#realising i like her a lot in brown
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JESSICA DREW PINTEREST OUTFITS .
a small inspo collection from my Jess Fashion pinterest board .
( personals DNI . )
#these have no theme i just grabbed some of my faves#i do want to do a theme post like this at some point tho#''date night fits'' ''business wear'' ''the club'' ect#realising i like her a lot in brown#(and red too ofc ofc)#all of these are out of her price range i'm sure GSDJKG#maybe like the nanny she's besties with a fashion designer or smth#maybe lindsay Knows A Guy#(also yes the boards are unorganised rn so sorry😔)#( a e s t h e t i c . )#( c h . s t u d y . )
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I noticed you use a lot of primary colors (red&blue w/most oc palettes, yellow for ur blog) the most and it's pretty cool! if it's alright to ask, what's some of your favorite colors/color combinations/colors that you find yourself using the most often? Ur palette choices really brings out the lineart of your art, so I was curious to know how you made vibrant colors come across so soft!(sorry if this sounds weird, just ignore if it's uncomfortable!)
first of all thank you for liking my colours!! secondly, don't worry it's not weird at all!
most of the time I'm trying to simply highlight my lineart as I find that the most fun! so my colours tend to be less planned out and more experimental
these are not necessarily the palettes I use everytime but they're definitely my favorite colours I use!
#asks#I also love using the local colours and then adding a layer of red and setting that to multiply and messing with it until it looks cohesive#and then also changing certain colours to be brighter like wirh luz's hair being more purple toned than brown bc it matched her outfit more#I also just notice I use a lot of blues/yellows without even realising it....
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TO BE DRUNK AND IN LOVE
EDDIE MUNSON X F!READER.
Nervous Eddie, protective reader, and a drunk love confession. Idiots who are too dumb to realise their feelings are reciprocated. 9.4K of tooth rotting friends to lovers fluff. [Re-uploaded from my old blog]
Even when it was Valentine's day it wasn’t all that surprising to open your door to a random knock and find Eddie Munson staring back at you.
He was your best friend after all.
What was surprising however, was to open your door at nearly midnight, bleary eyed and more than a little bit annoyed, to a sheepish looking Steve Harrington.
His usually perfect hair was in wild disarray from the winter winds still sweeping through Hawkins and there was a hesitant smile on his face, all boyish charm and sweetness, like he was already intent on persuading you to forgive him before you even knew why.
But then you had taken a closer look, letting the light from inside spill out onto the porch to reveal that Steve wasn’t alone. Appearing to be struggling with a rather drunk Eddie, arms straining, looped around the longer haired boy who instead of being on the ‘hot date’ he’d been rambling about having all week, was half asleep, swaying back and forth into his friend’s side.
"He called me to come get him but when I got there he wouldn’t stop asking for you.” Steve explained before you had the chance to ask, grumbling good naturedly. “Didn’t wanna drop him off home and risk him having the genius idea of trying to get here himself, s’that okay?”
You nodded in response, still a little confused but you couldn’t stop yourself from softening. Chest warming as you mumbled a quick ‘of course’ and tried to bite back the laugh that was threatening to bubble up at the way Eddie was trying to use Steve like some kind of pillow.
The wild mess of his curls spilling down to cover his face as his head fell to the other boy’s shoulder with a quiet groan, ringed fingers curling into the fabric of Steve’s jumper and voice rough as he grumbled your name again, again, again.
"Yeah, she's here, man." Steve chuckled, his tone surprisingly gentle, a fond type of exasperated as he nudged his shoulder into the rosy squish of Eddie's cheek. "You wanna wake up now so you can actually see her?"
To your surprise he actually listened.
His head snapping up quicker than you anticipated, curls bouncing with the movement and brown eyes a touch glazed over, just that little bit unfocused, before they locked on you and then his mouth split into a blinding grin. The kind that made his whole face light up and your heart flip all too wild behind your ribs.
"There’s my pretty girl." He cooed loudly and you heard Steve snort, something that sounded an awful lot like ‘very smooth Munson, jesus christ’ muttered under his breath whilst he fought to remain upright against the weight of Eddie leaning his entire body in your direction.
You did laugh then.
A bright, flustered thing that you were unable to resist any longer, along with the way your arms opened on reflex to wrap around the boy when he finally managed to break free of his friend’s hold. His hands batting furiously at Steve’s as he twisted away, and only stumbled slightly in his determination to swoop you up into hug that was all leather, cheap beer and the smoky bite of whiskey - weed and the spice of his shampoo where his hair tickled at your nose.
"Hey sweets.” He whispered, humming happily as he pushed a messy kiss to your hairline.
God, why did that make you want to melt.
“Hey Eddie, you okay?” You asked softly, one hand rubbing gentle circles on his back and the other reaching up to cradle the back of his head.
It made him snuggle into you further, ducking down so he could press his face into the warm crook of your neck as his arms tightened and you prayed he was too drunk to notice the way your pulse thrummed faster when he spoke, soft lips brushing against sensitive skin.
"‘Am now.”
Tou froze for just a second, lips parted, blinking once, twice, just to make sure you had really heard what you thought you had and when it did fully register you wondered if the heat radiating off your cheeks was as obvious as it felt.
A quick glance at Steve told you it was.
Your friend was looking at you and Eddie all huddled together with an endless amount of amusement and affection, eyes twinkling as he grinned, shining like there was something he knew that you didn’t.
"Okay then, that’s good I guess,” You croaked out, voice a little too affected for your liking, coughing slightly in attempt to cover the sudden shyness you felt before you told the other boy. “I better get him to bed before he falls asleep standing up.”
Steve chuckled at that. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” He added, snorting at the ‘hey, screw you Harrington, it was one time’ that sounded from the metalhead still needily curling himself around you. “You need a hand hauling his ass upstairs?”
You considered it but then the poor Steve was desperately trying to fight a vicious yawn and failing, his eyes tired despite the way they crinkled as he smiled when you gave him a mothering look and made a shooing motion with the hand that wasn’t still making gentle strokes down Eddie’s back.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got him, go get some sleep, yeah? And thank you for bringing him.”
He hesitated but ultimately didn’t argue and you waved him goodbye as he drove away before shutting the door. Turning your full attention to your best friend who had slowly become suspiciously heavier, arms loosely folded around your waist and hands still, where only moments before they’d been trailing patterns along your spine.
"Eddie?”
Nothing.
“Eds?” You tried again and when there was no response a second time your eyes narrowed, suspicious.
The boy remained limp as your hands snuck past denim and leather, his breathing light and even whilst your fingers crept up his vest covered sides until you met torn fabric and then smooth, warm skin.
