “I’m graduating tomorrow,”

Emily’s face lit up, the smile spreading fast on her face, ignoring the way Morgan’s words seemed to ring true in her ears; she was growing up too fast.

“Graduating, why didn’t you say!” She asked, the joy in her tone unmissable, “How’d your papers go?”

Spencer held himself off from correcting her that she’d only done five papers, that the rest of her results had come from theory and labs, thinking better than to interrupt the one conversation they’d had where there was no underlying argument brewing.

“Full honours, obviously.” Bugsy drawled with a snicker, and Emily shook her head, the smile never dimming.

“Look at you, y’little superstar,” Emily bit her lip, ignoring the guilt that tore at her when she realised she barely knew what Bug spent her days doing, “Did Mom and Dad get good seats? Oh god, dad’s not bringing Stephanie is he?”

The silence on the other end had her halting, the light in the conversation wavering for a second, before she understood the nerves, the quick defence her sister had been on the moment the call had been answered.

“Bug-”

“They’re not coming,” Her heart ached in her chest hearing it, “I sent Mom the details, she said she’s in Ukraine this week settling some papers. Didn’t even get a chance to ask Dad before he and Stephanie were off on their fifth honeymoon in the Bahamas until October,” A painful laugh echoed down the line, as if she were holding back the gravity of the situation.

“Bug,” Emily tried again, picking her thumb viciously, punishingly, hating herself for being so blind to her sister’s troubles, “Why didn’t you invite me?”

“I figured you’d be busy,” Came the reply, sad and tender, the most honest she’d heard in a while, “You’re always busy,”

“Never too busy for you,” Emily’s guilt tripled when her sister didn’t answer, knowing if she were to counter the statement with hard evidence it would only hurt both of them, “Look, I have some time today, probably,” She didn’t, not even a few minutes, “Why don’t we get that coffee, you don’t even have to pay,”

Bugsy gave a sad laugh, “Sorry, Em, I gotta get my dress fitted today, and some of the lab techs invited me to a party later. Maybe some other time,”

“A party with biology nerds?” Emily asked with false excitement, the air turned stagnant between them now, “Well, rock on, science freak. Don’t leave your drinks with strangers, and don’t walk home alone, and for god sake use protection-”

“Bye, Emily,” She said with a chuckle, the older of the two gracing her with the same, as they put the phone down.

The car was quiet, waiting for Prentiss to speak, none of them missing the way her lip pulled between her teeth, a bitterness on her face that told them she was holding in something close to sadness. You’re always busy. It echoed around her head, stabbing at her chest to think her sister was graduating alone, no one to congratulate her, no one to pat her on the back and tell her how clever she is despite the fact Bugsy would happily tell anyone just how smart she was on her own. Never too busy for you.

“She’s graduating tomorrow,” She said to the three people waiting for an update, Spencer’s brows shooting to his hairline. He hadn’t heard from her since her last paper got sent off, and why would he? They had exchanged a few little anecdotes and doodles, sent each other research papers to be graded like teachers exchanging lecture notes, “She didn’t even tell me. She’s gonna be alone,”

JJ grimaced, “What? What about your mom- or, or your dad, an uncle, someone-”

“Mom and dad are out of the country, Mom’s brother lives in Mexico with his seven kids, he can barely get a night’s sleep let alone a day off to travel up to Maryland. Dad’s sisters passed away when I was a kid,” Emily explained, running a hand over her face, “I can’t let her go up there alone,”

“So we don’t,” Spencer said, as if he’d never been more sure of anything in his life, “We don’t let her do it alone,”

“Graduating with Masters in Biotechnology; Jasper Adams, Tom Adamson, Kristen Afkins, Gavin Agriths-”

The dean read off the names of the students as she fiddled with the hem of her dress.

The dress fit beautifully, her make up done to near perfection, her hair styled neatly, she was graduating with full honours for christ sakes. Why couldn’t she just be happy with what she had? Why had she got to be so spoiled?

Lots of peoples parents missed their graduation, lots of people her age didn’t even have parents anymore, she ought to be grateful her mother was increasing famine aid in foreign countries, all the lives she would save, or even be happy her father had found a pretty, rich new wife to tour every known vacation destination with. Or even that her sister had called her just yesterday and told her in a few words she was proud of her.

But none of them quelled the feeling of loneliness that blossomed inside Bugsy. The kind that had always been there, the kind that just wanted someone in her corner, telling her she was doing pretty good for a kid who raised herself in all those big houses they’d moved to, who saw the au pair more often than her own mother.

All those rooms were so empty, the houses so quiet besides for her. It was like living in a cemetery.

“Robert Lewsinsky. Marcus Linford. Tara Lorence. Katie Macauley.”

P would be up soon. Each name of her classmates drew an applause, some whoops and screams, one family she swore there must have been ten of them in the back row cawing and howling like monkeys at a zoo, proud of their son for making it.

She willed a smile on her face, hearing Orla Parkins get called up, and she knew just by the steward that directed her where to stand in line she was close.

“Kenneth Patterson. Joshua Perriman. Harriet Pimms. Lauren Pintons.”

She held a rattled breath as Renly Prackett walked ahead of her, strolling over the stage to collect his degree, flashing the crowd a wide smile and a fist pump. She had always liked Renly, having been his experiment partner for a year, despite the fact he never washed up after himself in the lab.

Then it was, her name was called. The one no one but her mother and Stephanie ever called her, she solely went by Bugsy courtesy of Emily. It was a family name, a nice one at that. Maybe it had been the fact she had been eight and her cool big sister crowned her the new name, or maybe it just rolled off the tongue better, made her feel less like a Prentiss, that she chose to go by her monika.

She tried not to think about where or what Emily was doing, only hoping she was safe, as she began walking over the stage, her heels clicking loudly with her hesitant steps.

To her utmost surprise she heard a loud whistle echo through the auditorium, a group of jeers and screams of her name, even an air horn signing off that had her almost tripping over her own feet turning to see who it was.

Surely it was a joke, a cruel prank, she barely had any friends in her class. Acquaintances sure, but no one so bold as to make such a fuss over her.

Squinting down at the audience, her cap nearly slipping off her head as her head turned to the source, she felt her chest burst when she saw the dark hair and bangs, her sisters butchered fingertips in her mouth with a loud cattle whistle, screaming like a firework right to the stage where she graciously accepted her award, despite the fact she barely paid any attention to the dean anymore, more to her sister who smiled at her widely as she clapped. Behind her, her team she’d met on the off chance, the pretty blonde, JJ, who pressed the air horn a few more times, cheering just as loud for her. Morgan, the handsome one who had stood himself on top of his chair, cupping a hand over his mouth to scream “Kicking ass, baby Prentiss!” at her, ignoring the way other people stared wide eyed at them.

And Spencer, tall enough to be seen over the crowd even without the help of a chair, who smiled at her, clapping those big hands of his loud enough to reach her, his own whoops never ceasing even as she stepped off the stage to head back to her seat.

The rest of the ceremony dragged, a speech from one of the alumni and the exit music playing, but she simply grinned into her hand, where her degree smiled back at her, counting down the moments she would be allowed to stand.

And then she was fast walking down the stairs, amongst the bustle of students, the black gowns flurrying around her as she burst out into the square where parents, fiancees, brothers, sisters, cheered their loved ones, pulling them into tight hugs.

Her eyes scanned the wave of black hats, landing on two dark eyes, the thick sable hair framing the dazzling smile that awaited her with open palms. All but shoving her way through the crowd, she stopped in front of her sister, the urge to jump at her with a hug shying the moment she got close.

“Told you. Never too busy for you, Bug,” Emily said, pulling her in by her shoulders for a tight hug. She knew her sister wasn’t one to beg for affection, wasn’t one to let her guard drop so soon, but she also knew she’d needed it by the way she melted against her, the way she chuckled into her hair, pulled her closer.

“Do I owe your boss another letter of apology for this or do I get you guys for free?” The girl asked, as her sister pulled away, keeping an arm around her shoulder as they turned to the rest of the team.

“No, this one is entirely on us, promise,” JJ said with a smile as she saw Emily beaming maternally over at the girl, the flat of the cap knocking against her cheek as she squeezed her in once more, “We’re very proud of you,”

She heated under the woman’s words, wriggling in her shoes as bad as Emily did when she felt awkward, Derek chuckling and taking the degree out of her hand.

“Alright, lets see the creds, Prentiss,” He held it up next to her face as she shrugged, the ‘4.0�� clear as day next to her name, “Good looking, and smart. Those boys in the lab ought to watch out,”

She grinned under his teasing, “What can I say, I got the deep end of the gene pool,” She teased, feeling Emily swat her ear, her eyes falling to where Spencer held a plant pot with a poorly wrapped bow of twine around it, the soil a little displaced from the journey.

“This is for you,” He said, handing her the small green sproutling, his cheeks blushing as her face lit up, reading the small inscription on the front, “It’s-”

“Dionaea muscipula,” She said, biting her lip as she smiled at him, “This is so cool! Where on earth did- I had a paper last semester on the ways to study their electrophysiology you just have to read- oh thank you!”

“English, please?” Emily asked, though the warmth flooded her chest when her sister threw her arms around a very rigid Spencer.

Thinking she should grab her and warn her the man disliked touch almost as much as she does, she was surprised to see him give her a small embrace back, smiling proudly the way he did when he’d made someone happy.

“Piège à mouches Vénus,” Her sister responded cockily, tugging herself away from the tall man, to inspect her new plant, well aware that Emily rolled her eyes at her use of French, “Venus Fly Trap. I’ve never seen one so young, still I should be able to pull some slides on the Rhizomes in the soil-”

Emily put a hand to her temple, JJ smiling widely as she saw for once Spencer be the one on the receiving end of an earful, chuckling to himself when she began dishing out name ideas for the sapling.

“Holy shit, there’s two of them,” Morgan grumbled, nudging his shoulder into Emily who simply sighed, her migraine already starting as Reid began jumping in with his own thoughts, which didn’t take much effort.

“Don’t even,”

+3. The one where you’re taken hostage

“Tell us about the 911 call,” Spencer requests, flicking through the file himself beside her in the back seat. She had her own set of paperwork in front of her, her pen attached to a clipboard the lanyard around her neck reading her real, honest credentials, unlike the fake ones Emily and Reid were given. She’d been to one of these sects before, invited kindly as part of her research on the effect isolation has on cultivation of crops, knew one of the mother’s well from her last research paper, and had managed to get the group a foot in the door to entering the Separtarian Sect with little fuss.

Hotch, usually hesitant to allow outsiders in on the job, especially as young and spirited as Bugsy, had to admit it would calm any potential unsubs and make them see the team as unthreatening if they had a friendly face there. He’d signed the papers with a frown that morning, and they were on their way to the little apartment the girl occupied just outside Baltimore, sample tubes stuffed into her pack ready.

“I believe the he that they refer to is the church’s leader, Benjamin Cyrus,” Nancy, a woman from child protective services, replied from the driver's seat, Emily thumbing through her papers as they neared the compound.

“Benjamin Cyrus, no criminal record; no record of him at all actually,” Reid replied, watching Bugsy scribbling notes into her lab book, perfecting her report before she had even begun, “What else do you know about him?”

“The sect I spoke to before, the one in Utah, said he was rumoured to be practising polygamy and forced marriages,” The younger woman said, looking back at him with a frown, “They were much more modern in their beliefs than these guys. Last time I spoke to Marina she was happy there, I can’t see why she would want to move here,”

Spencer looked as if he were about to answer, perhaps to tell her he was sure her contact would be just fine, when Emily shrugged and turned to Nancy.

“Do we know who the caller is?” She asked, sipping her now lukewarm coffee out of the disposable cup.

Nancy’s head tilted in a so-so motion, “Uh, Jessica Evansen is the one who the age fits, but we can’t be sure.”

“Well given their view on outsiders, it would be best if you didn’t identify us as FBI.” Emily instructed, handing Reid his new, fake credentials and his gun she’d kept in her bag through customs. “Just use our real names and introduce us as child victim interview experts.” Nancy nodded, the compound coming into view, the dust flurrying under the car wheels as the road turned into nothing more than a sandy path.

A guard seemed to be expecting their arrival as he stood, unarmed at the main gate, unlatching the bolt in the middle and opening it wide for their vehicle to pass through. She nodded in thanks, her eyes flicking out the dirty window to see a collection of mobile homes surrounding a large church, a few smaller outbuildings dotted around the compound. It was quiet, not full of laughter like the last group she had been to, the children nowhere to be seen, only a few of the handier members of the flock that were either fixing up walls, trimming trees besides a man sprawled too casually on the steps of the chapel, a bible in his hands he seemed to be catching up on.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the man that barely batted an eye at their arrival, the safety locks flicking off each of the doors, Nancy collecting her briefcase and exiting the car first.

She had all but reached for the handle when Emily stopped her, swivelling in her seat to look her dead in the eye.

“Your job is mediator, you got that?” Her sister had never looked more serious, but then again she did know her almost too well, “You and your field research are a… buffer between our investigation and the unsub. Just try to take the focus off what we’re doing, but do not provoke anyone,”

She raised her hands in innocence, “Got it, jeez, what could I possibly do that could ruin this investigation?”

Emily stared back at her blankly, unnamused, as if they both knew there was a lot she could, and would, do that would blow the whole thing.

“You look like mom when you give me that look,” She bit back, leaving the car, as Nancy spoke to the man laying on the steps, “It’s terrible,”

“I’m looking for Mr Benjamin Cyrus?” Nancy reported, her tight, knee length skirt and blouse entirely out of place amongst the dirt track.

“You found him,” The man replied, still not so much as granting them a glance of interest as he flicked through his passages.

“I’m Nancy Lunde, we spoke on the phone regarding the allegation,” She replied, which was the only thing that garnered his attention as he looked up at them behind slightly bent reading glasses.

“Savages they call us; because our manners differ from theirs,” He said, though it was clear it wasn’t entirely his own words, more likely a segment of his preach he’d repeated a handful of times. Bugsy tried to hide her disgust behind her hand tightening around her lab books she kept tightly to her chest.

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr Cyrus,” Nancy snipped as he approached the group, pocketing the glasses though he kept hold of the bible in hand as if it was part of his own arm.

“Actually it’s Benjamin Franklin,” Spencer murmured to the woman, which had Cyrus’ cold brown eyes narrowing at the tall man, assessing for a motive.

“Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid. They’re child victim interview experts,” Nancy introduced them quickly, the two of them flashing their badges, the unofficial ones at least. Gesturing to the youngest woman, she introduced her with her real name, his gaze flicking to her as he seemed to recognise it.

“Marina’s friend? The plant lady?” He asked, face half amused as she fought her lip from twitching into a sneer. Instead she smiled, holding out her hand.

“That’s what they call me,” She said, shaking his hand, ignoring the way he flashed her a cheshire cat smile, “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by, Marina said I could take some samples for my research,”

He laughed, shaking his head, looking at Spencer, “Women and their flowers, right?” Spencer swallowed back a retort, shrugging his shoulders, though Bugsy’s eye twitched. Benjamin patted her on her shoulder, “Of course you can honey, I’ll find Jared, our head gardner, and you can run along for your research,”

He said it as if she were lying, that her degree and endless hours of work would only ever chalk up to a few doodles in a notebook, or a garden full of hydrangeas, or tulips, or roses, because she couldn’t possibly care about anything else but pretty flowers.

Nodding her head graciously, choking back the hateful response she wished to spit in his face, she gave him a polite thankyou, feeling Spencer’s eyes burning into the side of her head.

“The children are in the school as I indicated,” Cyrus said, turning back to the other three, Emily and Nancy taking off in the direction he pointed, the former knowing her sister was at risk of blowing a fuse if they were here for long.

Spencer hung back, partially because he had a plan of distraction in mind to allow the women a chance to speak with the children whilst Cyrus wasn’t around, partially because he didn’t want to leave Bugsy anywhere on her own. Sure, Emily had said they were both trained in self defence when they were kids, but with no weapon of her own, he was reluctant.

“You're using solar power?” He prompted, gesturing towards where the eight blue panels warmed under the Colorado sun.

“We’re completely self-sufficient,” Benjamin nodded along, catching the impressed look on both their faces, “Electricity, food, water. Ben Franklin said ‘God helps those that help themselves,’ you look surprised,”

“No, impressed actually,” Spencer replied, and he wasn’t entirely lying. The system was incredibly complex, particularly if they received no help from outsiders, for as many people as there were in the compound.

“Thankyou; for admitting that,” Cyrus said earnestly, flicking his gaze back to Bugsy who studied the solar panels, “I’ll go find Jared, he can take you to the greenhouses,”

Thanking him again, he led the way towards the school where Nancy and Emily had headed, as the two of them exchanged a look, Spencer smiling half piteously, wishing he could shake her and tell her just how smart she was and that Cyrus knew absolutely nothing.

He didn’t miss the way she walked closer to him, or how she thumbed the corner of her notebook, or how she looked back at him, biting the inside of her cheek. He thinks he might get slapped if he pointed it out, but Emily had the exact same tell when she was nervous, which is why he bumps their shoulders together in means of reassuring her he was still there.

It was only then she gave him any sort of smile back.

Jared, as expected, had been just as condescending and patronising as Benjamin whilst she slipped on her latex gloves, scooping no more than a handful of homemade fertiliser into one of her test tubes. It had been a partial cover, their story, but she had been telling the truth when she’d contacted Marina and asked if she could drop by. She’d been meaning to expand her field research in hopes of stumbling on a job opportunity since she spent most of her postgraduate days reading while her cat pawed at her leg for more treats than he deserved, the odd phone call with her sister much more common than it had been before.

She didn’t miss the way Jared’s hand fell into the small of her back as he led her back towards the school, after having noted down a few more readings, fussing over the state of the carrots that seemed to grow entirely naturally thanks to the systems they’d been smart enough to set up. He seemed rather bored by the whole thing, for a head gardener, more interested in staring at her legs as she leaned down to identify the fat black beetle that crawled along the rockery.

It wasn’t until they were halfway to the school that the sound of tyres on a dirt path met her ears, and she saw five armoured SUVs out the corner of her eye.

She hadn’t even the time to question what was going on, before Jared’s face dropped, the hand gently holding the soft of her back grabbing on her forearm hard enough to leave bruises, as he was dragging her to the chapel they had seen when they had pulled up.

Emily had said the rest of the team stayed in Quantico, if it wasn’t them, who was it.

“Whats going on- who is that?” She asked him lamely, her feet stumbling as she half fought his heavy hand off.

That was when the shooting started.

She thinks it came from the compound first, she’d seen two men stationed on top of one of the outbuildings, thinking nothing much of it, until she saw clearly now the assault rifles they bore, pointing it straight at the vehicles that drew closer. The whistle of bullets, bangs of the chambers emptying their artillery, and it wasn’t until she heard the doors to the SUVs start opening, more gunfire began hitting the wall ahead of them that she started running. Running fast, for the cover the church provided until she figured out just what the fuck was happening.

Jared all but threw her past the chapel door, where Cyrus and four other men were waiting, a heavy barricade in their hands, her chest pounding with adrenaline, she couldn’t help the yelp that left her as Cyrus whirled on her, grabbing her shoulders firmly and looking her dead in the eye.

“Did you know anything about this?” He asked, his calm demeanour cracking when she scrambled for a response, “ANSWER ME,”

“No-no not at all.” She shook her head, voice weaker than she’d like, but the sight of more guns in the men’s hands twisted any resolve she had, “Where are the others- the- the experts-”

“Take her into the tunnels,” Cyrus ignored her question, nodding at one of his men to grab her as Jared armed himself. She felt another callused hand yank on her upper arm, and part of her wondered if that was how men handled all women here, as if they were herding cattle, as she was dragged down into the catacombs below the church.

They’d made plans for a day like this to come, she realised.

Her heart constricted at the sound of bullets rattling above them, she hadn't been able to tell in that last moment whether Cyrus believed her or not as, nor whether she was being taken to the tunnels for her own safety or to be questioned harder about the gunmen.

She could only hope Emily was safe.

She felt her tongue too big for her mouth as the man all but shoved her into the bunker, the nervous chatter of women and children, some of the more elderly men, as they clung to one another for safety, the scathing remark she would have usually made about his heavy hands failing her as she scanned the room for her sister.

Emily was faster however, and she nearly yelped again as two bony arms yanked her into a hug, a rare one, and she knew by the blazer and the sigh of relief in her ear it was Em.

Usually she would bat her off, tell her to stop fussing like a mother hen, but today she embraced her right back, trying to note if her sister had any bullet holes in her before she allowed herself the same relief.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Emily asked, the whole thing coming out in a slew of worry, and she nodded, pulling away as if she needed to see the proof in person.

Bugsy’s eyes were wild, as if she were a doe in a meadow hearing a rifle cocking near. No scratch that, she was a doe being chased and shot at and hunted, narrowly escaping being mounted on a wall.

“They were all shit shots,” Bugsy said, through a laugh she didn’t quite mean, “You would have done much better.”

Patting her sister on the shoulder, Emily finally released her when she realised the humour meant she at least had her head on her shoulders. Spencer watched her with meticulous eyes, knowing the shock that registered on her face, knowing it was the same one he wore when he first had shots fired at him. He saw her own eyes quickly check him over, satisfied with a breath of relief when she saw they were both fine.

“Where’s Lunde?” Emily asked, and she realised then Cyrus had followed her down into the shelter, two of his men grabbing handfuls of guns she had never seen before, likely imported out of country, and returning to the ground level, preparing for more shooting.

“It wasn’t us,” Cyrus replied, as if that negated the fact their recklessness had gotten the agent killed.

“What? You can’t shoot it out with the cops, you have children in here,” Emily seethed, her voice harsh and incredulous.

“I didn’t start this,” Cyrus bit back, looking towards his men as they grabbed boxes on boxes of ammunition, “I’ll take the front, you take the roof,”

And with that they stormed their way back through the tunnels, leaving the three of them to look between each other, knowing this could only end badly. Knowing the only people that could figure out how to get them out of this mess was the BAU, all 1,700 miles away.

–

They’d been in the bunker for fourteen hours when there was finally movement. The shooting seemed to have quietened down, in which Spencer whispered it was around 11pm and it was likely neither party had a clear shot. She’d managed to fall asleep leaning against the wall, Emily’s blazer draped over her legs. She’d regretted wearing cropped pants, despite how the shade of green complimented her eyes nicely, and she’d been shivering by the time she fell asleep, Emily’s hands stroking her hair gently as if she knew she was struggling to relax.

She hadn’t realised she was staring at her little sister, frowning even as she slept, which made part of her want to laugh, until she caught Spencer’s tired eyes looking between them, something knowing and warm in his gaze.

