#maeve mumbles

[mithrilhearts]

I've been having some random fanfic writer/reader thoughts lately, and so now it's time to ask some questions. There are no wrong answers!

This question is centered around the idea of if I should post chapters as I finish them, or get most/all the fic completed, and then post them on a regular schedule.

[qlossytbh]

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 in which you and spencer almost say i love you four times and one time where you actually do.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 16+ minors dni!, fem!reader, established relationship, spencer is down bad, so is reader tho, idiots in love, they’re both lowkey rlly hormonal bro, pet names (love, handsome), this one’s a rollercoaster, fluff, angst, lots of suggestiveness because reader likes to tease lol, allusions to smut (didn’t actually write it tho sorry!) fighting, spencer kinda acts like a bitch, makeoutshesh, mentions of reader being insecure of her physical appearance, mentions of typical cm content, mentions of blood, mentions of reader getting hurt, protective!spencer, derek and reader have a cute friendship, lots of mentions of maeve so spoilers on that end, pls let me know if i forgot anything!!!,

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 8.1k (damn)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 so i had many cute loose concepts and i kinda meshed it all into one fic. this is also loosely based on birds of a feather by billie eilish! im in love with this piece ugh

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The first time

“You look different,” Derek mumbled, mostly to himself, but loud enough to catch on. You turned towards his voice. The only thing different was that Hotch had let you come in later than your usual schedule since you had a random doctor's appointment— Oh, and the recently purchased light-blue button up you were wearing.

Your brows furrowed at Derek, one hand adjusting the strap of the purse that hung loosely on your shoulder as a light brown bag sat comfortably in the other. “Different..?”

Emily followed Derek, joining in as she glanced over at you from her own respective desk. “Actually he’s right,”

“I’m wearing a new shirt..?” You fiddled with the first button of your shirt, pursing your lips in bewilderment.

“No—“ Emily squinted at you. “It’s something else..”

Your mouth hung slightly open, not really sure how to respond to their prying eyes. They both were glancing at you, then at each other, then you again, but this time up and down—

“I hope it’s a good difference,” You commented as you waltzed past them and towards your boyfriend's desk. Spencer was hunched over at his desk, eyes practically burning holes into the files that sat in front of him.

His lips were pursed familiarly, just like he always did when he was so concentrated, along with the familiar furrow in his brow. His hair was tousled, a strand or two falling flat in front of his forehead. He looked so good it made you dizzy.

An instinctive smile had already reached your face once you made it to his desk. You leaned over him, slapping the brown bag on top of the files he was reading. He flinched slightly, but nevertheless, was finally pulled out of his deep concentration pool. You placed your palms on his shoulders, running them down his chest as you leaned over to hug him from behind.

You placed a kiss underneath his ear. “Hi handsome,”

He sank in his desk, realizing it was only just you and immediately easing. He hummed placidly, entranced by the sound of your sickeningly sweet voice. You pulled away to which he took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder at you.

You gave him a soft smile, one you used that made his heart soar. How your eyes grew lenient and lips curved gently upwards as you scanned as much of his features as your brain could possibly take in.

You placed both hands on his shoulder and nudged your chin towards the bag. “Brought you your favorite,”

His hands were already on the bag before you could say anything else and when he looked inside he was in fact correct on his suspicions when he saw two chocolate sprinkled doughnuts.

They smelled heavenly and he knew they were enough to cure his very major and very much present sweet tooth he had woken up with this morning. A large uncontrollable smile slapped right onto his face as he opened his mouth. “I—“

He stopped, clamping his mouth shut abruptly.

Thank god. He swallowed those three words that had nearly left his mouth, pushing them right back into the back of his throat before the damage could be done.

It wouldn’t necessarily be the first time this week where he let the confession accidentally slip. He realized that as of recently, he would catch himself with more and more of a necessity to tell you how he felt.

The two of you started seeing each other romantically about six months back. It was completely out of nowhere when he asked you out for the first time. The second— and third, and fourth and continuing times after were more than expected.

It didn’t take much for the two of you to realize how much of an importance the other partook in your day to day basis, even despite being friends for so long prior to the dating.

And everyday he saw you he felt this big tightening in his chest that made it actually impossible for him to breathe. He felt all this pent up emotion that was getting harder for him to manage with every passing day.

It scared him, how much he cared about you. How much he wanted you to be a part of his everyday life and how much he wanted to tell you how it made him feel— how you made him feel.

But that fear was exactly the reason why he’d clamp his mouth shut every single time he felt like he wanted to tell you.

“I—uhm,” He cleared his throat. “Thank you, really I—“

You watched him, titling your head to the side with a prying gaze. “Have I ever told you how amazingly perfect you are?”

You purse your lips, leaning over his shoulder and pretending to be deep in thought. “I’m not sure— I think you’re gonna need to jog up my memory.”

He shook his head, huffing a laugh as you leaned down and pressing a long kiss onto his lips. You hummed in contentment, feeling the fuzziness in your chest reach every nerve in your body.

“Hey,” You pulled away, glaring over at Derek from Spencer’s desk. “Calm your hormones or I’m telling Hotch to hit HR up,”

“Actually hormones aren’t something you can consciously control, they’re a biological response to situations we find—“ Spencer quipped, earning a loud groan from Morgan.

You rolled your eyes, looking down at Spencer and reaching a hand up, running it ploddingly through his thick brown curls. “Are you coming over tonight?”

He nodded. “Yeah,”

“Looking forward to it,” You pecked his lips once more. Before rounding his desk and making a b-line for your own.

Spencer scanned you up and down as you waltzed away, not realizing you were wearing the shirt you bought last weekend. The one that enhanced the beauty of your hair and skin color, mapping a perfect picture he wanted to get lost looking at. He also couldn’t fail to avoid the way the shirt deliciously hugged every curve and bump your body had to offer. And those dress pants—

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning internally. He then thumped his forehead onto his desk, cheeks blazing with heat, knowing he was more screwed than anyone in this whole building, a lost cause if you will.

As you strutted past Derek and Emily’s desk towards your own, Emily gasped loudly. “I think I finally got it,”

“Yeah, I completely agree with you,” Derek followed. You looked at them both quizzically.

“Could it be?— No,” Emily gasped once again and you immediately noticed that it was fake, alarming you of whatever game they were getting at.

“Yeah, I think it’s finally happened.” Derek leaned back in his chair, clicking his tongue and smirking over at you. “Pretty girl here is in love,”

Your cheeks turned hot, as your eyebrows shot up defensively. “What?”

Derek liked to say the two of you were still in your ‘honeymoon phase’ and you couldn’t disagree with him— it was the most accurate description of your relationship with Spencer.

But saying in love triggered something— physically and emotionally.

“No wonder she looks so different,” Emily tutted. “She’s got that ‘happy in love’ glow to her.”

“Shut up,” You have the strap of your purse on a death grip as you opened your mouth to protest but failed miserably as all the words died in the back of your throat. Thank god Spencer seemed preoccupied with the donut you had just given him.

“I’m—“ You shuffled, slapping yourself internally. Way to give it away. “You guys need to find a better hobby.”

And with blazing cheeks, a dry throat and a concerning pattering heart blaring against your throat, you stalked your way back to your desk.

The second time

“But that isn’t fair Spencer!” You groaned, gripping your bag as if your life depended on it. “You can’t expect to save everyone and then blame yourself when it doesn’t go well,”

There had been a sensitive case today, clearly an unsuccessful one. Spencer, like usual, jumped at the first opportunity to start blaming himself— for not being quicker, for not being smarter.. Whatever reason he could nitpick at, he was currently doing so.

You tore your purse off your body and tossed it into a small basket by your front door. You roughly tore your heels off, slightly relieved at the feeling off the palms of your feet on the wooden floor.

“There were flaws in the profile— flaws in the geographical profile,” He huffed, frustrated, filling every fiber of his words. He tore his satchel off his body, grabbing his files from it prior and slapping them onto your coffee table. “We couldn’t even correctly pinpoint the Unsubs M.O before he started sadistically killing again, we couldn’t—“

You felt for him, you truly did. Spencer was one of the most kind hearted, considerate people you knew, but that came with a lot of self-demands. He had to be everything at once, and be there for everyone at once and if he didn’t reach the bar he’d set up for himself, this would happen.

He pushed past you and towards your kitchen. “Spence, we aren’t going to solve every case, no matter how good our work may be.”

“You think I don’t know that? The average percent of homicides cleared or "solved" is 60 to 65 but around 35 to 40 percent go unsolved.” You opened your fridge, grabbing a pitcher of water and grabbing a glass from your cabinet as you listened to Spencer.

“35 to 40 percent, do you know how high that is?!” He stressed. You realized his irritation was heavy because he was reaching his peak of rambling.

Spencer just couldn’t stand when things like this happened. When people did horrible things and got the luxury of roaming free— he couldn’t help but feel like he was at fault for that. If he was just quicker, or smarter maybe they would’ve caught whatever bastard was terrorizing people.

“I know you know that!” You huffed a breath of frustration. “But that’s the way this job works Spence!”

“What would you know about how this job works?” He turned, hot on his heels, facing you with an indescribable exasperation pooling around his eyes.

You stopped in your tracks, looking up at him sharply and setting the still empty glass of water and pitcher back onto the table “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes were deeply upset— cold and hard and so much different from the soft and welcoming gaze of your partner. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about being a profiler. You joined the team around three years after the rest of us.”

You stared at him with incredulity. When in a relationship with somebody, as well as learning all of their admirable virtues, you also learn their defects. And one of Spencer’s defects was that he had no filter whatsoever when he got angry. He just said the first thing that came to mind and spit it out and towards whichever person was unlucky enough to fall victim.

Not that the two of you fought often because you quite literally never did— but you’d see him pissed at people and his petty side sometimes felt the need to make an appearance.

You, however, had never had to experience this firsthand. You’d seen it happen at work, with JJ, with Derek, with the press. But two of you had never spoken to each other the way you were doing now. And if he thought you were gonna let him slide, he’s got another thing coming.

“What about Rossi?” You challenged as you crossed your arms across your chest. “I was accepted into the team just months after he was, you’re gonna tell him he wouldn’t know the first thing about being a profiler?”

“That’s different—“

“How?” Your veins were pumping with adrenaline. Your fingers shook violently, and the back of your throat suddenly burned with the need to cry. “I had jobs before getting called into the BAU, and I busted my ass off in college—“

“It’s not the same!” He spat. “You had never worked with the team before, it took you months to learn how we processed things, how we handled them.”

You could visually see Spencer bite down on his tongue only now attempting to reel himself down back to earth. And if you didn’t know him better, you wouldn’t be able to recognize the identifiable regret that appeared in his eyes while you continued on.

“And who are you to hold that against me Spencer?”

He swallowed thickly and let out a heavy sigh. You ran a frustrated hand through your curled hair. “All i’m saying is that—“

“I know what this job is like, which is why I’m telling you to get out of your goddamn head.” You didn’t scream at him, but there was a firmness in your voice that could scare practically anyone off.

“The things that have happened, happened today or will happen are never going to be in our control,” You told him. “Never.”

“Just because you’re angry and pissed does not give you a free card to attack me,” You slammed the glass cup onto the counter and pushed past him, making your way out of the kitchen. Spencer didn’t follow you to your room, he knew it wasn’t a smart idea.

So as your bedroom door slammed shut, he stalked over to your couch, opening up the paper files onto your coffee table, and rerunning them once again. He wasn’t able to concentrate at all though, knowing you were in the other room tossed in bed and probably crying because of him.

A few long hours later, Spencer closed his files and looked over towards your door. There had been no noise emitted whatsoever from your room, which he wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

He felt like an idiot. Presumably so, he was so stupid for just lashing out like that on you. Your intentions were never ill intended, yet he still pushed you away and he hated himself for that.

He stood up, making his way into your kitchen and grabbing the empty glass. He poured some water into it and went over to your door.

You were lying down, blankets wrapped around you protectively as your back faced him. He couldn’t help but smile, feeling the endearment tighten in his chest.

You stirred in your sleep as the bed sunk beside you, groaning softly. Spencer hovered over you, setting down the glass of water on the nightstand beside your head.

“Hey,” His voice was very soft, maybe even enough to send you back into the nap you were in— until you remembered what had happened earlier and thought that maybe talking to him was a better idea.

Your eyes burned and your head hurt. You sniffed away the buildup that the crying had caused. You then blinked away the grogginess from your eyes, along with the slight burning sensation due to the tears you had shed earlier. “Hey,”

Your sleepy voice was enough to send Spencer into a whirlwind. It tugged at the strings of his heart and all he wanted to do right now was grab you in his arms and hold you there forever.

He laid on his side beside you, running a soft hand across your arm with the encouragement for you to turn around and face him.

A slight sense of anxiety was coursing through him. He was scared that a part of you was still mad at the way he spoke to you, and the worst part was that he couldn’t blame you, because he had in fact acted like an idiot.

You blinked up at him from over your shoulder. “What time is it?”

“Around nine?” You hummed, flipping on your side and turning to face him. Spencer slapped at the nerves inside him and shifted slightly in his position.

“Hey,” He reached his hand over to yours and intertwined his fingers with your own. “Were you crying?”

“Yeah,” His tone hadn’t been patronizing or ridicule intended, it was more so concerned. You reached up to rub your eye.“You were pretty fucking mean.”

Spencer wanted to kick himself. Truly. There wasn’t anything else to say but how utterly stupid he had been for causing you any type of harm when his main promise was to prevent you from any of it.

“You should drink some water,” He lifted himself up by his elbow, hovering over you again and reaching for the glass.

“I’m not thirsty,” You mumbled, snuggling closer into your pillow.

“You should still drink love, you haven’t had a single drop of water since we got here and you’re probably dehydrated,” You didn’t look at him. “I added those watermelon electrolytes you like so much.”

You peered at the glass, suddenly feeling deathly thirsty. With a huff, you reached for the glass. “Fine,”

You downed the whole drink in a matter of seconds, melting at the taste of the sweet watermelon tartness on your tongue. Once you finished the glass, you handed it back to Spencer who set it on the opposite nightstand.

“Can we talk?” You nodded. “I’m sorry,”

You looked up at him, opting him to continue. “I shouldn’t have snapped the way I did. You were trying to help me, and by attempting to push you away I said stuff I really, really shouldn’t have and I’m so sorry,”

With a few seconds of silence, you reached down, intertwining both of your hands. Your thumb glided over his knuckles as you listened to him.

You mumbled. “It’s okay Spence,”

He shook his head. “It’s not, honestly. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did.”

Yeah, good point.

“I know,” You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “But you said that you're sorry and next time we’ll learn how to manage these things a little more efficiently.”

You quickly pulled his arm over your body and scooted forward, too tired to dwell in an emotionally exhausting conversation, nuzzling your face into his neck while his arms instinctively tightened around your frame. “We’ll get the hang of this, okay?”

There was silence after that. One that could’ve been filled by anything, honestly.

Those three words were all you wanted to say right then and there. It had been on your mind a lot recently, how Spencer was making you feel a ton of scary and big and complicated feelings— all amazing but terrifying. And those three words felt the most accurate when it came to telling him how you felt about him.

You really wanted to tell him at that moment. You don’t know where the necessity came from but it hit you like a tidal wave. Strong and capricious. Uncontrollable almost.

But then the fear settled in and you’d obstruct yourself from doing so.

So you didn’t say it, even though you may have wanted to.

Instead you just held him tighter and nuzzled into him as close as you physically could, hoping that somehow the message would get across. He placed a kiss onto the crown of your head. “Okay.”

The third time

You smiled into the kiss, tugging at his hair as you leaned back, supporting yourself solely on his grip around your lower back. Your legs rested on either side of him, sitting in his lap while his hands raked across your back in a way that made you feverish.

His lips moved swiftly across yours. He squeezed your hips, fingertips slipping just slightly underneath your shirt. You shivered at the contrast of his cold fingertips against your blazing skin. Spencer pulled away, voice breathy. “Is this okay..?”

“Yes,” You whispered back before pulling him onto your lips again.

Your relationship with Spencer was something that made your heart feel so light and airy— something so pure and easy. It made you grow dizzy just thinking about his hands on you and all the sweet things he’d whisper in your ear constantly. How he was always so considerate and sweet and perfect.

You were staying the night at Spencer’s apartment, too tired to drive back to your own apartment after work. But some things lead to others and well— yeah.

When having to restrain so much physical contact at work, strictly wanting to remain as professional as possible, you could merely blame yourself for needing him like this once back at eithers apartment.

You hummed against his lips, raking your hands slowly through his hair. The kissing hadn’t stopped for the past half hour or so— honestly you lost track of time.

Spencer pulled away breathlessly and placed a few messy but calculated kisses on your jaw and neck. You smiled almost stupidly. He pulled away, looking at your dozy face and feeling his chest tighten.

Your lips were slightly pinker than usual, and puffier. Your hair was just slightly tousled while your cheeks glowed a beautiful red hue. Your fingers remained tangled in the locks of his curls.

“You look pretty,” He was saying that as if it was another one of his scientifically proven facts, as if no one could say or believe otherwise. You tucked a small curl that had slipped onto the side of his face behind his ear, humming passingly. However, you never found his eyes, only focusing now on the curls that sat comfortably framing his face.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed, fiddling with the hem of your loose shirt. “You do that often,”

You look down at him, questioning him with a hum. “Do what?”

“Overlook the things I say when I compliment you,” He remarked. “Like you don’t believe me.”

You still didn’t move your attention from his curls. You didn’t believe him most of the time.

You weren’t an insecure person, not entirely anyways. You put a lot of focus on your physical appearance, always maintaining your clean look intact to the public eye. To many, you were considered extremely attractive. But unlike popular belief, you had many insecurities that you always tried to overlook. Sometimes it was hard though.

It was just hard for you to understand how he saw you so perfectly, like you had not a single flaw. ‘Beautiful’ and ‘breathtaking’, just like he always says when he sees you at work or back at your apartments. How he’s able to litter you with a million compliments

“I don’t overlook your compliments,” You let out an airy laugh, pulling back slightly to look at him properly, hands resting on his shoulders.

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t..!” You laughed, cupping his cheeks and pulling him into a long kiss. He drew away, only by a few centimeters, desperately trying to get his point across because god forbid Spencer keep his thoughts to himself.

“You’re deflecting,” He whispered over your lips before you laid another feather-like kiss into his lips. You hummed dismissively, assuring him that you weren’t avoiding anything.

But god, if you didn’t stop kissing him so softly and so painfully slowly, if you didn’t stop shifting around on his lap the way you were and if you didn’t stop your hands from wandering their way across his shoulders and chest— he was going to have a hard time remaining composed.

“You’re—“ A kiss.

“trying to—“ Another kiss.

“distract me,” It was as if you were a magnet he was so desperately trying to detach himself from, but failing miserably. Gravity itself pulled him towards you, he couldn’t help nor control it. He couldn’t blame himself either.