You let them rest there just a moment, waiting, and when he made no move to give up the pretence of sleep that you suspected, you dug them in a little firmer, tickling across his ribs until you heard a choked laugh and felt the stretch of his grin against your neck.
"Just let me sleep here, m’comfy.” He whined when you took to the task with more enthusiasm, snickering as he protested. But he was still laughing as he jerked and thrashed, dramatic as ever, and then threw himself out of your arms, cheeks flushed with it and dimples showing despite the glare he attempted to pin you with, snapping. “Fuckin’ devil woman, give me peace.”
There was no heat behind it and you smiled sweetly in return,reaching over to poke him in the cheek before pointing in the direction of the staircase. “I’ll give you peace Munson when you get your ass upstairs so we can go to bed.”
He raised his brows at the demand, dark eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Are you trying to seduce me sweetheart? Do I need to call Steve to come back and protect my virtue, save my poor innocent soul from being snatched by a temptress?” Eddie asked playfully, all faux horror and scandalised expression, a hand pressed to his heart as he choked down a bark of laughter at the way you stared at him, incredulous.
"Jesus christ.”
"No, I’m Eddie, remember? If you’re tryin’ to seduce a man at least get his name right, babe.”
You threw your arms up in the air, let out a long-suffering groan whilst the boy cackled and then you were marching towards him, fingers twisting in denim as you shoved him in front of you and walked him in the direction of the stairs and to your room.
"Shit, okay, I’m going.” He yelped, sniggering when he heard you grumbling behind him as he deliberately leaned his full weight back into the press of your hand and tsked, voice full of tease. “So fuckin’ pushy, you're lucky the whole bossy thing works on me.”
There was a familiar routine to the way you entered your bedroom, the kind that developed after countless nights of Eddie deciding it was too late to drive home despite the journey only being five minutes, of you both refusing to let the other take the couch that very first time until you eventually agreed, with shy smiles and faux nonchalant shrugs, that it was no big deal if you just shared the bed.
Friends totally did that, right?
It happened enough that he claimed a side and a drawer, that tapes and other trinkets of his littered the tops of your dressers, mixing with yours, and you’d even bought an ashtray and a spare lighter especially for the bedside table on his side.
And it happened enough for it to be second nature for Eddie to veer left and you right, clumsily kicking his shoes off before he fell into the bed with a contended groan and turning just time in to catch the old, faded sweats he left the last time he stayed that you threw before they could slap him in the face.
"You smell like a brewery Eds, don’t even think of getting in that bed until you’ve changed.”
"Mean.” He groaned but he hauled himself back up and did as you asked, shrugging off denim and leather in one go until all he was left in was tight, black jeans and a slashed up vest that showed more tattoos and bare skin than it possibly hid. His silver chain glinting prettily where it lay against his collarbones.
And oh fuck, you were staring.
Despite the fear that prickled at your skin at the thought of being caught, it felt impossible not to.
Because Eddie had always been far too pretty, a heartbreaking kind of gorgeous really, and if that wasn’t distracting enough, then the way his muscles moved as he yanked the vest over his head before dropping his hands to his belt certainly was.
You swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry when you realised your eyes had followed, fixed on the flex of his hands, and you couldn’t stop from wondering if they’d look just as perfect dragging up your bare waist, gripping at your thighs. Maybe circling your neck, cupping your chin, rings glittering in the low lamplight, before his lips descended on yours.
Jesus.
You wrenched your gaze away, fully intending it to land somewhere more decent. Somewhere that wasn’t your best friend and where it couldn’t ruin that easy bond you’d always had with the boy by giving all your secrets away.
But it felt like there was some kind of higher power at play, some hand of fate kind of bullshit that brought it straight back to Eddie, to his eyes that were already watching you, darker than usual and more than a little wild.
It made your breath catch in your chest. Cheeks flaming with heat, heart slamming against your ribs hard enough you thought your bones might shatter, and god, could he hear it?
You already knew by the look on his face that Eddie had seen every single second of your staring, that he’d been able to guess every little thought that swam through your mind and revealed themselves in the brief flash of want in your expression before you could shove it back down.
You just hadn’t noticed him doing the same.
Gaze lingering on his shirt that you were wrapped up in, the way the hem was as long as the length of your sleep shorts and made it seem like you were wearing nothing else, the way it made you look too soft, too enticing, too much like you were his and when his eyes flicked back up to yours he looked at you like you were something dangerous.
Like you were making him want something he shouldn’t ask for, or at least, didn’t think he could.
You licked your lips, a nervous sweep of your tongue as the air in the room seemed to thicken, and his gaze followed the movement hungrily as if he wished it was his mouth sliding over them instead.
But then the wind was howling, branches smacking and scraping at your window, the sound bringing reality crashing back in and making you both flinch.
Eddie’s cheeks were pink and his lips parted, a strangled noise slipping past them as he tried to speak and stumbled and suddenly you couldn’t look at him. Eyes snapping shut and mortification burning in your throat as you spun round before you could make an even bigger mistake than you already had, because what the hell were you doing?
What were you thinking?
This was Eddie.
Eddie, who you swore to never let your feelings for ruin your friendship.
Eddie, who you were convinced was still very much drunk and you very much weren’t.
It felt wrong.
It felt like you were begging to have your feelings hurt when the boy became clear headed enough to realise that the person he was looking at like he wanted to push them down onto the bed and devour, happened to be his best friend and inevitably freaked the fuck out.
He had just come back from a date with someone else after all, a date that he would have never thought to ask you on and despite the fact that you suspected it must not have gone well given his current state, it didn’t really make you feel any better or lessen the sting of jealousy that felt like barbed wire snaking through your ribs.
You continued to face the wall as he changed, cheeks still burning, stained with heat. But your gaze was unfocused as it flickered over lines of polaroids, fairy lights and old ticket stubs that you’d refused to throw away and used as decoration, your mind far too aware of the sound of his belt being unbuckled, the chains on his jeans clinking quietly before the denim hit the floor with a soft thud.
The silence that spread through the room after felt overwhelming, like it amplified every little movement either one of you made, the breaths you both took that made your chests fall a little too quick, a little uneven still, and when Eddie finally cleared his throat you tensed at the way it broke the quiet so harshly it felt like he’d made the noise directly in your ear.
"It’s okay - if you wanna turn around now, I mean.” He muttered softly.
It still felt like too much to look at him.