“You know, she’s always scowled in her sleep, ever since she was born,” Emily said, quiet enough it didn’t interrupt the hum of small snores, the odd baby cry that filled the bunker, but loud enough for him to smile at her, “She used to sleep walk terrible too. I’d find her in the kitchen trying to make pancakes with a cheese grater. It’s like that big brain of hers doesn’t know how to shut off,” Emily shook her head with a fatigue, rubbing her eyes.

“Was it weird? Being fourteen years older?” Spencer asked, his own hands shoved into his sleeves to try defend from the draught. Emily thought for a moment, her hand slowing for a second on her sister's hair, before she answered.

“I felt guilty leaving her in that house with my mom when I went to college,” Emily answered, Bugsy unconsciously tucking her face closer into the jacket, “I think part of her kind of hated me for it for a while.” She went quiet, the shame in her voice thick as the silence that encompassed them, “She’s never been very affectionate you know? Before her graduation I don’t think I’d hugged her in twelve years,”

Spencer held himself back from pointing out that she had been just as touchy with him since they’d met, and that maybe it was Emily’s own regret that seemed to shut the both of them down. He wasn’t one to rub salt in the wound, not since he’d gotten this job and learned to watch what he said.

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to give her advice, knowing the whole subject of their slowly repairing relationship was a sore one. He had no siblings of his own, had a mother who loved him despite how much she grappled with her own mind, and he had only known the girl briefly enough to consider her a friend at a push.

“I always thought the two of you were similar,” Emily chose to continue, offering him a small smile. He returned it, his face blushing at the fact that was a huge compliment to him, “Granted, you roll your eyes at me less and don’t act like I’m dumb, but you remind me of her,”

“Thankyou, I wish that were true,” He replied, eyes flicking to her sleeping form, the way her eyebrows were indeed scrunched in a permanent frown. He wondered if she was actually angry, or if she was just thinking hard, perhaps her dreams were full of equations or labs she needed to sort through. Either way, he wanted to know. “She’s much cooler than I’ll ever be,”

Emily snorted, shuffling against the wall to cosy herself, “That’s one way to put it,” She said, smiling over at him as he did the same, his head resting against the wall, Bugsy’s legs stretching out to knock against his feet, and he didn’t mind that she scuffed the bottom of his already dirty trousers. “Get some sleep,”

And so they did.

–

Cyrus had corralled the whole flock into the church, where the shooting had stopped and the bodies had been removed, stating at the break of dawn that there was a hostage negotiator coming in to make sure everyone was safe before they made any deals.

She sat next to Spencer, the three of them stiff from their sleeping arrangements, and her stomach churned with hunger. It had been over 24 hours since they’d gotten here, and besides the small bit of bread and water Cyrus gave everyone for breakfast, she was starving.

“Remind me to never leave the house, ever again,” She grumbled, as everyone waited in the pews for the negotiator to arrive, “My cat is gonna be pissed I’ve not fed him,”

“Since when did you get a cat?” Emily inputted from the other side of Reid, keeping one eye on the door in case any agents start shooting again.

The girl shrugged, “I got lonely, there’s not much to do now I’m not studying anymore,”

Reid watched how she clutched her stomach, feeling his own complaining at the lack of nutrition, “Morgan wasn’t lying when he said you should sign up for the academy. We could always use the help, we wouldn’t have solved that case in Baltimore without you,”

She snickered, nudging his foot with her boot, “You’re being modest, you would have done it just fine,”

He was a little, wasn’t surprised she called his bluff either. “Okay, so probably yes- but it would have taken us a whole lot longer. Mr Chernus likely would have died,”

She shook her head, glancing at Emily who watched her carefully, “That was all you guys. I just translated.”

Emily and Spencer exchanged a glance, leaning back in their uncomfortable seats calmly.

“You’re probably right,” Spencer said, dusting the dirt off his trousers, “Probably couldn’t handle it, high intensity mind games and such,”

She blanched, looking at him as if he’d grown a second head, not knowing him to be so brutally honest, realistic yes, but not bordering on rude.

“And it’s a lot of work,” Emily jumped in, her mouth a straight line, “I don’t know if you’d be dedicated enough,”

Bugsy scoffed, indifferently. “I have a masters degree, I was offered a scholarship to do a PHD, asked to be an assistant professor at Yale, I can work hard, Emily,” She snipped, and perhaps she was particularly just hangry or they had struck a nerve with their doubt, “and I could do it if I wanted to, I’d have the best shot they’d ever seen, guaranteed- mom made me take lessons when you left- trust me I could do it-”

She shut up when she saw their small smile exchanged, as if she’d told them a joke, or moreso they’d had the same identical thought and that alone was hilarious.

Scowling at them, she looked from where Spencer looked almost, almost, guilty at making her the butt of the joke, to where Emily had a ‘told you so’ smirk, and she kissed her teeth at their childishness.

“Are you guys reverse psychology-ing me? Seriously, so original guys,” She snapped, crossing her arms and straightening herself in her seat, ignoring the snigger that passed between them.

“You’re not wrong though,” Emily replied quietly as Cyrus walked past them, his eyes falling to them with a frown. Bugsy kept her head down, heeding Emily’s warning of not provoking anyone, and Spencer eyed the way she leaned closer to him.

If she was going to retaliate, whether agreeing or not, she stopped herself, the doors the church opening and an older gentleman walking through the doors, arms full of supplies she’d figured must have been part of the negotiation. He was patted down by an armed guard, searching for his own weapons do doubt, or a wire perhaps, as he handed the box over to another who took it without a thankyou.

“Rossi,” She heard Reid whisper beside her, and from the look he shot Emily and Spencer she gathered he was from the BAU, just as they’d expected. His eyes fell on her, softening as alot of Emily’s team did when they saw the two of them, as if they were picking her face apart for the tiny ways in which she resembled their Prentiss, or maybe it was the way she curled up in her seat, tired, hungry, on the defence. He just looked sorry for her.

“The children,” Cyrus said with no greeting, the air between them particularly frosty. He gestured towards the three of them, though Rossi had already clocked their tired faces staring at him with worry, “And our guests,”

She saw him trying not to react, guessing they had not let it slip to Cyrus he worked with the two undercover FBI agents, looking away from them as if the sight of their forlorn figures was enough to turn him sick.

Judging by the way Cyrus and he spoke quietly, tensely, Bugsy just hoped they had a plan to get them out of here soon as he soon left with a rigid handshake to the man keeping them hostage.

–

The three of them had been moved to a backroom a few hours later. Her stomach ached, the little sustenance Rossi had brought being distributed to the community before they’d been offered anything, which hadn’t left much. Reid and Emily had tried to get her to take some of their sharing, and despite how her insides cried out for it, she declined, stating they would be more use than she would; that they needed their strength more than her if they were going to get out of here alive.

The two of them hadn’t liked that answer judging by the frowns on their faces, but they sat in their seats with little fuss as they waited for things to quieten down after Cyrus’ staged “mass suicide” that had turned out to be nothign more than a test of loyalty and grape juice.

They had been sat in silence, aside from her foot bouncing on the floor impatiently, as she picked at the threads on her pants, the material uncomfortable on her skin after a day of wearing it. The door slammed open, Cyrus entering the room with nasty scowl. She didn’t know what had changed in the man in a matter of hours as he stormed over to them, two of his men behind him, loaded rifles in their arms.

This was not good.

“Which one of you is it?” He asked almost too calm for his demeanour, his eyes flicking between the three of them, where Emily attempted to brush her hair using her fingers, Reid played with the hem of his cardigan, an she sat beside him, resting against the cold stone wall behind them, her eyes narrowing at his furious expression.

The three of them remained silent, waiting for him to explain more, though clearly it was not the answer he was looking for as he threw his jacket open, revealing a loaded pistol tucked into his jeans. Drawing it into his dominant hand, her body tensed up, her back straightening like a rod as she looked up at him through fear.

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?” He repeated in that same calm tone, and her heart fell through her stomach.

She opened her mouth to say something in retaliation, though the way she saw his hand shaking with fury, she knew it was better to stay quiet in case her voice would be the final straw that made him trigger happy.

“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” Spencer replied softly, and if he was panicking even a fraction amount she was he held it back, though his eyes flicked to Emily.

But it was a tell. The smallest movement alone was a tell he was lying, or perhaps it was the fact he’d answered a question with one of his own, distracting from the attention on them with the unsubs own answers. Maybe his quiet and calm showed how trained he was for a situation like this, showed he had gone up against bad guys before and won.

Whatever it was about him, it had Cyrus cocking the barrel of the gun straight at Spencer’s temple.

“God forgive me for what I must do,” The preacher murmured, his finger moments away from the trigger, when she lurched forward in her seat, hand shooting out to grab his wrist deathly tight.

“It’s me,”

She hadn’t realised she’d said it until the room went quiet. She thought for a moment it had come from Emily, Emily had always been the braver of the two of them, but it wasn’t until Cyrus’ unforgiving, dark gaze fell to her where she froze in her spot, that she understood her mouth had been the one moving.

Emily looked as if she was about to vomit, Spencer looked dumbfounded, but all she could do was stare back at Cyrus as if to will herself not to back down, knowing all three of them could fall victim if she gave them reason to doubt her; he could kill all three of them just to be sure the mystery agent was dealt with.

“It’s me,” She repeated, voice stronger this time, and she felt her chest relax just the tiniest amount as he turned the gun away from Spencer’s head.

He stared back at her for a moment, before the weapon smacked across her face in a sharp whip, her cheekbone crying out in a sting she knew was going to bruise.

He grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck, yanking her into a stand hard enough she yelped, despite not wanting to give him the satisfaction of the torture.

“Watch the other two,” Cyrus barked, dragging her out of the room as she squirmed under his hand, feeling it only tighten into an unforgiving pull.

She barely caught Emily bolting out of her seat to yell at the other men, all but fighting in their heavy grasp to follow wherever it was he was taking her, only for the door to be slammed shut behind them.

It was only then she realised how fucked she truly was.

–

She struggled to breath through the blood clotting in her nose. She didn’t think it was broken, not that she could check where her hands had been tied to the bedpost, tape over her mouth to stop her calling for help, her feet bound. She’d done nothing but give him hell as he’d been laying into her, keeping her cries and groans of pain silent as he’d kicked her in the ribs hard enough to know he’d damaged something at least.

She’d not made it easy for him to tie her down, worried about what they were planning next, she’d managed to headbutt him in the mouth, and the way he clutched at his jaw when he’d left gave her a sick satisfaction, though her temple now hurt more than she’d like to admit. But they’d only covered her mouth after she’d screamed obscenities at them for an hour or so, hoping to attract attention, hoping if the BAU were on their way, Emily and Reid would be able to find her fast before they could dispose of her.

Bugsy didn’t want to go like this. Tied up like cattle, gagged and beaten, the spirit kicked out of her as the dehydration gnawed at her limbs, making her too weak to even try wriggling out of the binds.

She felt herself dropping off to sleep, or maybe it was a concussion, he’d slammed her face into that mirror quite viciously, she wouldn’t be surprised if it had rattled her head around. Fighting with her eyelids to stay open, she jumped in her battered skin as the door unlatched, and she thrashed on the rickety bed to get away from the impending second beating.

But it wasn’t Cyrus. A fawn haired woman entered, her eyes falling on the girl on the bed, where blood trickled down her cheek, pouring from her nose like a thick liquor. Frowning, she was on high alert as the woman approached, a small, damp cloth in her hand.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you honey,” She hushed, approaching the young girl. Bugsy didn’t believe her for one second, her head pulling away from her as far as it could, her eyes wild and distrustful as the woman kneeled down beside the bed. “I’m Kathy,”

Bugsy debated jabbing an elbow in her face then and there, telling her in few words to stay as far away from her as possible, that the moment she was free she didn’t care who she hurt; she was getting out of here even if she had to crawl.

“That woman’s your sister right?” The blonde said, and the words stopped her heart for a moment, giving the woman the chance to run the cloth over the dribble of blood, “Emily,”

“Where is she?” She tried to ask, but the gag made it little more than a muffled cry, the woman’s eyes turning down in sadness. Pity. Bugsy hated every second of it.

“She’s okay, she’s worried about you though,” Kathy said, wiping under her nose, making her wince at the feeling, “Put up a hell of a fight after they took you away,”

She must have rolled her eyes, or perhaps it was just telling on her face that that didn’t surprise her as the older woman wiped over the superficial cut on her forehead she hadn’t realised was deep until the cloth went over it and she yawped like a dog having it’s tail pulled.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Kathy cooed, and she seemed genuinely guilty as she did. She tutted, shaking her head, fighting the urge to smooth the girls hair down the way she did when her own daughter was upset, “Emily said they’ll be coming for us at 3am, Cyrus has a mass suicide planned but they think they can stop him, you just have to hold on a little longer honey,”

“I want to see her,” Bugsy tried to talk again despite her mouth being covered, only for it to come out unintelligible once more. Huffing, she resigned herself to glaring at the ceiling, biting back frustrated tears. Kathy seemed to want to say something else, but thought better of it as the twenty something year old turned away from her to stare out the window, as if she were being dismissed.

Sighing, she rose from the bed and headed for the door, praying the FBI would get them out in time, before Cyrus put his plan into action.

–

Bugsy didn’t start panicking until it hit 2:50. She’d managed to kick the small analogue clock on the beside into working, the red numbers seeming to take a millenia to change over.

Yet it wasn’t until 3am neared, and the hallways remained silent, did she start to wonder if Kathy had been telling the truth at all. What if they had found out Emily and Reid were FBI and not her? What if they’d already been caught?

She really had wanted to see Emily, wanted to scream at the woman, who had meant well, to bring her sister to her or she would make every damn bible basher in this compound regret the day they were born. She felt helpless. She despised feeling helpless.

It was only when she heard shots rattling from outside did the cold fear set in. 2:52. Any minute now.

It was then an even worse thought struck her. What if they didn’t bother to come for her? Reid and Emily were safe downstairs, at least that was how Kathy had made it seem. If they got the women and children, the agents out first, she wondered if they would leave her for last since she wasn’t their top priority.

2:53 stared back at her.

At least Emily would make it. She was more important, had more going for her. She was supposed to be an only child anyway, mom had said it herself. Bugsy was the product of a failing marriage and a shared bottle of 1896 Bourbon that had been a wedding gift they’d never opened.

2:54.

She could have sworn she tore something the way her head snapped to the door as it swung open on its hinges, as if two large men had thrown their weight into it. But it wasn’t two men at all, just one frantic Derek Morgan with an FBI grade assault rifle.

The relief in his eyes was immediate, and he pulled a pocket knife from his boot, rushing over to where she lay, almost in shock, wondering if he was real at all, her heart pounding as she heard shouting in the corridor.

“I’m gonna get you out, kid,” The man promised, slinging his gun over his shoulder as he sliced through the rope on her ankles, her eyes trained on the 2:55 that watched them as if to laugh at them.

She whimpered, cursing behind her gag when she heard footsteps pounding through the hallway, and she was sure they were going to get caught. She thought then it would have been better if they’d forgotten about her, that at least Derek would have been safe, and he could have made sure the children got out safely, could have gotten Spencer and Emily medical.

Derek whirled on the doorway the same as she did as a tall figure all but skidded around the corner, his legs weak as hers felt, too long and not at all built for running. Clumsy almost.

Spencer. She should have known from the way he looked white as a sheet the moment he saw her it was him, but maybe she really did have concussion, as it seemed within moments he was fussing over her face, tearing a little too sharply at the tape over her mouth.

She thinks she groaned, or maybe cursed him out, as he started apologising immediately, his eyes a puppy kind of sad as she stared up at him, Derek handing him the knife to cut her arms free.

He was talking, but she couldn’t make a lot of it out, just that he was really sorry, it was 2:56 now. It was like her brain switched itself back on when she realised she was free, and the two of them were trying to haul her to her feet.

“Come on, princess, we gotta get out of here,” Derek said, as Spencer looped an arm around her waist, helping her limp across the room where her weak limbs did little to hold her upright, her ribs throbbing with every step, “We managed to stop Cyrus from detonating it manually, but the circuits are all still live,”

Morgan took the lead with the rifle, knowing some of Cyrus’ men had stayed to look for them, that they would go down with the building even though he’d already shot their leader the moment they’d breached the front door, because that was how loyal they were. They’d proven so already with the wine.

She kept her groans behind tight lips as they made it down the stairs, knowing Spencer didn’t mean to hold her bruised bones so tight, that he was just worried and her legs were doing the bare minimum to keep them both moving very fast. It wasn’t until they made it within a few feet of the door that they seemed to pick up the pace.

And she saw why.

Jesse, Cyrus’ child bride that had been the reason they’d come here in the first place was holding the detonator, her face tear streaked at the sight of her husband and prophet dead on the floor, the people responsible all but dragging a lame girl through the foyer and to the doors as if they hadn’t killed a handful of her flock tonight.

Bugsy saw the moment Jesse decided she wanted vengeance on them, but then, she guessed Spencer had already acted as he slung one of her arms over his shoulder, yanking her out the front door in a matter of seconds as Morgan pulled up the rear, and the two men shoved her down behind the small wall outside the church steps.

Bugsy expected the bang to be louder as the rubble flew over their heads, the floor shaking with the impact of the bomb detonating, and it was then she realised one of Derek’s large warm hands held her head into his shoulder, protecting her already rattled skull as best as he could. Spencer had done the same, throwing half his body over her back as he covered his ears, the two men tucking into the wall tightly and waiting for the dust to settle.

Spencer started coughing first, though his position over her never faltered, and she heard his chest wheezing, and knew they needed to move away from the thick smog that blew into their faces. Morgan released her ear, tipping her head back to check her over once more.

“Kid! You okay?” He fretted, noticing the way her nose had started bleeding again from all the movement; the way the bruise had already started blotching her cheek from where Cyrus pistol whipped her.

“I didn’t think you’d come for me,” Was all she could say, and Derek thought it was the saddest he’d ever heard her.

Reid was pulling her to her feet then, where he was still hovering over her, despite the fact the blast had already cleared, still sputtering and hocking up a lung, but it didn’t stop her from throwing herself at his middle, burying her face in his dusty sweater, not caring one bit if he jostled her aching ribs.

He was trying to be gentle with her as he squeezed her back, but she knew by the way he pressed his face into her hair he needed it just as badly.

“You saved my life,” He said, his long arms wrapping around her waist, hauling her whole body against his.

She laughed through a cough, their cheeks brushing past one another as she pulled him in tighter, thankful, relieved.

“You saved mine,”

And then she heard Emily. Emily, who sounded frantic and heartbroken as she called for her, her voice breaking as if she was crying, or atleast on the verge of, and as comforting as Spencer’s long arms around her cracked ribs were, she needed to see her sister was okay.

Ripping herself from his embrace immediately, she tore off after the sound, and there she was. Her older sister, who had always seemed immovable, like she wouldn’t so much as budge for a bucking horse, like water couldn’t drown her, or however many unsubs she’d faced could stop her from catching them. Her older sister, who looked like she’d taken a few punches of her own, judging by the blood on her blue blouse, that looked around the crowd of fleeing people with watery eyes and a shaking bottom lip.

“EMILY,” She yelled, her voice a bleat, a lamb calling for its mother, as she sprinted down the steps, whatever strength she had left carrying her to where Emily was rushing towards her, taking the stairs in threes, “EM-”

She crashed into her sister’s chest, and it was only then she started crying.

“I swear I’ll never give you trouble again, I’ll never talk back, I’ll never be a bitch ever again-” It was all a slew of mumbles against her sisters shirt, that was beginning to wet through at the rate the tears were coming, “I thought he was going to shoot you-”

“I was so scared, Bug, oh my god,” Emily murmured into her hair, squeezing the life out of her baby sister that sniffled and sobbed, “You don’t ever, ever do that to me again,”

Bugsy shook her head, clawing at Emily’s back as she pulled her closer, feeling Emily stroking her hair softly to calm her even in the slightest. They stayed like that until she managed to wrangle her sobs into little sniffs, the fire burning her eyes where it burned the rest of the church to ashes.

She stayed with Emily for a month after that.

+4. The one where you leave the altar.

She knew she was turning heads, walking down the street of a drizzly day in Virginia, hair wet and sticking to her face, makeup running down her cheeks, and the sodden, dove white wedding dress clasped in her hands as she paced towards the government building.

Whether the guards recognised her as the Ambassador’s daughter, or whether they really didn’t want to get into it with a bride looking like that on her day, she didn’t know, but they opened the door for her nonetheless, exchanging raised brows as a trail of wet followed her gown over the marble floors.

Heading up the desk, she flashed her driver's licence, which was enough to gain her a visitors pass she didn’t bother putting to use as she headed for the elevator, her ballet pumps squeaking under the body of the dress. Waiting for the doors to start closing when she finally let a few tears slip, burying her face into her cold, drenched palms, undoubtedly making the mess of mascara even worse.

Her heart gave a leap when she heard someone stop the doors, hoping she could get to her sister with little delay, and she quickly wiped her face with whatever was left of her pretty, dobby cloth shawl she had yanked on before she’d ran.

Whatever excuse she was about to give, whatever one liner she was about to drop to clear the awkwardness this agent was about to walk in on was sucked out of her when she saw Spencer staring at her, his briefcase in his hands he’d used to hold the doors, a wide eyed look plastered on his face as soon as he saw her state.

“Bugsy,” It was somewhere between surprise and sadness, jumping into the elevator before the metal could shut again, the button for the sixth floor already lit up in a ring of red, “What are you- I didn’t even know…”

“Spencer!” As seemed to be a common occurrence between them now, she threw two very cold arms over his shoulders, tugging him for a hug he quickly reciprocated, feeling like she needed it in the moment, “It was so awful, I just couldn’t all those people staring at me, and he- I just feel so-”

“Hey slow down,” He soothed, slipping his favourite cardigan off his body to put over her shoulders, ignoring the way he cringed as it quickly got sodden, “Let’s get you to Emily, I’m sure we can fix this,”

She nodded, though he could tell she was still shaken up, the elevator dinging to a stop on the fifth floor where an agent looked ready to step in, his face dropping when he saw the sight.

“Sorry, we’re full,” Spencer said, with little room for discussion, pressing the button to close the doors once more, and taking her by the elbow as she began shivering, “We’re gonna be just fine, you look beautiful,”

She laughed sadly with a roll of her eyes, the tears sticking to her cheeks. She knew she looked no better than a drowned rat, windswept and disgruntled, her dress full of muck from the street.