“Is it working?” You whispered, voice dangerously close to a taunt. Your hands began fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt, popping the first two undone.

Spencer found himself growing dizzy as his hands dug into your hips. “Unfortunately,”

You kissed his jaw, and Spencer let out a stifled groan. With the willpower of the gods themselves, he reached up and grabbed your hands into his own, stopping their mission at undoing his shirts buttons. You pouted with a glare, pulling away from him as his thumb gilded affectionately across your knuckles.

“So wait,” You pulled back. “Is this your way of saying you don’t want to sleep with me.?”

Spencer choked. “What?— No!”

Spencer groaned as you stifled a giggle. Oh, how you loved teasing and getting him all flustered. “That’s not— No.”

You tilted your head. His hands rested on your hips, as he sighed looking up at you. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

You blushed. “You tell me often,”

“I know you’re beautiful,” He shook his head and sat up, trailing his hands across your back. “Do you?”

“People tell me often,” You smirked and when he glared at you all you could do was kiss it off him. “But I only like hearing it from you,”

“I asked you something,” He let out.

“Sort of,” You admitted meekly, finally responding to his question. His hands came back to the hem of your t-shirt, tugging at it as his lips found yours again.

“You’re probably the most beautiful person I know,” He whispered above your lips matter of factly.

“Probably..?”

“Definitely,” His hands gripped at the plush flesh of your hips in a way that was making you want to fall to the ground and melt into a puddle of goop. It was so gentle yet there was a specific urgency to it.

He pulled away, kissing your cheek immediately after. “You’re also so smart and kind,”

He kisses traveled across your cheek, to your temple, towards your jaw and that damn spot on your neck that he knew drove you crazy. All while whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Your witt was slowly melting away with any trace of self control you had left in you as you closed your eyes, arching yourself into his addictive touch. ”And funny,”

“Spence..” You warned.

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” He looked back at you, reaching up and cupping your cheek in his hand. “I—“

His words failed him as they whipped all the way back into his throat, daring not to leave his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to say it, there wasn’t anything else he wanted to say to you, because no matter how much he’d wash you in compliments, those three words were the closest thing to allowing you to understand just how much you truly meant to him— hell, it didn’t even feel like enough sometimes.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Which is why he quickly thought of the closest thing to those three words and spat them out, avoiding any growing suspicions. “I love the way you make me feel.”

You weren’t gonna lie, the first two words had gotten your hopes up in ways that were too pathetic to admit out loud. But his words had other intentions, so it seems, and you had to force yourself from slouching your shoulders foward in disappointment.

Beside, it’s not like the things he was saying weren’t causing a wonderful heat to pool in the pit of your stomach— and among other places.

You watched him, for a second or two, trying to maybe tell him with your eyes what you couldn’t tell him with your words. But it still wasn’t enough, and if you didn’t release the neediness that was starting to take shape within you, you'd quite literally explode.

You tangled your fingers within his hair and pulled his mouth onto yours in a steady but desperate kiss. He responded pretty well, given since his hands found your waist instantly and tugged them towards himself in a feverish manner.

He began pulling at the bottom of your shirt, signaling he needed it off of you and pulled away, whispering breathlessly. “Can I?—“

“Please.”

The fourth time

“Ouch,” You hissed as Morgan dabbed a piece of gauze onto the now stitched up cut on your head. “Are you trying to give me another concussion?”

Derek deadpanned at you, slightly relieved that you still found the energy to pick on him after being whacked in the back of the head with a pipe by the Unsub.

The team was searching for a local Serial Killer that targeted young women around the area, per usual. You and Morgan were put in charge of entering the Unsubs apartment since Garcia had been able to track it down while you and Morgan were on call.

It wasn’t anything past ordinary. This was your job, you had done this more than a thousand times before— much less carelessly and it wasn’t like you to be so careless. But sometimes you get so comfortable and cocky with your job that you forget about the actual risks of it.

Eventually that cockiness would have turned around and bit you in the ass.

When you and Morgan busted down the door, guns in hand, you split up, each directioning yourselves into different rooms of the apartment— in hindsight that was a horrible idea.

When you walked into what seemed to be an empty room, you stupidly failed to check the back of the door. Which was why a second later, when you opened your mouth to inform Morgan that the room was clear, something solid and cold wacked you across the back of the head, knocking you out unconscious.

You weren’t aware of what happened after that, given how the blunt force had knocked you out profusely and you really couldn't recall anything prior to the attack when you regained consciousness. All you knew is that you were alive and the Unsub had been caught, which was all that mattered honestly.

Derek was now wallowing in the self inflicted guilt of not knowing better. But to be completely fair, you didn’t know better either— you were as much to blame as he was.

But Derek was convincing himself that because of his lack of observation, you had ended up with a concussion, six stitches and a bruised cheekbone.

“Derek—” You pleaded, watching him dump the ice pack onto the counter of the back of the ambulance with an angry toss.

All he was doing right now was huffing in anger. “Come on,”

He turned to look down at you. Shot him a stiff thumbs up and a smile, signaling that you were more than okay. Sure, your head was throbbing, but you weren’t dying.

“Stop doing that,” You rolled your eyes and squashed your eyes shut, attempting to relieve your headache.

“Doing what?”

“The sulking,”

“I’m not sulking,” Derek scoffed. Now it was your turn to deadpan him. He opened his mouth, intending to jump instantly to his defense.

“Where is she?” A panicked voice from the depths of the crowd caused you to grimace, immediately recognizing it to be Spencer’s. Derek suddenly felt dread when realizing he now had to face him.

Spencer could be rather ardent when it came to you and your safety— you knew you were fine, but having to convince Spencer that you were fine as well was a tougher job.

Spencer pushed through the vast amounts of people, finally breaking through the last line of them and finding you sitting placidly in the back of the ambulance. The panic Spencer felt coursing within him was something he wished upon no one.

When Hotch told the team that you were down, Spencer couldn’t help but freak out. He hid it well, knowing he had to stay focused on the case, but god was he slowly crashing. His usual sharp intellect was fogged, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything but your wellbeing. His head was flooded with questions and worries and he needed to know that you were okay.

He strided over to you, quickly crouching and taking your cold hands into his own. His distressed eyes flew all over your face, scanning it as his hand came up to cup your cheek. His thumb gilded gently over your bruise and the deep furrow in his brows was enough to tell you that his mind was going haywire.

“Hey you,” You said, humor glistening your tone while smiling sweetly and oblivious to the gravity of the situation. Spencer forced a weak smile to spread across his own face.

“Hey,” He cooed. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine actually,”

Spencer straightened himself out, turning to Derek. “What did the paramedics say?”

“They gave her six stitches for the superficial cut on the crown of her head and some ice for the bruised cheekbone,” He crossed his arms. “They say it’s probable she has a concussion.”

Spencer felt his blood run cold. “A concussion?!”

You could tell Spencer was trying his hardest to remain calm. It was evident in the deep breaths he was taking and the tapping of his fingers against the side of his leg. He was doing a horrible job at it though, although you wouldn’t tell him that because he’d just freak out some more. His voice was getting all pitchy and his shoulders shook feebly. He sucked in a deeper breath, closing his eyes and attempting to regain his composure.

“Spencer,” You didn’t need him panicking more than he already was. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, probably to scold you or maybe even defend himself, Hotch's stoic voice cut through.

“We need to deliver a statement. Morgan, Reid,”

Spencer looked down at you. But you pushed him to head over to wherever your chief needed him to be. “Go. You can—“

“Hotch, I’m going to stay,” He told the chief, almost finally.

“For the first 24 hours after the injury, it’s important for someone to stay with her to keep an eye out for any new symptoms that develop.”

You clamped your mouth shut and looked at Hotch, who remained neutral watching the two of you. You offered him a shrug, and the two of you knew there was no getting through to him. Hotch hesitated momentarily, but knew Spencer would be more of use if he wasn’t with him worrying about you.

Spencer was as smart as they came but god could he be stubborn.

With a final nod from Hotch, he and Morgan pushed through the group of press. You followed Spencer’s movements with a sweet smile glued onto your face. He sat next to you, close enough so that you could feel the side of his thigh warm against yours.

“How are you feeling?” Spencer asked again, voice small, worrying that if he spoke too harshly or too loudly it would hurt you further.

“Surprisingly good for someone who was smacked in the back of the head with a metal pole,” You shrugged indifferently. Spencer, however, did not find your humor amusing.

“How sleepy are you on a scale from one to ten?” He asked urgently. You pulled back, pursing your lips quizzically.

“Like three? I slept like shit last night—”

“How about your neck? Does it feel stiff?” His hands reached up, cupping the sides of your neck as his thumbs traced your jaw.

“No,”

“Are you unable to move any part of your body?” His questions were spewing out of him uncontrollably, and it was getting hard for you to keep up.

“I don’t—“

“What about your pupils? Did the paramedics check them?”

“Spence,” You whined, slumping your shoulders forward while your face still rested in his hands. “The bright lights and harsh noises are giving me slight headaches, but that’s it.”

He stared at you. Long and hard, he just looked at you and wondered what he wanted to say out of all the things swirling around in his head.

“What were you thinking?” He asked finally. You stared at him and his eyes hard with annoyance, but still shining an amount of concern. His voice was barely above a whisper. You let your shoulders fall, licking your bottom lip.

You reached up, grabbing his hands steadily from your face and lacing your fingers with his. “We weren’t,”

“We jumped in head first and didn’t think coherently,” His frustration was rational, but to a certain extent. You really wanted to validate his concern, but he was not allowed to get mad at you. “Spencer.”

As you called his name firmly, he only looked away, jaw and shoulders tense and constricted. You sat there, silently waiting for him to react however it is he needed to in order to process.

“I should’ve gone with you, I should’ve—” His head ducked low. His voice was full of frustration, at himself mostly. It didn’t have to be because this was not something he could have prevented.

“Spencer,“ You gave his hands a firm squeeze and tugged on them slightly. “What did we talk about when it came to personal prevention?“

He remained silent. “I’m serious, there isn’t anything we could’ve done to prevent this.”

Spencer couldn't call to mind the last time he had felt this strongly about someone. Maybe Maeve, but he knew deep down it wasn’t the same. He was almost positive he really hadn’t ever felt this way about someone— he’d been in love, but never like this.

Your entire existence ameriolated his entire being. There wasn’t a moment in the day where he didn’t think of you, where he didn’t wonder what you would think of things, where he wasn’t excited to see you every morning for work. A life without you didn’t exist to him anymore— he didn’t want it too.

That could be the main basis as to why Spencer felt so implausibly terrified at the idea of losing you.

His hand left yours, replacing it with a cold emptiness. His free hand flew up to his eyes urgently, pinching them simultaneously to get rid of the minor tears that had welled upon them. He ducked his head low, not wanting you to notice that he had started tearing up.

Immediately, your whole face softened at the realization that he was crying. It tugged on the strings that held your heart up and made your stomach churn in the worst way possible. “Spence…”

Seeing him cry, possibly because of the fear of losing you, made you feel— funny. It gave you this airy feeling in your head that caused you to feel lightheaded and filled your chest with blithe. You weren’t sure if it was your concussion or the affection you felt towards Spencer that made you feel this way.

You smiled meekly, fondness across every one of your features. Spencer cleared his throat and spoke, voice wobbly and unsteady. He sat up, trying to recollect himself. “Sorry, I— I don’t know what i’m crying for—”

You looked into his eyes, eyebrows swooped downwards. At that second a million thoughts ran through your head, but only those three freaking worlds were the only ones that felt adequate enough to say in that moment.

“I—“ You started.

It was right there. It sat in the back of your throat irksomely. You were ready to jump off the edge, to slip into the abyss— to say those words that you’ve been holding off for the past weeks, months even. Spencer watched you, simultaneously growing nervous because he could tell by the way you swallowed thickly that you were about to say something.

“I think I’m seeing double,” You opted. Just the way his eyes blew wide was enough to make you giggle.

Next time.

“What do you mean?! Like actually double or are you—“ His voice died down at the sound of your snort and soon enough you began laughing. He blinked a few times before he glared at you.

“That is not funny.” It irked him massively how you had the capacity to always joke when he wasn’t at all in the mood to. But it also unraveled the itching anxiety that had grown in his chest and replaced it with a deep affection that surged throughout him entirely as he watched you laugh. “I’m serious.”

“Did you know that you look so cute when you’re mad?” Your hands reached up, cradling his face in your palms. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips.

When you pulled away his frown was still present. The pads of your thumbs rested on both corners of his lips, pushing them upwards and creating a makeshift smile.

“I’ll let you baby me these next few days all you want,” Your voice was soft and sweet, making his head spin as you hovered your lips over his, placing another slow kiss there. “But right now, I’m promising you that I am fine, okay?”

His jaw clenched, eyes flying down to avoid your prying one’s. “Spence.”

You were saying his name one too many times that he was finding it increasingly hard to compose himself. He glanced up at you, nodding weakly. “Okay.”

The fifth time

You leaned forward in the mirror of Spencer bathroom, poking at the scarring on the crown of your head. “It feels weird,”

“It’s scarring tissue, it’ll feel weird for a bit, love” He watched you silently from his seat on the edge of his bed.

“Do you think it’ll leave a scar?” You mumbled, voice tight with concern. “The bruising on my cheek is fading but god help me, if this leaves a weird bump on my head I’ll physically seek this psycho out in jail and give him his own bump to worry about,”

Spencer stopped himself from laughing, finding your pouting adorable.

“After an injury, the inflammatory process signals fibroblasts to lay down new, protective tissue in the form of scars,” Spencer quipped. “But it won’t be noticeable since it’s hidden underneath the rest of your hair.”

You huffed, poking at the bruise on your cheekbone and admitting. “It’s hard to feel pretty when I’m all busted up.”

“You always look pretty,” You continued to poke at your cheekbone to which Spencer stood up, walking into the bathroom and planting himself behind you.

“Stop poking at it like that,” He scolded, reaching behind you and grabbing your wrist. You focused on your face, huffing a breath of frustration.

This past week has been utter hell for Spencer. A newfound persistent anxiety managed to find him after your injury and sink its teeth into him, claiming him victim. You've been staying with him since your concussion, ensuring him that you were safe, but he noticed he’d grown more vigilant to his surroundings when he was at work, more possessive when it came to you and your wellbeing and more conscientious.

You didn’t obtrude, since you understood it was a perfectly normal reaction for him to have.

But he hated it. He hated this clawing anxiety he was having. He hated having the persistent fear of losing you. He tried to decipher whether it truly was all related to the recent events or if there was something deeper. But he knew for sure that the thought of you getting hurt was making him sick to his stomach.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. You grabbed his arms, rubbing soft circles onto it with the soft pads of your thumb.

“Bruises make me feel ugly,” You miffed. “Except the ones you give me, I love those,”

Spencer looked up from your neck, catching your gaze and watching your mischievous smile lighten up through the mirror as he cocked a brow at you. You giggled out a laugh.

Spencer zoned out. He just looked at you, watching your pretty eyes latch onto his through the mirror, seeing your body safe and warm and alive in his arms. His throat tightened and as much as he hated it, his mind immediately thought of Maeve.

Not because he was comparing, of course not. He could never— the two of you meant very different things to him and they were very different relationships.

But he could remember how he wasn’t able to tell Maeve that he loved her— he wasn’t given the chance.

And it made him think about your recent accident, and all the times he'd been stopping himself from telling you. Fear, worry— whatever it was, he had been stopping himself time after time from telling you how he felt.

The thought of him losing you before he could ever tell you how he truly feels is something that made him want to throw up.

“Hotch said I could go back to work on Monday,”

“I love you.”

He said it because he could, he said it because he meant it, and he said it because he didn’t want to live a second longer without you knowing how he felt despite its reciprocity.

He won’t ever forget the way your face just fell. Just stopped moving, mouth hanging open and eyebrows shooting upwards. How your mind just went blank. God, his heart was in his throat and your silence wasn’t helping.

“What did you just say?” You asked, mostly in disbelief— entirely in disbelief.

“I love you.” He’d repeat it for you as many times as you wanted him too. He’d do anything for you.

You turned and his grip around you loosened. Now facing him, your eyes shot around every fraction of his face to determine that this wasn’t a lie or a joke or something cruel he was planning.

“Say that again,”

“I love you.”

And it definitely wasn’t.

You pushed yourself onto the tip of your toes, leaning up and wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into a suffocating kiss. One that was desperate, and urgent and full of passion and all over the place.

He pushed you against the marble counter, quickly hoisting you up onto the cold tile as your mouth moved along his perfectly. Your hands dug themselves into his hair, your legs wrapped around his waist, tugged at his body, pulling him impossibly closer to your own.

He pulled away breathing over your lips. “I love you,”

He kissed you again before pulling away and whispering once again. “I’m in love with you.”

He rested his forehead onto you, reaching up and tangling his hands in your hair. The two of you heaved. Your chest was hammering against your rib cages, the oxygen wasn’t fully reaching your head or lungs and you were pretty sure you were going to faint. It was too much. “You are?”

You both peered your eyes open, looking at each other deeply. He whispered, voice crackling slightly. “How could I not?”

You kissed him, this time slowly and softly, wanting to show him how much you loved him back— needing to tell him how much you loved him back.

“I love you,” You said, wavering an unsteady laugh. He opened his eyes and pulled away, looking at you and infatuated with every part of your existence.

“Really?”

“Spencer..!” Your voice cracked in a protest, ludicrously referring to such a stupid assumption— you’d love him till the day you died. You pulled him closer. “It is physically impossible for me not to love you. Don’t act so surprised.”

He smiled. A big, wide and stupid smile that probably made him look like a kid on christmas morning. He kissed your forehead. “You have no idea how much of a relief it is to say it.”

You perched up, hands falling onto his chest. “How long have you wanted to say it?”

He cringed bashfully, letting his hands fall to your waist as he shook his head shamefully. “Too long,”

“Well that makes two of us then,” You leaned forward, placing a relaxed kiss on his jaw. “Was there a point you realized?”

He shook his head. He’s pretty sure that after a month of going out on dates and seeing you consecutively outside and inside of work, he knew he’d fall in love with you. How could he not? “My breaking point, however, was the day you were wearing your new shirt,”

He kissed your neck, giving your hips a tight squeeze. “Which by the way, looked absolutely incredible on you,”

“Is that so?” You mumbled, lips curving up in a smirk.

“I love how it looked on you,” He admitted. “I love you.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that,”

“I’m never going to get tired of saying it,” He responded. “When did you realize?”

“It was either that time after our first big fight or on that night on the couch when we,” You shot him a sneaky look, to which his cheeks turned pink, recalling the events of that night. You shrugged. “You know.”

You were going to be the literal death of him.