Maybe even more now because all you could see out of the corner of your eye before you walked towards the little lamp on your desk was messy hair and bare skin, sweats slung low on his hips. Big, brown eyes that seemed to be pleading with you to meet their stare and melt back into your usual softness with him like nothing had happened.
You couldn’t.
Not yet.
So you flicked the light off whilst the boy sighed and slipped beneath the covers, shoving his face into a pillow that smelled faintly like you as he squeezed his eyes shut before they flashed open again when he heard your approaching footsteps.
Eddie swallowed as you drifted close, throat bobbing when the air between you seemed to hum again once there was less of it as you reached above him to draw the curtains tighter, knowing how much the boy hated any hint of sunlight first thing in the morning.
There were nerves all lit up inside him that he hadn’t been able to shake all night, fondness fizzing in his chest when he heard the sound of the unopened bottle of water you’d brought up for yourself being set down next to the pile of his rings. The rattle of painkillers being plucked from the draw following before you moved around the bed and pulled back the sheets to climb in beside him.
He couldn’t help but hate what felt like an ocean of cool sheets that you deliberately left between you.
Hated that you didn’t push into his side and press your legs to his to steal his heat like you usually did, hated the way you lay stiff with tension in your own bed, facing the ceiling he had helped you paint one summer instead of facing him like you would when you would whisper with him, nose to nose, until the sun came up.
And when you did finally turn, a soft frown on your face as you wriggled to find a more comfortable position, he hated that your eyes widened slightly with panic when you finally noticed he was watching you.
It made his brows pull together in a distressed frown - his throat tight with guilt when you quickly glanced down at your hands that were knotting in the bed sheets.
An anxious habit he despised being the cause of because god, the last thing Eddie had ever wanted was for you to feel uncomfortable because he couldn’t keep his own feelings in check.
For the longest time he looked at you like he wanted to say something, working his jaw like he wanted to address what had happened and apologise but couldn’t find the right words, his eyes soft and sad in the pale slip of moonlight from the window.
And then he seemed to think better of it.
You were caught off guard when he smiled instead. A soft grin that was all easy warmth and a touch playful as he reached to poke a finger to your cheek and whispered, “thanks for taking care of me, sweets.”
You huffed out a laugh like you couldn't help yourself and the boy took it as small progress when you visibly relaxed. Taking the opportunity to get more and more dramatic with his prodding and tickling until he could feel the way your body vibrated with the giggles bubbling up from your chest and you’d allowed yourself to sink fully into the bed, rolling closer as you tried to fend him off.
"Someone has to make sure you’ll be alive enough to take us for breakfast in the morning.” You whispered back sternly when your face re-emerged from its hiding place in the mattress.
But your smile was matching Eddie’s, growing wider when he caught the hand you tried to bat his away with and gently pinched at your fingers.
"So you’re only being nice so you can use me.” He gasped theatrically and propped himself up on an elbow to stare down at you, all over the top stricken expression as he stifled a laugh when you shoved your face into the pillow and groaned. “How could my best friend betray me like this?”
You turned your head back to face him, rolling your eyes before levelling him with a thoughtful stare. “I wouldn’t call it using,” you mused, slipping your arm under your pillow and beneath your head as you yawned, “more like cashing in straight away on a debt, y’know, since you woke me up in the middle of the night. Which, as my best friend, you’ll remember makes me very grumpy in the morning.”
Eddie nodded, bangs falling into his eyes as he did so. He was serious for all of a second before he let himself fall back into the mused sheet with a guilty grin, hair spilling everywhere and the movement making your body lean into the dip he created, suddenly closer to the boy than before.
"Touche.”
The word came out in a small huff that you felt it against your cheek, a soft thing that made your lashes flutter and when you glanced up at him you found him looking at you with gentle eyes, all brown sugar sweet and lovely as he smiled, full of affection.
It made the last of the left-over tension fizzle away, turning the air softer, warmer, as Eddie drew lines along your fingers with his own before he slotted them together.
You hadn’t even realised he was still holding your hand.
"You win, babe,” He murmured, almost too quiet to hear, his thumb rubbing slow against your skin, touch worshipful as he traced the faint scar on your hand that was proof monsters were never simply just part of stories, and if he noticed the way you inhaled a little shakily, well, he did his best not to show it.
“I’ll do anything you want, maybe take you to that bakery you like and buy you coffee so you’ll stop hissing at me and then so many of those cinnamon things that like that you’ll go into a sugar coma and I’ll have to carry you out.”
You snorted and Eddie beamed like he’d hit the jackpot, encouraged by the sound as he arched a brow like he was begging you to argue.
"Idon’t hiss.” You muttered petulantly, full of false indignation whilst you scrunched your nose to hide your grin and knocked your knee against his.
His gaze shone at you, eyes bright and twinkling with mirth in the dark, and when he managed to fend off your attack by hooking a leg over yours to trap it between his own, he continued with a teasing scoff.
“You do. You’re like some kind of rabid raccoon when you wake up, I’m lucky I still have both eyes and all my fingers.” He wiggled the ones resting snug around yours for emphasis and you snorted. “Now shut up, I’m trying to impress you with my plan to get back in your good graces.”
You huffed, too amused to be offended, and gestured with your linked hands as if to say ‘well go on then’
Okay, so after I’ve carried you out of the bakery, we’d go to the bookstore,” the boy told you, gaze knowing and smile a little smug when he noticed that he’d caught your attention despite the way you tried to hide it from him.
"Always a pretty foolproof plan - which one though?”
“Not the fancy one where the housewives hog the couches pretending to talk about their weekly book club read,” Eddie assured you, his voice dropping to a scandalised hush, the fingers that weren’t holding yours tugging at his curls to hide a salacious grin as he whispered, “when instead they’re bitching about how their husbands don’t satisfy them anymore and how they’ve had to resort to fucking the pool boy so they can feel young again.”
"Of course,” You choked on a laugh, a startled, delighted sound that made Eddie’s heart stutter and his chest ache with warmth. “Can’t have them cheapening the wholesome moment when I’m overcome with the joy of being surrounded by books and finally forgive you.”
"Exactly.” He replied sagely. “So we’re gonna go to that one near Oak instead with the shit ton of stacks everywhere that threaten to fall and crush you if you breathe near them. Works better in my favour if I get to save you from a gruesome death.”
You nodded, only looking half as serious as Eddie thanks to the way you could barely stop the threat of giggles rising in your throat. “I get it, totally get extra brownie points for a hero moment.”