“Thankyou, Spencer,” She mumbled, the door sliding open to the sixth floor, where Penelope and her everlasting smile greeted her favourite boy genius.

She almost dropped her glitter pen when she saw the woman stood next to him looking like Dorothy dragged through the twister.

“Oh you poor little lamb, what has happened to you honey!” She all but cried, the cute little pom poms in her hair bouncing as she brought Bugsy closer, taking her hands tightly. “Your hands are ice! You’ll catch cold with that wet hair, and your gorgeous dress-”

“Garcia,” Spencer cut her off, though the woman didn’t seem to mind being manhandled into the kind grip, he guessed her state had her letting her guard down, “This is Bugsy, Emily’s little sister.”

Penelope gasped, her ponytails swishing around some more, the gems on her glasses as bright as the light in her eyes as she yanked the younger girl in for a tight hug.

“It is so nice to meet you! Emily talks about you all the time,” She said, pulling away and fumbling through her pockets for her fresh pink handkerchief she always carried around, mopping up the girl's eyeliner.

“She-she does?” Bugsy asked, sniffling, her body trembling as the AC beat down through the water ladened on her body.

“Of course she does, come on, let’s go get you coffee, I have a new machine in my office that makes the best espresso-” Garcia grabbed her hand as if they were kids in the playground, as if she’d known the girl years, which she sort of had. She had, of course, stalked every single one of Emily’s known relatives, even a distant cousin that never left Europe, and that had thrown up the quiet corner of the internet that Bugsy took up.

“I needed to talk to my sister, if that’s okay,” Bugsy braved enough to say, the swishing of her dress on the carpet making her wince, practically hearing the gallon of rain that soaked the expensive fabric.

“Ofcourse! How silly of me, I’ll bring it out right to you, little bug. You just go with Spencer,” Handing him the handkerchief, she set off towards her ‘bat cave’ in search of a hot beverage for the shivering woman, “Spencer, clean her makeup!”

He did as he was told, dabbing the water off her face as he led her to the BAU, where Emily and Morgan sat on their desks, chatting as they finished off lunch, Emily flicking through photos on her phone of baby Henry that JJ had sent over to her that morning from maternity leave.

“He’s just the sweetest little boy, he’s got the biggest blue eyes just like Jayj,” She said through a smile, “You know Will even said-”

“Holy shit-” Morgan cut her off, and she glanced at him, wondering about his use of a curse. Following his eyes over her shoulder, she swivelled in her position to see where Spencer led a very wet, shaken version of her little sister through the doors of the BAU, a snowy ball gown hanging off her, a veil clinging to her hair that had seen much better days.

“Holy shit,” She agreed, immediately darting for the girl that tugged Spencer’s cardigan tighter to her body, “Bugsy,”

“Emily, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t take up too much time- I just couldn’t do it- and I know mom’s always saying ‘Bring home a doctor, bring home a rich man,’ but I just couldn’t no matter how rich his daddy is, he wasn’t even too bad-” It all came out in a slur, not making too much sense, and she didn’t stop until Emily held up her hands, as if easing a wild dog.

“Woah, take it easy, kiddo,” Morgan hushed, as Emily brought a hand over her sister’s cheek, wiping away the last of the mascara, “What happened?”

Bugsy took a deep breath, looking between Emily and Derek, feeling the rain drip down her back.

“So a few weeks ago, Mom made me go to that stupid debutante ball,” She started, rolling her eyes already as Emily winced, knowing Elizabeth loved any excuse to dress her youngest up like a Barbie doll.

“I hated those things,” She confessed, shaking her head, “I thought you’d agreed you didn’t have to go to them anymore,”

“That was while I was in college, she said at least I could focus on my studies,” The girl explained, as Garcia tottered back through the office, a steaming cup of coffee in her beloved Bratz mug. Taking it from the chirpy woman, she took a deep gulp, not caring if it burned her mouth as she wished for the damn chill to go away, “Thankyou- But she made me go to this one on the condition she would pay off some of my college loans, and I was dumb enough to fall for her bribe,”

She huffed, taking another sip, her stomach warming with the hot liquid settling through her throat.

“You know how she is at these things, she knows everyone, and everyone knows her. I had four guys asking for my dance card within minutes of arriving there, it was like trying to walk through a dog pound wearing a meat suit, all the hand holding, trying to touch my waist- one guy even called me Madam Prentiss,” She grimaced, shuddering at the thought of it, “Madam? No one even calls mom that-”

“Focus,” Emily reminded gently, and she seemed to nod to herself, setting back on track.

“Right. And then he was there. Byron Hastings.” Bugsy said, wrapping her hands around the mug some more.

“Oh, isn’t he that super yummy bachelor that just inherited his fathers business?” Garcia jumped in, not noticing how it made her wince, “I hear his dad totally owns a bunch of shares in Facebook and as like just signed a deal with a new company that will change the future of computing-”

“Not now, baby girl,” Morgan said calmly, patting Penelope on her shoulder when she saw the bride’s crestfallen face.

“Right, sorry. Your turn, little bug,” She said, shaking her head and fiddling with her dozen rings.

“Yeah, that’s him.” She replied, running a slightly warmed finger over her eyelash where rain even collected there, “And you know, I wasn’t complaining, he was certainly easy on the eyes, and he smelled nice, like he just smelled rich, but man alive he was so boring,” She sighed, “I like computers as much as the next girl, no offence, but he didn’t once ask me what I was into or, and when I tried to bring up my degree he just patted me on the head and said ‘That’s nice’ like I was some child that had brought him a pretty colouring or something,”

“Ouch,” Emily grimaced, rubbing her arms over the cardigan to warm her up a little more, “And then?”

“And eventually, his dad and my mom cut a deal that we’d make a good pair. He said we could be married within the season, and suddenly everyone seemed up for it, and it was like no matter how hard I tried to dig my heels in, no one would listen, and mom just seemed so pleased with me-” She spluttered, sipping her drink to catch her breath, “I just let it happen and just thought, you know, maybe we could learn to like each other, or we could just be like mom and dad and separate in everything but paper,”

“It’s your life, who is she to tell you how you’re gonna live it,” Emily was outraged, the tip of her nose pink, her dark eyes stormy as her hands fell to her hips, huffing as if it had been her backed into a corner, “I can’t believe she would do this to you,”

“I was fine with it, really. It's not like its the fifteenth century when I’d be forced to consummate- anyway,” Bugsy rubbed her face, “I just got there, and mom put on my veil and told me I’d make a lovely Mrs Hastings, and just the sound of it- I couldn’t-”

“What on earth is going on?” A new voice cut through the BAU, and the group disbanded like kids caught trading answers to the homework. Rossi and Hotch stood by the unit chief’s office, brows furrowed at the wet bride and his team that tended to her as if she were a princess.

“Should we be expecting four wet bridesmaids too?” Rossi asked, the two of them making the steps down to the floor, approaching the guilty faced woman, noting Spencer’s cardigan wrapped over her shoulders.

“Nope, just me,” Her joke fell flat as she met the stony face of Aaron Hotchner, who looked thoroughly unimpressed, “Nice to see you again, Mr Hotchner, sir,”

His gaze slid to Emily, mouth opening to share whatever scathing remark bounced around his mouth, but the younger girl beat him to it, everyone’s eyebrows raising when she all but cut him off.

“This wasn’t on Emily, sir, I just showed up out of the blue, I can go- I’ll go- I just need to figure out where I’m staying since I left my purse at the church- don’t you worry I’ll be out of your hair, Aaro- sir,” Bugsy stammered, plonking the mug onto Emily’s desk, backing away to the doors of the office, clutching her visitor pass tight in her fist.

Maybe it was because she looked so hopeless, or maybe it was the way his team shot him the same look of horror he would be so regimental, or maybe even it was the fact part of her reminded him of Sean, only his brother wouldn’t have had the courtesy to apologise for his mess.

Sighing, he gestured her to come back, “Wait,” He said her name, her government name because the other one didn’t fit right in his mouth, “Reid, get her some clothes out your go bag. Emily, tell your mother she’s safe and will be staying in Quantico until you can figure something out,”

Heaving a sigh of relief, she launched her still sodden form at the chief, wrapping him in a stiff hug, bolder than anyone else on the team had ever dared to be.

“I swear to god, Mr Hotchner, the next letter you're getting will be the best one yet,” She mumbled into his hard chest, and he fought off the way the corners of his lips twitched upwards. Patting her on the back gently, he ignored the way his dress shirt wet through.

–

let me know what you think! mAYBE A FEW MORE PARTS COMING UP ??

Edit: This is a part one of 3 or 4 I have planned, thankyou so much for all the love on this I did not expect the reaction 🥺🥺

SECOND EDIT: part two and three are out now!! Have a look at the top where it says ‘next chpt and it’s there bbys!!

THIRD EDIT: we are now balls deep into this universe here's th link for the masterlist

#spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid imagine #Spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #Prentiss #prentiss!Reader #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #mathew grey gubler #Matthew grey gubler x reader

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chaostudee · 9 months ago

Text

you belong with me, lando norris.

summary : after another failed date you rely on lando to comfort you to which he confesses something to you. warnings : none a/n : literally all i've been doing is smau but written works will forever have my heart :)

a sigh escaped you lips just as your eyes flicked to your phone to take a glimpse at the time. the past two hours had been torture, and although you hadn't had much faith that this one would get well you hadn't pictured it to be this grim. this man wouldn't shut up about himself, not once letting you get a word in edge ways.

a few minutes ago he said that he needed to pop to the bathroom just as you had both finished dessert. partially you were glad to be rid of him but were now suspicious that he had been gone for so long. in instinct your eyes flutter around the restaurant at the various couples and families dining. in doing so you spot your blind date darting hie eyes around the restuarant briefly before fleeing out the front door.

your eyes widen at the scene and you tutt to yourself. so typical. at that moment the waiter walks over to hand you the check.

"um can you give me a second?" you ask knwoing damn well your purse is full of nothing but makeup products.

"sure" the waiter replies with a nod before departing.

you quickly scour your purse for your phone and dial the one person you know that would be able to help you out.

"hey what's up??"

the sound of his voice makes you smile.

"well um i need your help...."

lando pauses. "that doesn't sound good...."

you laugh sarcastically. "yeah well it's not um so basically just before the check came the guy just upped and left and um since he said he was going to pay i left my purse at home. so i guess what i'm asking is for some money and i promise i'll pay you-"

"wait wait wait" lando cuts you off "he just left you?! what the actual fuck?!"

"i know i mean i should've known"

"what no no baby it's not your fault, here i'll send you the money real quick"

your stomach flips at the pet name, it always does but you would never admit that to him.

"thank you lando" you whisper.

"no problem angel, you know i'll always look out for you.

"okay um one last favour"

"hit me"

"can you pick me up it's kinda late and you know"

"ofc i will just send me your location"

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

lando hands you a cup of tea just as he joins you on the couch.

"thanks" you look up at him as you speak and he replies with a nod before taking a sip of his coffee.

lando shakes his head. " i actually still can't believe that son of a bitch did that to you"

you look down into the cup, the steam rising and hitting your cheeks. "i mean i guess i always choose the wrong ones"

"don't you dare say that sweetheart it is not your fault at all".

"lando-"

"no i'm serious ever time you come back from a date you tell me another crazy story and sweetheart it's nothing got to do with you"

"but what if it is me"

lando looks at you smypathetically.

"trust me it's not you, anyone would be lucky to have you"

"thanks lando but we both know that's not true"

lando sets down his cup and runs his hands through his hair. before putting his head in his hands and letting out a groan.

"what's wrong?"

"you are so oblivious"

"what wdym?"

lando smiles and begins to move closer to you. you watch as his eyes latch onto yours and then down to your lips. your heart begins to beat rapidly.

"as i said anyone would be lucky to have you"

you gulp. lando takes his hand and uses it to rest under your chin so you are forced to look at him.

"you are the most important person in my life"

"lando don't"

"don't what?"

"you're just saying that to make me feel better"

lando chuckles. "trust me i'm not you are and will forever be the most important person in my life, you're my best friend."

you smile shyly at him, there was no one that made you feel as loved as him.

"there were times i wanted it to be more".

your eyes widen at his confession and you open your mouth but just as you were about to speak you were stopped.

lando pulled his you into him placing his lips on yours. you didn't pull back but instead sunk deep into the kiss and as his smiled into your lips you couldn't help the heat that rised to your cheeks.

after a few moments you pull back and smile at him as you run a hand through his hair.

"was that okay?" he asks unsure if he had made you uncomfortable.

"more than okay" you admit.

and with that he pulled you in to his lap making you squeal before pressing his lips against yours once again.

in that moment you had never been happier and annoyed with yourself that you hadn't noticed the good in front of you all this time.

taglist ⭑.ᐟ

@lottalove4evelyn

@llando4norris

@hadidsworld

@mxryxmfooty

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celestisdivinitusinsaniavero · 2 months ago

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That one time you thought Charles wasn't interested

young!Charles Xavier (Wheelchair) x f!Reader

TW: very dirty smutty telepathy? [18+ MDNI]

You lie in bed, staring at the intricate patterns on the ceiling, wishing desperately for sleep. It’s impossible. You’ve been tossing and turning for hours, the sheets tangled around you like an accusation. Why can’t you let this go? But you know why. It’s because you can’t stop replaying the evening over and over in your head, trying to decide if it was a date with Charles or not.

The restaurant was cozy and intimate, the kind of place with candlelit tables and red velvet booths. You remember how he looked across the table, his blue eyes catching the light and making your heart do somersaults. Everything about the evening felt like a date—the way he touched your hand on the table, the way he complimented your outfit, the way his smile made you feel like the only person in the room. And yet...

And yet, there was something maddeningly friendly about it all. You think of the way he talked, his voice warm and engaging, making you laugh with stories from his university days. How he managed to weave intellectual debates with flirtatious undertones. But he never crossed that line, never gave you any real indication that it was more than just a friendly dinner.

You think about the end of the evening, on your way back to your room in the mansion, his wheelchair gliding silently over the polished floors. He paused, smiled that devastating smile, and said goodnight. And that was it. No kiss, no hint of something more. Just goodnight. It left you baffled, standing there like an idiot in the hallway.

Maybe you misread everything. Maybe you wanted it to be a date so badly that you imagined the connection. You were so sure he liked you, the way he always seemed to find reasons to spend time together, the way his eyes lingered just a little too long. But now you’re not so sure. You might have built it all up in your head.

You roll over, punching the pillow in frustration. It’s annoying. He’s annoying. Why can’t he just be clear about what he wants? You felt so certain tonight, convinced that he’d make a move, that he’d finally show you that this was more than just friendship. But as the dinner stretched on, you started to realize that maybe he doesn’t see you that way at all. The thought gnaws at you.

And now here you are, alone in the dark, feeling foolish and sad. The mansion is quiet, the only sound the rustling of the sheets as you shift. You sigh, trying to push the thoughts away, but they cling.

You’re wrong. The words echo in your mind, startling you so much that you bolt upright in bed. There’s no mistaking that voice, its familiar warmth and playful tone.

Charles. You glance around the room, half expecting to see him there, but of course, he’s not. He’s speaking to you telepathically, and you feel a rush of emotions—surprise, hope, and then a sharp flare of anger. How long has he been listening?

Get out of my head, Charles. You practically shout in your head, accusing him of listening in. There’s a pause, and you can almost picture his amused expression before he responds, apologizing for the intrusion.

Apologies, darling. I didn’t want to pry. You don’t buy it for a second, and he chuckles, the sound echoing through your mind.

You see in your mind how he leans back in his chair, folding his hands nervously in his lap. I haven't dated in years, he admits, his voice tinged with a mix of embarrassment and sincerity.

Not since before … the accident. He lets out a small, awkward chuckle.

I'm out of practice. I wanted to do it right, you know? Without relying on my telepathy to read your mind. He sounds so vulnerable.

But I never did that before, and I felt… insecure. You cross your arms.

You? insecure? you retort in your mind, skepticism lacing your words.

You felt him shifting nervously.

When I was younger, he confesses, I used my telepathy to figure out the perfect moment to make a move. His voice was tinged with regret and he pauses waiting for your reaction but continues when you stay silent. I realize now that was wrong, and I didn't want to repeat that mistake with you. I wanted everything to be perfect, he continued, but it just made me so self-conscious that I froze and didn't make a move at all. His earnest tone hung in your head, but despite his sincerity, a prickle of irritation remained, tightening your chest.

His words are earnest, and you want to believe him.

"Why are you in my head now?" you demand out lout, your voice tinged with frustration. "If you know it’s wrong."

There's a pause.

You’re about to repeat the question, thinking he’s ignoring you, when you sense something else, a shift in his demeanor.

You feel it then, a ghostly sensation brushing against your arm. It’s soft at first, like the lightest touch of a hand, and it travels slowly up to your neck. You shiver and it makes your skin tingle and your heart race. You know it’s him, using his telepathy in a way you’ve never experienced before, trying to avoid to answer your question, and it’s working.

The feeling is so real, so immediate, that you can’t help the goosebumps that rise along your skin. You lie back on the bed, letting the sensation wash over you, every nerve alive with excitement. Charles’s voice is in your mind again, amused and tender, You like that. You can barely think straight, but you manage to send back a breathless Yes.

He admits, I've been doing this for weeks now, listening to your dreams before I go to sleep. It's become my nightly ritual, I couldn’t stop myself.

The confession makes you blush furiously, and you respond, I don’t know if I like that.

He chuckles softly, I know.

You gather the courage and ask, Did you listen even when I… you know? There's a moment of silence. Then his voice returns, warm and unashamed.

I did, he admits, always wishing I could be there to touch you myself.

His honesty takes your breath away, and you’re caught between feeling exposed and incredibly turned on. You didn’t expect this, this boldness from him after the way he acted tonight.

The telepathic touch grows more insistent, more daring, and you arch into it, craving more. You feel him trail down your neck, ghosting over your collarbone, leaving a path of fire in its wake. You can hardly stand it, the delicious tension building inside you, the intimacy of knowing it’s Charles, that he’s finally showing you how much he wants you.

Can you feel it? Charles's voice echoe in your mind, his telepathic presence growing stronger and more insistent. If I were there, if I weren't … like this, I'd show you exactly what I want. I'd start with your lips, he continues, tasting you until you couldn't think of anything else but me. The sensations accompany his words and your lips tingle, making you gasp.

You feel the ghost of his kisses trailing down your neck, and you arch into the sensation. I've never felt anything like this, you whisper telepathically, losing yourself in him. I didn’t know you could do this.

Charles's telepathic touch shifts to your breasts, and you moan.

Feel that? Those are bites on your beautiful breasts, he teases, his voice low and intimate. I'd suck and tease those pretty peaks, leave you breathless and begging for more.

Beneath your nightshirt, you feel a surge of sensation as your nipples harden with an intensity that almost stings, straining against the fabric, demanding attention. You can’t help but touch them with your fingertips.

You pant. "Charles, please,” you murmur, but he wasn't finished.

Maybe I'll ask Hank for the serum again and when I have my body back I can fuck you like you want me to, he told you, his words bold and raw.

Your face turns red as he throws your own fantasies back at you. "Charles," you breathed, overwhelmed but craving more.

The sensations grow more intense, more consuming, and you feel telepathically compelled to raise your arms above your head. You let him, let the invisible restraints hold you in place, trusting him completely. You feel pressure on your throat then, as if a hand is wrapped around it, and the thrill of it nearly sends you over the edge.

He’s dominating you with his mind, with his power, and he asks if you still think he doesn’t want you.

Do you still think I don't want you? The question was playful, yet carried an edge of challenge.

Phantom sensations grip your core, switching between relentless, tantalizing strokes on your clit and bold lashes that circled with purpose. You feel something tighting inside you, each touch igniting a fire of need and desire, leaving you breathless and craving more with every ghostly caress.

Well? He asks again.

But you can’t answer, can’t form words, only moan as the pleasure built and built, bringing you ever closer to that exquisite peak.

When you finally climax, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. You see stars, bright and dazzling, and Charles’s smirking face in your mind, as if he’s right there with you. You’re breathless, floating.

As you calm down, your thoughts are a mixture of orgasmic bliss and irritation. It takes awhile but when you trust your voice again, you need to say it.

You know, you say gently, we could talk about how you feel about the wheelchair. I bet we could have fun without the serum, withouth mindblowing telepathic sex. Your voice is sincere, filled with genuine care. I just want you to know that I like you, just the way you are.

He pauses, and for a moment, you worry that your words have pushed him away. But then he speaks, his voice soft. I hope that one day I'll find the courage, he admits, but until then, let’s try to perfect this method, huh?

His promise makes you tingle again, and you can't help but smile.

#charles xavier #charles xavier imagine #charles xavier x reader #x men apocalypse #professor x #x men #james mcavoy

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buckets-and-trees · 4 days ago

Text

Dangerous Desires

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark mafia Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 6.3k Summary: When you use Andy's private jet to run away to Stockholm for a few days, you confide in your closest friend about the complexities of your relationship with your dangerous fiancé.

Content/Warnings: power dynamics and emotional manipulation; forced engagement; use of pet name (sweetheart); smut (phone sex, mutual masturbation, fingering, clit play, nipple play)

Author Note: No one asked for this, some of you are going to throw daggers at me for returning to this series over others, but... Andy doesn't care much for what you think you want. He knows what you need.

Previous Part | Full Series

The last forty-eight hours have been a blessed reprieve from the intensity of your life with Andy. Stockholm greeted you with crisp air and Thea welcomed you with open arms, no questions asked—at first. You've spent the time wandering the cobblestone streets, admiring the architecture, and deliberately avoiding deep conversation about why you suddenly appeared on her doorstep.

Now, sitting in her cozy apartment with containers of food from a local Swedish restaurant spread between you, you can feel the shift in the atmosphere. Thea sets down her fork with deliberate precision and fixes you with that penetrating stare you remember so well from college, when she could always tell when you were hiding something.

"Okay, enough," she says, crossing her arms. "I've given you two days of sightseeing and small talk. I've watched you check your phone every thirty minutes like you're expecting either a bomb threat or a love letter. You’re safely out of jet lag territory. It’s time to tell me what’s really going on.”

You've told Thea bits and pieces—about meeting Andy, the whirlwind romance, the engagement—but you've kept the darker elements vague, painting a picture of a passionate relationship with a wealthy businessman rather than the complicated, dangerous reality.

You bite the inside of your lip as you look at Thea. Time zones and geography may have interrupted how frequently you talk, but she’s still your best friend, the one who’s known you for years, has seen your highest highs and your lowest lows. You know you can’t tell her everything, but you owe it to tell her more. And it’s why you came here specifically when you decided you needed to get away.