He kissed your jaw twice more. He loved you and you loved him. It seemed like something too good to be true. “I think I’m going to need you to jog up my memory,”

You giggled at the reference, heart doubling in size at the amount of affection you were feeling towards him at that moment. He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, emitting a loud shriek followed by a string of laughter as he hoisted you up and carried you over to his bed.

[venus-haze]

Under My Skin (Black Noir x Reader)

Summary: Just when you think you don’t have a chance with Black Noir, an investor gala gives you a new opportunity to get under his skin.

Note: Gender neutral reader and no descriptors are used. This is based on an anonymous request and also the song I’ve Got You Under My Skin. I’m so glad I’ve finally gotten a chance to write for Black Noir! Pre-season 1 where you’re in The Seven. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: None. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

The piece of paper on the table in front of you was mocking you. Black Noir had already won three out of the four tic-tac-toe matches you were silently engaged in during The Seven’s daily briefing, and with the way things were going, he was poised to win a fifth. With a huff, you drew a hopeless circle and silently slid it back to Noir.

“Nightowl,” Homelander said.

You looked up, bringing your attention to him. 

“Great work on the team-up with Noir the other night.”

Noir slid the paper back to you, his tic-tac-toe win marked with a clean line, but he’d also drawn a smiley face.

You smiled. “Anytime.”

Homelander continued on, and you only half paid attention, your focus increasingly on the man sitting beside you. Even before you joined The Seven, you admired Noir for his stealth and prowess, something you aspired to. Upon your first team-up, it was clear your powers, most effective at night, complimented his incredibly well. Plus, he seemed to like you from the start, which put you in Homelander’s good graces most of the time. 

Absentmindedly, you drew a little heart on the paper, feeling your face heat up when you saw Noir’s head turned toward you. He didn’t acknowledge the drawing, instead beginning a new game of tic-tac-toe. Embarrassment flooded your chest, blood rushing in your ears. You hoped he didn’t think you were being weird.

“Last thing…” Homelander said, reading off the agenda. “Oh yeah, investor gala this weekend.”

“Great, another ass-kissing convention,” Maeve mumbled.

“Can we make sure shrimp cocktail isn’t served this time?” The Deep asked. “I just feel like—“

Homelander’s jaw clenched. “Jesus Christ, do I look like a caterer, Deep? Am I carrying around a silver platter–”

After a few more moments of bickering, Homelander ended the meeting, not without everyone still grumbling under their breath about the gala. No one particularly liked schmoozing over rich assholes, but they made your lucrative paychecks possible, so it was a necessary evil. 

You and Noir hadn’t finished the last round of your game, but when he left, he took the paper with him. 

You sighed. You knew you had it bad for him, but it was tough to gauge his feelings for you when his face was constantly covered by his mask. Even when you blatantly flirted, he seemed unaffected by your advances toward him. Of course you’d fall for this mystery of a man, the epitome of cool, calm, and collected. Your endeavor was starting to feel hopeless.

“So, when are you gonna make a move on Noir?” Homelander asked, walking out of the meeting room with you. “And don’t give me that ‘we just work together’ bullshit. The tension’s so thick I could laser through it.”

“You can laser through anything.”

He rolled his eyes, a slight smile on his face. “Look, there’s only so long I can take the two of you making heart-eyes at each other. I mean, get a room.”

“He makes heart-eyes at me?” you asked softly.

“Yes, so do something about it already.”

“Maybe at the gala. Everyone’s there to see you, anyway.”

“That’s true. No one would really notice if you and Noir weren’t there,” he said, before giving you a slightly painful pat on the shoulder. “Well, except me if you’re loud enough.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Thanks, Homelander.”

You never took his comments like that to heart. You knew you weren’t one of the more interesting members of The Seven, especially compared to the likes of Homelander and Maeve. It was a blessing in disguise, as you ended up stuck doing far less schmoozing than they did. Homelander could hide his disdain for whoever Vought wanted him to entertain for the evening, but on more than one occasion, you’d been on the receiving end of his rant about “pandering to the mud people.”

Noir always showed up to these events, despite not interacting with anyone unless it was to get food. Once in a while, you’d watch as someone tried to start a conversation with him, only to be ignored before awkwardly making an excuse to leave. At least he’d give you the time of day, silently letting you people watch with him, acknowledging your observations about the various guests with a nod, or on rare occasions, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly when you’d said something funny. You always felt especially accomplished then.

The night of the gala was only nerve-wracking because you were finally going to be forward with Noir and see where that got you, rather than your tentative approach in the past. 

When you arrived on the floor where the investor gala was being held, you went through all of the necessary introductions as quickly as you could. Across the room, Black Noir was playing the piano, as he tended to do during crowded events. You’d asked him before where he learned to play, and he wrote simply on a cocktail napkin ‘My grandma.’ As much as he trusted you, there were still parts of himself that were guarded, carefully revealing pieces of his past to you, though you could never fully put the whole picture together. In all the years you were a member of The Seven, you weren’t sure you ever would. 

His past didn’t matter to you. You were fond of the man he was, even if he didn’t reveal his whole self to you. Still, you wished you knew more. He didn’t seem to have any family, at least that he was in contact with. Then again, most of your teammates had complicated relationships with your families, yourself included. That one talent of his, however, showed that at one point there was someone he was close to, that he had a life outside of being a member of The Seven. You hoped the two of you could have that together.

Finally able to slip away from the people whose names you couldn’t be bothered to remember, you made your way over to Noir. He looked up from the piano, tilting his head a bit in acknowledgement of you.

“This party’s so boring.” You made a point to lean against the piano, letting the spandex of your suit highlight your body. “I mean, I can think of much better things you and me could be doing with our time.”

You weren’t sure if he was nodding along with your sentiment or the music. Ever so frustratingly difficult to read. Taking his response in stride, you sat down next to him on the piano bench. He didn’t stop playing, but he didn’t move away from you either. 

“Will you show me how to play?” you asked.

He paused, the soft music stopping momentarily. With a nod, he shifted closer to you, placing his gloved hands over yours. You let him guide you, though your gaze was on him rather than the keys. 

“You’re great with your hands, Noir,” you said. “I mean, playing piano, fighting criminals, I’m sure there’s more you can do, if you ever wanna show me sometime.”

No reaction. Maybe it was useless. Maybe Homelander was just messing with you. Maybe—

He rubbed the top of your hand with his thumb, and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips. It was something, finally some indication that he returned your affection. 

“You wanna get out of here?” you asked softly. “I only came for you, anyway.”

He took your hand in his, the music from the piano ceasing abruptly again. He brought his pointer finger to his mouth, and you giggled despite his silent instruction to be quiet. 

Glancing around, you noticed everyone else was preoccupied, mainly with competing for Homelander’s attention, as usual. The perfect opportunity for the two of you to slip away from the party with ease. Stealth was his speciality after all. 

You let him lead you away from the gala and to an empty balcony on another floor of the tower. The city seemed to sparkle especially bright that night. Feeling bold, you rested your head on his shoulder, your hand still intertwined with his.

“I wish we could be like this more often,” you whispered. “You’re the only person I like spending so much time with. I think of you, and I—it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I just wanted you to know.”

After a few minutes of silence, Noir moved away from you, reaching for something in his pocket. A folded piece of paper, the same one the two of you had been playing tic-tac-toe on just a few days earlier. He handed it to you, and you scanned the page before landing on the heart you’d drawn, finding he’d drawn another one around it.

“This is so high school,” you laughed, nevertheless taking his covered face in your hands and kissing him. “So, what do we do now, loverboy?”

He wrapped his arms around you, and you could’ve sworn you heard him sigh contentedly.

[reidsdimples]

Feverish- 3- Finale

Spencer Reid x Reader

18+❤️‍🔥 MDNI‼️

Part 2

Spencer’s still sick, but clear headed enough to know he wants to try again with you.

A/N- this was highly requested. Kind of felt finished after the first two but I hope this concludes it well 🫶🏻

"No!" Spencer screams and thrashes in his sleep.

"Hey hey," you roll over and press a hand to his chest. He's drenched in sweat and clearly running a temperature still.

You hear him mumble an all too familiar name in his sleep, the source of most of his nightmares.

"Maeve, no.," its barely audible.

"Spence," you rub his chest again. His shirt is sticking to him so you start carefully tugging it up his body as he stirs awake. "You were having a nightmare," you whisper.

He helps you get the shirt off and pulls you onto him. You nearly protests but he's holding onto you desperately as though you might slip away.

This was night three and you had hope that tomorrow would bring him relief from this awful flu. He groaned in pain against you before a coughing fit forced him to roll over on his side, sending you back to your side of the bed.

“Hold on honey,” you try not to overthink the term of endearment that came to you naturally.

You grab the NyQuil liquid which you know he hates but give it to him anyway. It works faster than the pills.

You brush his damp hair back from his forehead and help him get adjusted in bed.

“Here,” you push a cough drop into his mouth and he scrunches his nose at the taste.

“You big baby,” you tease. He smiles weakly.

It’s three am according to the clock so you crawl back into bed. You turn on your side to see him facing you, his face in his hand as he watched you.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs.

“Shh,” you shush him and wipe underneath his eyes which are watering from being sick.

“The first time I saw you, I finally understood why the sun rises every morning. I had a purpose,” he whispers and regards you with those brown eyes that melt your heart.

“Spencer,” you breathe and cup his cheek. He blinks. “I missed you too.”

The small smile that plays on his lips feels like the answer to a question you didn’t know to ask.

“Sleep my love,” you comfort him.

“Say it again,” he pleads.

“My love,” you humor him. It melts your heart, he’s so vulnerable right now. You want to just hold him and protect him.

“My love.”

He falls asleep as you gently rub his scalp.

-

Something stirs you awake hours later. At first you think you’re dreaming- a dirty dream about Spencer which you have more often than you should. You moan which pulls you out of sleep completely.

Your eyes dart open and the sensation you’d been feeling wasn’t in your head at all.

“Good morning, well, afternoon,” Spencer purrs. He’s planting kisses on your stomach, biting and nipping at your skin while his strong hand cups your tit.

“Aren’t you sick?” You giggle and sit up.

“I. Feel. Better.” He breaths as he kisses down to your hip bones and tightens his grip on your breast. Your nipple hardens and he pinches it through the thin tank top.

“Mmm, Spencer,” it’s meant to come off as a warning but he looks up at your through long lashes and messy hair.

“Spencer you still have a fever,” you swat at him after feeling his forehead.

“So?” He whimpers. You’re dumbfounded at the way he can feel so bad but be so horny. He always did have a high sex drive though.

He hooks his long fingers into your panties and beginnings to tug them down. Your heart flutters in anticipation.

“Shouldn’t we talk about this?” You reason as he begins kissing your inner thighs, discarding your underwear somewhere behind him.

“You moaned my name in your sleep. How often does that happen?” He pants against your inner thigh and then bites down. You wince.

You grab his face and drag him up your body.

“I’m serious,” you pull him into a kiss and he tastes like mint. It’s refreshing from his sick smell he’s carried for days. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore, weak, but not as bad,” he answers and kisses you deeper now. You allow his tongue to flick over yours as his hand grips your hip and squeezes.

He’s pushing and grinding his hips against you. He’s still shirtless, only wearing boxers, and it drives you crazy as he invades your mouth.

“I want to give this another shot,” he pleads and kisses your neck.

“Mmmm,” you can’t speak.

“Please,” he kisses your shoulder. Then he kisses the swell of your breast, his pleading eyes locked with yours.

He nuzzles into your skin again, desperately needing your closeness before leaning to the side to cough into his arm. You look at him sympathetically.

“You need to focus more on resting, Doctor,” you scold him.

“My fever is low grade and I’m over the worst of it,” he pauses. “I’m pretty sure.”

“Right,” you play with his hair absentmindedly.

“I’m serious, it’s only 100.6,” he laughs. “Honestly though, I feel more clear headed and..” he trails off.

“And?” You cup his cheeks which smooshes his face slightly. He’s still between your legs, laying on your stomach.

“Part of me is mortified at my behavior the past few days,” he speaks slowly. “Part of me wants to,” he starts running a hand up your shirt.

“Spencer Reid, are you objectifying me?” You opt to joke because you’ve shamelessly enjoyed his unfiltered behavior.

“Do you wanna be objectified?” He kisses your stomach. Heat crawls up your face.

“Only by you,” you admit and run your thumb across his plump lips. He smiles at you, shyly but there’s relief in it.

“So is that a yes? You want to give this another shot?” He asks, beaming.

“Yes Spence,” you sigh and he crawls up your body once more to kiss you.

The kiss becomes more heated when you feel his erection pressed against your bare cunt. His boxers offer little resistance to the friction against you.

“Please, I need it,” he begs breathlessly into the crook of your neck as he rolls his hips into you. He’s pitiful whimpering and shameless begging has wetness gathering between your thighs.

You nod.

“Mhmm, I need you too,” you whisper and he latches his mouth into your shoulder. He sucks hard and you can feel him leaving a mark as he moans against you. The sensation has you bucking your hips against him, feeling his cock rubbing up between your folds.

You lose track of time for a moment, now realizing he had pulled himself free of his boxers as he bites and kisses your neck. Your moans blend together and he begins pressing his cock into you.

You pull your legs up and back and he adjusts himself so that he can enter you at exactly the correct angle that he knows drives you crazy.

And it does.

The head of his cock grazed upward towards your g-spot and you stop breathing as your walls remember how to fit around him.

“Oh god…” he shudders and plants wet desperate kisses along your jaw and chest. He pumps himself in slower, torturously slow as though he’s afraid one or both of you with shatter if he’s not careful.

“Spencer,” you whimper.

Both of you are moaning and whimpering messes as he rolls his hips, moving in and out of you. His arms shake and you can tell the sickness is getting to him.

You bring him flat onto you, and kiss him. Then you’re forcing him onto his back so that you’re on top of him. He grunts and moans as you sink all the way down in one swift movement. His eyes blow wide as he exhales.

“So good, Spence,” you roll your head back and remove your tank top. You give him the full view of your body and he grapples at you. He grips your hips, your waist, your breast, your thighs as you ride him.

You roll your hips, keeping him deep inside and his eye brows furrow. You know he’s getting close, you are too.

“I’ve missed you inside of me baby,” you mewl as you move up and down on his length.

“I miss it… ah,” his words are cut off when your walls clench around him. Your orgasm bursts through you suddenly.

You throw yourself forward and grip his hair as you continue to move your hips and ride out your orgasm against him. His head is forced back as you pull his hair, giving you perfect access to his throat.

You continue to ride him as you kiss and lick at him hungrily. You let him hear every moan and whimper of pleasure until he tenses below you.

“Finish in me baby, it’s fine,” you plead.

When he cums, he does so loudly. You latch your mouth over his and absorb the moans as he shoots ribbons of hot cum into you. His chest and face are now coated in a thin layer of sweat but he kisses you passionately.

You pull back from the kiss and look at him. He regards you with the most content expression, a small grin tugging at the side of his lips. You pull yourself off of him and lay beside him so you’re half sprawled on his chest.

“I never stopped loving you,” he speaks softly as his long fingers play in your hair.

“Neither did I,” you admit and kiss his chest.

Never in a million years could you have guessed that you’d get a second chance with the love of your life because of a flu.

“Hey Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

“No more sex until you’ve been fever free for 24 hours. Now take some of that medicine,” you sit up and point to it on the table closest to him.

He lets out a breathy laugh but does as he’s told.

[de4dlyniightshade]

Maeve i had a little idea in my head that i wanted to share w you x

You and Spencer cuddling and he gets all needy and needs to put his dick in you but you don't feel like doing it so instead you compromise on cockwarming. He gets on top of you while doing it and you continue to caress his head and back (i'm torturing myself w these thoughts help)

꩜ PAIRING: spencer reid x afab!reader

꩜ RATING: +18, mdni

꩜ WARNINGS/CONTAINS!: cockwarming, needy!spence, subby spence, morning shenanigans, spencer being a little bit feral and forgetting how big(😏)he is, grinding/dry humping, reader mentioned to be smaller than spencer but can be taken as just height wise.

© to de4dlyniightshade. no translations/reposts.

[WARNING!] - explicit sexual content! mdni!

A/N: i always forget that blurbs aren't supposed to be perfect but i also feel bad putting out mediocre stuff😔

spencer felt bad for being so needy so early in the morning but the dream he woke up from had him throbbing in his pants and he just couldn't help but wrap his arm around your waist and press himself into your back, his hard length slotting perfectly between your ass.

he gently rolled his hips into your plush ass, placing soft kisses on your shoulder as he did, breathy moans and whimpers slipping past his lips as he shallowly rutted into you.

"spence, if you're trying not to wake me you're doing a really shit job" you laughed sleepily, lifting your hand to hold the back of his head as he rested his forehead on the nape of your neck, still gently grinding into you.

"n-need you" he breathed, his hips snapping into you as he let out a shaky whimper, nuzzling his face into you.

"it's 6 in the morning, spencer" you sighed, halfheartedly trying to move away from him but with no real intention of making him stop.

"please..." he whined, grinding particularly hard into you and squeezing your waist, "j-just- wanna feel you" he breathed against your neck, pressing an open mouthed kiss there, followed by another and another.

you let out a fake sigh, rolling onto your back and turning to face him, the small amount of sunlight peeking through the curtains illuminating his face just enough for you to see the needy expression on his features, his pleading eyes looking down at you.

"alright alright" you you mumbled, shaking your head as you lifted your hips off the bed, hooking your fingers into the waistband of your underwear and tugging them down your legs, dropping them on the floor as spencer quickly moved between your parted thighs, pulling the front of his plaid pyjama pants down just enough to free his length.

"slow down there, mister" you giggled breathily, pressing your hand to his chest to stop him as he tried to surge forward, desperate to bury his cock in you but your hand on his chest didn't stop him from gripping your hips and tugging you down the bed, quickly moving to hold the base of his length and guide his tip to your entrance, pushing in all at once.

spencer choked out a moan as you gasped loudly, the stinging of him stretching you out without any prepping making your thighs clamp around his waist, your eyes screwing shut as the dull throbbing wracked your body.

"spence!" you scolded as your walls clenched and spasmed around him, desperately trying to adjust to the abrupt stretch.

"s-sorry, 'm sorry" he whined, dropping his forehead to your chest as he breathed heavily, his hands squeezing your waist to keep himself composed, his larger frame doubled over on top of you reminding you that he wasn't as small as you made him feel and he could actually overpower you whenever he wanted.

"j-just feel s-so good- d-did't mean to h-hurt you" he whimpered against your skin, his voice strained as your walls surrounded him, constricting his sensitive cock so nicely.

"i know, i know, j-just lay down, careful" you instructed as you wrapped your arms around his neck, spencer slowly and carefully, like you'd told him, lay down on top of you, resting his cheek on your breasts as you hissed slightly at the feeling of his cock shifting in you.

you let out a quiet sigh as the dull pain subsided and all that was left was the feeling of him filling you so nicely, your walls wrapped tightly around his length, his tip brushing cervix and you couldn't help but let out a breathy whine as you let your fingers comb through his hair and stroke down his back.