"Right? And then maybe I’ll get you one of the books you stare at all longingly everytime we go in 'cause for some reason you act like it’s a fuckin’ crime to treat yourself once in a while-”
"-I do not! I just have other things that kind of have to take priority, y’know like bills and stuff. ”
"Same thing.” Eddie dismissed, but his voice was softly teasing and his gaze understanding as he fingers tapped a random beat against your hand. “Anyway, after that we’ll rent some movies and get some snacks, maybe horrors so I can be all charming and let you hold my hand when it gets scary, we’ll get pizza for dinner and by the end of it you’ll have totally forgot that I crashed your romantic night with yourself and ruined your sleep.”
You stared at him. “And that’s all it’s gonna take, huh?”
"Don’t pretend you’re not impressed, sweetheart.” He grinned knowingly, looking too proud of himself as his hand slipped out of yours to prod a finger to where your cheeks were appled, aching from smiling far too long.
He wished he could kiss them instead, brush his lips over the pretty flush that bloomed after his touch made you realise you never really had stopped smiling from the moment he started speaking. “Look at you, just dyin’ to forgive me right now, I can tell.”
You hated that he was right.
Not about you dying to forgive him now, because the truth was Eddie hadn’t actually done anything to need forgiveness, no, it was the fact that if you were ever genuinely mad and the boy did all that for you, you knew in your bones you would fold in a pathetic, lovesick heartbeat.
It was the fact that Eddie knew it too, he just hadn’t figured out why.
Yet.
So you swatted at him once again and tried to discreetly shuffle back whilst he was distracted threatening to snap his teeth down on your fingers.
You were praying for some distance, needed it so you could breathe without the scent of him making you feel weak, so you could hide in the dark for the moment it would take to stop looking at him like he’d shoved his hand inside your chest, wrapped long fingers around your heart and slipped it out to put it where it belonged. With him.
But your legs were still tangled with Eddie’s and your body was against you when he clamped his legs down to stop you from slipping away. Turned traitor by the feel of soft fleece pressing to your bare calves, the muscles of his arms flexing when he threw one over your waist and pushed the other one beneath you to roll you on top of him.
His biceps were warm where you caught at him with your hands to steady yourself and as he shifted a little higher up the pillow, stretching until he found himself comfortable, you cursed the warmth it spread through your belly.
"See, you can’t even deny it can you?” Eddie prompted and you felt it rumble from his chest to your own, chin dipped to peer down at you and cheeks dimpling as his grin turned smug. Unbelievably delighted that you had yet to refute him.
You wrinkled your nose when he tapped a finger there, if only to hide the shock that lingered on your face, the way you felt flushed all over because there was no part of you that wasn’t touching him and jesus christ, it felt like his hands resting on your sides were burning through the thin material of your shirt, threatening to brand the skin beneath.
“What, no– I mean yes– I mean, shit, you know what I mean asshole” You finished with a scowl and prayed your rambling had sounded less frantic to Eddie than it had to your own ears, though judging by the way he arched a brow at you, gaze dancing with withheld laughter, you would guess you had failed there too.
'Uh huh, but feel free to keep tryin’ to enlighten me anyway.”
"I was just wondering,” you began, all false confidence just to hide the fact you were still unsure of where you were going with it. Stalling just a little because it was hard to remember what you had been wondering before he had decided to use you as a blanket, your chest now lying atop his abdomen, stomach resting against his hips and legs cradled between his own.
You let go of his arms to fold your hands at the centre of his chest, settling your chin there, and his eyes softened as they roamed your face, waiting for you to continue. “Okay, so how does it make sense that you can pull off something like that and yet you’re here with me, drunk, instead of on your date swooning the hell out of Sarah?”
"Sam.”
“Same thing.”
“Not even close, sweetheart.”
“At least I got the first two letters right, unlike you with the last guy I dated.” You shot back.
Eddie shrugged. “He looked like a Danny.” He defended mildly but his gaze was playful, bottom lip tucked between his teeth to hold back the laugh threatening to escape when you threw a death glare his way.
“His name was Matthew.” You deadpanned and the boy snorted, throwing his hands up in a placating gesture when it looked like you might rip the pillow from beneath his head and smother him with it.
But then you were shaking your head instead, an accusatory finger jabbed to his chest and you rolled your eyes when he frowned and muttered a petulant ‘ow’.
“Hang on, why are we even arguing this again? Answer the question Munson - did you try to take her to skull rock again? ‘Cause I don���t give a damn what Steve says, just because you take a fucking picnic it doesn’t suddenly make a make out spot romantic”
He made a disturbed noise and shook his head but you didn’t miss the way his face fell a little at you bringing up the date again, smile half-hearted at best, and even the dark couldn’t hide the way his eyes had dimmed. His thumbs that had been dragging small, steady circles over the sides of your ribs faltering as he dropped his gaze from yours.
It made you gentle - the sense of protectiveness that tightened your chest and urged you to shuffle your way up his body until you were seated in his lap, knees dragging the sheets askew. Fingers finding their way to his chin to bring his stare back to you and you were too focused on your worry to register the way it made his lashes flutter, eyes hooded and lips parted, breath hitching at the gesture.
"Hey - did something happen tonight? Is that why you came back in such a state?” You murmured, eyes flicking between his, searching, before your tone suddenly grew sharp and your hand fell flat against his chest. “Was she a dick to you - I swear to god if she was I’ll get dressed right now and–”
You were cut off by Eddie’s hand descending over yours, the other landing on the thigh that you had already raised to clamber off him, squeezing the flesh softly, drawing it back down, and the fight left you just as fast as it had appeared when he chuckled, his voice smudged with fondness, awe, a hint of pride.
“Okay, reign it in Rocky, nothin’ bad happened I promise, you don’t need to go runnin’ off into the night to defend my honour.”
But god, he wanted to kiss you for trying to.
He settled for watching you watch him instead, your frown of concern that he itched to smooth away with his thumb still present before you eventually nodded, only slightly pacified when you had found no sign of a lie in the way he met your gaze.
And Eddie knew it was foolish to hope that was the end of it, knew the expression on your face all too well despite the way it flickered sweet just for a moment, just for him, as he released your hand to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.
So it came as no surprise to the boy when you seemed to be considering your next words as you tilted your head, whether to deliberately lean into his touch or just a habit whilst you thought he wasn’t sure.
Maybe it was coincidence or maybe it was both, either way when your hand followed his seconds after he had let it go to clasp gently at his wrist, his heart spasmed despite knowing what was coming.
"There was something though, wasn’t there? You stated but you were quiet in how you spoke, gentle, trying to make sure Eddie knew he wasn’t being pushed, that you were only concerned, and everything about it made him ache. His thoughts going a cotton-wool kind of hazy that he wasn’t convinced he could blame on the alcohol anymore.