Because you wanted and needed to talk to your best friend.

"I don't even know where to start," you admit, twirling your wine glass between your fingers.

Thea's expression softens. "How about with why you really came to Stockholm? And don't tell me it was just to see my beautiful face, though I'm sure that was part of it."

You laugh, but it catches in your throat. "Andy is not just a businessman. He's complicated. Powerful in ways I didn't understand at first."

"What kind of powerful are we talking about?" Thea asks, her eyes narrowing. "Like, politically connected powerful or something else?"

You hesitate, weighing how much to reveal. The confidentiality agreement flashes through your mind. "Something else. The kind that makes people afraid of him."

Thea sets her wine glass down with a thud. "Are you in danger? Is that why you're here?"

You take a deep breath, genuinely considering how to answer that. You decide you can honestly say, “He’s dangerous, but not necessarily to me.

Thea narrows her eyes, but you know it’s at the situation, not at you. “I don’t love that answer. So tell me the real story. Not the glossy version you've been feeding me."

You sigh, twisting your engagement ring around your finger. "I met Andy when he hired my company to plan this elaborate charity gala at his estate. From the moment I walked into his mansion for our first meeting, I was affected by him. He's not just handsome, he's magnetic. The kind of man who commands attention just by existing in a space."

Thea leans forward, completely engrossed. "I remember you mentioning a big client around that time. That was him?"

You nod. "But I put all those feelings aside. I was determined to be professional - this was a huge opportunity for my business. Besides, men like Andy Barber don't usually go for women like me."

"What do you mean 'women like you'?" Thea interrupts, frowning fiercely. "You're amazing."

You wave her off. "You know what I mean. Men like Andy are supposed to date supermodels or socialites and old money.”

Thea shakes her head firmly, leaning across the table to grab your hand. "No, stop that right now. You're brilliant, gorgeous, and built a successful business from nothing. Any man would be lucky to have you, even some fancy billionaire."

Her fierce defense makes you smile despite yourself. "Thanks, but—"

"No buts. I've always hated how you downplay yourself and I will never forgive your shitty ex." She refills your wine glass. "So what happened after the gala? Don't leave out any juicy details."

You take a large sip of wine, feeling warmth spread through your chest. She’s your best friend, but you still know you’ll be sparing her some of the details about that first night with Andy - not just the dangerous ones, but some of the spicy ones as well. You can’t put into words the kind of feelings he invoked in your body and in your soul that night or many of the other nights since then.

Thea prompts you to continue with a gentle bark of your name to bring you back to the moment, and you huff a small laugh and go on.

"The gala was perfect. Everything went exactly as planned. I was packing up, feeling proud but exhausted, about to go home when Andy took me to his private office.

"He told me how impressed he was with my work, how he'd watched me all night." You pause, remembering the intensity in Andy's eyes that night. "Then essentially he said he wanted me. Not just for the night, but for good."

Thea's eyes widen. "Wait, what?"

"God, Thea, I can't even explain what happened to me."

"So you slept with him," Thea supplies, a knowing smile spreading across her face.

You feel your cheeks heat. "It was more than that. It was the most intense sex of my life.”

Thea squeals and kicks her feet out in celebration. You can’t help but grin for a moment with her.

"I woke up the next morning in his bed, feeling like I'd been swept away in a storm. We hadn't slept much." You take another sip of wine, memories flooding back. “And then I noticed he’d put a ring on my finger before I even woke up. Said we had to be married. Right there, while I was still tangled in his sheets."

“Seriously?” Thea's eyes are wide with disbelief. "After one night?"

You shake your head in disbelief at your own actions - your acquiescence, even though you know how trapped you’d been. "Just like that. One night of incredible sex and suddenly I'm engaged to a man I barely know."

"Holy shit," Thea whispers. "That's... impulsive, even for you."

"I know, I know. It sounds insane. It was insane," you admit, running your fingers through your hair. "He wanted to elope, make it official pretty quickly. No fuss, no family."

"But?" Thea prompts, clearly sensing there's more to the story.

You take another long sip of wine. "But then he went and met my parents. Without telling me. As a 'surprise.'"

"He what?!" Thea nearly shouts.

"Yep. Set up a nice lunch with them at the country club, introduced himself as the man who swept me up into an engagement, somehow won them over in no time at all. They love him, he seems to adore them, and now it’s a public wedding with my parents' full support. And it's happening in three weeks."

Thea chokes on her wine. "Three weeks? That's... that's practically tomorrow in wedding planning time!"

"I know." You press your palms against your eyes. "I went from thinking we might elope to suddenly planning a high-society affair that people are already talking about. Andy's social circle is... important. Influential. And now they're all going to be there, watching."

"But that's not all, is it?" Thea asks softly, studying your face.

You shake your head, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. "No. He had his lawyer draw up this prenup—this massive document with clauses about everything from infidelity to social media posts. And I negotiated some points, which shocked everyone including myself, but it’s still overwhelming."

“Of course it must be. But that's not all, is it?" Thea asks softly, studying your face.

You shake your head, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. "No. He wants to invest in my company. He wants to be a silent partner, become a part of the business I've built from the ground up. With all these plans for expansion and growth."

Thea whistles low. "That's a lot. So he's not just marrying you, he's buying into your professional life too."

"Exactly." You drain your wine glass. "And the thing is, his proposal makes sense. The capital he's offering, the connections—it would take my company to a whole new level. But..."

Thea leans back, her expression thoughtful. "But you're worried about losing control of your company—the one thing that's truly yours."

"Exactly." You're relieved she understands so quickly. "My business is the one thing I've built entirely on my own. No help, no shortcuts. Just hard work and determination. And now he wants a piece of it."

"Have you signed anything yet? For the business deal, I mean."

You shake your head. "No. His lawyer gave me a week to think it over. That's part of why I'm here. I needed space to think clearly, away from his... influence."

Thea raises an eyebrow. "His influence?"

You feel your cheeks flush, remembering Andy's hands on your body, his lips against your skin. "He's... persuasive."

"So the sex is that good, huh?" Thea grins, but her eyes remain serious.

"It's not just the sex," you admit, though your pulse races at the memories. "It's him. The way he looks at me like I'm the only person in the world. The way he anticipates what I need before I even know I need it. He's attentive and generous and..." You trail off, struggling to articulate the magnetic pull Andy has over you.

"And dangerous," Thea finishes for you, her voice gentle but firm.

You nod slowly. "Yes. And dangerous."

"Do you love him?" she asks bluntly.

The question hits you like a physical blow. You've been so caught up in the whirlwind of everything that's happened, you certainly haven't asked yourself that question.

"I..." you start, then pause, truly considering. "I don't know if what I feel is love or... something else. Obsession? Fascination? It's intense, whatever it is. I think if things had developed differently, I would absolutely love him."

Thea watches you carefully, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "Do you think he loves you?"

You laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your own ears. "I don’t think Andy operates in those terms. He sees something he wants, and he takes it. I think he's... fixated on me, possessive of me. But love? I don't know."

"That doesn't sound healthy," Thea says gently.

"No, I suppose it doesn't." You twist your engagement ring again. You meet her eyes, vulnerable in a way you rarely allow yourself to be. "I don't know if what I feel is love or obsession or Stockholm syndrome. But I can't imagine walking away from him now, even if I should."

Thea reaches across the table and takes your hand. "Listen to me. I've known you for over a decade. I've seen you fall in and out of love. I've watched you build your business from nothing. You're one of the strongest women I know, and that's why this scares me."

Her candid words make your stomach clench. "Scares you how?"

"You've always known exactly what you want, and you've never let anyone dictate your life. But this man... in just weeks, he's become the center of your universe. He's infiltrated every part of your life - personal, professional, everything. That's not romance, that's control."

You wince at the blunt assessment, but you can't deny the truth in it. "I know how it sounds."

"Do you?" Thea squeezes your hand. "Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds like this man has bulldozed into your life and rearranged everything to suit himself. The rushed engagement, meeting your parents behind your back, now wanting a piece of your business... these aren't the actions of someone who respects your boundaries or autonomy."

Her words strike a chord deep within you. You've had the same thoughts, expressed them to Andy yourself, but hearing them spoken aloud makes them impossible to ignore and yet hard to acknowledge.

"I know," you whisper. "But Thea, you haven't met him. There's something about Andy that's... different. When I'm with him, everything feels right, even when it shouldn't."

Thea sighs deeply. "That's what worries me most. The way you talk about him - it's like he's cast some kind of spell over you."

You laugh weakly. "Maybe he has."

"Look," Thea says, leaning forward intently, "I'm not telling you what to do. I can't. But I am asking you to really think about what you want - not what Andy wants for you, not what your parents think is best, but what YOU want.”

You take a deep breath, trying to organize your thoughts. How do you explain Andy to someone who's never met him, never felt the force of his presence?

Because he’s nearly everything you would have wanted, if he’d only let you choose him instead of forcing a choice.

"He makes me feel alive," you finally say. "When I'm with him, everything is more intense, more vibrant. And yes, he's controlling, but he's also... protective. Like nothing bad could ever happen to me as long as I'm his. And he makes me feel things I haven’t felt in years, or… ever really."

"But at what cost?" Thea asks softly. "Your freedom? Your business? Your ability to make your own choices?"

You stare into your wine glass, watching the crimson liquid catch the light. It's the question you've been avoiding, the one that drove you across an ocean to sit in this apartment.

"I don't know," you admit. "That's why I'm here. I needed to step away, to see if I could even think clearly without him around."

Thea studies you for a long moment. "And can you? Think clearly now?"

You consider this. The past two days have been a strange mix of relief and tension. You've checked your phone obsessively, half-expecting angry messages from Andy, but there have been none. Only a single text each morning: "I miss you. Come home when you're ready."

The restraint itself feels calculated, as if he knows how precarious this time away is.

Of course he knows that.

You nod slowly. "Yes. Being here has helped. I feel clearer than I have in weeks."

"So what are you going to do about the business proposal?"

You take a deep breath. "I think... I think I'm going to counter-offer. Accept his investment but with stricter limitations on his involvement. Keep majority control for myself, maintain separate finances."

Thea nods approvingly. "That sounds smart. And what about the marriage?"

The question hangs in the air.

You run your finger along the rim of your wine glass, taking your time to answer. "I'm going to marry him," you finally say, the words both terrifying yet grounding as they leave your lips.

Thea's face falls slightly, though she quickly tries to mask her disappointment. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"I think it's what I need to do," you say carefully, meeting Thea's concerned gaze. "I know how it sounds, and maybe it's crazy, but... I need to see where this goes."

Thea doesn't look surprised, just worried. "If that's your decision, then I'll support you. But promise me something?"

"Anything."

"Promise you'll keep an escape plan. Money he can't access, documents somewhere safe, people like me who know where you are." She reaches for your hand again, squeezing it tightly. "Just in case."

The gravity of what she's suggesting makes your stomach clench, but you nod. "I promise."

"And for God's sake, tell me when the wedding is so I can be there for you," Thea adds firmly. "I don't care how short the notice, I'm not letting you marry this man without me standing beside you."

The rush of affection you feel for her nearly brings tears to your eyes. "Three weeks from Saturday. I'll have the invitation details sent to you tomorrow."

"Good." Thea refills both of your wine glasses. "And I’m going to tell those two bodyguards of yours to stay alert," Thea adds, glancing toward the window where she knows Shep and Mark are stationed outside her building. "I don't trust this Andy character, but they seem competent at least."

You smile, warmed by her concern. "They've been surprisingly helpful. I wasn't sure they'd even let me come here without telling Andy first."

"Speaking of which," Thea narrows her eyes, "does he know where you are?"

You hesitate. "Shep said he had to report my location to Andy's head of security, but he waited until we were already on the plane. I haven't heard anything directly from Andy about it, just those morning texts."

"That's interesting," Thea muses. "Not the reaction I would have expected from a controlling fiancé."

"I know.”

"Maybe he's giving you space to make your own decision about marrying him," Thea suggests, though her tone makes it clear she doesn't quite believe it. "Or maybe he's confident you'll come back regardless."

You stare at your engagement ring, watching how it catches the light. "I think it's the latter. He knows I'll come back."

"And will you? Soon, I mean?"

You nod slowly. "The day after tomorrow. I've made my decision about the business deal, and I need to get back to wedding preparations." You laugh softly. "God, that sounds so normal. Like I'm just another bride worried about flower arrangements and seating charts."

"Will you tell him you talked to me about all this?" Thea asks, concern evident in her voice.

You consider this for a moment. "I'll tell him I saw you, that you’re my best friend. The prenup allows for basic personal details to be shared with my family and friends ‘with careful discretion,’” you use the verbiage from the legal document looming in your belongings. “And at the end of the day, I had to come enlist my maid of honor. You will be, right?”

"No question. Maid of honor and harpy of terror to this man," she promises with a wicked grin that softens to something more sincere. "I'll be there for you every step of the way."

You lean across the table and hug her tightly, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Thank you. For everything. For listening, for not judging, for being here."

"Always," she whispers against your hair. "That's what best friends are for."

When you pull back, you notice Thea studying your face with an intensity that makes you shift in your seat. "What?"

"I just want to make sure you're really okay," she says. "That this is really what you want."

You consider her question carefully. Is this what you want? The rushed wedding, the complex business deal, the dangerous man who's turned your world upside down?

"Something in my bones wants him," you confess. "But I also want my life. I think I can have both if I'm smart about it."

Thea looks skeptical but nods. "Then let's make sure you're as prepared as possible. We have two more days to strategize."

The next morning, you wake early to find Thea already in the kitchen, laptop open and a determined expression on her face. She's surrounded by printouts and sticky notes.

"What's all this?" you ask, accepting the cup of coffee she pushes toward you.

"Your battle plan," she says, gesturing to the organized chaos. "I've been researching everything I could about protecting yourself in a business merger and a marriage to someone with... significant means."

You scan the notes, touched by her thoroughness. "You didn't have to do all this."

"Yes, I did," Thea insists, pushing a stack of papers toward you. "If you're going through with this, you're doing it with your eyes wide open and as much protection as I can give you."

You spend the day poring over Thea's research, making notes and drafting a counter-proposal for Andy's business offer. By evening, you feel more confident, more in control than you have since this whirlwind began.

That night, as you lie in Thea's guest bed staring at the ceiling, your phone buzzes with a text. Your heart jumps, expecting Andy, but it's from your security detail.

SHEP: All clear tonight. Flight scheduled for 11am. We’ll depart at 9:30am for the airport. Let me know if you need anything else before then.

Mark and Shep have been nothing but supportive in this adventure, given you space, but made sure you’re safe - not that you think you’re actually in any danger, but it’s been nice to have two big men watching over their shoulders for you so you don’t have to worry about it. You type back a quick thanks, then hesitate before opening your texts with Andy.

His last message stares back at you

ANDY: I miss you. Come home when you're ready.

You stare at those words, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. After two days of radio silence, perhaps you should respond. You type out a simple message.

I'll be home tomorrow.

His response comes almost instantly, as if he'd been waiting by his phone.

ANDY: Good. The house is empty without you.

There's something both reassuring and unsettling about how easily he's accepted your impromptu trip. No anger, no demands for explanations. Just patient confidence that you'd return to him.

YOU: Did Shep tell you where I was?

Your phone vibrates in your hand, but this time it's not a text message. Andy's name and photo fill your screen as an incoming call. Your heart leaps into your throat as you hesitate for a second before answering.

"Hello?" Your voice sounds small and uncertain even to your own ears.

"There she is," Andy's deep voice fills your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. "I thought a call might be better than another text."

You sit up in bed, pulling the covers around you like a shield. "I'm surprised you called."

"Are you? Some occasions call for a more personal touch." There's a hint of amusement in his tone. "Shep did his job perfectly—keeping you safe while you’re getting the space you wanted. Stockholm is beautiful this time of year. I hope you've been able to enjoy it."

There's a pause, and you can almost see him sitting in his study, perhaps with a glass of whiskey. It’s nearly midnight, meaning it’s early evening back in Boston.

Andy continues, his voice dropping to that intimate tone that always makes your skin prickle with awareness. "I'm looking forward to having you back where you belong. I imagine you must be missing our bed by now... missing me." It's not a question but a statement, as if your longing for him is a foregone conclusion.

You bite your lip, caught between irritation at his presumption and the uncomfortable realization that part of you does miss him—his touch, his presence, the intensity he brings to everything.

"I've been busy catching up with Thea," you say, deliberately not confirming his assumption.

"Of course. I'm glad you've had that time with your friend." His tone is understanding, almost too understanding. "But I’m sure you must be eager to get home to me." His voice drops lower, more intimate. "I know how much you must be missing me, sweetheart. The way your body responds to mine, and it’s been so many days since I fucked you properly."

Your breath catches, and you find yourself sinking deeper into the pillows. "Andy—"

"The bed is cold without you," he continues, his voice a seductive caress. "I've been thinking about how you look spread out on our sheets, how your skin glows in the moonlight through our bedroom window."

You close your eyes, trying to resist the pull of his words, but images flood your mind unbidden.

"What are you wearing right now?" he asks, and the question is so direct, so intimate that you nearly hang up. But something stops you—that same draw hook in your gut that has held you captivated by him since the beginning.

"I'm not doing this," you say, but your voice lacks conviction even to your own ears.

"Tell me," Andy commands, his tone shifting from seductive to domineering in an instant. "What are you wearing, sweetheart? Don't make me ask again."

You swallow hard, your resistance crumbling under the weight of his authority. "A t-shirt. And underwear."

"What kind of underwear?" His voice is like velvet wrapped around steel.

"Just... cotton. Nothing special."

Andy makes a sound of disapproval. "When you return home, I want you in silk and lace. Always. Nothing else is worthy of touching your most intimate parts."

Your breathing quickens despite yourself. "Andy, this isn't—"

"Take off the shirt," he interrupts, and the command in his voice brooks no argument. "Now."

You hesitate, glancing toward your bedroom door, thinking of Thea sleeping down the hall.

"Don't make me wait," he warns. "I've been very patient these past days, giving you your space. Now I need you to be good girl and do what I say."

Your breath catches as you set the phone down on speaker and pull the shirt over your head, shivering as the cool air hits your skin.

"It's off," you whisper, picking up the phone again.

"Good girl," he purrs, and you hate how those two simple words make your body respond. "Now touch your breasts. Imagine they're my hands."

Your fingers tremble as they drift up to your breasts, a flush of heat spreading across your skin despite your internal resistance. You cup your breast, feeling your nipple harden under your palm.

"Are you doing it?" Andy's voice is rough with desire.

"Yes," you breathe, hating the way your body betrays you, responding to his commands from thousands of miles away.

"Tell me how it feels."

"It feels..." you hesitate, caught between embarrassment and arousal. "It doesn't feel like you."

A low chuckle fills your ear. "No, it doesn't. My hands are larger, stronger. And I know exactly how to touch you to make you come apart."

Your eyes flutter closed as his words paint vivid pictures in your mind. You can almost feel his weight on the bed, the heat of his body against yours.

"Now slide your hand down your stomach," Andy commands. "Slowly."

You comply, your fingers trailing down your abdomen, your body responding to his voice as if he were actually in the room with you.

"Stop at the waistband," he orders, and you freeze, fingers trembling against the elastic of your underwear. "Are you wet for me yet, sweetheart?"

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and arousal. "Andy, I—"

"Answer the question," he interrupts, his voice firm but gentle. "Are you wet for me?"

"Yes," you whisper, the admission making you feel both vulnerable and powerful.

"I knew you would be," he says, satisfaction evident in his tone. "You've always been so responsive to me. Touch yourself through your underwear first. "

Your fingers slip between your thighs, pressing against the damp cotton. A small gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice deepening with desire. "Now slip your hand beneath. I want you to feel exactly what I'm missing when you play little games and run off to another country."

You freeze as a faint rustling sound comes through the phone, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper being lowered. Your breath catches as you hear fabric shifting, then Andy's breathing changes—deeper, more deliberate. A soft, rhythmic sound starts in the background.

"Are you...?" You can't quite bring yourself to finish the question.

"Mmm," he confirms, his voice rougher than before. "Did you think you were the only one affected? I've been hard since I heard your voice." The subtle, steady sounds continue as he speaks. "Now, circle your clit slowly. Don't rush."

You comply, your fingers finding your sensitive bud as the sounds from his end become more pronounced—a soft, steady rhythm that makes your core clench with need. Something about knowing he's stroking himself to the thought of you—to the sound of your breathing—makes your resistance crumble further.

"Let me hear you," Andy commands, his voice tightening with strain. "Don't hold back."

You bite your lip, aware of Thea sleeping down the hall, but a soft moan escapes anyway as your fingers increase their pace. Your head falls back against the pillows, eyes closed, lost in the sensations and the sound of Andy pleasuring himself thousands of miles away.

"That's it," he encourages. "Faster now."

Your breathing becomes ragged as you follow his instructions, pleasure building in waves. The knowledge that he's doing the same, timing his strokes to your sounds, is intoxicating.

"Andy," you whisper, voice trembling.

"That's it," Andy murmurs, his breathing becoming more ragged. "I want you to slip two fingers inside yourself. Feel how empty you are without me."

You obey, gasping softly as your fingers enter your slick heat. It's not enough—not nearly enough compared to the fullness you feel when he's inside you.

"Tell me how it feels," he commands.

"Not... not like you," you manage, your voice breathy and strained. "Not enough."

His groan of satisfaction sends another jolt of arousal through you. "No one will ever fill you like I do," he says, his voice thick with possession.

"No one," you agree breathlessly, your fingers moving faster as the tension builds. The sound of his breathing, rough and uneven, pushes you closer to the edge.

"When you come home tomorrow," Andy says, his voice strained with his own building pleasure, "I'm going to bend you over the first flat surface I find and remind you exactly what you've been missing."

The image flashes vividly in your mind—Andy taking you against the wall, the kitchen counter, his desk—and a whimper escapes your lips.

"Are you close?" he asks, though he must know the answer from your ragged breathing.

"Yes," you gasp, fingers working frantically now.

"Wait," he commands suddenly, his voice sharp with authority. "Don't come yet."

You whimper in protest, your body trembling on the precipice. "Andy, please—"

“I know, sweetheart," he responds, his own voice thick with desire, yet smooth as silk and just as dangerous. "I want you to pinch your nipple, the way I do when I'm about to make you come."

Your body continues to betray you, responding readily to his commands as if he were right there in the room. You stifle a gasp as you follow his instruction, more heat and slickness pooling between your thighs.

“Do it again.”