[avatar-anna]

Before the Show

Young dad! Harry x Young mom! Reader

Harry rushed through the halls of Wembley Stadium, barely keeping track of the crew members he narrowly missed bumping into or the people who greeted him as he rushed by. It was a little less than an hour before the show, and though he should've been going through his pre-show routine of brushing his teeth and getting into his stage outfit and hanging out with the band, he was running around Wembley like a madman.

When he finally reached the right door, Harry skidded to a stop, breathing a huge sigh of relief before opening it.

"I got it!" he said, voice hushed as he tossed the stuffed animal.

Y/n caught it out of the air and rested it next to the sleeping figure on the couch. "You're an angel, Harry."

Harry waved his hand nonchalantly. "No problem. I'm just glad I made it back before she woke up."

They looked down at where Maeve was sleeping soundly on the couch of the dressing room, a separate one from Harry's, for no other reason than for him and Y/n to watch the kids in peace and have as little eyes on them as possible. Everyone on the Love on Tour crew was under strict NDAs, but Y/n did appreciate a little privacy when she had to change a diaper or put someone down for a nap. Harry's dressing room was right next door, but both of them found that an extra room for diaper bags, toys, and whatever else they needed that day came in handy.

"Where is everyone?" Harry asked, noticing the lack of children in what was basically Love on Tour's playroom.

"Simone, Collette, and Jules are with the band, and your mother is getting in some one on one time with the babies," Y/n said. "And now I'm debating staying in here with Maeve or just leaving the baby monitor on."

"Oh. Might not have to," Harry said, nodding toward the couch where their daughter's eyes were beginning to flutter.

Maeve rubbed her eyes sluggishly, looking around and trying to get her bearings. When her eyes landed on Harry, she stretched her arms out. He picked her up with ease, holding her close before standing up.

"Where's Pauli?" she mumbled.

Y/n quickly handed Harry the stuffed animal to give to Maeve. "Right here, peanut. Was with you the whole time," he said, giving Y/n a conspiratorial wink, which she rolled her eyes at.

Maeve took the stuffed unicorn and held it close before settling against Harry's chest again, her free hand reaching up to play with the hair curling around his ear.

"Pauli" was Maeve's stuffed animal, named after the person who gave it to her. When Harry brought it home one night, Harry told Maeve it was "from Pauli," but she thought Harry was telling her the unicorn's name, and so that's what everyone called it. Maeve never went anywhere without Pauli, which meant that anytime he got left at home or in a car seat, there was massive panic between Harry and Y/n.

"Why don't you let Mommy hold you, Maevie. Daddy has to get dressed for his big show," Y/n said, but even as she did, Harry could feel his daughter's little legs tighten around his waist. He knew he had to get ready for the show, but he secretly loved that Maeve didn't want to let go of him too.

"It's alright," he said to his wife. "Let's go find everyone, shall we, peanut?"

The three of them left the dressing room and went a couple doors down to where the band was supposed to be getting ready. Harry could hear a low hum coming from the closed door, which told him everything he needed to know. When Y/n pushed the door open, the noise got louder, causing Maeve to lift her head from Harry's shoulder to see what was going on.

"Hey, look who it is!"

The commotion didn't stop entirely, but it did lessen as the focus shifted to Harry, Maeve, and Y/n. Pauli—the person, not the unicorn—came over to where the three had remained by the dressing room door. Geneva was on his hip, who seemed to be marveling at Pauli's hair and touching it idly, but Pauli didn't seem to mind. He handed GiGi over to Y/n, who was making grabby hands at her now that she was in arm's reach. Y/n took her and kissed her cheek, quietly thanking Pauli for looking after Geneva.

"I thought my mum had Gi and Natalia?" Harry said to no one in particular.

"She went with Gem and the baby for a walk. Trying to get her down for a nap," Mitch said. "Took ours too."

"She does that," Harry nodded. He was plenty used to his mother taking any of his babies off his or Y/n's hands.

"It's fine. Sarah and I are used to it by now," he said. "And there's plenty of little ones to occupy us before the show."

Surveying the rest of the room, Harry saw all the rest of his children entertaining his band. Simone was sitting on a couch with Elin's bass in her lap while Elin told her where to put her fingers on the fretboard; Collette seemed to be in an intense battle of rock paper scissors with Julian while the members of the trumpet section watched and cheered. A small smile tugged at Harry's lips at the sight. It was such a different environment than when he was first starting out, and he couldn't have been happier.

"You need to go get ready. Unless you're planning on going out like that," Y/n said to him.

Harry looked down at his t-shirt and workout shorts, the beat up shoes he was wearing, then looked at Y/n. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Nothing's wrong with what you're wearing, baby. In fact, I'm sure your fans would love to see you perform in your day clothes," she said, leaning over to kiss his shoulder. "But you might as well put on what Lambert picked out for you."

Harry finally relented, knowing the clock was ticking and he would soon be out of time. Carefully, he set Maeve down on the floor, telling her to show Uncle Pauli her unicorn, and since she was more awake, she was more receptive to the idea of letting Harry go.

He watched Maeve skip over to Pauli and Sarah and present her unicorn. Even though he knew about it because Harry told him, Pauli acted surprised and showed interest in the stuffed animal named after him.

"Go, Daddy. We'll come see you off before the show," Y/n said. She tilted his head to face her so she could kiss him.

"Promise?"

Y/n smiled at Harry, partly amused. With a slight roll of her eyes, she said, "Yes. I promise."

With one last kiss, Harry left. He didn't like being away from his family when they were so close, but in moments like these, moments before a show, he appreciated a little quiet to calm his nerves. And there were a lot for this show.

Harry's hands shook ever so slightly as he got dressed, his mind wandered to the thousands of people that were already filling the stadium. Eighty-five thousand people. All of them waiting for him to perform his heart out, to give them a show they would never forget. Harry usually forgot about that pressure when he stepped onstage, but beforehand, he was all nerves.

"I hold you, Daddy?" GiGi said, reaching for him. That had become her favorite phrase recently. Instead of asking to be held, Geneva asked if she could hold them. Harry's heart melted every time he heard it.

Grinning, Harry reached down to where his second youngest child managed to toddle in by herself. "How did you get in here, eh? You're too cute to be out of anyone's sight."

"Mommy," GiGi said, smiling when Harry smiled at her.

"Oh, Mummy let you in here? Mummy?" Harry asked, determined to have at least one of his kids share his accent.

"Mu—mmy," she said.

"That's my girl. Now give your daddy a kiss, hm? Right here."

Geneva kissed Harry's cheeks right where he'd pointed. Just moments before, he'd been stressing about his show, but as he held his daughter, and took Y/n's hand, who was waiting just outside the dressing room for the pair to come out, he felt like he could take on the world.

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin]

Insecure...

Spencer Reid x Y/N

Content Warning: Coarse language, panic, fear of embarrassment, restraints, Spencer laughs and teases reader, Switch Spencer but he's mostly dom, insecure reader, breeding fetish, praising, degradation, orgasm denial, oral (both receiving), vaginal sex, backshot(sex from behind), unprotected sex(Condoms don't exist babes).

Summary: You feel insecure about being Spencer's girlfriend and he decided to do something about it.

These gifs of him are too perfect likeee 🤧 it's just a 29 year age gap it's not that much really

Spencer Reid x Y/N

Genre: smutt

Word Count : 1261

Content Warning: Coarse language,restraints, Spencer worships and cares for the reader, dom behaviour in terms of him mostly being in control and giving the orders,  insecure reader, breeding fetish, praising, degradation, oral (both receiving), vaginal sex, backshot(sex from behind), unprotected sex(Condoms don't exist babes).

Summary: You feel insecure about being Spencer's girlfriend after Maeve calls and he decided to do something about it.

Reid was on the phone with Maeve and you know they were officially ending their relationship, but there was some part of you that felt...insecure. You didn't even notice when he slipped onto the bed beside you. He wrapped his arms around your neck. 

"Hey baby,"

“Hi” you flinched as Spencer pulled you onto him and held you close, peppering your neck and shoulder. 

“Baby why are you being cold,”

“I’m not being cold Spencer, leave me alone please,”

Spencer gets off the bed and leaves the room and you feel yourself shrink in yourself. 

Oh

Would he do this if-

But then he comes back in with a tub of ice-cream. Oreo flavoured my favourite.

“Y/n, I’m gonna give you a spoonful of ice-cream for a sentence,”

“Are you trying to bribe me, Dr. Reid?” I feel a slight smile tug at my lips,

“That depends on whether you consider this a bribe” I gesture to the ice cream.

“Yes, that is a bribe,” He frowns a little.

“But I’m open to it” you say despite yourself.

He smiles and resumes his position behind me. 

“Baby what’s wrong?”

I stay silent.

“Baby,”

“Why do you love me Spence, why me?”

“What do you mean, why me?"

“I mean why me as if you could have any girl in the world, yet you choose me?”

“Yeah”

“Why”

“Because I love you”

“Why do you love me?”

“What brought this on?”

“Spencer please, Maeve and you-"

"I'll stop you right there, Maeve and me are history alright, I won't lie to you yes I loved her but she's not the one I wanna marry, she's not the one I want to have a family with, she's not the one I wanna die with" he continues.

“Y/n Y/L/N you are a beautiful, sexy, intelligent, courageous, hard working woman who has my heart. You are the reason I wanna wake up sometimes or the reason I got to bed too because I get to see you in my bed or me in your bed, either way I get to see you, I get to see you as the moon outlines every curve of your beautiful body. I love how your eyes shimmer and shine when you talk about something you’re excited about. "I feel tears in my eyes.

“Baby,” Spencer sets the ice-cream down and holds onto me. “Baby don’t cry,”

“I’m not crying, um I’m sorry Spence I-,” I directed my attention out the window. 

“What is it?”

“I just got a little, it’s stupid,”

“Y/N”

“I got a little insecure,” I mumbled. Spencer sits in front of me and looks at me like he’s analysing me. 

“Don’t look at me like that,”

“Like what,”

“Like a some sa-”

“Baby, I’m looking at you and wondering why a goddess is insecure,”

“Spence-”

“Baby you are a goddess,” a smirk appears on his face. “And I’m going to show you how much of a goddess you really are.

Spencer kisses you and pulls you onto his lap, kissing you hard. He his hand moves to your neck and he holds you in place. He lets go only to remove your shirt and your pants.

He pushes you onto your back with his neck and kisses you. You wrap your legs around him grinding against him.

"You're wet already," Spencer chuckles against your skin sending vibrations all the way down.

“Spence-”

“Oh baby, you want me?"

"Mmm"

"To fill you up baby huh?” Spencer’s lips burn deliciously down my neck towards the dip between my breasts, he take one of nipple between his fingers and takes the other in his mouth driving me mad

“Oh Dr. Reid,” I feel him curse against my skin. 

“You calling me Dr. Reid,” He chuckles against my breast. “I like it,”

"Oh baby," Spencer moves down and places his head between your thighs. He kisses your inner thigh sending shivers up your spine, just when you think he's going to go down on you he stops.

"Reid?" He gets off you and pulls you by your thighs towards the end of bed. He then sits behind you. "Wha-?"

"Look in the mirror" he moves one of his hand and holds up her chin.

"Spence," There we a standing mirror in the bedroom. In the reflection, y/n finally saw how she looked. Her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen.

"What do you see," Spencer kissed along your shoulder blade. Spencer pried open your legs showcasing your throbbing pussy. He started rubbing and pulling your nub.

"Mmh," fuck

"Words baby, words"

"I-i see, oh oh Spencer, fuck I see you and me,"

"Do you know what I see?"

"Fuck, Spencer,"

"I see, a goddess, a goddess I'd worship any day, a goddess whos forgotten she's a goddess"

"Spence," Spencer's fingers sped up and started to ram in and out of you. Heat started to build up in my core.

"Look at yourself," In the mirror, my eyes are glazed, "So high on me, look at my fingers, fucking you"

"Spencer, please"

"Come," I feel myself let go.

Your legs felt numb, Spencer however pulls you onto the bed and leans over your pussy, you try to undo his pants.

"Patience, Patience,"

Spencer's tongue flicks over the swollen nub and sends shivers up your spine. He holds down your hips, he digs in and when your about to burst again he bits down on the nub.

"Spencer please," Spencer finally oblidges and and undoes his pants. He slowly eases into you gasping and he grunting

"You are so warm and tight fuck" Spencer normally slow, he always does but today it's different. He rams hard into you, your hips jolt upwards to meey his but he holds you down.

You free your legs from his hold and wrap them around his waist angling yourself in a gratifying position. You clench around his dick which is enough to make him come.

"You look so fucking good with my cum in you, you'd look better swollen with my children" you blush. Spencer stays in you for a while before removing himself and getting up to take you both to the bathroom.

He cleans you up (After giving you like multiple orgasms in the shower) and you both get dressed.

"Y/n"

"Yeah Spence,"

"Don't ever beat yourself up or compare yourself to somebody ever again, you aren't perfect but neither am I. I'm a genuis yet it took me years to ask a really pretty girl out," you chuckle.

"That pretty girl liked ice-cream but i took her to a bar instead, even though neither of us drink, that's not really genuis is it?"

You shake you head a smile on your face, you lay down on the bed as Reid picks up the ice-cream container

"I also didn't take a certain tube of ice-cream and put it back in the freezer did I?"

"To be honest Reid you were a little pre-occupied," Spencer quickly puts it back and comes back to spoon you in the bed. "Thank you Reid,"

"You never have to thank me for that," He whispers into your shoulder blade placing a light kiss.

"Goodnight y/n"

"Goodnight Spencer,"

[honeygrahambitch]

Summary: Hannibal and Will question whether they are overprotective when it comes to their daughter.

Hannibal watched the blueberry jam boil softly in the pot and added two more spoons of sugar. Will entered the kitchen just as he was stirring.

"Smells good." He commented and grabbed the spoon from Hannibal, earning a scolding yet playful glance. "Where's Maeve?" He asked while tasting the soon-to-be-blueberry-jam.

"Still in the garden. I was supposed to help her catch butterflies but she clearly figured it out by herself." Hannibal replied and nodded towards one of the kitchen counters.

Five jars were aligned, each of them containing around two or three poor butterflies.

"That's impressive. Make sure to tell her they escaped by the time they die." Will said.

"Hopefully they don't die too soon, she said she was grabbing them a snack from the garden."

"I'm surprised you are fine with the bugs in your precious kitchen."

"She asked me to keep them company and I couldn't say no." Hannibal smiled. "You know, Will, I was thinking...are we doing what we are supposed to be doing? When that poor bird died we told her that she flew back to her family. When the squirrel died, we told her she found herself a better tree."

"Nah, it's fine. She is six, she shouldn't be worried about stuff like death. It needs more sugar." He said as he handed the spoon back to Hannibal.

"Only if I was trying to induce someone a diabetic coma." Hannibal commented, still thinking about the previous subject. "I sometimes wonder if we are overprotective but then I convince myself that I would rather have that than any other outcome. Isn't it the least damaging mistake we could make?"

"That's right, doctor." Will said as he wrapped his arms around Hannibal's middle, hugging him from behind. He rested his head on Hannibal's shoulder, watching the blueberry jam. "What were you saying about that bottle of wine?"

"Maybe later we could..." Hannibal started seductively but was interrupted by Maeve who excitedly burst into the kitchen, taking aback both of them.

"I brought them a snack!"

"That's amazing." Will said awkwardly after immediately stepping away from Hannibal. "So, did you get to name all of them?" He mumbled awkwardly.

"Are we really naming every creature?" Hannibal asked while innocently going back to his stirring. "Every time you name a bug, I am no longer allowed to...set it free."

Will's glance was what made him avoid the word "kill".

"I mean, Jeremy the bathroom spider hasn't hurt anyone." Will replied.

"Yet."

"I think there are too many to find names for all of them." Maeve said thoughtfully. "Help me feed them."

"Yes, you both go outside and do that. I don't want butterflies lurking around my blueberry jam."

"It would give it a special crunch." Will suggested making Maeve squeak. Hannibal arched an eyebrow that only added to Will's amusement.

Will's cheerful expression vanished in a second.

"What's that?" Was all he could mutter, his tone drawing Hannibal's attention too.

A drip of blood went down Maeve's forehead, reaching the bridge of her nose. She was just as confused so she reached out to it with her little hand. She was in fact more scared by her dads' reactions than the actual wound.

"When did you get hurt?" Will asked as he knelt on the floor and brushed her hair away, immediately followed by Hannibal.

"I think it was a twig-"

"Does it hurt, baby?" Hannibal followed carefully carefully turning her head so he could get a better glimpse.

"No. I'm okay-"

"What if it's getting infected?"

"What if she hit her head and will get a concussion? Baby, do you know what day is today?"

"Tues-"

"Do you think she will need stitches?"

"Maeve, don't be scared, it's nothing."

She knew from previous experiences that it was best to let them do their thing. Bomb her with questions, think about the most absurd causes and consequences. Then she would help the calm down.

"It doesn't even hurt-"

"It's probably the shock." Hannibal concluded.

"Did you get any other bruises? Let's lie down for a few minutes."

As if seeing them in utter shock was the most amusing thing, Maeve wiped the blood on her forehead with the back of her hand and smiled. "Now it's fixed. And the scratch is matching dad's. Can we feed the butterflies now?"

Blood didn't stop but was a lot less abundant this time.

Will and Hannibal sighed and looked at each other.

"No stitches. For now." Hannibal declared.

"It was worse when dad got his hand stuck in the meat grinder machine. I'm okay."

"He made quite a scene, didn't he?" Hannibal asked and earned a glance that screamed "fuck you" from Will.

They were, in fact, overprotective. Hannibal scolded himself for their reaction. He should have known better than to scare a child. Not that she looked scared. He didn't exclude the concussion possibility just yet but smiled when he saw Will's expression soften. He was probably thinking about the same thing.

"I can start listing the periodic table of elements if you are still worried. From the end to the beginning. Atomic mass included. But my butterflies are really starving."

"That's fine." Will said as he got up and grabbed two of the jars. "Let's go feed these weirdos."

"Just be careful." Hannibal said and kissed her forehead.

"I will. However I would be more worried about your blueberry jam. It's overflowing."

[letsgetrowdy43]

Two's company, three's a crowd☆—

Request: Quinn and Honey find out they are pregnant with Maeve.

Ahhhh I'm in love with this 🤭

Au Masterlist!!

Jack's girlfriend placed baby Weston right into Quinn's arms, a soft smile on the man's face as he held the little bundle of joy close to his chest. "He's beautiful J," Honey whispered, teary-eyed at how fatherly Jack looked as he began to tear up at Hun's comment.