He let his thumb brush the downturned corner of your lips, a brief second of indulgence before he pressed up, moulding your mouth into a smile until he spied it becoming a real one, the kind that would have had Eddie dropping to his knees if he’d been standing, as you knocked his hand away.
He tapped at your legs then, drumming lightly at the creases of your knees and up the backs of your thighs, making you twitch.
You got the hint though, rising off him just enough for him to push himself up and then back, leaning against the pillows before he held out his hands for you to take so you could climb back into his lap.
It felt like his first mistake.
Or was it his second, after coming here in the first place? Third, after losing his head and nearly kissing you?
He’d lost count.
All he knew was that it was suddenly a little harder to breathe, that being this close didn’t feel as innocent as it had five minutes ago.
As it had all the other times you’d been tucked tight against him, sleepily whispering secrets until dawn broke and your head fell heavy against his shoulder, leaving Eddie to have to carefully roll you back on to the mattress so you didn’t wake up stiff and sore.
Your hands were soft on his stomach, forcing the boy to fight off a shudder every time you traced the dark lines of another tattoo, jaw slack as he watched every little movement of your fingers with rapt attention, only realising he’d been repeating each one with his own touch on your thighs when he felt the brush of soft fabric against his fingertips.
It took Eddie a second to tear his eyes away from the sight, to meet your gaze with pink cheeks and lips almost bitten raw and find that you had swayed closer.
Close enough so that he could map each little freckle that made up constellations on your cheeks in the moonlight that slanted over your features, noses only inches apart and he swallowed down a choked curse when he remembered you were probably still expecting an answer.
He licked his lips, unsure of how much he could give away, and shrugged, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. "S’really nothin’ for you to worry about princess, the date was fine and she was… great - incredible actually - we just, uh, mutually decided there was a point in taking it past a one time thing.”
The silence stretched long enough that Eddie wondered if he was maybe more wasted than he'd thought. He must have been if the question of whether telling you the truth was really as bad as he'd feared was nudging at his brain, the consequences seeming a lot less daunting the longer allowed himself to consider it.
Because there you were, looking at him with the prettiest confused expression he'd ever seen and all of a sudden it felt like the worst crime in the world to lie to you. That you deserved more than the way he'd been continuously lying to you for years and if there was the slightest chance - which sometimes he thought there were signs there could be - that you wanted him to be the one who gave you more, then he had to take it, right?
"I don't understand,” you said slowly, face scrunched like you were trying to figure out if you missed something somewhere in his explanation, like you were trying to hide how the boy calling Sarah - Sam - whatever her name was - incredible in a dazed voice had made your stomach twist. "If she was so amazing and the date was a hit, why wouldn't you want to see her again?"
"Well turns out no matter how awesome a girl is, she doesn't really wanna waste time trying to date someone who's in love with someone else.”
"Makes sense-" you shrugged, and then it sunk in what he had said. "-no, wait, hang on - what?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled, a little shaky, a little rough, and despite the easy grin he tried to offer, there was an undeniable bloom of nervousness unfurling in his eyes, “crazy right? I mean I expected her to leave when she figured it out but then she stayed and even tried giving me advice, which maybe me taking wasn't the best decision 'cause it involved some liquid courage and telling the girl how I feel but I kinda took the first part too far, which is how I ended up like this– ”
He gestured wildly to himself and when his hands dropped back to rest on your bare thighs it took all you had not to flinch. Your brain felt fuzzy, chest too tight, and suddenly every part of your body that was pressed to his felt like it was in agony. A new kind of torture.
Eddie was in love with someone else.
And he hadn't even told you.
"Eddie–” you murmured weakly, because christ , he was still talking and you just really needed him to stop .
"-she originally offered to help make her jealous, which was fuckin' insane , I thought that shit only happened in movies. I gave it a hard pass cause it seemed sleazy, like a total dick move, y'know. Didn’t seem right to mess with her like that and I don't think I even could if my life depended on it-”
Fuck, this hurt worse than you had ever imagined. A dagger shoved deep between your ribs with every word, twisting until you thought you’d be sick with it.
'Eddie.” You repeated, only a little stronger this time. but to your horror, you could hear the painful edge that made your voice shake.
You wanted to slam a hand over his mouth.
You wanted to crawl as far away from his touch as you possibly could.
And yet you were painfully still.
A statue in Eddie’s lap, turned to stone like those poor souls you’d read about in a mythology book when you were a kid except here there was no terrifying creature to blame, just your best friend who was breaking your heart without even realising.
Oblivious to a tear that welled and spilled over your lash line, dripping onto the shirt that you were suddenly wishing wasn’t his as he pressed on.
God, you felt pathetic.
"Felt wrong just thinking about it,” He rushed out and maybe if you weren’t so upset you would have put it together. The way he was rambling like he couldn’t speak quick enough, like he would lose his nerve if he didn't, lungs burning and eyes darting over your face, anxious, as if his heart would give out if he looked away for even a second. Fingers tapping too quick on your thighs. “Touching someone, kissing them, loving them, even if it’s pretend, shit I can’t even remember the last time I thought of doin’ those kind of things with anyone else that wasn’t-”
“Wasn’t her,” You interrupted, head ducked to hide your embarrassment when the words slipped out scathing, a little more heated than you intended. The burn behind your eyes grew stronger as you tried to climb off him, numb fingers clumsy, grappling for purchase on his stomach so you could push yourself away. “I get it Eddie, fuck-”
He stopped you with hesitant hands wrapping around your wrists, squeezing soft when you didn’t immediately try to yank yourself out of his hold, drawing them to his chest in a plea for you to look at him and listen.
"-you.”
You froze, head snapping up to stare at the boy in disbelief, utterly stunned. Your heart spasming before it began to pound so hard you thought it would splinter bones as you tried to figure out if you had heard him right, if he had said what you thought he had, if you dared to ask him to repeat himself just in case he had.
It felt like the world had slowed for a moment, like it was trying to give you a chance to push past the rush of blood in your ears that was drowning your ability to think straight, to decide whether Eddie had misspoken or not and if he hadn't, did that mean it was finally time for you to stop hiding.
Did you even know how?
The answer came when the winds outside grew into a storm. The patpatpat of rain on the roof coming slowly at first and then all at once and each knock of a branch at your window sounded like the tick of a clock as the silence between you rolled on too long. It felt like a countdown, a warning that if you weren’t going to be brave now, you wouldn’t get the chance again.