You comply, letting loose a tiny mewl, desire coiling tighter inside you with each second. The sound of Andy's breathing grows heavier, more urgent.

"Now," he growls, "come for me. Let me hear what I've been missing."

The permission breaks the last of your restraint. Pleasure crashes through you in waves, your body arching off the bed as you muffle your cries with your free hand. Through the haze of your climax, you hear Andy's breathing hitch, followed by a low, guttural groan that sends aftershocks rippling through your soul.

For several moments, there's nothing but the sound of both of you catching your breath. You feel the familiar mix of satisfaction and shame that always follows your intimate encounters with Andy.

"That's my good girl," Andy finally says, his voice warm with satisfaction. "I've missed those sounds."

You collapse back against the pillows, your body still trembling with aftershocks. You reach for the phone, taking it off speaker, and pressing it to your ear as reality slowly filters back in. You're in Stockholm, in Thea's guest room, having just let Andy orchestrate your pleasure from across an ocean.

"I should go," you whisper, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you are, naked and exposed in a bed that isn't yours.

"Not yet," Andy says, his voice gentler now but still commanding. "Stay with me a little longer."

Against your better judgment, you comply, pulling the covers up to your chin as if they might shield you from his influence.

"What did your friend think of me?" Andy asks unexpectedly.

The question catches you off guard. "What?"

"Your friend. Thea. I assume you discussed me with her. That was part of why you went, wasn't it? To get her perspective.”

"Yes," you admit, seeing no point in lying. "I needed someone outside of... all this. Someone who knows me."

"And what did dear Thea have to say about your dangerous fiancé?" There's a hint of amusement in his voice, but underneath it, you sense something sharper, more attentive.

You choose your words carefully. "She's concerned. She thinks everything is moving too fast."

"Mmm. The typical response of a protective friend," Andy says, sounding unsurprised. "And did you tell her everything? About who I really am? What I do?"

"No," you say truthfully. "I told her you're powerful, complicated. But I don’t even know all of what you do, and I’m smart enough not to tell her even if I did. I haven’t signed the prenup yet, but I assume we’re in a bit of a grey area there.”

“Very shrewd. But you’ve always had a good head on your shoulders.”

Andy's words are both comforting and unsettling. You’ve had a good head except for letting yourself fall into his trap and become so entangled in his web that you can’t or won’t find a way out

"Did you tell her anything else?" he asks softly.

"Yes. Not everything," you admit. "Some things are just... ours."

A satisfied hum vibrates through the phone. "And what was her advice about marrying me?"

You hesitate, but decide honesty is the best approach. "She told me to be careful. To keep an escape plan."

To your surprise, Andy laughs—a genuine, warm sound that makes your heart flutter despite yourself. "Smart woman. I look forward to meeting her. Maid of honor, I assume?”

"Yes," you admit, surprised by his easy acceptance of Thea's cautious advice.

"Good. You should have your best friend beside you on our day." There's a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice has that intense focus that always makes you feel like you're the only person in his universe. "Tomorrow can't come soon enough. I have something special planned for your return."

"What is it?" you ask, curiosity piquing despite yourself.

"Now where would be the fun in telling you?" You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. "But I think you'll appreciate it. A little welcome home gift."

You sit up, pulling the covers around your naked torso. "Andy, about the business proposal—"

"We'll discuss it when you're home," he interrupts smoothly.

"When I'm home," you agree, supposing that some conversations are best had in person anyway, especially with Andy. "I've been thinking about it a lot."

"I expected nothing less," he says, his voice warm with approval. "You're not the type to make hasty business decisions."

Just hasty marriage decisions, you think but don't say.

"Get some sleep now," Andy says, his voice softening. "You have a long journey tomorrow, and I want you well-rested for what I have planned."

The implication sends a shiver through you that's equal parts anticipation and trepidation. "Goodnight, Andy."

"Goodnight, sweetheart. Dream of me."

The line goes dead, and you sit there for a moment, phone clutched in your hand, body still humming with residual pleasure. You feel a complex mix of emotions—satisfaction, shame, anticipation, and a strange sort of emptiness now that his voice is gone.

You set your phone down and slip your t-shirt back on, feeling the cool fabric against your still-sensitized skin. Your mind whirls with conflicting thoughts. How is it possible that even from across an ocean, Andy can reach out and pull your strings so effortlessly? Make your body respond as if he's right there in the room with you?

And yet, despite the momentary surrender to his seduction, you feel oddly empowered. You made this journey without his permission. You've spent days thinking clearly, planning your counter-offer, preparing yourself for what comes next. The fact that you gave in to one phone call doesn't negate the strength you've found here.

You slip out of bed and pad to the bathroom, splashing cool water on your flushed face. In the mirror, your reflection stares back back at you, eyes bright, cheeks still flushed with pleasure. You barely recognize yourself anymore—this woman caught between desire and fear, independence and submission.

Tomorrow you'll return to Boston, to Andy's world. But you're not the same woman who fled a few days ago. You've made decisions, drawn boundaries, prepared yourself as best you can.

As you crawl back into bed, you wonder what Andy's "welcome home gift" might be. With him, it could be anything from jewelry to something far more complicated. Whatever it is, you know it will be calculated to bind you to him even more tightly.

Sleep comes slowly, your mind replaying snippets of conversation with Thea, Andy's voice on the phone, the business proposal waiting for your response. When you finally drift toward sleep, one thought crystallizes in your mind. You can want Andy—crave him even—without surrendering everything you are to him. The trick will be making him understand that. And holding yourself to that resolve.

Getting completely swept away by him would be easy, simple.

But maybe, just maybe, you can carve your own way.

Bahaha, happy I'm Your Man May, everyone! 😏

What do we think Andy has in store for our return?

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

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#chris evans characters #andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #andy barber smut #female reader #i'm your man collection #aspen wrote something

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imaginationlover101 · 3 months ago

Text

I Have Nothing

Austin Butler x reader

A/N: Finally, after a long awaited time, Part Two to Trust Issues is here!!! This fic can be read alone as well! I hope that you all enjoy!!♡♡

Summary: Avoiding Austin since his reveal, Y/N is left with a burden to carry. The question still remains on whether or not she should reveal her true feelings to him. Who would have known that after 3 months, 1 night out was all it took to fix her doubts.

It was a long, tiring week, and I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my free time relaxing in the comfort of my own home. Even though I was at home safe away from the worries of work and gossip of friends, there was still one thing missing.

The fact that it had been 2 months since I've held a real conversation with Austin. Ever since that day in his apartment, I haven't brought myself to talk to him since. At first, for the first 3 weeks, it had been an ongoing cycle of missed texts and calls from Austin.

For a while, I would skim through our texts, picturing back to our last momenst together. But sooner than later, his calls stopped, voicemails became shorter, and texts slowed down.

I was becoming sick of seeing the "call me" texts, etc. After awhile i became fustrated with myself, contemplating if I should pick up the phone or not. I wasn't mad at Austin for admitting his love to me. It was more so the fact that I couldnt bring myself to the realize the remaining outcome. I was in love with my best friend and couldn't bring myself to tell him.

Negative self image is a horrible thing. Living with the idea that you are not enough, and can never find the "right one" is a horrible way to live. During middle school, is where it all seemed to start off. Teenage girls were always mean, and making freinds was always complicated. Boys never seemed to look my way (leaving me with endless trails of self worry). But then, out of the blue there was Austin.

Compared to all the mean girls and the guys that never cared to look at my way, Austin changed it all. The minute he moved into the small town I called home, I knew it was meant to be. It was almost as if the two of us clicked immediately. With a kind smile and a caring heart, from that day forward I knew Austin would always be there for me.

However, sometimes my heart seemed to think diffrent. Through all the awkward phases, script practices, theater nights to now the hottest upcoming actor the girls, fame, and media always seemed to get in the way. Leaving an underlying trail of insecurities and doubts. I never believed I was good enough for Austin, but it wasn't until recently that it all came into view.

The buzzing of my phone on the kitchen counter slowly brought me out of my thoughts. Groaning I made my way off the couch (which I had been situated at since 4 oclock, and had no plan at all to move)

Making my way towards the counter, I picked up my phone, bringing it to my ear. Suddenly a loud voice pieced through the phone."Y/N WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!"

Immediately I recognized the nitourious voice which belonged to my best friend. Laughing I began cleaning up the counter of old fashion magazines and cookbooks, I haven't seemed to clean up just yet. "I just got home Ivy, and I think I'm going head in for the night "

I could hear Ivy's exatrative sigh over the phone as she talked back and forth to people in her surroundings. The room was loud, and I couldn't make out what she was saying. "HEAD IN! Come on Y/N, how old are you. Helloooo did you forget were celebrating tonight? Come on Y/N come out with us everyone misses you!"

Over the phone I could hear an array of voices all screaming my name. I had to admit I did miss my friends, and although I did decline the offer to go our last week, I was slowly rethinking my descion. However, my laundry basket full of clean clothes, and fresh bedroom sheets sounded tempted. I knew my night was already complete with dessert and romcom later. "Hmm I don't know Ivy, I'm just not up to it right now."

For a moment there was a beat of silence over the phone, that was until I heard a loud gasp coming from the other side of the phone. "Y/N, I hope your kidding! I swear if your still at home thinking about that Austin guy, I will get you up out of that apartment right now. GIRLLL come out already!! Sasha, Chloe, Isabelle, and I are already here!"

Knowing that Ivy wouldn't stop insisting on my whereabouts and presence in the restaurant, I started to wonder why I shouldn't go out? I did miss my friends and maybe changing my scenery for a second would help. Soon, my mind started taking the best of me, and the ambiance of going out started to sound pleasing. Unlike seconds before, my mind was complety flipped and I now felt myself craving going out to be with my friends. Besides, what's the worst thing that could happen?

Handing my keys to the valet, my stomach started to fill with anxiety. It had been the first time I had gone out in almost 3 months, and for some reason I was nervous. Making a note of my surroundings, i started to notice the growing crowd in front of the restaurant. I hadn't seen it this busy for a while and became suspicious with the paparazzi that lurked behind the entrance. What could possibly want now?

Walking with the hostess to the back of the restaurant, I already knew it was a good decision to come out tonight. Ivy had told me they booked half the back room, and as soon as I heard the screams from the girls, I knew my presence was known. Embracing them all with hugs, I began to make my way down to an empty seat next to Ivy and Sasha.

I had to admit, "Barneys" was definitely I had no problem coming out to. The front of the restaurant mostly had a dark and romantic italian vibe to it. Velvet curtains, little lamps on the table, gold silverwear, lovey seats right next to one another. Meanwhile, the back room held an open bar filled with a younger crowd, solizalizing and taking amongst one another. Everyone had a drink or two in their hands and a plate of hor dourves on the table. The back room was dark and romantic, and I couldn't be happier the girls picked this place.

The girls began to fill my hands with menus and suggestions on what drinks to order and a quick treat I should get. For a moment, I forgot all about the Austin situation and let myself be consumed with the talks of my best friends.

Talking about the newest drama in all of our lives, we listened in the best we could, of course, with the loudness of the restaurant and were hooked on every detail. Listening to one another and giving each other advice, we clicked our glasses together and wished for the best night.

"You know, I miss having you out with us Y/N. It's not fair you don't come out anymore!" Chloe says, picking up another glass of rosė. The other girls started to agree with her, and the conversation of Austin was soon brought up. The girls and I all stressed our frustrations towards Austin, until out of nowhere Isabella quickly cuts us off to talk about her latest wedding plans. It was odd at first, but the conversations began to flow.

Just as Isabella started talking about the newest caterer she hired for the wedding, all 4 faces of the girls' faces began to drop. Suddenly, Isabelle switched the conversation yet again and changed the topic to the dead daisies in her garden.

One by one, each girl started to act more and more suspicious. Sasha began to fill my glass to the rim with more wine, while Chloe started complimenting my nails, and Isabella kept on trying to keep my attention directly on her. Finally facing my attention towards Ivy, she slowly shakes her head and begins to rub my hand.

Suddenly for all but a moment, I heard a soft voice mutter "excuse me" as a chair was pulled from the table behind us. My breath stopped for a moment, my face growing seemingly warm. I could feel a precense behind me, but I couldn't seem to look up.

After a moment of disbelief, I turned to look up from my seat. After all this time of hiding and pretending here he was, standing mere inches away from me. I could feel his eyesight on me the minute I turned his way. For a moment, I started to stare at him not truly, believing that he was here right in front of me. As soon as he moved closer, placing a hand on the back of my chair I immediately ran out of my seat.

Looking back at that moment, I couldn't exactly remember what happened. All I know was that when I got up from my seat I had no plan to look back. I was thankful for the private bathroom the restaurant had as I made my way through busy crowd into the quiet hallway.

Finally, as I made my way into the bathroom, I was submerged with a second of peace. Staring at myself in the mirror, I felt a sense of urgency. I needed to get out of this restaurant and home quickly. The dress I had chosen to wear for tonight felt seemingly 2 sizes too tight, and my chest as if it was about to burst.

The man I had been dreading to see for the past few months just showed up at the same restaurant my friends and I were at. I guess the paparazzi outside should have confirmed my suspicions.

I was in no way, shape, or form ready to see Austin. After 5 minutes, I finally realized that hiding in the bathroom from my ex bestfriend was far too childish, but I couldn't seem to care. I had basically embarrassed myself in front of the whole restaurant, so hiding in the bathroom felt like a good idea.

Suddenly, a frantic knocking pulled me out of my panic as I paced back and forth across the floor. "It's occupied!"

I couldn't bother to listen to what the person on the other side had to say, I was too consumed in my own thoughts. But neverless the banging and knocking never stopped. You would think some people had manners?

For a moment, I questioned if the mystery person on the other side of the door could be Austin? At this point, I thought the frantic knocking was just an urgent customer needing to use the bathroom.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly opened the bathroom door. Ready to range my emotions at the unknown suspect, my theories were soon put into check when Austin stood on the other side.

There he stood in all his glory. Standing underneath the fluorescent light for the first time that night, I began to inspect the man standing in front of me. I hadn't seen Austin for quite some time, and I could slowly see the changes in him.

His hair seemed longer and more golden than before, but I couldn't tell if that was from the lighting or the way he styled it. The lingering facial hair that was on his face before was gone, and his face was now shaven clean. Dressed in a white sweater (one that I could have swore we picked out together), black slacks, and his favorite pair of black shoes, I was surprised to see him this put together.

For a second, I was happy to see him. All the memories and sadness I once felt were filled with a tiny bit of relief. Finally, after all this time of hiding, I was able to see the man whom I had been dreading most. I wanted to step forward closer to Austin seeking some sort of comfort, but that was all history after I remembered the reasoning for our fight.

Before Austin could speak, I hastily slammed the door in his face. But of course, that was before Austin wedged his foot in the bathroom door, catching the door with his hand. Pulling and pushing the door between each other, Austin finally had enough pushing the door opening. Stepping into the bathroom, Austin pulled me to the aside with one hand while he closed the door with another. I was finally alone with Austin, and I couldn't think of a word to say.

Realizing that he had finally won, Austin stood against the door in a motion that made me assume no one was leaving. Locking the door behind him, Austin turns around from his stance walking closer to wear I stood in the bathroom. Knowing that I couldn't run away from my problems anymore, I turned my back on Austin. I couldn't look him in the eyes not yet for sure.

Hearing a sigh from the man behind me, I tried to ignore my thoughts seeing as I wanted to turn around against my morals and talk to Austin. I could feel his presence behind me and craved the friend I used to know.

"I'm trying to fix things with you Y/N, but it doesnt help when you want to run away."

I still couldnt face him. I just began to stare plainly at the picture placed ever so crookedly on the wall. For a second I wished I could have become lost in the painting. Just run away from everything and this major talk with Austin.

I guess I had been completely incoherent for too long, because after a while Austin had pulled me away from the painting turning me around to face him. "Seriously Y/N, what are you doing? Why wont you listen to me? Why do you keep running away?"

"I'm not running away from you Austin, I just don't want to talk to you!" Austin nods his head hearing my voice for the first time tonight. Rolling his eyes he begins to make his way towards the wall opposite from me clearly offended by my awnser. Leaning his head in hands, Austin sighs trying to think of what to say.

"I don't get it Y/N, I tried everything! I've called you, texted you, I left you flowers. I don't know what I did wrong." I could tell he was becoming more and more agitated, but I couldn't blame him, how could I tell my best friend I've been avoiding him because I'm too selfish?

"It's just -" Sighing, I began to my trace my fingers along my frame, seeking some sort of comfort within myself. What could I possibly say to him that would make everything seem okay?

Taking a deep breath I fianlly bring my eyes to look at him for the first time this night. "Listen Austin, its me, not you, don't take it the wrong way."

Confusion began to run through his eyes, and his once smooth face became consumed in wrinkles as he scrunched his eyebrows up in worry.

"Don't give me that BS Y/N, I think your forgetting I know you better than anyone else. You cant run away from me anymore. Just tell me the truth, I want to help you!"

I knew I couldn't avoid this conversation anymore, but to be honest I was more embarrassed of it to say anything. In a softer voice than before I slowly made my way closer to Austin.

But of course not too close, I just had to get close enough to make out his face a bit better (or at least thats what I was telling myself).

"I'm not running away from it Austin, it's just.. it's embarrassing."

"You don't have to be embarrassed about anything Y/N. It's just me. I want you back in my life, even if you don't want it. Just tell me what's going on?" His eyes slowly drifted down to mine and for a moment I could help but let my eyes water.

Taking a deep breath in, I prayed that by the end of this conversation everything would work out. By all means this could either change everything for better or worse. "I love you Austin, as a friend, and as something more. I've always loved you, but loving you has always come with a side affect. People are mean, and they try to twist your words and make it sound disgusting. They criticize you and turn there backs and worship you the next day."

"I guess what I'm trying to say is you deserve someone better. You deserve someone who can take it all and throw it away. Your fans want someone who's beautiful inside and out, and I'm not that person, Austin. You need to find someone who completes you better than I do l."

Finally after weeks of holding it all in, I finally said what I needed to say. I had to admit I was scared, but that only lasted for a moment. I could only hope Austin would understand the reasoning behind my sudden leave that day at his apartment.

Suddenly the AC in the bathroom began to turn on again for it's second cycle, and the room was filled with cold breeze. A chill began to run through my body, which didn't help the underlying anxiety I held as I waited for Austin's response. Shivering lightly my attention was distracted for a moment as I began to rub my hand along my body.

I could have sworn Austin was about to leave. For a while he stood blankly staring at me taking in each word that I had said to me. I couldn't see it then, that night Austin had looked at me with eyes I hadn't seen since we were kids. The eyes of someone who had heard news that broke his heard. After all the time of wishing he would go away who would have know that telling the truth would have been the biggest awnser of them all.

Austins reaction to my speech was far from anything surprising. For a moment he turned around staring at himself in the mirror behind him. If anything he looked more disgusted than sad. His face merely turned sour at the words of me not being good enough in his eyes, and I could tell he was trying to hold back what he truly wanted to say.

Through the mirror I watched as he ran his fingers through his hair, running the once perfect slicked hair he had just a moment ago. Finally turning around to face my way, Austins face was started to become slightly red and when I looked at him again his eyes seemed to match mine. Frustrated, confused, but oh so in love.

"I just dont understand Y/N, how could you say those things about yourself when your not them at all. Why are you trying to look through the eyes of other people, when the only eyes you should be looking through right now are mine. I could care less about what other people think or how they act around me. The only person I care or ever cared about was you, and I'll be dammed if these "people" are going to ruin something that we have!"

Taking a step closer to me, Austin moves so that our feet are directly across from one another. The tears that I so desperately tried to hide emerged, and soon the facade that I held was broken. Placing a hand on my face, he begins to cup my cheek leaving little to no space available between us.

Staring up into his blue eyes, I could feel his eyes directly on mine, and I knew I had his utmost attention. "I love you, Y/N, and I'll never stop loving you. The opinions of others are never going to change how I feel about you."

"I love you too, Austin." In a voice as soft as a whisper, I lean in closer so that my hands could slowly trace around his neck. With my face underneath his, he leans in locking his eyes with mine. With our faces near one another, he leans in sealing our lips together in a comforting embrace.

Finally, after months of hiding my feelings, Austin finally knew how I felt. After Austin and I walked back to our tables adoring a smile (none of of our friends had seen before), we walked hand in hand happy with the outcome of the night.

For once in our lives we didn't have to pretend that our feelings for one another were in the dark. After years of hiding away I knew that Austin and I would never be the same as what we were. From that day forward I never had to worry about the underlying opinions from those who weren't Austin. Anytime I had a doubt he was quick to reasure me, and from that moment on I was quick to tell myself that I didn't need to worry because I am his and he is mine.

#love #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x reader #austin butler fluff #austin butler imagine #austin butler #austin butler imagines #austin butler angst #fanfic #austin butler fanfic #imagines #imagine

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disneyprincemuke · 1 year ago

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midnights, 10.2 * mv1

you drop your head with a small smile. "only if you promise to pick me up?"

through his own tears, max laughs and throws his head back. it's a familiar line - one you said when he first asked you out all those years ago. he squeezes your hand and shakes it. "only if i get to send you home after."

but you sigh tiredly, resting your head in your hand. "are you sure about this, max? what if we only hurt each other more?"

"it's a risk i'm willing to take," he admits. "because it's you."

because he can't bear to watch you walk out of that door again without a fight. the pain he endured for months leading up to tonight felt like it could last forever - like he'd never get around to getting over you.

nothing in his life has ever been so clear: it's always been you, and it's always going to be you.

there's nobody else for him.

"and if we do, at least we know we tried," max whispers, dropping his head. "if it were up to me, i'd do this over and over and over again... if it means i get to be with you for the rest of my life."

“how sure are you of this, max?”

“i’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

"i love you," you smile, starting to feel yourself calm down. a weight has lifted off your shoulders and you instantly feel a tinge of churning in your stomach. "i missed you."

"i missed you more," max sighs, adjusting himself to wrap his arms around your smaller frame. "i miss the way you smell and the way you'd smile at me. i miss your bowl of scrunchies; you have a point making it the table's centrepiece, you know?"

you grin, leaning into his touch. "i'm an interior designer secretly."

"it's what made our home," he sucks in a deep breath, "a home. i hated being there when you were away."

"i hated my apartment without you in it," you confess, a hand holding onto his arm for dear life. “i missed you and the cats.”

you don't know how to convince yourself that this isn't a dream. you don't want to open your eyes and then realise that none of this is real and max is never yours again.

“we’ll do it right this time,” max mutters against your skin with a smile. “i promise i won’t give up on us. you're stuck with me."