The woman admired the intimate scenery in front of her, a baby in Quinn's arms and a misting of tears in his eyes as he held his godson for the first time.

The moment Honey and Quinn made it to their own room in the Lake House Honey sat her husband down on the edge of the bed. A serious look in her eyes as she began, "I'm about to throw an idea out into the open, if you're not on the same page that's fine, just think about it." "You wanna have another baby?" Quinn mused with a grin as he leaned back onto his elbows as Honey smiled shyly. "Sooo badly," she said finally sitting down next to him on the mattress, "my babies aren't babies anymore, and you were holding Weston and I missed that," she watched as Quinn smirked at her, her hands running through his curls as he closed his eyes contently at the feeling.

Quinn pretended to think for a second as his wife waited eagerly for his response, "I'll have as many babies as your heart desires," he grinned as she smacked him in the arm and then pressed a slow kiss to his lips. "I think three is the perfect amount," she mumbled against his mouth as he nipped at her bottom lip.

"I think we should start trying right now," he whispered smugly, his hands running over her hips as he pulled her into his lap. A shallow breath left her lips as he trailed as many kisses along her skin as he possibly could, "your brother is still downstair with the baby," she said in a hushed tone trying to gain enough composure to pull herself off of him. "This is entirely his fault," he said in between kisses as his lips found hers once again, "shouldn't have let me hold the baby looking all sexy, he knew you'd cave," Quinn joked as he flipped her on her back as she let out a quiet squeal.

☆☆

The summer was long over and the hockey season was beginning to pick up, the kids were back in school and Honey's work was starting to pick back up. So the hopes of trying again kinda of withered away as life got busy.

That was until Honey laid in bed reading one of those cheesy romance novels that she couldn't get enough of, a tired Quinn asleep next to her, buried in the sheets with one arm wrapped around his wife's torso.

Something had felt off with Honey, she knew her body, she could feel some sort of sickness coming on as the work week came to an end, but what she didn't expect was for a little notification from her period tracker app to pop up saying she was just over three weeks late. A little gasp left her lips as she stared at her phone, "Q," she shook him gently and she got up and out of bed. "What's wrong," he sat up alert, as he stared at his wife who was making her way to the ensuite bathroom.

He followed her tiredly after coming to the realization that there was no real danger, she grinned and stood with a box in her hands. "I'm late," she said with a grin as Quinn leaned against the bathroom counter a tired smile on his face as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, "now get out so I can take this," she shooed him back into their room and shut the door behind him. Quinn laughed at her bossy demeanour, waiting right outside the door for her to open it again. "Can you start a timer for two minutes," she said faintly through the door as she washed her hands and opened it up to see a smiling Quinn.

The two of them stood in the bathroom, her on the counter, and him in between her legs, hands on both of her thighs as they stared at the stopwatch on the phone. It was silent, not tense, but quiet.

A little under a minute left on the clock as Quinn looked up at her, "Remember the first time, in the old apartment, and I proposed to you right after I made you think I was about to leave you."

Forty-five seconds.

"I was so panicked, and then you left me crying," she mumbled, looking away from the clock to see him watching her with so much love in his eyes. "The outcome was perfect though," he whispered, "I can't believe that was almost nine years ago."

Thirty seconds left.

"We had no idea what we were doing," she reminisced as she looked back down at the clock. "I had no doubts in us." "Of course, you didn't" "I'm serious," he laughed, "we were so in love, I had no hesitations that we would figure it out," he was so serious, his tone so genuine as he spewed love-sick words, blush rising up her cheeks as his eyes landed back on the timer

Fifteen seconds.

"You think we have it figured out by now?" she asked, leaning forward to place a kiss on his brow bone as he stared in concentration. "I think we'll be just fine," he said with a little grin, "our first two are perfect, I'm sure this one will be just fine."

Five seconds.

"I love you," he looked at her as she leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you so much Q," she whispered as her forehead pressed against his.

The time startled both of them as Quinn silenced it, a nervous grin on both of their faces as they stared at the test that was placed upside down on the other end of the bathroom counter. "I'll do it," she reached over the sink and grabbed the little pink stick, holding it upside down in between them. both of them saying a silent little prayer inside their heads as Honey flipped it over.

"Pregnant 2 weeks"

A gasp left her lips as she looked up at Quinn who pulled her into his chest, squeezing her so tight as she whispered about just how much she loved him in his ear. "We are having a baby," he pulled away, his hands now cupping her face as he kissed her once again, tears rolling down both of their cheeks as they shared sloppy emotional kisses, surrounded by their love for one another and their little, now complete, family.

-

-

-

[throneofsapphics]

track 32

Fenrys x Reader x Lorcan

Summary: Cursed to fall in love, only to have everything ripped away from you, moving on to your next life already feels like a drag, only things don't quite follow their usual patterns.

Warnings: discussions of death, Maeve, brief description of torture, happy ending

Word Count: 8077

A/N: the HAPPIEST of birthdays to @whisperingmidnights <3 I hope you have an amazing day (& thank you to @rowaelinsdaughter for your help)

You tumbled into your new body. Again. At least this time the Gods let you skip through the childhood years, instead flooding your mind with memories of your new past. You could only be a toddler so many times before truly losing the last grip on your sanity. 

You’d think so much pain and suffering would flood together, the lives all melting into one giant messed up pot but instead each experience remained distinctly painful to you. Distinctly full of suffering and sour memories. You, obviously, hadn’t survived a single one and your trek across the multiverse was written in blood. 

It took you up until life 15 to really stop holding onto so many grudges, especially considering you seemed to be destined to fall for the same people each time. Not the same types of people, but the actual same person. 

Whoever put a curse on you had been clever. If you were cursed, perhaps you were just really damn unlucky. But right now you needed a bath, a hot meal, and a good night’s rest. Of course you were drunk. Fresh in from a night out on the town with one of your friends, but you had good some good fortune in this life - your own apartment. 

Tossing clothes off as you walked, you beelined towards where you knew the bathing room was. You were pretty certain you’d stayed in this exact apartment building before, and if you remembered correctly each apartment had near identical layouts, the entire building cheap and designed for efficiency. In this life, you’d made it your own more than in the previous ones. 

You stepped into the tub, let the cold water hit your toes, partially sobering you, rivulets of now psycho-somatic grime and blood streaming from your body to pool in clear water at your feet. 

A mind healer would have a field day with you and you knew it all too well. 

Plugging the drain, you adjusted it to reach the perfect temperature. Yes, an efficiency building but still had hot running water. It was odd, but you didn’t question it - you were a creature of comfort after all. 

You wondered when you’d see them again. You wished you could say that tall of your interactions started off on a fresh beat, that you had it together enough not to judge them based on versions of them in a different universe, but you weren’t. 

Having it together? Maybe, certainly not on that level though. Having it together enough to appreciate their presence at this moment? Hell no. 

After last time. 

“We’re done,” he mumbled, not willing to make eye contact with you. 

“Then say it to my face,” you glanced between both of them. 

Heads down. Eyes downcast - first time you’d seen them like that. 

“Then I really meant that little, didn’t I?”

“No,” one said - you could barely distinguish who through the raging steam in your ears and tears down your cheeks. 

“Yes,” the other said. You didn’t know or care who said what. It didn’t matter. Later, just before the death took you you’d find out who made them do it and realize it still didn’t matter. She may have forced them to lie, but they didn’t have to be quite so convincing. 31 lives had taught you logic had no place in heartbreak. 

The memory hit you like a physical blow to the chest, a stinging and pressure left in its wake. That heartbreak had killed you the quickest of them all. 

Three days. 

It was part of your curse, you’d figured out. To always know. What life you were on, the details of your past lives, how long it took you to do, what the death felt like, every little detail was committed to memory all because you’d dared to love someone a little too much, and ended up stealing them away from a wicked witch. 

Well, the story didn’t go quite like that but you thought it sounded better in your head that way. In reality, you’d fallen in love and done something stupid, as all people in love do from time to time. 

You and Lorcan had agreed you should try to get Fenrys out, that although it would be more difficult to get him released, Fenrys needed it more. You didn’t have the guts to tell him you needed both of them like you needed air, but there hadn’t been time for that. All of your moments were stolen and borrowed time. 

“Will you please release him from your service?” You were on your knees, begging. “Please, Majesty.” 

The harsh flooring dug into your knees but you kept the same subservient pose. For someone with so much pride, this was humiliating and your Queen knew it. 

“No.” 

One flat and toneless word. 

“No?” You repeated. 

Wicked red lips curved into a smile. “That is what I said.” 

You had several choice words for her after, and she’d responded with a fucking curse. Cursed to always love, but to never have it stick, cursed to die from heartbreak. 

Even after all of these lives the word ‘curse’ was still ugly in your mouth, still made your stomach heave and back seize at the memories. The times you’ve run into the Queen she hadn’t recognized you, but you knew she was still untouchable. Frequently made that way by the ones you loved. 

The breeze sneaking through the poorly insulated window highlighted how water already chilled around you. You didn’t miss that part of this building, the tub held next to no heat and your bathwater always ended up cold in less than fifteen minutes. 

You were tempted to stay still and prune, but there was no use in it. A new life, new things to do. 

Dragging yourself out of the tub, you dried off as efficiently as you could make yourself, scrounged up some comfortable clothes and headed to your desk. Grabbing a notepad and pen, you began writing. 

number thirty-one. 

It was a ritual of sorts, perhaps your imaginary mind healer would be proud of you for it, for getting all of your pain out on paper as soon as possible. 

Right before you burned it. 

Tossing the five sheets of paper on the flames felt good.

Running into them happened far too quickly for your liking. It always did. Life always started and finished too damn fast. 

You glanced in the mirror, at what you’d chosen to wear for the night out with your not-really-new friends. The dress fit you perfectly, and showed just enough to leave you feeling bold without being uncomfortable. The gold wrapped around your wrists helped too. Not too much to look rob worthy, but enough to make you feel like some extra type of sheen was thrown over you. Maybe, just maybe this life would bring you a little luck. Was gold supposed to be good luck? You didn’t know, but maybe you’d figure out how to look it up later. If you remembered to. 

You felt something warm in your chest, not unlike the flush from the first sip of whiskey. Closing your eyes you could’ve sworn it tugged, dragged you towards another. 

No, not in this or any life. It wasn’t possible. 

No matter how many times you fell in love and in how many ways, you’d never found a mate and were convinced you were destined not to. 31 lives was enough time to find a mate, a life partner. You should’ve had that done in by life 10. 

It was funny, how you’d started measuring your existence in lives rather than years. After all, it fit your circumstances. Permanently destined to be a temporary existence in others lives, and for their existence and influence to end yours. If there was a way out of this, a stopping or breaking of the curse you figured you would’ve found it by now. 

A loud pounding on the door and you hissed as the brush slipped, you barely moving your wrist away in time to save your face from a large black streak. 

“Gods,” you yelled, “hold on a damn moment.” 

“We’re going to miss the bard,” someone - Ella? Yes, Ella, shouted back. 

“Alright,” you groused loud enough for her to hear, “one moment.” 

One more swipe of kohl and you looked ready. A few deep breaths and you felt ready. 

Shoving the cosmetics to the back of the counter, you swung yourself around the doorway, grabbing your coat off the hook and flinging open the front door, finding your friend posed with their fist menacingly mid-air, probably about to break your door down. Memory clicked in, reminding you they can be a tad aggressive on a mission. 

Their mouth curved into a too-satisfied smirk, probably that their threats had work. Rolling your eyes, you shoved past them into the hall, quickly locking your door. 

“Anyone else for tonight?” 

“Just us,” they looped their arm through yours and started for the stairs. 

Ugh. Last time in this building you’d been on the ground floor, and you’d definitely miss the convenience of that, but at least you had a pretty balcony view here. It’s all give and take, you supposed. 

“Copper for your thoughts?” Ella’s voice interrupted you. 

How long had you zoned out? Was that a habit in this lifetime? You couldn’t remember. 

“Do I really look that broke?” You deflected. 

It worked, she laughed. Maybe it would’ve been nice if she pushed a little. 

-

Fenrys breathed in the fresh air. Maeve had sent him on a mission. Alone. Staking out Varese for several months, observing, but she didn’t exactly tell him what to look for. It was perhaps the most exciting and infuriating mission he’d been assigned. Infuriating, because he truly had no idea what in Hellas’s name he was supposed to do, exciting because he had months to spend doing whatever he thought ‘observing’ looked like. 

Yes, he knew it was a mockery of freedom but right now he’d take the gods-damned mockery over what he’s stuck in every day. 

Walking through the street, although he stuck to the shadows, unnoticed to the masses, it still felt like each face was sent there to tease him, remind him of the invisible leash tying him to that bitch for the rest of his life. He didn’t know how Lorcan, the bastard, did it with such glee and joy. At least Whitethorn had shown a measure of discontent at some point, he’d even seen a hint of it on perfectly loyal Gavriel’s face. 

Something caught his attention. Someone. 

Arm in arm with your friend, strolling down the street, exuding pure confidence. Someone aware of their place in this world and what they meant to it. The light in your eyes matched his own. Dimmed, flaring when necessary and just enough to keep up appearances. 

Only a fellow fraud would recognize it. 

He had to follow. It was insanity, but he needed to see more of you. 

That’s how he ended up nursing a drink in the corner of the bar, shadows wreathed around him, cloak pulled up to cover his face. He matched some of the many body guards of nobles around, and through some blessing not a soul had recognized him or even shot him a second glance. Perhaps Friday’s were quite a popular night for the elite to pretend, that or he’d gotten better at blending in. He didn’t know which to put his money on. 

Someone, however, caught all of the attention - including his, even when he tried to ignore the magnetic attraction tugging him towards you. Throwing your head back in a laugh, you danced along with your friend, clothing absolutely sinful and fitting right in. He loved it. Every part of your energy felt like it was tugging at him, urging him closer, closer, closer, and he realized just how dangerous that made you. 

Dangerous to him, and to yourself through him. 

No matter what, she hung over him like a storm cloud. 

Anything he might try to pursue with you would end before it could truly began, love or relationship cut off at its knees without a chance to truly blossom. Did he actually want it to? Could Fenrys actually be that selfish? 

Yes, if it came to you. He glanced down at his pint. Still half full, and rather weak shit. He wasn’t drunk but still managed to think complete nonsense. Nothing could happen, but for now he supposed it couldn’t hurt to imagine a fantasy life with a stranger he’d never see again live in the corner of his mind, so long as it it stayed there. He was so, so wrong. 

-

Lorcan Salvaterre knew about sacrifice. In fact, he was an expert at it, at this point. But, every bit was worth it for her. His Queen. The only female he’d truly loved to the point where he’d do anything and everything. 

Perhaps other love could have come his way, but it had never been the right time. Timing, in his opinion, shouldn’t matter. He’d always make the time for Maeve, and everything he’d done since meeting her had been for her. When she ordered him away, he left. When she kept him by her side - but never her bed - he stayed. Maeve said jump, he asked how high. 

That's why Lorcan was trying to figure out when in Hellas he’d become so disillusioned, starting thinking things so unlike him. He couldn’t tell her, couldn’t tell anyone. Lorcan didn’t have any friends or confidants, that wasn’t something he dealt in. To him, there was no purpose in friends when his entire life’s purpose was bound by blood to servitude. 

The closest thing he had to friends was his blood brothers, and like hell he’d ever tell them of this ... treachery waging war inside of his mind. 

Lunch swirled unpleasantly in his stomach as he thought of the word. Treason. 

When Maeve called him to the throne room, when he knelt before her, he mentally prepared himself for his immortal life to end rather early. She must know. She always knows. 

Instead, he needed to figure out how he’d pissed her off because she’d sent him off for some kind of torturous punishment. Keeping an eye on Fenrys, currently loose in Varese. 

“Anything I should watch out for in particular, majesty?” He was quite proud of how he kept the bitterness from his tone. Or thought he did. 

“You’ll know if you see something off,” she dismissed him with a wave. “Consider it a vacation, of sorts.” 

Blood sworn didn’t get vacations, he wanted to protest. He didn’t want - or need one. Had he really been slacking that much? The journey would provide adequate time for reflection, for him to dissect and figure out exactly where he’d gone wrong so he could prevent those mistakes in the future. That was essential. This trip however, like most things with Fenrys, would probably turn out to be a complete waste of his time. Time that could be spent doing much better things. But ... he supposed if this is what his Queen wanted him to do, it was exactly what he’d be doing, regardless of his feelings on the subject. His feeling always had been, and always would be inconsequential.

He was here. Already. Fuck. 

It was day 2, and you couldn’t catch a break. Is there such thing as a resting life? One where you could go through without any relationships, just peace and enjoying your moments of solitude? No, not for someone like you. 

Running away from them never worked, they would haunt your every movement until they consumed every last bit of you and scattered crumbs on the wind, only for the crumbs to reform and drag you back towards them. 

Do you embrace fate or run away from it? It was inevitable, what was the point in fighting anymore? You were so tired of it. Exhaustion rippled from you in waves, you were surprised everyone around you hadn’t noticed as soon as you walked in. 

Even if you wanted to, Fate, in the form of the most gorgeous man to exist, all bronze skin, onyx eyes, and golden hair, didn’t give you a choice. He slid into the bar stool next to you. 

You didn’t smile, at first, but your traitorous heart warmed in his presence. 

“Have we met before?” He said, jokingly. 

If only he knew. 

“Maybe in your dreams,” you slid your hand across the bar and grabbed your glass, drinking deeply. He winced. 

“Am I that bad of company?” 

“You’ve been here for,” you glanced at the clock pointedly, “a minute. It has nothing to do with you.” You’d tried every approach in the past to get them to see if it would deter them enough for them to circumvent fate, but nothing worked. Each version of you was destined for tragedy with each version of them. 

“That’s fair enough,” Fenrys replied. You reminded yourself you didn’t know his name. 

“What do they call you?” The words came out, regardless of your internal wince, knowing you were setting him up for a ridiculous line. 

“In b-”

You held a hand up and his mouth clamped shut. “No, no, none of that.” 

He laughed, deep and rich, a sound you ... had you heard that laugh from him before? Perhaps not, at least not in a few lives. Recently things had been so depressing. 

“I like you,” he nudged you gently with his elbow, your heart ached. 

not again not again not again. 

‘Yes,’ a cruel voice from red lips whispered in your mind, ‘again, again, again. Forever. This is what you deserve.’

Someone cleared their throat. Fenrys. 

“Sorry,” you murmured, glancing at the bottom of your nearly empty glass. Empty. Fuck. You couldn’t handle this sober. Were you sober? Your friends were long gone, all found partners for the night while you nursed your worries at the bar. “What’s your name?” You took the last sip of your drink as the last syllable left your lips, ideally it could hide any signs of a lie from him. 