So you fought the urge to rip yourself away, lowered yourself gingerly back down onto his thighs whilst Eddie watched you with wide eyes, a little hopeful, a little terrified, a little too aware that any wrong move could make you run for real next time. “Did you– what did you just say?”
"Wasn’t you.” He whispered and neither of you could take your eyes off the other, your own breath trapped in your chest as he took a deep breath before he continued. Voice growing braver like it was an obvious truth he was telling you and not one that felt like a bomb being dropped on your head. “I haven’t thought about anyone else since I realised I was in love with you.”
You inhaled sharply, a small noise slipping from your throat that you couldn’t stop if you tried.
You wanted to ask him to say it again, you wanted to kiss the words from his mouth as he said them, you wanted to say it back, murmur it over and over into him until you were dizzy from lack of oxygen but you couldn’t. Because there were tears in your eyes and your throat, your lungs, were refusing to work, every part of your body suddenly paralysed whilst your heart tumbled wild behind your ribs.
Eddie licked his lips, parted and closed them again as tried to organise the mess of his thoughts into words.
He sat up and pulled you closer until your hips were flush, your thighs caged around his as he gently ran his thumbs up over the soft part of your wrists where your pulse hammered against the skin and you wondered if it was a gesture meant to soothe you or him.
If it was maybe for both of you.
A way to encourage you to touch him in whatever way you needed whilst he did the same, preparing himself to give a confession that he never thought he would get a chance to, that he hoped you would understand.
"I only asked Sam out because I thought you were never gonna feel the same and I just needed to get over it, ” He sighed, cheeks pink as he nervously analysed your expression from beneath his lashes. “Turns out she knew all along, figured out I was gonner that night at the hideout when you made me sing fuckin’ Bon Jovi.”
He said it teasingly, all false betrayal and shining eyes like you’d made him commit the worst kind of crime, like he was so in love with you that he’d sing that fucking song until his throat was raw if you asked again.
You let out a watery laugh and Eddie beamed at the sound.
His gaze lovely as it roamed your face, endlessly adoring when you swiped at a falling tear with the heel of your palm and melted because the boy had caught your hand in his before you could drop it, bringing it to his lips so he could kiss away the salt on your skin with a sweet tsk, voice like honey as he murmured, ‘c’mon, pretty girl, please don’t cry’.
"I couldn’t even deny it when she brought it up, y’know,” he chuckled, leaning in to rest his forehead to yours, noses grazing until you sighed happily for him. “She wasn’t mad either, just told me I needed to grow a pair and tell you how I felt before someone else did, but it was like she’d fuckin’ me in punched me in the face. All I could think was, ‘shit, she’s right, what the hell am I doing’ .”
And then his smile faltered. His stare flickering away from yours like he was ashamed, lips twisting into a grimace, voice strained as his hands slid down your arms and dropped to the hem of your shirt to twist the material in his fingers.
"Thing is, it sounded like the easiest thing in the world when she said it, but then I was about to leave and it suddenly felt terrifying and the idea of calming my nerves with a drink didn’t sound like the dumbest one I’ve ever had.” Eddie admitted, closing his eyes briefly and when he opened them again the disappointment in them made your heart ache.
“Not until I started hesitating the longer I was there anyway, overthinking and talking myself out of it, and then before I knew it I was wasted and I’d fucked up another chance to tell you. So I called Harrington instead, though I guess that kind of backfired too, huh?”
He was making it sound like it was all his fault that this had gone on so long but god, you knew what your own fear felt like. The things you told yourself daily to stop you from taking that plunge.
Had you both been using the same insecurities to hold yourselves back all this time?
"What were you so scared of? ” You coaxed softly, pressing a hand over the place where his heart thumped beneath the skin, fingertips toying with the chain that hung around his neck and when you’re other hand smoothed it’s way up to his jaw, thumb gliding along the edge of it, the boy leaned into your touch like he was starved for it. A ragged sigh slipping past his lips as his lashes fluttered.
"Messing everything up.” He explained quietly and the crack in his voice made you want to wrap your arms around him and smother him in affection. Refuse to let him go or ever doubt himself again. “Losing you. I didn’t know if you’d hate me for making things awkward if you didn’t feel the same and I couldn’t handle the thought of not having you in my life.”
"You could never do anything to make me not be in your life Eddie,” you told him, and if your words were soft then the look in your eyes was even softer. Lips pulling into a warm smile that he swore was pure light as your hand left his chest to tug teasingly at one of his curls. “Even if it’s something like turning up at my door, half gone, smelling like you’ve been dunked in whiskey, to tell me something that I’ve been waiting a hell of a long time to hear from you.”
Eddie melted for you then.
“Yeah?” He breathed, his own grin blinding as his hands nudged their way beneath your shirt to curve around your bare sides, seeking out the warmth of you to ground himself because he could have sworn he was dreaming.
"Yeah.”
“Well shit, sweetheart,” he huffed out a soft laugh, a little giddy with relief, more drunk on you than whatever alcohol was left in his system. “If I’d known that I would have made Stevie boy haul my drunk ass over here a lot sooner. You have any idea how long I’ve had to suffer mourning about my feelings to him after one of his house parties for him to just tell me to shut the fuck up and go to sleep?”
Probably the same amount of time you’d endured Robin telling you to get a grip.
"No, but I’m sure Steve would gladly tell me if I asked,” you answered cheekily instead, letting out a terrible shriek of a laugh when the boy tickled your ribs and muttered that you better not dare.
It made him grin all stupid and lovesick, even more so when you bumped your nose against his and looked at him a little shy, a little hopeful as you asked, “Though maybe you could try voicing some of those feelings without the alcohol, y’know, just so I know they’re not a result of your brain being fried and so that when I say them back, you actually have a chance of remembering it in the morning.”
Eddie was enthusiastically nodding before you could finish, a brightness unfurling in his chest like the flowers that had snaked around his ribs when he met you were now opening up, blooming with what he felt for you. What you felt for him back. “Yeah, fuck, I can do that,” he murmured. “Anything you want.”
You were beaming, and if he could bottle the way it made him feel he would. Gone for the way you melted for him when he slipped a hand from beneath your shirt, dragging it slow up your spine until his palm was fitting itself around the back of your neck, just so he could feel you this close. Just because he could.
"Anything?” You repeated coyly, smiling when he sighed real pretty as you brushed some of his curls back.
“Anything.”
"You gonna take me on a date Munson?”
As if he was going to say no to you. Like he ever could.
He’d bring you the damn moon if you wanted it. The stars too because he wouldn’t be able to help himself when it came to you.