"i wanna be stuck with you," you giggle, nuzzling your cheek into his skin. "i'm sorry i wasn't with you when you won the title this year."

"it's alright. we'll just photoshop a picture of us together," max presses a kiss to the top of your head and rubs the exposed skin on your arm, "and then we'll frame it as our biggest picture in the house. we'll tell our kids about it."

"how we photoshopped it?"

"no, how we most definitely celebrated my third title together. we had so much fun, don't you remember?"

"i must be having memory issues. i'm too young for that, max."

"i will take care of you, duh? i'll remind you every single day how much i love you, and you love me." he moves slightly, adjusting so that he can see your face. he brushes the hair away from your face and tucks it behind your ear. “just the way it should be.”

“i’m scared, max. what if we’re never the same again because of this?” it’s a concern that’s been eating at you for the past couple minutes. while being in max’s arms is an ideal situation, what if it’s different this time?

max knows what you mean. he’d also been scared of that. after all the words said, the hurt you caused each other, and those accusations that may never be fully solved — what if you never fall back into what you’re used to?

what if you fall into the same old routine where you’re just fighting again?

“we’ll figure something out, i’m sure,” max cups your cheeks, swiping away the tear stains on your face. “it won’t always be this way. it will get better, i promise.”

you close your eyes, leaning into his touch. a hand comes up to rest over his and you trace shapes on his skin. “i don’t want to hate you.”

“hey,” max’s stern yet gentle tone makes you open your eyes, meeting his cool blue eyes staring into yours with a glimmer you’re unable to fathom. “one step at a time. we will be okay. i will make sure of it.”

you nod and give him a small smile. “one step at a time.”

max smiles, squeezing your cheeks. “i love you.”

he pulls you in gently, one hand coming down to the back of your neck. “you are the only one for me,” he says against your lips, smiling before your lips touch.

you’re overwhelmed by the familiarity of his taste and the way he smells — his perfume bringing you back to a time where your relationship had been so simple. the way his hands feel against your skin and how his lips are moving along with yours fills you with unexplainable joy.

your hands clutch on the material of his shirt by his shoulders, having no idea how much you craved his touch and his sweet words.

he pulls away breathless, giggling dizzily when you lean forward to chase for his touch. he swipes his thumb over your lips to wipe himself off of you. he rests his foreheard on yours.

“do you want to go dance? i know you’re not much of it but we are at a party, after all.”

you smile toothily. you nudge your head to bump his nose. “only if it’s with you.”

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#disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke midnights #disneyprincemuke f1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x fem!reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic

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ajesterwrites · 3 months ago

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17. game night

summary: damon reveals his true intentions. jeremy has an outburst and caroline finally snaps.

pairings: damon salvatore x fem! reader, brief stefan salvatore x fem! reader

warnings: mild violence

word count: 2.4K

author's note: just a gentle reminder that I accept all forms of constructive criticism

IN JUST AN HOUR, the sun had disappeared.

You sat at the bottom of the bleachers, surrounded by screaming supporters. Coach Tanner's voice blared through the speaker, rallying the crowd by promising to crush the opposing team. Then he congratulated his new star player, eliciting even more whoops and cheers. Stefan stood among his teammates in a unified line. In response to the applause—and a few curious looks from his fellow players—he forced a humble smile.

You gazed at him, your hand instinctively reaching for the necklace. You'd just gotten it an hour ago, and now it felt as a part of you as your own heart.

Unease rushed over you. If this gesture was romantic...you couldn't stand the thought. And not because you didn't feel...something for him. It was because you did. It was selfish. Stupid.

You couldn't afford to get that close to someone. And Stefan had been through so much. If he saw how distant you truly were, it'd only hurt him more. You needed to sever these semi-romantic ties before it trapped you both. But how could you when your new silver heart made your real heart flutter?

Sighing, you rose to your feet and weaved through the crowd. The game hadn't started, and maybe a quick walk to Jenna's SUV would ease your nerves. Besides, you hadn't eaten much today. That dream you'd had of Ryder and Damon the night before had shaken you more than you cared to admit.

You rummaged through the trunk until finally, you settled on a bag of chips. You slammed the trunk shut and turned to leave—only to find yourself mere inches away from Damon Salvatore. Your soul jumped from your body. His electric blue eyes widened teasingly, as if trying to bewitch you. You frowned. "What are you doing here?"

Damon leaned in like he was telling you a secret and whispered "I'm hiding from Caroline."

Your frown deepened. "Why?"

"I needed a break," He shrugged. "She talks more than I can listen."

"That could be a sign," You said, scowling. What an asshole.

"Well she's awfully young."

If you weren't confused before, you definitely were now. "Not much younger than you are."

Damon chuckled. "I don't see it going anywhere in the bigger picture. I think she'd drive me crazy."

The way he said it, reeking with arrogance, like you were just going to agree made your body blaze with anger. Caroline was many things—a complete chatterbox, for sure, and she could be kind of tactless—but she was a great person and a wonderful friend. You wouldn't trade her for the world. And she was so into Damon—she was wearing scarves to "try something new" which was definitely code for "Damon likes it when I wear these so now I'll wear them forever." And here he was, talking about Caroline like she was some sort of pest. As if he hadn't pursued her. And if he disliked her so much, why did he go on a sort-of double date with her just last night?

"I'm sure you understand," Damon went on.

You scoffed in disbelief. "If you really feel that way about her, then maybe don't be a dick and stop leading her on." He opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. "Caroline and I have been best friends since the first grade, and maybe you don't understand because you're too busy terrorizing Stefan, but that means something to me."

"Duly noted," Damon said coolly. "I'm sorry if I offended you, that's not my intention."

You scoffed again. "Yes, it is. Otherwise, you wouldn't put an alternate meaning behind everything you say."

Damon smiled, his eyes soulless and calculating. "You're right," He mused. "I do have other intentions. But so do you."

"Really?" You glared at him. Right now the only intention you had was to slap that arrogant look off his face.

He hummed in agreement as if he knew everything about you. "I see them." He leaned forward, his smirk deepening. "You want me."

You'd never scoffed so much in a single conversation. "Excuse me?"

"I get to you. You find yourself drawn to me. You think about me when you don't wanna think about me. I bet you've even dreamed about me."

You hated to admit it, but for a moment, your scowl cracked. Flashes of the dream invaded your mind. That sly look he'd had in his eyes when you'd pulled away from him...

You gazed at Damon, locked in place. How did he know? How could he see through you like that?

"And right now..." His voice was buttery and smooth, trying to slither his way into your mind and disarm you. "You wanna kiss me."

He leaned in, smirking, eerily similar to how he had in your dream. Like he'd been thinking that you'd wanted to be held, undressed, and kissed by him—not Ryder—all along.

That's it. Your palm struck his face faster than you could comprehend. He slowly turned his face to yours, and you hoped the slap was as jarring as it felt. That stupid smirk was gone completely. You stepped closer to him, giving him the exact distance that he craved, and looked him dead in the eye. "I don't know what game you're trying to play with Stefan here, but I won't let you pull my friends into this. And I don't know what happened in the past, but let's get one thing straight: I am not Katherine."

You stormed off, your palm stinging, and didn't dare look back.

You were still steaming as you joined the crowd at the bleachers. Bonnie caught your eye from across the field and waved enthusiastically. You returned a huge smile, but it quickly vanished as soon as she looked away. You couldn't believe what Damon had done. Using Caroline? Trying to kiss you?

Memories of your first meeting sharpened in your mind. His weird staring contest with Stefan, how he'd seemingly tried to drive a wedge between you and his brother by mentioning Katherine, the way he'd kissed your hand with ulterior motives. He was toying with you. He was trying to get under his brother's skin. That's why he'd crashed the dinner.

Caroline could talk for ages—it couldn't have taken much to convince her to agree. She probably didn't even know what his intentions were.

You huffed. How had you seen anything human in him? You thought you'd had a heart-to-heart in your kitchen, but that was impossible. Damon didn't have a heart. He was a callous, spiteful asshole who saw pawns instead of people. You were all just pieces in a game he'd concocted to beat Stefan. Last night, you'd played along. But him trying to kiss you behind Caroline's back was your last straw.

Just as you felt the urge to scream, a sharp CLINKKK ripped you from your fury. Your blood turned to ice. The last time you'd heard that sound...ceramic crashing against iron bars. Chamomile splashing against the cold ground. Your shrieks when in the sweetness, you'd tasted something else—something thick, metallic, and...red.

"TYLER!" A girl's voice screamed. Vicki. Your head snapped toward the sound. But through all the red clothes, accessories, and pompoms, it was nearly impossible to see anything. Her next words made your heart pound. "Stop, you're hurting him!"

You pushed through the crowd, ignoring the dirty looks and sneers. Your brain latched onto Vicki's cries like it was a string pulling you to the scene.

"Enough, he's down!" Another voice shouted. Stefan.

You zipped across the field, running on pure instinct and adrenaline. A horde of people had crowded around the scene, desperate to get a view. You shoved them all aside until finally...

You stopped in your tracks. The color drained from your face. Jeremy was laying on the ground, blood trickling from his lips, smearing his face. Tyler stood over him. His eyes were wide and enraged, aimed at Stefan, who was trying to intervene. But all you saw was red. Literally.

How dare he make your brother bleed?

You surged forward, determined to give him a taste of your fist, when you noticed Jeremy flip onto his stomach. You hadn't even seen him grab the bottle—but suddenly he jerked to his feet. Everything happened so quickly, you couldn't tell who had done what—someone had thrown a punch, someone had spun around, and you thought you'd caught a glimpse of Matt's blond hair—but in only a split second, Stefan's hand had taken the brunt of the bottle, and Tyler Lockwood was on the ground. Warm, thick blood splattered on your arm. Your stomach churned. But then you remembered where the blood had come from.

"Stefan!" You rushed to Stefan, your heart in your throat. He curled his hand into a fist like he didn't want you to see the damage. But you had seen it. And it made you sick.

“Raven!” Bonnie and Caroline screamed in unison, running toward you.

“What just happened?” Caroline exclaimed, her eyes hysterically darting around the field. Somehow, in all the chaos, Matt had intercepted, and was shoving Tyler away before he could do more damage.

“Tyler,” You responded, not tearing your eyes away from the wound. “Let me see your hand. Seriously, how bad is it?”

"I'm okay," Stefan said calmly, but it only made you panic more.

Your head whipped toward your brother, his wild eyes all too familiar. You stepped closer to him, your lips parted in shock. Your nose burned with the stench of liquor. "Are you fucking crazy?" You exclaimed. "You could've killed him!"

"Well, I didn't," Jeremy muttered, shoving past you. You grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

"You hurt Stefan!" You shouted. "He was only trying to help you!"

"I didn't need his help!"

"So you stabbed him?"

"I'm fine," Stefan assured you. "Really."

You gripped his hand. "No, look at what he did to your hand!"

You pried his fist open and gasped.

The blood...it was gone. There was a faint reddish stain where the blood was supposed to be. But it was like nothing had happened. You looked up at him, frowning. "What...but...you were bleeding-"

"It wasn't mine."

"I saw it!"

"It's not my blood," Stefan swore, a strained smile on his face. "He missed."

He wiped his hand on his dark pants. You tried to think. The only ones close enough to draw blood were him, Jeremy, and Tyler. But Tyler hadn't been bleeding...had he?

You swallowed hard and pinched your forehead, rubbing your temple so hard that your skin might peel off. Panic flared within you. The stadium lights overhead seemed to swirl.

After Jeremy saw that he hadn't hurt Stefan after all, he scoffed. Like you were just some liar making up stories to make him feel bad. "First Vicki and now this," Jeremy grumbled.

"If you don't want sympathy, fine, but at least apologize!"

"I'm fine," Stefan said gently. "Really."

"Well someone's blood is on me!" You shouted, frustration searing your insides.

"That's nothing new," Jeremy hissed and stormed off. Your sifted through your memories. No. This couldn't be right. You paled. Stefan getting cut was so vivid in your mind. Which meant two things: either he was lying or you were hallucinating. You weren't sure which explanation was worse.

You'd conveniently wiped the blood on your clothes, which were so deep red that you had no way of knowing if blood was on it—at least, you thought you wiped it on your clothes.

"Y/N...what's he talking about?"

You slowly turned around. Bonnie and Caroline were staring at you. Bonnie's eyes were as wide as saucers. Caroline frowned, as if finally seeing you for the first time. Her voice quivered. Fear spasmed in her narrow blue eyes.

"What happened with Vicki?" Bonnie asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper. She looked at you like she'd seen a ghost.

Vicki stood several feet away, her eyes glistening with tears. She looked at you frantically and started to explain, but no one looked at her. All attention was on you.

You shrank beneath their gazes. The horror. The confusion. You'd seen those faces before—on Jenna, Jeremy, and....Ryder.

Under the spotlight, you were swept away in a current of images. The blood you were sure you'd seen on your arm….your mind flashed to the car accident…blood floating in the water…beating Vicki to a pulp until she was coughing off blood…blood splashing on your white hospital gown. “Y/N?”

"Y/N..." Stefan called out tenderly. He must've seen the panic on your face. You barely heard him over the pounding of your heart.

Your friends' gazes burned into you, demanding answers. Immediately, your brain went into overdrive, trying to think of anything—anything at all—to stop them from probing deeper.

"You need to break up with Damon." The words flew out before you could stop them. Maybe a part of you didn't want to. Caroline blinked out of her shock. Your shame slowly dissolved, but when her confusion morphed into hurt, regret slammed into your gut like a ton of bricks.

"What?" Caroline's voice cracked. Your stomach twisted.

"Care, he's not good for you," You urged, trying to keep your voice steady. "You deserve so much better and-”

"Just stop."

"Caroline—"

"At least Damon actually wants me around!" Caroline shouted. You pleadingly glanced at Bonnie for support, but she was spaced out, ruminating on Jeremy's outburst. “Admit it, Y/N! You just want us to need you!”

“That’s not true–”

“Yes, it is!" Caroline shouted." It’s why you left, isn’t it?”

“I…" You tried to speak but your words faltered. How could you be so stupid? To abandon your friends and expect them to forget? You knew you deserved it—every yell, every insult—and when you'd first come back, you'd wanted Bonnie to hate you. But now that it was happening, your heart tightened in your ribcage. "Caroline...no-”

“Even Vicki knew you were going," Caroline said bitterly. Angry tears sprung in her eyes. "Vicki. Bonnie and I are your best friends and you left without saying a word. Do you have any idea how that felt? I tried to be understanding because I knew you were going through Hell but I was worried sick about you! Bonnie was losing her mind!”

“I-I didn’t mean–”

“You didn’t mean what?" Caroline snapped. You stepped back. "To abandon us for the entire summer? Because that’s what you did. And when you came back, we had to find out from your little brother.”

“I know," You whispered, your eyes clouded with shame. "I messed up. I just…I didn’t know how to approach you. I thought you would’ve moved on-”

“Moved on?” Caroline repeated, her voice sharp with disbelief. “How could you think we’d just move on?” You had never seen Caroline look so hurt and angry, not even when her dad had suddenly moved out with no warning. Your words failed you. You stood there, frozen in a stunned silence. Caroline scoffed and shook her head. Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Bonnie peered at you sympathetically...and it only made you feel worse. "You okay, Y/N?" She asked.

“Yeah, um…” You nodded quickly, fighting back tears. “You should, um…you should probably go check on her. She needs a friend.”

You turned away. Stefan stepped in front of you, his eyes soft with concern. "Hey," He said gently and reached for your hands. His touch felt like an anchor on glass. You pulled back.

"I want to be alone," You whispered, hoping that if you spoke quietly enough, he wouldn't hear the way your voice broke. You didn't wait for a response. You knew he would support you no matter what, but right now, you didn't want pity or kindness. You just wanted to escape.

And so you stalked toward the parking lot, moving as fast as your legs could take you.

Chapter Eighteen

#damon salvatore x y/n #damon salvatore x reader #stefan salvatore x fem!reader #stefan salvatore x reader #caroline forbes #bonnie bennett #jeremy gilbert #tvd x reader #tvd x you #tyler lockwood #matt donovan

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xxoxobree · 2 years ago

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Mean Sometimes

Miles G x Black!Fem!Reader

Summary: Miles can be mean sometimes, even if he doesn’t mean harm.

WARNINGS: Cuss words cause 🤷🏽‍♀️

A/n: This is for my black girlies 🤣 y’all are definitely gonna relate to this , Also that is a real picture of Miles G that I took we in E42 chillin 🫢.

Miles was famous all over school for his blunt and straightforward attitude. He had a rep for never beating around the bush and always blurting out whatever came to mind, no matter how crazy it sounded.

His lack of filter had landed him in hot water a few times, but he remained himself , because he “can handle it if anyone got a problem”. Despite his bluntness, when it came to you, his "princesa," he would soften his edges.

Picture day was tomorrow ,and then came the most soul-crushing message from your hairstylist.

"Hey there, hun," she began, delivering the blow. She was canceling. Your heart sank as you absorbed the words on the screen.

"Please, please don't cancel," you silently pleaded, desperately typing out your response. But deep down, you knew it was pointless . And just as you feared, the it happened.

"I'm truly sorry, but we have to cancel and find another time to reschedule," her message read.

"No no no!" You said out loud, throwing your head back in frustration. You rested your phone down, afraid that your anger might make you throw it across the room.

"Oh my fucking gosh!" Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You got up and made your way to sit in front of your vanity.

You released your hair from the ponytail it was in, grabbed your comb, blowdryer, and a flat iron, and got to work. You had to make something work.

As you sat in front of the mirror, you began the process. 15 minutes went by, but it was not going well. You burned yourself several times with the flat iron, causing more frustration and anxiety to bubble within you, but you refused to give up.

Your hair was frizzy and unruly, but in your eyes, it was looking pretty good.

Miles, had decided to stop by after realizing you hadn't been responding to any of his messages or calls. Concern etched across his face, he knocked on your bedroom door before stepping inside.

"Miles? Why are you here?" you asked, your voice laced with annoyance as you continued to fix your hair, leaning against the vanity. The frustration in your eyes was hard to miss, and he knew all too well what it meant. Your attitude had been activated.

With a small sigh, Miles approached you,leaning on the vanity. "I was worried about you," he said. matching your attitude "You weren't answering any of my messages or calls. I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Rolling your eyes, you paused your hair-fixing efforts and looked at him, your frown deepening. "Miles, I'm trying to fix my hair.” you snapped.

"He gave your hair a look, furrowing his eyebrows. “Yo shit look like you got electrocuted.”

His words stung, and you couldn't hide the disappointment in your eyes. "Why'd you say it like that?" you whined, feeling a lump forming in your throat.

"I'm just saying, mama," he responded casually, not fully understanding the impact of his words.

"Well, does it look bad?" you asked, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

"It does... yeah," Miles admitted, unaware that you were at your wits end.

"Oh, my fucking gadddddd..." The words slipped out as you threw your brush across the room in frustration. Tears welled up in your eyes, and your face flushed with anger and hurt. "You're so fucking mean sometimes, Miles," you shouted, flopping onto your bed and curling up, facing away from him.

Miles could hear your sniffles from across the room, guilt shot through his body. He took a deep breath and pushed himself off the vanity, his feet carrying him towards the bed where you sat, shoulders slumped.

"Ma!" he called out, hoping for a response but you stayed silent. "Baby, I'm sorry, okay?" he pleaded.

"You can take your sorry and get the fuck out," you whispered , your voice dripping with hurt and frustration.

Miles sighed again "Baby, I didn't mean that. You know how I am,"

"How you are is rude as fuck," you shot back, the pain still in your tone.

Miles climbed into the bed beside you, his body pressing against yours. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his voice muffled by the closeness. "I'm sorry, princessa," he murmured, the warmth of his breath causing a shiver to run down your spine. "How about I help you fix your hair?…….you smell sooo good.”

"Shut up, stupid," you whispered, a smile spreading at the corners of your lips. "And move so you can help me."

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starryeyedwolves · 3 months ago

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The Art of Fussing

The moon hung low, a silver sliver in the inky sky, casting its pale light over the grounds of Hogwarts. The castle stood silent, its towers and turrets shadowed against the night. Somewhere in the distance, the Whomping Willow swayed gently, as if lulled by the whispers of the wind.

Remus sat cross-legged on the rug by the fire, a book balanced precariously on his knees. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his fingers tracing the lines of text as if committing them to memory. His hair, perpetually tousled, fell into his eyes, and he brushed it away with an absent-minded flick of his wrist. He was the picture of calm, of quiet focus—until the door burst open with a bang that made him jump, sending his book tumbling to the floor.

"Moony!" Sirius' voice was a thunderclap in the stillness, his grin wide and wolfish as he strode into the room. His hair was windswept, his cheeks flushed from the cold, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. He carried with him the scent of the night air, of damp grass and something wild and untamed.

Remus sighed, picking up his book and smoothing the crumpled pages. "Padfoot," he said, his voice tinged with exasperation, "must you always make such a dramatic entrance?"

Sirius flopped down onto the couch beside him, sprawling out like a king claiming his throne. "Dramatic? Me? Never." He leaned over, plucking the book from Remus' hands and examining the cover. "Advanced Transfiguration? Really, Moony, it's Friday night. Live a little."

Remus snatched the book back, his lips twitching despite himself. "Some of us have exams to study for, Padfoot. Not all of us can rely on charm and good looks to get by."

Sirius gasped, clutching his chest as if wounded. "You think I'm charming? And good-looking? Moony, I'm blushing."

"You're insufferable," Remus muttered, though there was no real bite to his words. He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Sirius had always had a way of breaking through his defenses, of pulling him out of his shell with nothing more than a grin and a well-timed joke.

Sirius leaned closer, his elbow nudging Remus' side. "Admit it. You love it."

"I love it when you leave me alone to study," Remus said dryly, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed him.

Sirius laughed, a rich, full-bodied sound that filled the room. "Liar. You'd be bored without me."

Remus didn't argue. He couldn't. Because Sirius was right—life without him would be dull, colorless. Sirius was the spark that lit up the room, the storm that swept through and left everything changed in its wake. He was chaos and laughter and reckless abandon, and Remus, for all his quiet reserve, couldn't imagine a world without him.

But that didn't mean he had to admit it.

"You're impossible," Remus said instead, shaking his head. "What do you want, anyway?"

Sirius' grin widened. "Can't I just want to spend time with my favorite werewolf?"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "I'm your only werewolf."

"Exactly. Which makes you my favorite by default." Sirius leaned back, stretching his arms above his head. "Besides, I thought you could use a break. You've been holed up in here all night. Even James and Peter have given up on you."