“Fenrys,” he leaned back enough in his stool to extend his arm to you, rather formally. When you placed your hand in his, intending to squeeze it to death, he deftly rearranged your hands and raised your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there. “At your service.” 

“Charmer,” you rolled your eyes but softly pulled your hand away and replied with your name. 

He said your name quietly, extending the vowels, as if testing how it sounded on his tongue, how it might sound in other - 

You chided yourself, pulling your mind out of the gutter. With the situation you knew he was always in, that was the last thing you needed to be thinking about. Or that he needed to be. You might not escape him, but you certainly wouldn’t do anything to make this harder on yourself. At least thats what you’re saying now. 

“Last call,” the gruff barman said, scowling at Fenrys before shooting you a smile. Your mind rattled through details. Right, you regularly shut this tavern down and always left a good tip. 

You leaned over to Fenrys and whispered low so the other male couldn’t hear, “he’s easy to win over. A good tip, manners, and easy orders.” 

Fenrys hid his snort in his drink, draining the last droplets. “Thank you for the advice, love,” he whispered conspiratorially. Asshole. 

“Whatever,” you mumbled and left your usual amount, sliding off the stool. Just because you were fated to make each other’s lives hell didn’t mean you had to deal with him being rude. Maybe you were just sensitive. 

A ‘wait’ followed you but you ignored it. Inevitable.

He caught up to you on the street, calling your name again. 

Something else struck you. He was alone in Varese. When did this happen? This was odd. Out of all of your lifetimes nothing had followed this pattern, never meeting so quickly and certainly not with Fenrys on his own with his leash rather loose for what the bitch prefers. You needed to figure out more. 

“Want to come back to my place for a drink?” You said, slowly turning to look at him. 

If he was surprised by your quick change of tune, he didn’t say a thing, only nodding and linking your arms together. Like he’d been waiting for a friend. The pain in your chest was physical as much as it was emotional. 

-

Lorcan was here to keep an eye on Fenrys, and if that meant sitting in the shadows on a rooftop, peering through a beautiful female’s stupidly open window then so be it. You walked around and even acted like you didn’t give a damn whether you lived or died, but he could tell you were smart, based on how you’d handled Fenrys. 

He’d ended enough lives to have an appreciation for it, and the way you were so gods-damned careless with yours pissed him off. 

Lorcan should be questioning why his feelings towards you are so strong, but instead he’s observing every little detail of the interactions between you and Fenrys. For his report, of course. He always paid attention to detail, there was no other reason than being thorough. At least he kept telling himself that. 

It wasn’t because he liked the way your hair moved, or how you rolled your eyes frequently at his blood-sworn brother, followed by a barely there smile that he only noticed because the shadows danced around it, as if you repelled the darkness. 

Maybe you could repel the darkness in him. 

What. The. Fuck. 

Lorcan hadn’t drank, and even if he had he never entertained thoughts like this. 

Refocusing, he committed to memory every detail of what Fenrys was doing, how he reacted to you, how attached he might be and how you might already be used against him by his Queen. 

An unfamiliar feeling settled in his stomach, tainting him. 

Guilt. 

He didn’t want to use you. 

But if it came to it, he wouldn't have a choice. He never really did. 

-

Fenrys whistled lowly on his way home, through the empty streets. Still aware of his surroundings, also aware that none would dare approach him - not with the steel and the stature he carried himself with, proof he knew how to use it. 

All he’d done is sit and talk with you for hours, in fact the dawn was currently beginning to crest over the city. Hours of sitting and talking felt like mere minutes with you, and he found he had more fun in that time than he had in years, perhaps decades, perhaps since entering Maeve’s service. 

It was sad, really, that you could only be a temporary fixture, for your own safety. 

Still, his mind rattled with ways to do the impossible, with how he could be with you forever without ... it was useless, really, to even ponder it. The false hope and ideas would only taint the present he had, for however long Maeve let him stay here in his ... his fantasy, he supposed. 

He could imagine many fantasies with you involved but the biggest was your friendship. The way you hadn’t hit on him, made any kind of sexual innuendos or advances, thats why he followed you out of the bar. Because you made him comfortable in a way nobody else had in so, so long. Like you’d been doing it for lifetimes. 

The scent hit him. The male wanted him to know he was there. His entire body stiffened, posture straightened slightly, pleasant after buzz from your intoxicating presence gone just like that. 

Lorcan Salvaterre. His commander. 

“Who was that?” Lorcan wasted no time and matched pace with him. 

“None of your business,” Fenrys snapped. Aware that he could be punished for it, but he didn’t care, he looked the male right in the eyes. 

Lorcan ... Lorcan didn’t push him. At all. Instead, something like understanding passed through his eyes. Had Lorcan needed to protect someone from Maeve before? 

Probably not. He was a cold hearted bastard through and through. 

“Keep her away,” the words were whispered on the wind - there and gone. Just like Lorcan, who melted into the shadows. 

Away from who? Lorcan didn’t say ‘keep away from her,’ and Fenrys knew everything the bastard did was intentional. 

Lorcan Salvaterre was here. You knew it, having caught the faintest hint of his unfortunately familiar scent, trailing after you like a hound. 

The fact that he was following you made you nervous. Yes, similar situations had occured before but everything about this time seemed so different that it filled you with mixed emotions. 

What are the odds there’s actually something good in store for you? Slim, you decided, based on history and reasoning, and you knew Lorcan Salvaterre stalking anyone was bad news, but especially for you when you had ... history with the Queen he so lovingly served.

Someone whose head deserved to be ripped right from her neck, you cast the thought into the universe and hoped it landed, hoped she felt a phantom prick in the side of her neck. 

Maybe she regretted cursing you to some kind of eternal half existence, always in and out of different worlds. Doubtful. More likely she tired of whatever game she decided to play for you and set the person who she knew would hurt the most to kill you. Even you could admit you were extrapolating. 

Maybe an attitude change could fix everything. A tad less drama. 

You glanced out the window, at the rain currently pouring down, at the moisture leaking into your apartment. The weather certainly didn’t match up for life changes, if anything it read of staying right where you were. 

Accepting it wouldn’t happen today, you saved the attitude change for the next sunny day. Those practically screamed change in fortune. Or you hoped they did. 

A week passed. You saw Fenrys each night at the Tavern, and scented a weirdly careless Lorcan on your trail each day. 

Your attitude may not have changed with the next bout of sunshine, but you had a plan. It was rather simple, to somehow draw Lorcan out. However, there was a difference between having a plan and knowing how to execute it. You supposed that made your plan an idea more than anything. 

Fenrys had mentioned business meetings he’d be attending one night, and you decided that was the perfect to do it. The perfect night to pretend to get sloshed, and you had the help of your favorite barkeep. 

Knowing Lorcan, he probably had questions for you, and wouldn’t miss the opportunity to get some answers while your inhibitions were ‘lowered.’ Arrogant males like him wouldn’t let opportunities slide by, but Lorcan Salvaterre stayed Maeve’s commander for a reason, and you knew your acting skills had to be top notch to keep him from becoming suspicious. 

-

“When will you stop pretending to drink those?” Lorcan asked gruffly as he slid into the stool next to you, his hulking frame towering over the bar and casting a shadow over you. You were a good actress, but he was better, and caught on after the first couple of drinks and exchanged looks between you and the barkeep, who you were on very friendly terms with. 

The obsession with you, the flares of irrational anger when another man trailed too close, Lorcan knew what this was, and knew he was screwing both of you over with it. Fated for misery and doom, no matter how the cards played out. He’d be stuck with her, Lorcan noted how she was demoted in his mind, and you’d be ... free. 

All those years he’d spent making fun of those males now served to make him feel like a lot of an asshole because he gotit. There was a crack in his armor, a weakness in his resolve, and nobody knew about it. He intended to keep it that way until you were far, far away from him and his ... his Queen, and then as long as possible after that. His stomach clenched at the thought of what she might do to you in order to help keep him in line. Nothing good, and everything bad. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you answered primly, turning away from him. Why had he come over here again? 

He laughed, low and harshly. “Sure you don’t, sweetheart,” he exaggerated the last word - turning it into an insult. It didn’t feel right. His entire being flared against any insult to you, even coming from him. 

But ... the little flash of anger in your eyes, the way your nostrils flared, that was amusing. He liked the fire in you. “What did you call me?” 

He shrugged. 

You scoffed, muttering an insult he chose to ignore under your breath. “Nothing to say to that one?” You pushed when he didn’t answer, letting your elbow brush against his, “I thought it was creative. If you need me to I can keep going, there’s plenty where it came from.” 

“It was well done,” perhaps he wasn’t particularly in the mood to be insulted all night, and he got the sense you were more than capable of doing just that. 

“Well done,” you echoed, and he nodded. Your mouth curled into the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. 

-

In the future, you might just deny it ever happened, but Lorcan Salvaterre ended up in your apartment that night. You ignored the fact that he seemed to know the way there. There had always been plenty you were willing to ignore when it came to that male, and that hadn’t changed over the last however many lives. 

Once Lorcan - once he’d found his Queen, you’d been second. But before that, he’d made you his everything. You never could blame him for leading you to beg Maeve that first time, that cursed time. 

Still, on the nights when you were alone, when the rain or a pretty mountain outline reminded you of him, when everything felt too much, it was easier to pin it on him, even if it made you a horrible person. Horrible, even for an ex-lover, but then again you were always an expert at self-depreciation. 

Looking at the male now, like a statue of a God carved from granite, you knew he’d be the death of you. Again. But how could you fight him? You never had the strength to in the past. Maybe you weren’t trying to survive hard enough ... 

Things had never moved this quickly in the past, they’d always been at a pace just slow enough to be torturous with your knowledge of your impending doom. 

Maybe this time you needed to really try. 

For Lorcan. For Fenrys. But mostly, for yourself. 

The door closed behind you and you slipped back into reality, into the new situation you found yourself in. 

“Drink?” You asked over your shoulder, heading right for your kitchen. 

He caught your hand, spinning you back towards him. 

“I had something else in mind,” he said roughly, and dipped his head towards yours. 

You knew he could be patient, he could be gentle, he could be kind, but you got none of that now. 

His hand gripped your jaw, tight enough to keep you still but not harsh enough to hurt, his mouth moved fervently against yours as you matched his pace. It was the collision of a thousand stars, a world breaking and re-forming into something new and beautiful and wonderful. It was everything and more. It was the multiverse coming together into a single moment and screaming yes! this is what you were waiting for. He slowed, softened, as if some kind of guilt caught up with him. You wouldn’t have that. Couldn’t. You gripped the back of his hair and pulled him back closer to you, pressing your body against his. 

He would be yours for the night, but little did he know you‘d already been his for eternity. 

-

You owe him nothing. You owe him nothing. You owe him nothing, Fenrys reminded himself as he walked out of the bar, spotting you teasing Lorcan. He’d finished his business meetings early and thought he might see if you were still haunting your favorite spot at the bar. 

Still, he wanted to rush up to you and ask you if you knew who the hell you were tangling with but ... he supposed he was like Lorcan in that way, one of Maeve’s Blood Sworn, and to have two of them shown publicly taking an interest in you was nothing short of deadly and he refused to subject you to that. So Fenrys left. 

And hated himself for it, but self hatred was nothing new to him. 

Fenrys wasn’t sure how he found Lorcan’s rooms, considering the male probably didn’t want to be found right now. Probably wanted to bask in you. Your beauty, the time he sp-

He stopped himself from thinking of it. Even thought of shifting now, to a body where emotions were simpler and didn’t drain quite so much. Fenrys rarely shifted voluntarily when away from her, not after she kept him in that form so frequently. ‘Where he was easier to deal with,’ she’d said once, and the words still stung as His Majesty, he thought the words mockingly, intended for them to. 

The door swung open. 

Lorcan didn’t speak, just stood there with his arms crossed and jaw clenched. 

Fenrys felt young, and not in a good way. What was he? A jealous lover? Concerned friend? Idiot? 

Then it hit him. 

The scent. 

Yours. 

His. 

Entwined. 

Without him. 

Rage, pure and strong filled him. The scent was particular, and he’d seen it just a few times before. Lorcan, intelligently, had a shield around himself before Fenrys he was on the verge of some kind of burst. 

“Not fucking possible,” Fenrys backed away, “we can’t have the same mate.” 

Lorcan’s eyes widened, but he was looking beyond him. Fenrys whirled around. 

You. 

“I can’t have a mate,” you said quietly, desperately. “I never have before,” then to yourself, “it’s never been like this,” you switched your gaze to the window, he watched you try to angle your face so they couldn’t see the tears in your eyes but they were evident. Everything was evident when it came to you. 

“Get inside,” Lorcan said roughly to both of you. 

He had a point, it wasn't exactly the space for this conversation. A hallway where anyone could be walking by and overhear. That’s the last thing he wanted, anything that might put you in further danger. 

When he didn’t instantly move, Lorcan grabbed his shirt, tugging him inside. There was a knife at Lorcan’s throat before the male could blink. 

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me,” Fenrys hissed, slowly sliding the knife away and sheathing it at his side. 

He was surprised his commander hadn’t caught it, but then again he was staring at a pretty female in the hallway, your gaze still distant and fixed on the window. He called your name, just loud enough to carry across the distance. Your head snapped, you blinked a few times. He tilted his head towards the room. 

An over-exaggerated sigh, probably for their sake more than anything, and then you followed them inside. Each step seemed to make you shrink further into yourself, he noticed, that confidence and bravado fading and leaving someone vulnerable behind. 

It took a strong hand to tamp down on instincts rising, telling him to eliminate any immediate threats to you. The main one being Lorcan, but also any other males and possibly females in the vicinity. It was absolutely ridiculous, the way he was feeling even if he wasn’t acting on it. At least he hadn’t acted on it. Yet. If only because he was well aware it would piss you off. 

-

“What did you mean, ‘it’s never been like this?’” Lorcan asked and you read the skepticism in his eyes. Not quite distrust, but an interesting mix of confusion and concern. That had the potential to change quickly. Could you even speak about it or would you drop dead? You’d always assumed you couldn’t but ... 

“I’m cursed,” you started. They exchanged a brief glance, and for some reason that irritated you, but you kept going. “We’ve met before. Many times,” you knew that would grab and probably keep their attention, at least for a little while. You held a hand up when their brows furrowed in concern, “just hear me out before you write me off as crazy.” 

“I would never write you off,” Fenrys murmured, and you shot him a thankful look but he kept his mouth shut after that. Perhaps it had something to do with the glare on Lorcan’s face. 

The words were difficult. 

Each one felt stilted and awkward, but they watched and listened as if each word you said was pure gold and something about that made you feel powerful. They went through the emotions with you, although it was a tad more difficult to tell with Lorcan, but you struggled together in a way. For some reason, it started to feel like this might turn into a goodbye and you weren’t quite ready for that. After all, you didn’t know how anyone could stay with someone ... someone with the kind of tainted past you have. 

“Why would she do that?” You finished. It a was rare chance to ask two people who probably have more insight than any others into how the mind of the Queen works, not that you believe she’d let anyone truly understand her. 

“Cruelty,” Fenrys said. 

The same time as Lorcan said, “jealousy.” 

“Makes sense,” you huffed, eyes rolling towards the ceiling. It was stupid. 

“How do you end up reincarnated?” Lorcan asked. The question you were hoping to avoid. 

“I die.” 

“Of old age,” Fenrys said, but didn’t sound as if he believed it. 

“No,” you said sharply, exhaling. “You’ll laugh at me.” 

“Try me. Believe it or not, I don’t find your death very funny,” Fenrys said dryly. Lorcan was watching with apt attention, eyes watching you like a hawk. 

“Heartbreak,” you grunted, quickly whirling towards - fuck. You’d meant to look out the window, but saw the mirror instead and the twin faces of horror behind you struck something deep inside of your heart. 

“I -” your throat closed up, the words not quite getting out. 

“What is it?” Fenrys curled his fingers inward, and despite a slight internal cringe you let him beckon you, let him take your hands, let him give you this kind of comfort. 

“I wish you remembered,” you whispered, glancing at Lorcan too, who’s eyes and face told you, yes he knew you were changing the subject, and no the conversation was not over yet. 

-

“I don’t -,” Lorcan Salvaterre stumbled over his words, perhaps for the first time in his life, “I don’t mind making new memories, as long as they’re with you.” 

You beamed. Fenrys laughed. He debated how upset you would be if he killed the other male. 

Other male. 

He knew, already, that he’d have to share you. 

For you, Lorcan could and would make anything work. You were worth everything, absolutely everything. 

Maeve, a voice whispered in his mind. He pushed it down, ignored it for now. That was an ... his Queen would never be an issue, but a situation he could deal with at a later date. 

He swore to himself he’d never make fun of a mated male again. Technically he wasn’t mated yet, but he would be ... soon, he had to be. Being your mate felt like an irrevocably necessary part of his soul, like he might die without it, without having that bond with you to tether him to this world and give him meaning. Meaning he’d been lacking his entire life. 

He didn’t know or care if Fenrys felt the same way but he supposed he should. He had an obligation to his mate’s mate, after all, outside of the fact that Fenrys is his bloodsworn brother. 

Bloodsworn.

His bones and blood chilled. He couldn’t be yours, not really. The realization threatened to bring tears to his eyes, but he couldn’t cry, not here - not in front of you. You needed him strong. 

He stood, abruptly, but didn’t care. He jerked his chin to Fenrys. “We need to talk,” he let his eyes say the rest. 

He found he didn’t like how some of the shine left Fenrys’s, how they dulled at the implication of their Queen’s existence. Too bad, for now. 

“Great. Secrets,” you muttered, and a slight smile threatened his lips, but you still waved them away. Perhaps you understood secrets better than anyone else. 

Lorcan led Fenrys to an adjacent room, and their shields went up at the same time. To keep any nosy females from overhearing. The more she knew, the more danger she was in. At least they were on the same page. 

“Where is safe for her?” Fenrys started. 

At least he had his priorities straight. 

“Antica,” Lorcan answered. Maeve didn’t dare touch the southern continent, yet. “For now,” he added for honesty’s sake. “The curse won’t break until Maeve is ...” He didn’t, couldn’t bring himself to, speak the words out loud, it felt too much like treason. 

“Dead,” Fenrys said for him. He had no problem with it, apparently. If Lorcan had been as insolent as the male in front of him, he would’ve been put to death long ago, and he knew that. Perhaps Fenrys didn’t, but it wasn’t the time for that conversation. “So we spirit her away, and then what? How do we keep her from dying?” 

“A blood promise.” 

“Like what?” Fenrys leaned back against the wall, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. 

“When the curse is broken, we will find her.” 

Antica. Hot, miserable, mate-less Antica. In truth, it wasn’t that miserable, but you'd be enjoying yourself a lot more if your mates hadn’t shipped you off here as quickly as they could. 