He pressed his nose to your cheek to hide the dopey grin that tugged at his lips, humming. “Mhm, how does tomorrow sound? Maybe upgrade our plans from grovelling duty to first date?”
“Hmm, I don’t know,” you pondered, eyes fluttering shut with a smile, content to tease the boy by pretending to think about it as you tilted your head back for him when he pushed his face into your neck with an amused huff. “I kind of liked the idea of you grovelling all day and the plans you made were pretty tempting. What will the upgrade entail if I agree?”
“Same plans, I’d just get to keep touching you like this, hold you whenever I wanted, whenever you wanted me to.” He murmured, lips catching at your skin as he spoke, the hand that was clamped around your waist tightening when you shivered as he drew a line with his nose up to your jaw. “Maybe walk around with my hand in your back pocket the way I know you think is real cute. Use it to pull you in for a kiss when you’re looking far too pretty to be real, which is fuckin’ always, and I feel like m’gonna die if I don’t.”
Your chest hitched, lips parted and body feeling a touch too warm, because the thought of Eddie kissing you all greedy, a little too desperate to give a damn about where you were or who was around, was suddenly so consuming. Leaving you dizzy enough that you had to clutch at his shoulders, his neck, curling your fingers around his chain to keep yourself seated instead of falling back into the cushions and pulling him down with you. “Oh.” You breathed out.
He swallowed, hard.
And when he lifted his head his eyes were half-lidded, almost black beneath the heavy fan of his lashes, voice a low rasp that made you burn as his gaze flickered from your mouth to settle on yours. “Yeah, oh. ”
"How am I supposed to say no to that?”
His lips twitched. “Now you know how it feels when you ask me for anything.” He whispered hoarsely and you wondered if he could hear the chaotic hammering of your heart, if he could feel the vibration of it slamming into your ribs against his own.
The air between you was buzzing, electric, bloated with anticipation when the last couple of inches fell away as his face leaned closer to yours, mouth hovering over your own. his breath warm and smelling of smoke and whiskey, a hint of mint as he said your name, sticky sweet with heat and a longing kind of need.
He drew lazy circles under your ear with his thumb and it took everything you had not to let the pleading noise building in your throat escape.
"Yeah, Eddie?” You asked instead, so quiet that had he not been right there, you doubt he would have heard you at all.
You knew he had though when his tongue darted out to wet his lips, a nervous gesture just like the way your fingers couldn’t stop their movements, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck and making him shudder.
"Can I kiss you now?”
It already felt like he was.
His mouth brushing yours as he spoke, each word the ghost of a kiss, a brief taste of the real thing that you were sure would shatter you entirely because jesus christ, this alone was making you feel like there were fireworks beneath your skin. The way your bottom lip caught between his stole your breath, a cracked noise bubbling up in your throat that Eddie inhaled and echoed back with a groan when you tilted your head and pushed your lips to his.
It was a fleeting thing, ending after a second because your brain had caught up and was telling you this wasn’t right. Not that kissing Eddie wasn’t right, it felt like the most natural thing you’d ever done, like you’d found a piece of yourself you hadn’t realised you were missing.
It was just the timing.
“Wait…” You murmured and Eddie drew back immediately, the hand that had been clasped around your neck pulling back to tuck your hair behind your ear, cupping your jaw as his worried gaze flicked over your face, searching for any sign of discomfort he might have caused.
"Shit, I’m sorry.” He said gently, thick with guilt, full of concern. “Was it too soon? I swear I didn’t mean to pressure you or anything, fuck, sweetheart, I’d never do anything to make you feel uncomfortable y’know that right? And if I do by accident I want you to tell me or hell, punch me or something- ”
“-No, no, it’s okay Eds - Eddie listen, I’m not gonna hit you, jesus - I just,” You couldn’t get the words out fast enough for the way the look on his face was making your chest squeeze. Your hands flew to his face as you shook your head, stroking your thumbs over the arc of his cheekbones to quiet him whilst you gave him a reassuring smile. “I just don’t want our first real kiss to be when one of us is drunk, that's all. Is that okay?”
He blew out a breath, visibly softening, and then he was wrapping his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your nose, your cheeks, your forehead until you were both grinning, laughter still echoing above the sounds of the storm outside when he touched his forehead to yours. “Baby, of course it’s okay,” he murmured, “you just say the word, I’ll kiss you whenever you want me too.”
His words lit you up, warmth spreading through you until you were giddy with it. So full of affection for the boy that you thought you’d burst and it must have been contagious because Eddie was looking at you like he knew exactly what you were feeling.
"Kiss me tomorrow?” You whispered, unable to bite back your grin as you brushed your nose against his. “When I first wake up so I don’t think I’ve dreamed this whole thing?”
Eddie’s eyes shone and he squeezed you a little tighter, his smile becoming devastatingly lovely, stretching wide across his face as he nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”
And he did.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fanfic
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Pen Ink & Motor Oil
Blurb: Eddie has worked as a mechanic in Tucker’s busy garage for the past three and a half years and you have recently joined as the cute receptionist at the front desk. Based on this nonnie’s request!
Pairing: Mechanic!Eddie x Receptionist!Reader
Warnings: Eddie is in his late 20’s, reader is in her early 20’s, swearing, pet names, smoking (cigarettes) , reader referred to as girl, Eddie has a filthy mouth and the reader likes it. Sexual tension, dom!Eddie, sloppy kisses, fingering, choking, public intimacy, 18+
-
“Would you like a cup of tea? Maybe some coffee?” Your hands rub together furiously, hoping the friction will heat the delicate surface of your skin. This morning played out like it always did between you and Eddie— you would advert your eyes away from his intense gaze and he would toy with the colour on your cheeks like a puppeteer.
“I’ll take a bottle of Pepsi if there’s one in the fridge? Please.” You couldn’t understand his willingness to drink such icy cold liquid when the mornings were already becoming so chilly. Especially in the garage, the freezing cement of the floor and the bare brick of the walls made heat easily escapable.
“You’re crazy,” Laughing you reach down into the small refrigerator behind your desk, plucking out a glass bottle filled with the sugary brown beverage and handing it to Eddie. He lets out what can only be described as a moan as he eyes the bottle in his hand with such admiration, his strong fingers twisting off the bottle cap with ease.
“Thanks, Cutie.” The metal head winks at you, his words leave his mouth with such charisma and fluidity that it makes your tired head buzz with excitement.
After a moment of ridiculous pause you finally clock back into reality, “That’s a cool party trick,” gesturing toward the bottle in Eddie’s manly hands he offers you a hum, smiling politely at you like he always does, “Doesn’t it hurt your hand?”