Remus glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see how late it was. He hadn't realized how much time had passed. "I lost track of time," he admitted.

"Obviously." Sirius reached over, plucking the book from Remus's hands again and setting it aside. "Come on, Moony. Live a little. You can study tomorrow."

Remus hesitated, torn between his responsibilities and the pull of Sirius' infectious energy. But then Sirius gave him that look—the one that was equal parts pleading and mischievous—and Remus felt his resolve crumble.

"Fine," he said, though he tried to sound reluctant. "But only for a little while."

Sirius' grin was triumphant. "That's the spirit." He jumped to his feet, pulling Remus up with him. "Let's go."

"Go where?" Remus asked, though he already knew the answer. "The kitchens?" Sirius's eyes gleamed. "Where else? I'm starving."

Remus rolled his eyes but allowed himself to be dragged along. They moved through the castle like shadows, their footsteps light and silent. Sirius led the way, his confidence unwavering, while Remus followed, his heart beating a little faster than usual. It wasn't just the thrill of breaking curfew—it was the thrill of being with Sirius, of sharing in his adventures, of feeling alive in a way that only he could make him feel.

When they reached the kitchens, Sirius tickled the pear and the portrait swung open, revealing the warm, inviting space beyond. The house-elves greeted them with smiles and bows, offering up plates of food and mugs of hot chocolate. Sirius piled his plate high with treacle tart and pumpkin pasties, while Remus settled for a single slice of cake and a cup of tea.

They sat at one of the long tables, their shoulders brushing as they ate. Sirius talked animatedly, his hands gesturing wildly as he recounted the latest prank he and James had pulled. Remus listened, his laughter soft and genuine, his eyes never leaving Sirius' face.

And as the night wore on, Remus found himself fussing—over Sirius's messy hair, over the crumbs he was scattering everywhere, over the way he was talking with his mouth full. But it was a fussing born of affection, of a love so deep and unspoken that it could only be expressed in these small, seemingly insignificant ways.

Sirius, for his part, took it all in stride. He grinned and teased and fussed right back, his words laced with a fondness that made Remus's chest ache. They were a pair, the two of them—opposites in so many ways, and yet perfectly matched.

When they finally made their way back to the common room, the fire had burned low and the castle was silent once more. Sirius yawned, stretching his arms above his head, and Remus couldn't help but smile.

"Tired?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Exhausted," Sirius admitted. He flopped down onto the couch, his head resting against the back. "But it was worth it."

Remus sat down beside him, their shoulders touching. "You're ridiculous," he said, though there was no heat in his words.

"And yet, you put up with me," Sirius said, his grin lazy and content.

Remus didn't respond. He didn't need to. Because Sirius already knew the truth—that Remus would put up with him, fuss over him, and love him, no matter what.

And as they sat there, bathed in the warm glow of the fire, Remus couldn't help but think that Sirius felt the same way.

#the marauders #marauders #marauders era #marauders fic #wolfstar #wolfstar fic #wolfstar fanfiction #remus x sirius #hogwarts era #sirius black #sirius orion black #sirius #remus lupin #remus john lupin #remus #dead gay wizards from the 70s #my fic #my fic writing #my writing

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heyhihellosworld · 2 years ago

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𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞

Charles Leclerc x reader

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Sending your boyfriend alone with his friends to Ibiza shouldn't be a problem, right?

Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating, slightly toxic relationship (or maybe a lot)

Notes: Angst is all I can write right now so here is some for you all. I just wanted to clear everything up with the pictures as well. I did not intent to include the girls in the story. The girls mentioned in the story is made up people but since it's so much easier to find pictures with them and Charles I chose to have the pictures. This is a bit messy but I tried

Summer break was made for relaxation, made to spend time with family and friends, made for rest. It was suposed to be a break from the hectic reality, a break from all the different surroundings and traveling. A break from formula one.

However summer break didn't feel like any of those things for you. No it was nothing that at all. All it was was hurt, stress and heartbreak. Anger and betrayal, no time to rest and no relaxation.

A fucking mess was what it was.

Charle's eyes were wide blown, like he were a kid caught doing something he shouldn't and it was pretty accurate, he had been caught

"Don't look at me like that" you spat at him, feeling anger brewing in your veins after you'd found him stood on your doorstep, begging you to talk, fucking talk

You didn't need to talk you needed to scream, punch or at least kick something. Your anger needed to get an outlap from your body, trapped in your clenched fists.

His adorably sad face made your frustrations hit the roof.

You stood far away as he stepped into your condo, only in your pj's as it was too fucking early in the morning.

Your whole body hurt as he did those small things he always did at your house, like taking off his shoes and neatly putting them to the right of your door and changing the date on the small date-decoration you had on the hallwaybench. Something so domestic didn't feel right anymore, he had betrayed the right.

You had been with him for a year by now, a year of exciting travels, experiences, love and adoration. He had been your closest person for a long time, having had you under his wing and you genuienly thought he would be the one to the end. The one you'd end up marry and have a family with, the one to the end.

But oh how things can turn

"You're really about to let him go with his friends to Ibiza just like that?"

You shrugged at Carmen who stood over you on the sofa, her hands on her hips looking like a scolding parent. Her face was showed suprise, eyebrows raised and mouth in tight line.

"I don't know what I can do about it, he wants to go, I can't" you simplified, met with her shaking of the head. Letting you know she didn't think this was a good idea, didn't approve of it.

"What? You don't trust him?" you asked, looking her in the eyes, a rush of concern errupting in your body. "Do you?" she countered seriously

You sat up, shrugging your shoulders again, an unsettling feeling in your body "I don't know, I mean I really should, we've been together for a year"

"That's not a yes sweetie"

You groaned, throwing you head back "Ugh I don't know, I still can't get Ana out of my head you know"

"I know and I can't either, that's why I'm sceptical" "Well fine but that was a a year ago, straight in the start in our relationship, I wanna think he wouldn't do anything like it again" you spoke

"Okay, okay, it's your relationship" Carmen nodded, finally sitting down next to you in the sofa. "I don't wanna worry you y/n, all is that I care about you and that I want you to be happy and he just.. he screwed up once so I can't trust him"

The sigh that left your mouth was heavy, you knew she was right but you didn't want to admit it. You had been together for long, trying to push the warning signals to the ground, maybe it was time to see them for real.

"Well what to do, let's hope he dosen't screw this up" you sighed, dusting the dirt of your pants before standing up, looking at your friend who stroppily looked back at you "Again" she snarled

Wagsgossip

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Wagsgossip Charles Leclerc seen with multiply different women, women who is clearly not his girlfriend Y/n.

Charles Leclerc reportedly left to Ibiza with some friends and co-drivers on the grid this monday. Leclercs girlfriend Y/n, who he has been dating for around a year was not with the group to Ibiza despite the fact that many of the other guys have their missus with them. Rumours about the pair has been spread over the course of the last few weeks regarding a possible break up but nothing has been official if that's the case.

Pictures have been spread all over internet of Leclerc now cozying up to multitude different girls, wonder how this will reach Y/n

What do you think of this?

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f1lovees OMG what is he DOING?!

justanInchident No Leclec, no

charcharles finally

f1111 He fumbled

chacha Please tell me this isn't true

Carmen was at the door before you even had the time to gather your head around the articles that traveled all over the internet. You'd felt it coming, felt it since he took the step onto that fucking plane, you knew this was it. You should have known better, he was who he was, like he was, he was an ass.

Charles were sweet and loving, soft and calm. He was fun to be around and when things were good between you he was someone you could picture forever with. The only thing was that when he fumbled, he fumbled hard.

The first weeks into your relationship one of those situations had accured, he had seen this girl, behind your back a bit into your relationship. You should have put the breaks in then, but you hadn't. Forgiven and forgotten you'd said.

Now you regretted that.

You should have ended it before it even started after that fuck-up but you didn't, too smitten by his adorable smile and light mood. You got to pay the price.

And you did because now you stood here like an idiot.

Carmen stormed into your apartment, steam practically brewing from her ears as she let out a shout of frustration. "I told you! I told you you couldn't trust the fucker!"

You huffed, not knowing what to say or do, it wasn't rage, not sadness, no all you felt were emptiness, maybe a tad of embarrassment.

"He is such an idiot! I can't believe him!"

"Carmen calm down, it's fine. I guess"

"It's not fucking fine! Come on Y/n! He cheated on you! He made a complete fool out of you!" she spoke, her eyes so wide you worried they were gonna pop out of her skull.

Like on cue George stormed into your small condo, seemingly out of breath and clutching his stomach. "Shit, I'm so sorry Y/n, I tried to make her give you some space but she ran... fast"

You couldn't help but let out a small giggle at your friends. It felt weird in your body, not knowing what was going on, knowing your relationship would end. You didn't know how to react.

George sat down next to you in the sofa, taking your computer who sat next to you with the articles open. "I can't actually believe it" George muttered to himself as he scrolled to the hundred different articles and pictures that was circling around.

"I'm sorry but why aren't you more upset?!" Carmen spoke harshly, George shooting her a disaproving look "I mean, I am upset but it just feels like... I knew I had it coming"

"What?" Geogre echeod Carmen "I don't know, it just feels like our whole relationship is built on false hope, on false trust. Like since our rocky beginning I knew deep down something like this would get the best of us. I knew he would fuck up again and since the idea of Ibiza came up I don't know... I just felt it coming"

"Are you not mad at all?" George asked shocked but you laughed coldly at his question

"Of course I'm fucking pissed. Lets face it, the man tricked me into false hopes and false trust. He made me feel loved and comfortable only to go and jump the closest girl the second I'm not there. He made me look like a fucking fool in front of the media, not once, not twice but for all this year. Fucking hell, I can't believe I've actually been this blind, stupid love eyes" you grumbled, facinated by your own realization

"Finally" carmen sighed out, looking at you with a soft smile.

"So, what are you gonna do about it? Has he even contacted you about it?" George asked, propping his elbows on his knees, leant forward in the sofa. "No, he hasn't. He's probably to gushed with some chick down in Ibiza to even see all the notifications and articles. But when he do, well then he's gonna hear it all" Just as on cue your phone started ringing, the tone making you flinch up from the sofa. You didn't touch it, just stared at the phone which showed you Charles contact.

The ringing stopped, replaced by a never ending buzz as he sent you message after message and Carmen sighed

"Do you want us to stay?"

You shook your head "No, it's fine, thank you though, for coming so soon" you smiled, hugging both of them before walking them out the door.

When the door locked it felt like someone poured a bucket with ice-cold water over your head. Fuck.

This was the reality, this was actually happening. A sick feeling settled to your stomach, how could he do this? Why would he do this? Everything had been great, hadn't it?

You swallowed thickly before walking back to the sofa, settling in it, your knees to your chest as you put on the tv, hoping the sounds would distractract your wandering mind.

Soon enough you couldn't ignore your phone anymore, the never ending buzzing and ringinging on boardeline to drive you crazy.

"Yes Charles?" You spat down the phone, drowned by a hundred words at once. He shouted down everything he could down the phone and you could only make out certain words from the blur.

"We are not talking about this on the phone" you cut him off firmly. "Fuck, okay but I'm not home in another few hours, please stay there, I can explain"

"Just stop talking until you're here" you muttered, clicking him off and throwing your phone to the other end of the sofa.

The night was chilly, cold and lonely. Despite your gut feeling, despite his fuck-ups you loved the guy and had done for a long while so to sit here facing the truth that he apparently didn't, or at least didn't care enough to treat you with respect was though, harsh and heartbreaking. To think of everything you'd done for him, all the travels and extra work to get school done whilst supporting him. All the sacrafices and this was how he treated you. It was unfair.

Charles were on your step the first thing the morning after, not reading the situation at all because you were tired. Hadn't slept a wink and not in the mood for an altercation before coffee and breakfast.

But Charles were Charles after all. Storming into your condo and sitting firmly in your sofa like he was protesting before you could.

- "Well then, say what you need to say and then get the fuck out" you spat, the early morning not helping your hurt feelings as you opted to sit in the armchair, far away from him, arms folded over your chest.

He looked nervous as hell but he should be, he fucked up after all and this time it was all on him.

"Well... I just.. I'm really sorry, I-I didn't mean to-to"

"To fucking what Charles? You didn't mean to fuck her or you didn't mean to hurt me?"

"Well, both"

"Ah, how classic, is that all you have to say? You didn't mean too?"

Charles took a deep breath, swallowing all the words, accepting his fate because you were right, he'd fucked up big time, so big this was unfixable regardless of how much he wanted it to be fixable.

"Come on then, defend yourself, say what you needed to say so badly.

Charles bit his bottom lip, something you found annoying at the moment, but used to find so hot. His eyes fleeted around the floor, not daring to meet yours.

"I don't know what to say... I fucked up, okay! I did and I don't know what to say about it, It was a mistake but it happened!" You saw red at his raised voice, his voice accusing like you were the one causing problems, like it was your fault because you didn't forgive him and it made you furious.

"Lower your fucking voice" you growled at him, pinning him with your eyes as you spoke slowly but firmly. "You did fuck up, so bad, to the point were there are no return. I said that, but still you wanted to talk to me and explain. I'm giving you the opportuinty to talk so explain, nicely or leave me the fuck alone"

Another sigh left his mouth as he lowered his gaze again, having the heart to atleast look sheepish. He knew you, he loved you, knew you would never forgive him for this, loved you for that, for having that respect for yourself.

"I just wanna know why, Charles. Why did you cheat? What am I lacking? What needed to change? Was it me? Us? Or are you just an selfish fucking bastard, have you been using me this whole time? Talking me into this. Fuck I should have listened to my gut with Ana"

Charles shook his head quickly, his eyes so big he could be misstaken for an alien. "No, no I haven't used you! I just... I don't know, okay! I can't explain it, you weren't there and my mind didn't work right and it happened. I love you, I really do and I haven't lied-" "Don't fucking say you love me!" you spat at him, standing up, over this conversation since he clearly had nothing of value to say.

"But I do! I really do!" he promsied "Fuck off Charles! If you loved me you wouldn't have treated me like this, you wouldn't have held me in this relationship, built my hopes nor let me make the sacrifices I have done for you, for us! You wouldn't have talked to the media about me like I was worth nothing and you for sure wouldn't have cheated on me, multiply times!" you close to shouted, arms out from your sides in defeat.

"I don't know what you thought to achieve coming here today Charles, talk me into another chance? I don't know, I don't care but this is over" Charles met your glossy eyes, his own glazing over as his head dropped. "I am sorry" he whispered, standing up from the couch and walking towards you. If you had the energy you would move away but you felt drained, drained from all energy and all emotions.

His lips met your temple, forehead resting against the side of your head for a moment before he whispered "I'm sorry" and leaving.

Leaving you and your relationship behind.

yourusename

Liked by maxverstappen1, carmenmundt and 78 893 others

yourusername Life lately 😋

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Y/nstaan You go girl

F1worlds Y/n in her revenge era 😮‍💨

waags Love her sm, she deserves better

carmenmundt Lovee it!

georgerussell63 Y/nnnn

pierregasly 😮‍💨😮‍💨

#f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #ferrari #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc oneshot #f1 oneshot #scuderia ferrari

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mrsarcherofinfamy · 1 year ago

Note

Hi there!! I'm not sure if you are in an angst mood if not totally fine. Please do not feel obligated to do this. ❤️

You and Damian broke up. The two of you still love each other but stubborn people be stubborn. One day after a house show, you are asleep, and Finn calls you begging to come to a bar to get Damian. The archer of infamy keeps asking for you since you used to be the designated driver.

Against your better judgment, you pick D up and take him to your hotel room. The next morning, he wakes up, and the two of you start arguing (maybe about something they often fought about). In the heat of the moment, one of you admits your feelings to the other. The two of you finally calm down and start to work through their problem and get back together.

I hope you like it!! I tried my best!! 😊

●Damian Priest x Reader●

________________________________________

Laying in bed, looking at the picture of me and Damian sitting on his nightstand on his side of the bed, I start tearing up. Me and Damian broke up about two weeks ago because he thought I was cheating on him with JD. Me and JD were discussing the surprise I had planned for Damian. I lay on my side of the bed, looking down at Damian's side of the bed, and wipe my hand across the bed. I pull the blanket up to my face and shove my face into my pillow, tearing up thinking about him. I start to cry myself to sleep.

________________________________________

*about half hour later*

I am laying in bed sleeping when my phone starts ringing really loud. I gasp sitting up real fast and look over at my phone. I grab it seeing Finn's name come up. I sigh, roll my eyes and answer the phone.

"Yes? What do you want?"

"Woah... hello to you too Y/N."

"What do you want Finn? I'm trying to sleep."

"Well you are gonna have to come pick up Damian."

"No."

"Y/N. Please. He keeps asking for you since you were always the designated driver."

"Why can't you drive him?"

"I've been drinking too. But not as much as him."

"Where is Rhea? Or Dom? Or JD?"

"I don't know. Y/N. Seriously. He is only asking for you. Please. You need to come get him. I'm afraid he might fight someone soon."

"Finn. I haven't seen him in over two weeks since we broke up. I really don't wanna come get him."

"Y/N. Please. Cmon. He only wants you to pick him up. Please. Don't make me keep begging you. I'll give you gas money to come get him. Please."

I sigh and roll my eyes at him standing up.

"Fine. Just this one time. And I'll take him to his hotel room and he is staying there."

"We will see how long he stays there since his hotel room is across from yours."

"I'm not coming."

"Y/N. Please!"

"Fine. Send me the address and give me a few to get changed."

I hang up on him and toss my phone on the bed. I grab one of Damian's big sweatshirts that I took from him awhile ago and put on some leggings. I put on my sneakers and my hat on backwards. I grab my keys and my phone and head out of my room. I stop and look at the address Finn sent me. I walk down the hall, down the stairs and out to the parking lot. I get in my car, putting the address in my phone and head off to go pick him up.

_________________________________________

*at the bar*

I park outside the bar against the curb and call Finn. It rings a few times and he doesn't answer. I sigh and roll my eyes. I look over at the door and I see Damian stumbling out of the door with Finn trying to hold him up. I unlock the door and wait for them. Finn opens the door and helps Damian get in the car. I roll my eyes not looking over at them.

"Thank you Y/N!"

"Yeah yeah."

Finn closes the door and I put the car in drive pulling out of the parking lot. Damian puts his hand on the back of my neck and starts lightly scratching. I grip the steering wheel starting to feel tears swelling up in my eyes. He used to always do that when I would drive just to help me focus and be calm. We get back to the hotel and I park the car getting out. I walk over to his side, open the door and help him get out of the car. Damian slings his arm around my neck looking down at me.

"You are........really....beautiful."

I look up at him for a quick second feeling more tears starting to form than start helping him inside of the hotel. We make our way to my hotel room and I unlock the door helping him inside to the bedroom. I sit him down on the bed and go to the kitchen to grab him a water and a little snack like I would always do for him. I walk back into the bedroom seeing him taking his shoes and pants off. I sit the water and snack next to the bed and walk over to my side of the bed. I grab my pillow and blanket and walk out to the living room. I take off my leggings and my hat and put them on the little desk. I keep Damian's sweatshirt on and lay down on the couch getting comfortable covering myself up with my blanket. I lay there feeling tears start streaming down my face trying to fall asleep.

_________________________________________

*the next morning*

I am sitting on the couch watching the TV still lightly crying from last night. I hear the bed start creaking and I quickly wipe the tears off my face. Damian comes around the corner stretching in the door frame. I look over at him real quick than back at the TV. He walks over to the kitchen and opens the fridge door.

"Wait.... where did my food go?"

He looks over at me on the couch and slams the fridge door shut. He walks over to me standing over me.

"What are you doing in my hotel room?"

"Ummm... this is my hotel room."

He looks around the room than looks back at me confused.

"Why am I in your room?"

I gulp and finally look up at him.

"Well.... Finn called me last night."

"Of course he did. You trying to sleep with him too? I wouldnt doubt it since you went for his best friend."

"No.....He called me because you were asking for me to come pick you up. Because I used to be your designated driver. And he was afraid you might fight him or someone else."

"Yeah I'm sure. What did I tell you when we broke up? I told you to never talk to me again! To never help me again! And to stay away from me! What don't you understand!?"

"IM TRYING OKAY?!"

He stands there looking at me with a shocked face. I stand up infront of him looking up at him, my eyes swelling with tears again.

"Fuck my feelings! They are fucked! But one thing that I'll always be sure about is my love for you! It hurts seeing you backstage almost everyday looking all happy! I would NEVER cheat on you with your friends or anyone! I fucking love you and I can't fucking stay away from you! Okay?!"

I sit down and start crying again pulling my knees to my face. Damian sits down next to me on the couch and puts his arm around my body pulling me into him.

"Y/N."

I continue crying into my knees and he pulls me closer starting to rub my back putting his head ontop of mine.

"Shhhh."

I sniffle and look up at him. He starts wiping the tears from my face looking back at me.

"Y/N. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for accusing you of messing with my friends. I'm sorry I hurt you like this. I promise I have been faking it about being happy. I'm not happy. Ive been really depressed since we broke up. Finn, Dom and JD have been basically yelling at me for the last two weeks about how I am an idiot and you weren't cheating on me. They said you were actually setting up a surprise for me."

I look up at him some tears running down my face. He starts wiping them away.

"I was planning a surprise party for your birthday. I wanted it to be special."

"You were? Really?"

I look at him seeing his face getting really concerned and upset.

"Yes I was. But now that your birthday has passed, that ain't happening."

"I.....I.....I'm so sorry. I was and still am so scared of losing you."

I look up at him feeling my eyes being very puffy. He looks at me very upset and his eyes starting to tear up.

"I still love you with everything in my heart and soul. I really miss you."

"I miss you too."

He puts his hand under my chin, pushes my head up towards him and kisses me lightly. I lean in kissing him back. We slowly start kissing each other and I run my fingers through his hair. He pulls back looking me in the eyes. I look up at him slightly smiling.

"I love you Y/N."

"I love you too Damian."

#wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #imagines #wrestling imagine #writing #wwe x reader #wwe fluff #wwe fics #wwe fic #wwe fanfics #wwe #damian priest fanfic #damian priest x reader #wwe damian priest #damian priest imagine #damian priest #charley's fics

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madsblogsstuff · 2 months ago

Text

OSCAR PIASTRI X READER: hurt my feelings

“She wears your number, but I got what you like

She's got you right now, but I'm still on your mind”

—————————————————————————————

- this is based loosely off the Tate McRae song “hurt my feelings”. enjoy!!!