All in the name of keeping you ‘safe,’ you grimaced in the mirror, brushing down your hair, now frizzy slightly from the rare rain that breezed in the day before. They're and gone like a phantom, almost. Almost like their presences in your life. 

You could still remember their touches from that last night, firm but gentle, still tentative like new lovers can be. You thought you knew everything about their touch from the past, but even they kept some surprises across multi-verses, or maybe it had just been a while since it had been the three of you and your memory was getting poorer. 

Probably that. 

You pushed the door open, throwing yourself into the throng of people making their way to the one of the several monthly markets in the city. Throng of people, you thought. It was awfully busy. 

‘War,’

‘Sending us-’

‘Saved the princess,’

‘Foreign lord.’ 

The whispers hit your ears one by one like a drum. A war. Against who?

You stopped casually at the closest table, and sure enough the seller was chittering to the person who came before you about it. A war, and the khaganate would be marching for Aelin Galathynius. 

You rolled the name over on your tongue, it being vaguely familiar. Perhaps you should have kept up more with politics throughout the ages, you probably could’ve made a load of money betting, but that felt a tad too immoral, and you did fear the judgement of your own conscience. 

As soon as the intrigue was there, it was gone. You’d heard of several wars over the last two decades, the longest you'd lived so far, and none of them had brought your mates back to you. You seriously doubted this would be the one. 

You refused to acknowledge the ugly truth. They’d probably already forgotten about you. 

-

In the lonely and mindless hours stuck in his Wolf form, Fenrys thought of the beautiful female in Antica, and dreamed of a life without Maeve, however impossible it was he never stopped hoping.

The female screamed on the table in front of him, but he was frozen in time and space. All he could do right now was bear witness to the horrible crime in front of him. Aelin Galathynius deserved someone to bear witness to her pain and her strength. 

The female who should’ve been his Queen, and the female who was his mate had so much in common. Not necessarily appearance, but your attitude and the way you carried themselves. So much that being with her for those months had felt like an even larger blessing. It wasn’t infidelity, not by any means, but perhaps a bit wrong he was using Aelin as a proxy for you. 

The screams in front of him distracted him from his thoughts and dragged him back to the present. She’d passed out, he was waking her with some foul smelling cloth. Each day, he thought he’d reached the limits of what he could bear without closing his eyes, but somehow - because he knew you would do it - he managed to watch. Witness. Wait. It was all he could do now. 

- 

Lorcan Salvaterre knew he was a miserable male to be around, but traveling through Varese had turned him downright sour. At least internally. 

He knew he needed to get to Aelin, and he knew he needed to get to Fenrys. For the bond they shared with each other that they’d never told a soul about. If he didn’t get to him, you’d never ever forgive him. 

He might be too much off a coward to tell you, but he would know in his soul and that’s enough. He’d find Fenrys, get her away from him, do whatever it took. 

-

You woke up one morning with an unusual lightness, a ‘pep’ in your step, so to speak. You’d never understood that phrase until then, when you felt like all of your burdens and issues had been freed in a spare moment, like nothing could weigh you down right then. 

As usual, you got your gossip through the market, and it all made sense. 

Doranelle has a new Queen. 

Queen Maeve was killed in Terrasen. 

You were free. 

You tilted your head up towards the sky, and let the sun shine down on your face, not caring you were stopped in the middle of the park. From the corner of your eye you spotted an older woman copying your movements, not in a mocking way, but in a yes the sun is quite nice today way.

The flip side of your freedom meant your mates would be coming soon. They’d be coming soon. 

To Antica. 

To you. 

You scrambled back to your apartment to start packing. How long did it take to get from Terrasen here?

You paused halfway through throwing your closet onto your bed. 

A letter would’ve arrived by now, but you’d received no such thing. 

That night you fell asleep on top of your clothes. 

The next day you built the courage to put them away. 

You didn’t know where in the world they were now that Maeve is gone, and perhaps with the curse lifting they felt they no longer were obligated to be with you and love you, and maybe -

A familiar scent hit the same time as a knock on your door. 

You rushed to it, throwing it open finding ...

Both of them. Your mouth parted, words not quite leaving your lips. Finally, you managed a lame, “you came.” 

“We promised,” Lorcan said “Can we come in?” 

Yes, they obviously could, you swung the door wider and ushered them inside. 

“We came as soon as we could,” Fenrys promised. 

The silence was awkward for a few moments as the three of you tried to figure out how to navigate this. But, it was easy enough to break as you threw yourself at both of them, managing to catch each of them in a hug at the same time. 

“I forgot to tell you before I left,” you started, muffled in the shirts but knew they heard you. You’d memorized these words long ago. “I spent so long looking for all of the things that would kill me, I forgot the ones that made me feel alive. Both of you made me feel alive. Thank you.” 

[bougiebutchbinch]

That Trans!A-Train Concept That's Been Haunting Me, feat. a tiny bit of Deeptrain

Rating: M

TW: transphobia, queerphobia, the threat of outing, and A-Train using 'tr*nny' self-deprecatingly. No one actually gets outed, but the fear is real. Also, Homelander is a creep. I love him, but poor A-Train does not.

###

“Deep. Blow A-Train.”

The world sharpens into focus. Reggie had been zoning, as is his habit when Homelander starts spouting shit and everyone dislocates their damn jaws to be first to agree with him. Now though, the meeting room at the top of Vought tower is inescapable – as is the weight of Homelander’s stare. That’s settled on Deep, for now, but Reggie still tenses.

No way did he hear that right. Right?

“What?” asks Deep.

Homelander’s expression doesn’t change. “Did I stutter? A-Train, stand up.”

Fuck. Fuck.

Reggie refuses to let his hands shake as he pushes back his chair, though his jaw is tensed so tight a muscle ticks in his neck. Homelander’s dead-eyed gaze remains glued to Deep, as he orders him onto his knees. But Reggie knows that this isn’t a lesson (a ritual humiliation? A sadistic game?) designed for one.

The fucker knows. He knows I sold out his Nazi bitch. He knows I’m fucking sick of eating Vought’s shit. He knows fucking everything…

Thoughts race through his head, fast as he can run. His heart – still fucking weird, to think of the hunk of muscle in his chest as his – pounds so hard he’s half-afraid of going into cardiac arrest again.

Hell, that might be a blessing. It’d get him out of this.

Deep looks up at Reggie with big spooked eyes. A silent communion passes between them. The only choice being exercised here is Homelander’s. They don’t get a say. They’re just… puppets. Fucking hand-puppets, with Homelander’s fists lodged wrist-deep.

“Sexuality’s just a spectrum,” mumbles Deep, pinching Reggie’s zipper. “Right, bro?”

Reggie rolls his eyes to the ceiling and lets them linger there. Behind his zipper, he’s dry and clenched and fucking terrified. On the outside though? Chill as a New York winter.

He has to be. The only thing worse than being publicly outed, like Maeve, is showing that you give a fuck. If you give a fuck, they can hurt you. Reggie learnt a long time ago that it’s safer to never give anyone that kind of power over you.

Down goes the zipper. Reggie doesn’t flinch at the rasp, but only because he’s doing his utmost to mentally evacuate his body, blowing out like he's emptying himself, watching from a distance, preparing for the inevitable –

“Get the fuck up,” snaps Homelander. He looks disgusted. Like he didn't just order them into these positions, on the implicit threat of burny, lasery death.

Deep springs away, relief shining bright on his dumb-bitch face. But he frowns when he notices Reggie’s hands (stupid fucking hands) wobbling too much to pull up the zipper. Doesn’t mention it though.

Thank fuck. Reggie hates the guy, not least because he’s thick as a post-pepperoni-meatfeast shit, but at least he has the sense to keep his mouth shut. It’s prey instinct, or something. The two of them cower like fluffy li’l bunnies under the piercing stare of an eagle, hoping that if they’re small enough and quiet enough, he’ll fly on by.

Reggie adjusts his packer in his boxers. He finally wrestles up his fly, and scurries back to his seat. Deep follows him. As Homelander launches into a diatribe against brown-nosing, Deep leans over.

“I wouldn’t have actually done it,” he whispers. Reggie just shakes his head and goes back to staring at nothing at all.

He’s first to leave once they're dismissed. It’s tempting to amp up the super-speed and sprint to his apartment, but caution drags teeth along the back of his neck.

Don’t show him that he got to you. Don’t show it. Don’t…

Homelander knows. That’s the worst part. He'd known ever since A-Train’s debut, back when he was all bright-eyed and shiny and unruined by the world. Like all of them start out. During Reggie's first week at the tower, the jackass cornered him in an elevator. He loomed over him, hands clasped behind his back, and breathed.

“My, oh my,” he said, head cocked to one side. Curious, almost. Like a scientist dissecting a bug. “Aren’t you excited. All this fame and power really does it for you, hm?”

Reggie hadn’t understood what he was saying. Yeah, he was revved. Sue him, he’d just come from his biggest press conference yet – fucking killed it, for the record. He’d made a save a few minutes beforehand (carefully staged, rehearsed, and captured from the optimal angles), and swaggered onstage to an eruption of applause so loud it was like Mt Saint Helens had gone for round two.

“Yeah, bossman,” he’d said, flashing a grin. “Happy to be here, I guess?”

“I’ll say. You're practically dripping.”

Reggie’s smile had frozen on his face. “Um. What?”

Homelander settled back on his heels, smiling blandly at the mirrored inside of the elevator doors. “Your cunt. It’s wet. I can smell it.”

Reggie felt like he’d grown twenty inches since strutting off stage. With those words, that extra height crumbled. Everything slowed down, like when he blurred into hyperspeed. It was always a strange feeling. Not like he’d sped up, but like the rest of the world had simply… stopped.

Homelander’s voice though? That just kept on going.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to tell. Why would I? It’d hardly be good for our viewings if one of us was revealed to be some sort of degenerate…” A dismissive shrug. “Whatever-you-are. Just take this as a reminder, hm? My team can enjoy whatever scratches their itches, but I do insist upon discretion.”

The elevator pinged, doors reeling open. Homelander winked – fucking winked – and strode out, leaving Reggie battling the urge to run and run and run, until Vought tower was lost to New York’s bustling skyline.

Eight years on T at that point – he’d started before he and Nate put their all into this superhero shit. Before he and his big brother took apart plain ol’ Reggie Franklin and built A-Train in his place. And for what?

Homelander sussed him with a fucking sniff.

He hasn’t brought it up since. Reggie has done his utmost not to give him a reason to.

It sickens him to think about. There’d be a media circus, like with poor fucking Maeve. Debates too, where he’d have to defend his continued presence in the Seven to their shareholders (are trans guys as marketable as lesbians?)

No one can be normal about a dude with a cunt. Ridiculous, really. For Reggie, it’s as normal as breathing.

He wants to be A-Train, fastest in the world. Not A-Train, fastest in the world, and he’s a tranny; oh my god, did you know? Let’s all sit around on a late-night chat show and discuss what’s in his pants and whether he’s a bad example for the children.

By the time he gets to his room (at normal, if slightly elevated walking speed, thank you very much) the stupid shake’s back in his hands. Reggie fumbles out his phone as soon as the door shuts. Opening his chat with Nate still happens on muscle memory, though Nate hasn’t replied to his messages in over a month.

Reggie types out a dozen versions of ‘I know you hate me and I know I deserve it and I know I fucked up and I keep fucking up, but please can I come over because I need a fucking hug from my brother’ before giving up. He backspaces the last half-formatted string of text and throws the phone on the bed, then follows it, flopping his face down in the pillows.

He hates the racist pig, but he can’t deny Bluehawk’s heart is doing a decent job. Better than his old one would’ve. He's still in tachy, no doubt about it, but there’s no warning clench in his back and down his left arm, no yawning sinkhole of dread.

He survived. Nothing happened. Nobody knows his secret but Homelander – unless he’s forgotten, which Reggie wouldn’t put past him. A-Train’s so far beneath his notice he’s practically an ant.

He doesn’t need coddling. He doesn’t need Nate. He doesn’t need anyone.

He focuses on the breathing exercises Popclaw used to make him do, until thoughts of Popclaw well up behind his eyes, along with every other fucking thing that’s gone wrong in his life. Or rather, everything he’s done wrong. Killing Campbell’s girl. Snitching on Supersonic. Not walking away from Vought while Nathan could still use his fucking legs…

Suffice to say, by the time the thump sounds at his door, Reggie is way redder around the eyes than anyone is allowed to see but the miserable face in the mirror. He unpeels himself from his damp pillow, dragging on his sunglasses.

“Fuck off!” he yells, in vague hope that’ll work. No such luck.

“Uh,” comes Deep’s low, nervous voice from the other side of the door. “Knock knock? We good, bro?”

“What part of fuck off sounds good to you?” But he’s already dragging himself to the door. Deep might be a dipshit. Might be a goddamn serial rapist with a fetish for sea creatures – but right now he’s also the closest thing to a friend Reggie’s got.

And – fuck. If that ain’t an indictment of the sorry state of the world…

Deep strolls in like he owns the place, thumbs tucked in his waistband. Reggie spent enough time studying the boys at the park, mirroring their swagger, to recognize how he’s bigging himself up.

“So,” he says, all gruff. He’s made his voice deeper, too. “That was fucking crazy, yeah?”

“Just the usual bullshit,” says Reggie, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Homelander’s screwing with us. S’how he gets his kicks.”

“Yeah.” Deep scratches the back of his head. “But you seemed… I dunno. Rattled?”

Why does he have to be a dumbass until it inconveniences Reggie most? “What’s weirder – to be freaked out by him ordering us to do that shit, or to just get on your knees?”

Deep shrinks back, eyes all big like Reggie kicked his pet lobster. Power rushes through Reggie: the sharp-tasting satisfaction of being able to hurt someone just with his words. It feels staler than it used to.

“Hey, I didn’t wanna get lasered. I’m not a queer or anything, yeah?”

“No shit,” drawls Reggie. They have different words for the sort of freak Deep is. Like fish-fucker. And pretty sure that’s a felony. “Is that all?”

Deep shrugs. “Just wanted to make sure we’re good, bro.”

I’m not your bro. But he’s the closest Reggie has to a brother too, since Nate decided he wasn't worth his spit. Even though he hates Deep's gill-slit guts and doesn’t trust him an inch.

“Yeah,” he says, sidling closer. Budging his shoulder against Deep so their biceps rest together, just for a moment, before pulling away. “We’re good. We were just playing along so we didn’t get lasered. Like you said. Now fuck off back to your aquarium.”

Deep flips him double-birds as he leaves, but his usual gormless grin is back on his face. Reggie does his best to match it.

Once Deep’s gone, he returns to his phone, tapping out a quick message to Nate and hitting send before he can wuss out.

Stay safe. I’m sorry.

That echoes all the other sorries that end his other messages, reeling up and up the one-sided text chain into infinity.

Funny, how Reggie never used to utter apologies, if he could help it – and certainly didn’t mean them, if he did. Nowadays, it feels like he can’t repeat them enough.

He selects another contact, one recently added, disguised with a picture of a massive pair of tits. This is both to dodge suspicion, should any of the Intel snoops peek at his phone, and because… well, what sorta whack-ass name is Mother’s Milk, anyway?

Just got out of a meeting, he sends. He absorbed enough of Homelander’s delusional rambling to pass on, even if it provides the Boys with no further information than ‘after executing anyone who dared stand up to him, Homelander’s suddenly decided he’s sick of sycophancy’. Still, his thumbs hover over the keys a full minute before he commits to the next words – we should talk.  

[mithrilhearts]

Per @mysandwichranaway’s request, a poll for how we celebrate my upcoming follower milestone! 🤩💖 (we’re not quite there yet but THANK YOU GUYS!!!)

[deliciouskeys]

Beware the Patient Woman (my foray into Sagelander)

This is set right after season 4. I don’t address anything beyond Sagelander. Ashley disappeared. Ryan is presumed returned to Vought Tower, maybe staying in a different room while they have to renovate Homelander’s apartment top to bottom. This is either a standalone or a chapter 1, idk. Had to get it out of my system. Rated PG cause I'm lazy/ a coward? (for now). AO3 link.

Sage may not have x-ray vision but she can tell who’s behind the door by the sound of the knock before she opens it. She didn’t have time to change out of her pajamas, but at least she was awake.

"May I come in?" he asks, peering down at her before his eyes start roving around the room.

"Of course," she says, even though she was looking forward to lying around in bed before having to put her suit on and trot out to the board meetings.

"Sorry, I know it’s early. I couldn’t really sleep last night." He walks in, almost brushing past her, arms clasped behind his back and hidden by the American flag cape billowing slightly behind him, so close that she has to lean back slightly to avoid getting an eagle beak to the face. But he didn’t mean disrespect by it, just distracted by looking all around the room.

"This was so much emptier when Maeve lived here," he remarks, stepping around various small pieces of furniture, nearly all stacked with books.

"I’m sure she needed the space to practice her combat techniques."

"Yeah or her drinking or her threesomes. I’m not sure she had the attention span to read a book in her life," he mumbles angrily, and Sage doesn’t like where this conversation is going at all. She knew there might be a downside to being given the room where Homelander’s old flame used to live.

"Did you want to discuss something?" she says, trying to keep any impatience out of her voice.

He turns around sharply to face her. "I really wanted to thank you for… everything that happened yesterday. I couldn’t even articulate how grateful I was for what you did for me."

For him, he thinks, despite her telling him point-blank that she did it to see if she could. But she was banking on his gratitude and on the high value he places on loyalty.

"You’re so very welcome. But I only did what you hired me to do," she says, cautiously, hoping this will emphasize that she may not necessarily have any interest in going beyond what she was hired to do. Maintaining boundaries with a man like this was always important.

"No, no." One of his hands emerges from behind his back to wag a finger at her. "Don’t play dumb with me. You know what I’m talking about. You did what I hired you to do, sure, but you did it even after I dismissed you. I’m not stupid, Sage. I know you could have used that brain of yours to fuck me thrice over and get revenge for how badly I treated you. I admit, I underestimated you. I did a dangerous thing, letting you go, when you were my best ally all along. So I… I know you could have made things worse for me, but you chose to side with me anyway. I was absolutely wrong about you, and it won’t happen again. I will listen to you, like I promised."

Sage hesitates. He’s saying all the right things, but these hollow promises aren’t worth much when they’ll fall to the wayside the next time he gets fed up with her. No, he’s leading up to something, and she’s wary of what might come next, so she’s not sure how she should reply to steer the conversation away.

"That’s good to hear. And no hard feelings, trust me."

Homelander nods. "Yeah, trust. I do want to ask you one thing. It’s just… I do trust you, but could I just ask you to keep me in the loop? No more lies?"

"I don’t think I ever outright lied to you," Sage answers, taking a deep breath, trying to keep her breath steady. Was this human powderkeg about to explode again? She thought she had him placated for at least a few weeks, but maybe she’s miscalculating just how paranoid he is. It's hard to feel completely calm when he's standing over her, forcing her to tilt her face upwards to meet his gaze.