- psa: I have nothing against Lily! she’s just used as a plot point. I’m also brand new to F1 so if I get some stuff wrong I’m sorry!! 🤍

—————————————————————————————

The paddock was full of energy as the sun was shining down in Melbourne. It felt as if it was nearly sizzling my skin off. I was quick to snap pictures when given the chance, trying to catch the absolute best moments just before the Australian Grand Prix went green. I decided to stroll down to the garages to get more pictures, and wish Lando, Oscar, and the team good luck. I snapped pictures as I walked along the garage, then I heard a familiar voice.

“Y/n! There’s my darling” Lando shouted out to me, making his was towards me. Lando was by far my best friend at McLaren, even though we had different careers in Formula 1 - we got along exceptionally well. Ever since we got introduced to each other last year, we’ve been inseparable.

“Lando!” I yelled back, walking towards him to meet the distance.

“I was coming down here to look for you and Oscar. Wanted to wish you guys good luck” I said wrapping my arms around Lando, wrapping him a tight hug.

“Ah, thank you y/n! Good luck finding Oscar, I have no clue where the guy went - he’s probably went off to see his family real quick and Lily” Lando squeezed me before letting go of the hug. My facial expression faltered slightly at the mention of Lily, Oscars girlfriend.

Oscar and Lily had been dating for about four months now and it was absolutely hell. Yes, she was a sweet girl but there was just something I couldn’t stand about her.

I guess Lando picked up on my facial change. “Oh come on bug, you still having a rough time about Lily?” He started, making his voice lower to where nobody nearby could hear.

“"I... I don’t know," I sighed, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "It’s just… hard, I guess. I don’t even know what it is about her." I wasn’t sure why I felt this way, but I couldn’t deny that Lily’s presence in Oscar’s life made me uneasy.

“Lando, Y/n!” I turned to the direction of the voice, but I already knew who it was before my head even rotated. Oscar came bouncing over to us, with Lily on his arm. I put on my best smile, acting as if Lando and I weren’t just talking about them. Lando and I said our ‘hello’s’ and then I started to space out as the boys and Lily conversed. I couldn’t help but notice Lily was wearing a McLaren shirt, emblazoned with none other than ‘Piastri’ in big bold letters. My heart skipped a beat. Had they really gotten that serious already? They’d only been together for a few months. Why was she already sporting his name like that?

"Y/N? Y/N!" Oscar waved his hand in front of my face, pulling me from my thoughts. "You okay?" he asked, concern flickering across his face.

"Yeah, I’m fine," I quickly replied, giving him a small nod. "Just a little tired." But I could feel the weight of my words—the truth hanging in the air. Oscar was still holding onto my heart, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

He didn’t seem convinced. His gaze lingered a little too long, like he could see right through me

Oscar and I had a complicated history. I joined McLaren when he was starting his second year, and like with Lando, we became inseparable. But our connection was different. We’d steal glances when no one was watching, stay up late texting or on the phone, and he’d always bring me my favorite coffee. It felt intimate—like something deeper was there. Even Lando, who knew me better than anyone, insisted there was no way Oscar didn’t have feelings for me.

And then came the day I was ready to ask him about it—to finally confess my feelings. But instead of a romantic conversation, Oscar introduced Lily to the team, and everything inside me shattered. I cried harder that night than I ever had in my life.

Was it dramatic? Yes, but when you’re that invested in someone, the heartbreak feels like the end of the world. The worst part was that Oscar and I were never anything more than close friends—yet somehow, it hurt even more knowing that. Especially with how secretive he’d been about Lily. I felt like an outsider in my own friendship with him, like I didn’t matter enough for him to share something so important.

Since then, things between Oscar and me had shifted. He stopped bringing me coffee, the late-night chats stopped, and our conversations became more professional, more distant. We still talked, of course—mostly business stuff, race-related updates, and the occasional congratulations or condolences. But it wasn’t the same.

Lando knew exactly how I felt. He could see it in my eyes, hear it in my voice when I couldn’t hide it. He had been there for me when I couldn’t get out of bed, when I was crushed by the weight of it all. And even though I’d managed to pull myself back together, that quiet ache still lingered.

I pushed through the motions of my work: races on the weekends, taking pictures, showing up to work for the week, and then doing it all over again. I loved my job, but seeing Oscar every day, especially with Lily in the picture now, felt like a constant reminder of everything I couldn’t have.

I shook off my thoughts and smiled tightly. "Good luck, guys. I’ll see you after the race for photos." I glanced at Oscar, then quickly avoided Lily’s gaze, feeling like her eyes were burning through me. The boys said their thanks, Lando gave me one last tight hug, and I excused myself, making my way back up to the paddock.

As I climbed the stairs, I glanced back and saw Oscar staring at me from a distance. My heart skipped a beat. My cheeks flushed crimson, and I quickly turned away, rushing up the stairs to catch my breath. There was no denying it anymore—I was still in deep. And the way Oscar looked at me, despite the distance between us, made my heart ache even more.

——————————————————————————

The race wrapped up with Lando finishing in P3 and Oscar in P4. I rushed to the podium to capture Lando celebrating, popping champagne, and basking in the excitement of the moment.

When Lando spotted me, he shot me a playful grin and posed for the camera. I giggled, snapping a few quick shots before, suddenly, Lando grabbed me into a hug, lifting me off the ground.

“Lando! Put me down!” I laughed, trying to wiggle free.

“Never bug!” Lando said spinning me around in the air. Finally he put me down.

“Congratulations dude! You’re insane!” I said pushing Lando’s shoulder. He just smiled smugly back at me laughing.

“Thanks y/n. We’re partying hard tonight!” Landon said pumping his fists and trophy in the air. I jokingly rolled my eyes, Lando and his post-race parties.

“For sure” I said laughing, nothing good and well I would not be attending if he did throw something. “Uhm…I better go find Oscar and get some pictures” I told Lando.

“You got this” Lando said hugging me one last time. I was so lucky to have a best friend like him. I left the podium, on my search for Oscar to snap some pictures.

When I got to the bottom of the podium, I saw him standing with the rest of the team taking and celebrating - no Lily in sight. I quickly jogged over to him. When I reached him I tapped him on his shoulder, he turned around and when he noticed it was me I saw some kind of emotion in his eyes - but I couldn’t tell what it was.

“Pictures?” I said raising my camera looking up at him. He nodded his head and posed for me, I quickly took some photos.

“Congratulations on P4, you did great today” I said once I finished photos, putting my camera back in my bag.

“Thank you, it was definitely a fight out there today” Oscar said smiling down at the ground. God, his smile was so infectious it made me sick. He was absolutely beautiful and I hated that I just couldn’t let him go.

I placed my hand in his elbow. “Still, you raced like hell Piastri” I said looking him in his eyes searching for any kind of emotion he could display. It seemed like his breathing had hitched when I placed my hand on him and the look in his eyes got darker.

“Oscar! Oscar!” A voice shouted out over the sea of people. I turned my head around, it was Lily. Oscar stared at me for a little longer and then soon Lily wrapped him up in a hug, pushing me out of the way like I wasn’t even there. I stepped back, stumbling a bit. Lily was screaming ‘congrats’ and other sweet nothings in Oscar’s ear. Oscar still just looked at me, the same look not going away at all - he almost looked… sad? Maybe, I wasn’t sure. I just quickly nodded my head at him and walked back towards the paddock, trying to forget what just happened.

——————————————————————————

As the race weekend came to a close and the paddock began to empty, I felt that familiar pang deep in my chest. The constant hum of the engines, the cheers from the stands, the energy of the race—it all started to fade into the background as my mind drifted. I was trying, so hard, to tell myself that I needed to stay away from Oscar. That I needed to let go and focus on something, anything, other than him.

But every time I saw him, I couldn’t help myself. The way he smiled, the way his eyes would light up when he was genuinely happy—it all made me feel like I was losing my grip. I was caught between wanting to be close to him and knowing it was better to keep my distance. Especially after our conversation after the race today.

I wandered over to where Lando was still celebrating with the team. He was surrounded by people, chatting and laughing, basking in the afterglow of his impressive P3 finish. I should’ve felt happy for him—after all, he was my best friend. But right now, all I could think about was the interaction I had just had with Oscar, the look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite read, the way he had seemed… distant.

After a while, Lando and I were finally back at the hotel we were all staying at.

I followed Lando through the hotel lobby, our footsteps echoing in the emptiness. The race had been a whirlwind—his P3 finish was impressive, as always, and Oscar had fought hard for his P4—but none of that seemed to matter anymore. My mind was stuck on one thing: Oscar. And the way he looked at me earlier, right before Lily had shown up, wrapping herself around him like she had every right to be there. It wasn’t just jealousy—it was the crushing realization that I’d never be the one to stand there with him. Not in the way I wanted.

“Hey, come on,” Lando said, giving me a nudge as we walked through the hotel corridors toward the bar. “Let’s grab a drink, yeah? You’ve been working nonstop all weekend.”

I didn’t protest. Lando always knew how to pull me out of my head, even if it was only temporary. We entered the hotel bar, and I quickly slid onto a stool, trying to ignore the heaviness in my chest. The bar was quieter than usual, a few race team members scattered around with drinks in hand, but it felt like the perfect place to try and forget for a while.

Lando ordered for us both, his usual easy smile still in place despite the chaos of the weekend. But as soon as he turned to me, I could tell he knew something was off. He always did.

Lando was quiet for a beat, watching me with that understanding look of his. “You mean Oscar?”

I looked away for a moment, my heart beating faster. “I keep telling myself to move on, to stop feeling like this, but every time I see him—Oscar—I just get these stupid feelings, Lando. I know he’s with Lily, and I know it’s not going to happen, but… I can’t let go of this hope, this stupid hope that maybe… maybe something could change.”

Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I get it, Y/N. But listen, you’ve got to stop holding onto something that’s hurting you. I know you care about him, but if he doesn’t see you the way you see him, then you’ve got to step back. It’s not worth it.”

I bit my lip, my gaze dropping to the bar top . “I don’t know how to let go. It’s just so hard. And every time I see him with her, it just… it feels like a slap in the face. I keep thinking that maybe something will click, but it never does. And I’m just… I’m so tired of feeling this way.”

Lando’s expression softened as he set his glass down and leaned closer. “Listen, you’re one of the strongest people I know. But you’ve got to stop fighting for something that’s not meant for you. If Oscar doesn’t see what he’s got in front of him, that’s his loss, not yours. You can’t keep putting yourself through this.”

I nodded at Lando’s words - he was right. I couldn’t hold on to Oscar because it was hurting me, but something about the hurt made me crave it more.

——————————————————————————

I tossed and turned in bed that night, restlessness gnawing at my thoughts. After everything that had happened earlier with Oscar, I couldn’t seem to shake the confusion, the hurt, the lingering anger. Every time I closed my eyes, his face, his words, kept replaying in my mind. I couldn’t sleep, not when everything felt like it was hanging on a thread, ready to unravel at any moment.

Eventually, I gave up trying to find rest. The sheets felt suffocating, the quiet of the hotel room pressing in on me. I slipped out of bed and paced the room, trying to make sense of the emotions coursing through me. But no matter how much I walked, no matter how much I tried to distract myself, the truth was clear—I needed to talk to him.

I glanced at the clock. It was late, and I wasn’t sure if he’d even be awake, but I couldn’t keep pretending that I was fine. The tension between us had only gotten worse, and I had to face it. I had to get some answers, even if I was scared of what I might hear.

After a few moments of hesitation, I grabbed my jacket, slipped on my shoes, and left my room. My footsteps were quiet as I walked down the hallway, my nerves a tangled mess. My mind was telling me to turn back, but I ignored it. I couldn’t leave things like this. Not anymore.

I reached Oscar’s door, standing in front of it, my hand hovering over the knob for a moment. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heartbeat. My fingers finally brushed against the door, and I knocked lightly. It was late, and I wasn’t even sure he’d answer, but I couldn’t wait any longer.

The sound of footsteps from inside caused my breath to catch in my throat. I could feel my pulse quicken as the door creaked open, revealing Oscar, standing there in a t-shirt and sweatpants. His hair was messy, his eyes slightly bleary, but he was still the same Oscar. And seeing him like this—so close and yet so far—made the weight of everything hit me harder than I expected.

He blinked at me for a second, clearly surprised to see me standing there. “Y/N?” His voice was soft, cautious, as if unsure why I was there. “What’s going on?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out immediately. I had so many things to say, but they were all jumbled in my head. Instead, I swallowed hard and looked him in the eyes. “I need to talk to you,” I said quietly, trying to keep my voice steady.

Oscar looked at me for a long moment, as if weighing his options, before he stepped aside and gestured for me to come in. “Okay,” he said, his voice low. “Come in.”

I entered, and the door clicked shut behind me. The room was dimly lit, the only real light coming from the faint glow of the bathroom. Oscar didn’t immediately sit down. He just stood there, watching me, waiting for me to say something. I hated how much I could feel the distance between us, even though we were standing less than a meter apart.

“I…” I started, then stopped. How could I even begin? The words felt impossible to find, as though I were speaking in a foreign language, trying to translate my emotions into something coherent.

Oscar’s gaze softened, his voice gentle but still filled with concern. “You look like you haven’t slept,” he said, his eyes scanning me as if trying to figure out what was going on. “Are you okay?”

I couldn’t answer that. Not when the answer felt like it would spill out too much at once, and I wasn’t ready for that. Instead, I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “I don’t know, Oscar,” I admitted, my voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know if I’m okay. I’ve been thinking about everything, and I’m just... so lost.”

He remained silent for a few seconds, waiting for me to continue, but I couldn’t seem to find the right words. It was like I was suffocating under the weight of all the unspoken things. My throat tightened, and I finally just let it all spill out.

“You kept Lily from us, from me,” I said, almost stumbling over the words. “You kept her a secret, Oscar. And it was like everything changed. We were close, but then one day, it was like I didn’t even matter anymore. You didn’t even try to explain it, and now everything feels... broken. Like it’s too late to fix it. I just don’t understand why you couldn’t talk to me.”

Oscar’s expression faltered, and I saw the conflict in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand, cutting him off.

“You can’t just say sorry and expect it all to be fine,” I said, the anger creeping back into my voice. “You’ve been distant for the past four months, Oscar. And I’m tired of feeling like I don’t know where I stand with you.”

The silence stretched between us, both of us caught in the weight of everything that had been left unsaid. Oscar stood there, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts, but it felt like he was struggling with his own emotions, unsure of how to bridge the gap.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N. I really didn’t. But I didn’t know how to handle it... how to handle what was between us. I kept thinking, kept hoping that maybe if I stayed away, it wouldn’t complicate things.”

“Complicate things?” I asked, disbelief rising in my chest. “Oscar, you’ve already complicated everything. You didn’t just pull away; you pushed me out. You were always so careful, so guarded, and then with her, it was like everything was easy. But with me... I felt like I didn’t know what I was to you anymore.”

Oscar closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a long breath, and when he opened them again, there was something raw in his gaze. “I should have been more honest with you. About everything.” He paused, his lips slightly parted as if he was searching for the right words. “But the truth is... I didn’t know how to tell you that... I like you, Y/N. I’ve always liked you. And I didn’t know how you felt. I saw the signs, sure, but I didn’t want to make things weird between us. I thought maybe... maybe it was better to just keep things the way they were.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. My heart skipped a beat, and I had to catch my breath. I stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. He liked me. All this time, with the awkwardness, the distance—it was because he didn’t know how I felt? My mind was spinning.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he continued, his voice trembling slightly. “But now I see that in trying not to mess things up, I’ve only made everything worse. And I hate myself for it.”

I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself. It wasn’t just about Lily. It was about him, about us, and everything that had been left unspoken for far too long. “You think... you think this is something you can just fix with words, Oscar?” I said, my voice shaking. “Do you even know what you’ve done to me?”

He stepped closer, his eyes searching mine as if pleading for me to understand. “I know I’ve messed up. But I don’t want to lose what we had. I don’t want to lose you. Not when I’ve only just realized what you mean to me.”

I felt the weight of his words sink in, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t know what to say. My heart ached with the realization that there was something between us, something we hadn’t addressed, but the past wasn’t so easily erased. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that things could change, that we could find our way back to something real.

“I don’t know, Oscar,” I said softly. “I don’t know what comes next.”

He nodded, his face falling slightly. “I don’t know either. But I want to figure it out with you. If you’re willing to try.”

I took a deep breath, still trying to process everything Oscar had just said. His words were still echoing in my mind, but I knew there was more we needed to talk about—something that had been looming between us from the very beginning.

I shifted uneasily, glancing at Oscar before I spoke. “And what about Lily?” I asked quietly. The question hung in the air between us, heavy and unavoidable. “What happens with her?”

Oscar’s expression faltered for a second. He seemed to tense up, the weight of the question settling in. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “I don’t want to hurt her, Y/N,” he said softly. “But I don’t want to keep lying to her or myself either.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I don’t want to hurt her either,” I admitted, my voice quieter now. “I don’t know her, not really, but... I don’t want to be the one to cause drama or tension between you two.” I paused, struggling to find the right words. “But I also don’t want to be this... person on the sidelines, wondering where I fit into your life. I don’t want to keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

Oscar’s eyes softened, and he took a step closer to me, his voice gentle. “You’re not on the sidelines, Y/N. I’ve been an idiot, and I know I’ve messed things up. But I’m not asking you to keep pretending like nothing’s wrong. I want to be honest with you, and I know I need to be honest with Lily too.”

I nodded slowly, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety swirl inside me. “And what do you think is going to happen with you and her?” I asked, my voice uncertain, afraid of the answer.

Oscar hesitated, his gaze flickering to the door for a moment before returning to me. “I don’t know yet. We need to talk. I’ve been keeping things from her, and I don’t want to do that anymore. I need to be honest with her, with both of us.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I never meant to hurt anyone. But I think it’s clear that there’s something between us. Something I’ve been trying to ignore, even though it’s been there all along.”

My heart raced at his words, the vulnerability in his eyes only making everything more complicated. “I don’t want to be the one to hurt her, Oscar,” I said again, my voice quiet. “But I can’t keep pretending that I don’t have feelings for you. It’s too hard. And if I’m being honest, it feels like I’m just waiting for you to figure it all out.”

Oscar reached out, his hand hovering near mine before he gently placed it on top of my hand. “I’m not asking you to wait. I don’t want to make you feel like you have to put your life on hold because of me.” He squeezed my hand lightly, his eyes locking onto mine with a sincerity that made my chest tighten. “But I also don’t want to keep lying to Lily. She deserves better than that. She deserves the truth, just like you do.”

I nodded slowly, feeling a weight settle over me. This wasn’t going to be easy for anyone involved. But for the first time in a long while, it felt like Oscar and I were finally on the same page. It was messy, it was complicated, and it wasn’t going to be resolved overnight, but at least we were facing it together. At least, we were being honest with each other.

“I just don’t know how to do this,” I said quietly, my voice trembling slightly. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I also can’t keep pretending like nothing’s going on between us. I don’t want to be in the middle of all this, Oscar. I don’t want to feel like I’m betraying her, but I can’t keep pushing my feelings down either.”

Oscar’s expression softened, and he took a step closer to me, his hand gently brushing my arm. “I get it. And I promise, I’ll make sure Lily isn’t caught in the middle of all this. I need to have that conversation with her, no matter how hard it is. But I don’t want to keep pretending like nothing’s going on with us. I know it’s going to be difficult, but I want to figure this out. With you.”

I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. “Okay. I want that too. But I need time, Oscar. I need to process everything that’s happened. I don’t know if I’m ready to jump into something, especially with all the mess around it.”

Oscar looked at me with a quiet understanding. “I get that. Take all the time you need. But just know that I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. And I’ll do what I can to make sure this doesn’t cause any more hurt than it already has.”

We stood there for a moment, the weight of everything between us. I felt like we were on the edge of something new, but I also knew that there was still so much to untangle. Still, I couldn’t ignore the way my chest ached with the realization that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for us.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice soft. “For being honest. I needed to hear that.”

Oscar gave me a small smile, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and relief. “You deserve that honesty, Y/N. I’m sorry it took me so long to give it to you.”

I gave a small nod, my heart still racing with everything we had just laid bare. It wasn’t going to be easy. It was going to take time, patience, and honesty—things we’d both struggled with. But for the first time, I felt like we were finally moving in the right direction. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t clean. But it was real.

——————————————————————————

A few days after arriving back home - it was straight back to the McLaren office for work. I was sat at my desk in my office, working on editing photos, when I heard a knock on my door.

“Come in” I said out loud, taking my attention off my computer to look up at the door.

Oscar peeked his head in the door, closing it behind him. In his hand, he held a coffee.

“I brought you something” Oscar said, handing the coffee out to me. Him and I haven’t talked about our conversation in his hotel room since it happened.

I smiled at him, my heart swelled at how he smiled at me. I graciously accepted the coffee.

“Why thank you, sir” I said taking a sip of it, Oscar still remembered my coffee order after all these months. It made me smile incredibly hard.

I then dropped to a more serious face and tone. “Uhm so… have you talked to Lily?” I asked sipping on my coffee, turning my attention back to the photo I was editing.

Oscar shifted his weight slightly, his gaze falling on the floor before he looked back up at me. “I have,” he said, his voice soft. “It wasn’t easy. But I was honest with her”.

I nodded, focusing on the screen, even though my mind was racing with a thousand thoughts. “And how did it go?” I asked, even though I was half afraid of the answer.

Oscar sighed, sitting down in one of the chairs I had at the front of my desk. “It was... tough. But I think she understood. She wasn’t happy about it, obviously, but she said she appreciated the honesty. I don’t think she expected it to be easy, but I don’t think she was completely blindsided either.”

I felt a small weight lift off my chest, but a quiet tension still lingered in the air between us. I glanced at him for a moment, trying to read his face.

“This” I say, pointing between Oscar and I, “Is going to take time and rebuilding”. Oscar nods his head.

“I know and I’m okay with that, but I’m willing to do anything to make it better Y/N” he stares at me. I could tell he was genuine.

I showed him a small smile, letting our silence linger. I glanced over at my computer.

“Want to go through some of your photos from this past weekend?” I asked looking at him.

“Yes, I do” he said, getting up out of the chair and coming behind my desk. He stood behind my chair and placed his hands on my armrests, leaning over my head and peering at the computer, ready to look at the pictures.

I felt my heart rate pick up, but then a sense of calm washed over me. I felt at peace again, I finally had Oscar back.

No matter what, I had still been on his mind this whole time. I was in so deep, I didn’t even mind if he hurt my feelings - again.

#oscar piastri #formula 1 #formula one #formula racing #lando norris #Spotify

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