"Well I’m including lying by omission," he says, but then his expression changes, softens strangely, and he steps back as if realizing that he's been looming over her. "I’m sorry, you’re misunderstanding, I didn’t come here to threaten you in any way. I just wanted to… maybe just establish best practices, going forward."

Shit, her heart rate must have spiked, finally given away that she was getting nervous. "Oh yeah, I understand. I appreciate that. Let’s discuss that."

Homelander shakes his head, wincing. "Look, I really don’t mean to dictate how you should work. I realize I’m doing it automatically. I’m catching myself telling you what to do again. I respect that you might not want to tell me everything– I do. I’ll be honest, it is a blow to the ego, and I’m not used to it, because… well you’ve seen the caliber of idiots that I've had to deal with. I’m not used to trusting someone else." 

He looks … unsure of himself? Is he genuinely apologetic? Sage is so reluctant to interpret anything he says as benign and without ulterior motives, but it’s tempting to believe him right now. She’s really at a loss for words, content to let him just keep talking and explain himself.

"So… I take back everything I said," Homelander mutters, his mouth folding even thinner as soon as he says it. "I trust you so much that I allow you to lie by omission. But if I ask you something, I’d really like a straight answer. Call it my weakness. I’m not a details guy. I’m not aspiring to look over your shoulder and micromanage your plans. But I just- I just need a little something in return for the trust. I need to be able to check in once in a while and know you won’t lie to my face."

Sage can’t believe she’s getting to watch this man wrestle with himself, threatening to spiral out while trying to define what’s important to him and what’s reasonable to ask of her. He’s debating with himself with only the barest input from her. She needs to nip this in the bud. She’s never felt that comfortable seeing him cry, and she doesn’t want things to get to that point, where she’ll have to comfort him instead of just reassuring him. "Hey listen. I love working with you. You’re giving me the opportunity of a lifetime. I’ll gladly discuss plans with you if you’re really interested in the boring details." Maybe she’s overselling it a bit, but he looks like he recovers his poise at least. 

"Anyway, that’s not even what I came here to ask you." he says, his tone sounding more like his usual self. "I wanted to invite you out for dinner. Just as a small token of appreciation- ah-ah! Nope!" he says, raising his hand as she tries to interrupt him. "Don’t say no before you hear the proposition. I found out you like sushi."

Sage’s blood runs a little cold at hearing him know something about her that she doesn’t think she ever revealed to anybody on staff at Vought.

"I located your mother and asked her a little about you over the phone last night," he says, as if guessing the question in her mind. Of course he did. He probably thinks that gives him leverage over her. Well, joke’s on him, because she hasn’t been in much contact with her mom, they haven’t gotten along since she was a teenager, and she’s not going to be manipulated by him threatening her mom. But her mom is right that she likes sushi.

"Oh yeah?" Sage asks, summoning a genuine looking smile to her face because she’s not sure how well he can tell when her mind starts running at triple speed when she’s feeling pressure. "I do love me some sushi. And I haven’t tried that many places since moving here, because it’s been so busy."

"Great!" he says, and now his smile looks genuine too, the fleeting reference to her family thankfully fading out of their conversation. "I’ve rented out this place called Masa night. You’re gonna love it. Three Michelin stars and all that. Best sushi in New York."

"Yeah, tonight works," Sage says, hoping it’s not too rude to imply that his setting her daily schedule for her is overstepping, his certainty that she’s going to love hanging out with him is overstepping. 

"Usually I wouldn’t put you through the hassle of going out, just have the chefs come to work at the Vought kitchen and host it at my place, but you know… my place is a bit of a disaster zone right now and yours… well I don’t wanna disturb your little setup you’ve got going on here."

Yes, there’s a problem she needs to solve as soon as possible brewing here. She’s very fucking glad she’s not being invited to dinner at his place. "So is there a dress code? Do I have to wear my superhero suit?"

Homelander scoffs. "I’ve rented it out. No paps, no photos. You can come in whatever you damn well please. Wear sweatpants if you want. This is all for you!" He smiles again, and it’s really genuine, and now she’s concerned that her fears are true. In his mind, this is a date.

"Just you and me?" she verifies, and when he nods she takes a deep breath and says something risky, but better now than later. "Just so you know– I don’t really do romantic relationships. I’ve slept with a couple of members of the Seven, but you don’t strike me as the kind of person who would want to get in on that action."

Homelander blinks, clearly taken aback. "It’s just dinner with a colleague," he says, but his tone is halting. "I don’t- that’s none of my business what you do in your free time with-" he licks his lips and Sage tries to guess what bothers him most about this. "Were you sleeping with A-Train? Is that how you knew?"

"No, I don’t mix work and pleasure like that." Sage can’t help but laugh a little. "I can tell you with whom. ‘No more secrets’, right? Noir and the Deep."

Sage can practically hear the wheels in Homelander’s head turning as he tries to picture it. "Huh," he says. "Well that’s uh… your prerogative certainly." Is that hurt in his voice? Maybe disbelief that she’d fuck people he considers far beneath him?

"Exactly. I assumed that someone like you would have no problem with workplace hookups," she says, shrugging. "Being part of the Seven isn’t really a normal gig. It’s so full-time, it’s your entire life. Might as well get some fun out of it."

"Yeah, makes sense," he mutters, trailing off, still thinking.

"So tonight then? What time?" she asks.

He snaps out of his thoughts. "I rented it out for the entire evening. So anytime from five onward. Up to you."

"Seven then?" she says. He nods and walks out stiffly. Sage shuts the door and leans back against it. She has to navigate this right. This overpowered manchild doesn’t have a good track record of keeping work and pleasure separate, but she can’t rebuff him in a way that insults him. She thought she was in the clear– that someone like her would never attract that kind of attention from him. She needed to be smart about this.

[fanfics4all]

Leap of Faith

Request: Yes / No

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Spencer Ried x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 727

Warnings: Mentions of Maeve’s death

Y/N: Your Name 

A/N: I'm thinking of doing a part 2, let me know if you guys would want one

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

*Spencer’s POV*

The bullpen was quieter than usual, the hum of computers and soft murmurs of conversations filled the void. I sat at my desk, staring blankly at the file in front of me. My mind was elsewhere… on her. The way she smiled when she solved a puzzle, the way she listened with unwavering focus, and the way her laugh made my chest feel lighter, even on the heaviest of days. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen. Not after Maeve. I closed that part of myself off and locked it away to protect what was left. Yet here I was, feeling things I promised myself I never would again. 

Morgan dropped into the chair beside me, his sharp eyes noticing the faraway look on my face. 

“What’s going on with you, Pretty Boy? You’ve been staring at that file for ten minutes, and I know your brain worlds faster than that.” I blinked, startled out of my thoughts. I hesitated, glancing around to ensure no one else was listening. 

“Nothing.” I said quickly, too quickly. Morgan raised a brow, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Come on, man, don’t insult me. I’ve known you too long for that. What’s really going on?” I sighed, leaning back in my chair and rubbing a hand over my face. 

“I think I’m in trouble.” I admitted softly. 

“Trouble? Like BAU-level trouble or… woman trouble?” He asked, his grin widening. I groaned. 

“It’s not funny, Derek.” 

“Alright, alright.” Morgan said, holding up his hands. 

“Talk to me, who’s got you all tied up in knots?” For a moment, I didn’t answer, but then I glanced toward the desk a few rows away. She wasn’t there right now, probably in Garcia’s office or getting coffee, but just thinking about her made my chest tighten. Morgan followed my gaze and his eyebrows shot up. 

“Oh, now I get it.” I looked away, my face flushing. 

“It’s not like that…” I mumbled, even though it absolutely was. 

“Reid…” Morgan said, his tone softening. 

“Why is this a bad thing? Y/N’s great. You like her, she obviously likes you-” 

“She doesn’t.” I interrupted quickly. 

“And even if she did, it doesn’t matter.” Morgan frowned. 

“Why doesn’t it matter?” I hesitated, my hands fidgeting with the edge of the file. 

“I don’t want to love her…” I finally said, my voice low and filled with pain. 

“I don’t like what that means for me.” He leaned forward, his gaze steady and understanding. 

“What do you think it means?” 

“It means I have something to lose again…” I said, my voice cracking slightly. 

“...and I’m not strong enough for that anymore.” Morgan nodded slowly, letting the words hand in the air for a moment. 

“I get it, I really do. After what happened with Maeve, it makes sense that you’d feel this way. But Reid, you’re stronger than you think. You’ve been through hell and back, and you’re still standing. That’s not weakness, man. That’s strength.” I shook my head. 

“It doesn’t feel like strength. It feels like…like I’m setting myself up for more pain.” 

“Or…” He countered. 

“...you’re setting yourself up for something amazing. Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. Love never is, but you can’t let fear stop you from living your life. Maeve wouldn’t want that for you, and deep down, you don’t want that for yourself either.” I looked down at my hands, mind racing. I wanted to believe Morgan was right, but the fear still loomed large, casting a shadow over everything. 

“You’ve already survived the worst kind of loss, Reid.” Morgan said gently. 

“You know how strong you are because you’ve been there. Don’t let that fear keep you from the good stuff. She’s not Maeve and this isn’t the past. Give yourself permission to try.” I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. I thought about her smile and the way she lit up a room without even trying. Maybe Morgan was right. Maybe it was time to stop letting fear dictate my life. 

“Thanks, Morgan.” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. He grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. 

“That’s what I’m here for, Pretty Boy. Now go get her.” I couldn’t help but smile, a small flicker of hope igniting in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to take a leap.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @madammarvellous-blog1 @pettyjayy @bruisedfists-and-splitlips @answer-the-sirens @andreasworlsboring101 @reidssmile @currentfangirl-futuremedexaminer @mggstyles @satans-0-spawn @emofairygay @thesoftestwarlock @liz-owl 

[erissheiress]

I Swear It

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Warnings: 1 swear word, implications of postpartum depression (barely mentioned), Beron (barely), angst, arguing, happy ending

Summary: Eris has been on a mission for a while, and comes back to find his family struggling. (Also introduction of my child OC's)

Word Count: 1421

Taglist: @reetriestbr @pandabiiissh

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Your mother in law sat before you, cradling her youngest grandchild in her arms. The fire was dying slowly, but neither of you paid it much attention, instead letting it gradually fade by itself. Winter had arrived and made its presence known immediately, barely allowing time for the Autumn Court to transition into the colder months. Cold days like this were more suited for staying indoors by the fire with those you love, drinking mugs of hot chocolate or tea, and quietly basking in each other's presence.

You watched your baby coo softly in her grandmother’s arms, her little noises making your heart burst. In your own arms, your eldest two children nestled into your side, their fists clinging to your dress. The scene was almost perfect, besides lacking one detail. Your husband and your children’s father, Eris, had been away for weeks now, fulfilling his duties as Heir to the Autumn Court with his father.

Every night you'd go to bed alone, and wake up with two pairs of arms around you, little elbows prodding your stomach. Before, you would be awakened by gentle kisses on your skin, but now sleepy mumbling and soft cries pulled you from your slumber each morning.

You truly missed Eris, but had to get used to being without him for the time being. His absence was mostly felt through your children, when they'd seek your comfort, missing their father.

At least your youngest child, your darling girl, was unaffected, although the lack of a relationship between her and Eris worried you slightly, as he had to leave only a couple of months after her birth. She slept soundly across the room, and you pushed the worries to the back of your mind, lest they overwhelm you completely.

"Mama?" Your second child, Hugo, mumbled, rubbing his bleary eyes with his fist. 

"Yes, my love?"

"Is Daddy home yet?"

Across from you, your mother in law quietly sighed, knowing what your answer would be. She knew all too well what an absent father did to a young child.

"Not yet, baby, soon." You brushed a hand over his red curls, an inherited gift from his father.  Hugo just nodded, burrowing further into your side. In the distance, a grandfather clock chimed, and you took a deep breath.

"Time for bed, I think." 

Maeve and Hugo couldn't even argue, too worn out from their snow day, bellies full of hot chocolate, marshmallows, and gingerbread. Slowly you sat up, pulling Hugo into your arms, and holding Maeve's hand to guide her to her own bed. They kissed their grandmother and their baby sister, before allowing themselves to be put to bed by you.

"G'night, Mama."

"Night, Mama."

"Goodnight, my loves." Quietly slipping out, and back down the corridor. The Lady of the Autumn Court was standing now, smiling down at baby Alysa. 

"I think it's time for me to retire as well, love," She said, carefully handing you your daughter.

"Of course, sleep well." You kissed her cheek and watched her leave, leaving you alone with Alysa in the firelit room. "I think it's time we go, princess, don't you agree?" Her nose twitched in her sleep and your heart grew in size.

"I'll take that as a yes then. You've had a long, hard day." You continued to whisper to her as you walked down the corridor, nonsensical comments. Talking to your baby was supposed to improve their speech in the future, you had read, and you found yourself enjoying your one-sided chats with your daughter. Especially when she gazed up at you with those beautiful, familiar eyes. 

The fire was lighting in your room, a maid clearly having just been there, for which you were grateful. Slowly, you lowered her into her bassinet, stroking her soft cheeks.

The door opened softly. Quiet footsteps. You didn't turn around.

"How is she sleeping?" Eris' voice was quiet in the dimly lit room.

"Fine, she sleeps through the night, thankfully."

"I'll get her if she does wake up."

"She doesn't like strangers." A low blow, but necessary. Where was Eris when Alysa cried her tiny lungs out and Hugo and Maeve cried from the overwhelming noise? Where was he when you were so exhausted and overwhelmed that you sobbed into your pillow in the early days of his departure, or when the postpartum feelings lasted longer than they had after your first two births.

"I'm not a stranger…"

"You held her as a newborn, she won't remember you. She barely tolerates the maids that have been there since her birth."

"Darling…" a hand on your shoulder, turning you around.

"What, Eris? What do you want me to say? That I missed you? That I was drowning when you left? You cannot just return all of a sudden and expect things to be as they were. Maeve and Hugo miss you desperately, Alysa doesn't know you, and I… "

"And you?"

"I needed you." Your voice was barely audible as you confessed, avoiding his eyes. “This recovery…has not been like the others. Your father-”

“What about him? Has he done something?” Eris’ eyes flamed, his mind clearly racing with possibilities of his father’s actions.

“No, Eris, he has not. He visited after you left, to see the children. Hugo received most of his attention, of course. Called him your heir.”

“He knows that Maeve is my heir. She is the eldest.”

“It hardly matters. Hugo is a male, and that is all Beron sees. Otherwise, his visit was fine. Nice to have company, no matter how awful the person.” Another earned blow.

“I will see him.”

“So he can give you another reason to leave?”

“Y/N, please, I had no choice.”

“I know that! You had no choice, I’m fucking aware, what I’m frustrated about is that you expect things to be the same as they were. Did you think I would not be angry?” 

Alysa stirred, making soft noises in her sleep, reminding you to keep your voice down. 

“I will make it up to you. To our children.”

A wave of exhaustion washed over you. Exhaustion, frustration, and also acceptance. “I’m tired, I’m going to bed.”

Eris looked uncertain, standing in his own room. “May I-”

“I don’t care, Eris, sleep wherever you want. She’ll wake in a few hours to be fed, anyway.”

“My love, I can’t sleep if you are upset with me.”

“I’m just tired. So, so tired. Goodnight, Eris.”

No more was said, sleep hitting you almost immediately, the exhaustion of motherhood more powerful than your frustration. When Alysa awoke, Eris was not in the room.

. . . 

For the first time in a while, you woke up in an empty bed. Alysa cried softly, soothing easily once you picked her up from her crib and put her to your breast. You quietly walked down the corridor, to your children’s shared room, until they get older. 

Eris was in Maeve’s bed, his tall body barely fitting in her small bed. She was held tight in his arms, as Hugo lay on Eris’ strong chest. The three of them slept soundly. Alysa’s cry made Eris’ eyes flutter, making eye contact with you. 

“You look comfortable.”

“So comfortable,” he said, looking the exact opposite. “I went to Beron last night.”

“You did?”

“No more missions for a time, not until I make up for my actions. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you after Alysa, I’m sorry that she doesn’t know me. Please, my love, not sleeping with you was torture.” He got up slowly, careful not to wake up Maeve or Hugo. Walking to you, holding your face in his calloused palms.

“I needed you…” gradually the wall began to crumble, as tears began to stream down your face. You held your baby girl close, a protection of sorts.

Eris looked like he was on the verge of tears as well, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I have failed you, without a doubt. I will make it up to you, my love, if you’ll let me.”

He took Alysa from your arms, carefully holding her in one arm, using the other to pull you in close. “A second did not pass where I did not think of you. I’m so sorry.”

“Please, stay.”

“I will, my love, I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

“I love you.” Wiping the tears from your face, looking up at your mate, the father of your children.

“I love you too, darling. I am yours forever. I swear it.”

[youresodarkbabe]

MAEVE CAN WE TALK ABOUT GIVING FETUS!ALEX HIS FIRST BLOWJOB!?!?!?! PLEASEPLEASE

okay, i'm heavily sleep deprived so here's just some ideas i have about this (maybe they'll turn into a fic, idk)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

he'd go from awkward to a fucking mess so so fast. like blink of an eye fast.

"are you sure? you don't need to do this f'me," to being the loudest person in the vicinity.

whispered groans -> loud, whimper-y moans

god forbid your hair looked nice before, because it definitely wouldn't after! his hands would find your hair and STAY THERE.

him being too scared to tug on your hair and mess it up, but eventually pulling when his tip grazes the back of your throat.

he'd instantly apologize, being shocked when you tell him it's okay.

he'd be even more shocked if you told him to keep doing it.

thrusting into your mouth as he gets closer, mumbling apologies in between moans because he didn't mean to 'hurt you'. (all you did was gag, this man is just insane)

the eye contact.

especially before it actually starts, as you kiss your way down his clothed torso, his anxious eyes meeting your reassuring ones; as you press kisses to his cock, he'd look so interested, so genuinely baffled that someone like you would do this for someone like him.

the whining, the whimpers, the moans (i need him rn.)

whining if you tease him, "c'mon, be nice," and giving you a lil pout.

whimpering as he gets closer and closer, "please, feels s' good, fuck," his cute lil face all scrunched up because he's feeling too good and it's overwhelming him in the best ways possible.

moaning as you guide him through his high, too fucked out to form a single thought, his words mirroring his thoughts— just you.

praising and thanking you so much after.

"that was so good, god,"/"i wanna make it up to you"/"that was the best thing ever"

just being the biggest loser about it (i say this with love).

having to tell him you don't want him to return the favour, all you need is to be with him and you're happy.

him agreeing but already planning on when he'd give you what he owes you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

i'm not really the best when it comes to fetus alex fics 😭 i'd highly recommend @goblinontour, though! her fetus al fics are <<33