“Not really— I bet you could do it, if you tried.” He shrugs, his gigantic hand comes to clasp one of his breasts through the tarnished white fabric of his tank top, something you have recently realised he does a lot out of comfort and you can’t help the twitch of your fingertips as you long for the warmth of his soft inked skin against yours.
“Is there a lot booked in for today?” He leaves the bottle on the worktop, his creased boots scrape against the dusty floor as he inches toward your standing frame confidently. He peers over your shoulder, his strong nose is almost tickling the shell of your ear as he tries to read the schedule you had written up the shift before and your breath becomes trapped in the length of your throat at his close proximity.
Your thoughts are a scrambled mess as your nostrils fill with the brunettes intoxicating scent; subtle laundry detergent that smells like winter and clean linen, a fresh, almost minty, shampoo that radiates from his soft hair as it brushes your cheek and the smallest hint of cigarette smoke.
In your daze you blindly hadn’t acknowledged the fact that Eddie was basically bending you over the front desk. Your elbows were propped on the hard acrylic material, your ass perked up into the air and Eddie’s hulking frame was braced over you from behind, “Uhm…” You scream inwardly at yourself and your inability to form any sort of coherent sentence and thought.
“Uhm?” Eddie mocks, his voice deep and hushed. He lets out a small throaty laugh as his fingers dance over the neatly written page laid on the counter in front of you, “Can’t you read your own handwriting, Love?” Another sweet nickname that causes your legs to weaken.
He taps his fingertip on to the column that reads ‘Monday’ at the top of the grid and you can feel his wide grin against the back of your head, “Plenty of time for fun today.” Eddie purrs like a cat in your ear and your body involuntarily shivers at his breath against your neck.
“I’ll come check up on you in an hour or so, yeah? I think the first customer of the day will be arriving soon and I don’t wanna fuck this up.” It takes Eddie every ounce of self control he has to collar himself and retreat to the back of the garage where he can try and meet his deadline for the day. But in complete honesty, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.
His chocolate button eyes constantly flicking from the internal organs of a car to the swinging door that separates you from him. He wasn’t afraid to admit that he had developed quite a fondness for you— a little crush, perhaps. You were the nicest girl Tucker had ever hired; above qualified and the most beautiful. You might’ve been the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Gorgeous smile, kind eyes and not to mention a smokin’ bod. You always had this incomparable aroma lingering around you— a perfume he had never smelt before. It was addicting. You were addicting.
Two hours had passed now and Eddie was getting restless. He had already repaired what was needed to the engine and the customer was scheduled to be here any second— he just wanted to chat with you again, to make you laugh and see your skin flush with each of his not-so-discreet compliments. He loved spending time with you. You were the reason he looked forward to coming into work each day.
“Hey, Eddie?” Your gentle voice sings through the room as you poke your head through the door into his space and Eddie bounces to his feet a little too eagerly, his hands toying with an old oil covered rag.
“Yeah? You okay?” His body is reacting before his brain can protest and he is springing over to meet you by the door like an excited puppy. A smile grows on his face with every step closer he gets to you and he watches you shift in your shiny heels with anticipation.
“I’m okay!” You confirm, the palm of your hand resting on the large door which allows a gust of fresh hair to meet Eddie’s now dirtied up face, “The customer is here to check out their car— would you like to come and speak with them before they sign anything?”
“Should be all good to go, Princess.” Eddie winks at you and his heart flutters boldly at the sight of your rosy cheeks. He could never get enough of you— he could stare at you forever, “Hey, after this guy leaves… you wanna come and grab some lunch with me? I usually go to this little place down the street. They have pretty decent sandwiches and stuff.” His hands come to find his hair as he ties it up into a low bun and a sly smirk finds his lips as he watches you watching him, “It’ll be my treat?” Clocking your silence he presses you further for an answer and you nod your head like a startled deer, your lips slightly pouted and parted in embarrassment.
“I would like that!” You squeak, your hands fumbling with your white dress shirt as you try to flatten out the new wrinkles, “So… I’ll go and ring this guy up. And… and I’ll meet you out front?” You gulp loudly, wincing at the sheer volume of it and Eddie grins at you evidently amused.
“Sounds great. Just gotta scrub my hands and I’ll see you out there, Pretty girl.”
Eddie watches as you disappear from his view, he even strains his neck to try and catch a final glimpse of your ass as he desperately fights to calm his raging heart.
He feels all giddy on the inside. Soft and gooey like a chocolate brownie; only you have been able to make him feel that way. Eddie had a few notches in his belt, he slept his way through high school with chicks who kept him a secret but you… you knew you would flaunt him like he was a rare jewel. The last 7 months of your employment made you realise how drawn you were to the metal head. Eddie was precious to you.
And today… today you were going to tell him.
-
You skip alongside Eddie, your heels dragging along the pavement. You always wanted to look presentable and professional for the business, but these heels were killing your feet.
“You alright there, Love?” Eddie chuckles, his eyes flicking between your arched feet and your pain stricken face.
“Hmm? Oh! Yeah— I’m fine! These shoes are just kicking my ass.” You stop for a moment, sighing a quick breath of relief as the pressure eases from your feet and Eddie comes to stand in front of you. His lips curve upward into a grin and his eyes glitch with mischief.
“I can carry you? And you can take the shoes off?” You watch the muscles in his arms flex as he crosses them over his meaty chest and your jaw loosens on its hinges for a moment.
He wanted to carry you?
“Don’t be silly! I can muscle through this! Women have been doing this for centuries.” You snort a laugh, attempting to walk by his massive physique but Eddie’s large hand takes a hold of yours and in one swift and fluid like motion he is carrying you in his arms toward the small sandwich shop that is just out of view at the end of the street.
“Eddie!” You squeal, half laughing and half horrified. Your cheeks are set alight as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck tightly, clutching onto him for dear life out of fear of falling.
“Relax, I’m not gonna drop you.” You had never been this close to him before. You could see every freckle on his nose, every stroke of black oil and grease on his cheeks, every sprinkle and burst of light amber in his usually abysmal black eyes. The thickness of his eyelashes and his eyebrows and the pink plumpness of his lips.
You could study him for hours. You could hang a portrait of him in an art gallery— and yet it would pale in comparison to the true thing. Eddie Munson was crafted carefully by Aphrodite herself. He was utter perfection. And you wanted to kiss him so bad.
“Like what you see, Princess?” He smirks at you devilishly, his dark hues shift every few seconds between your gawking expression and the footpath ahead.
“What if I did?” Bold. Even for you, and it was amusing to watch Eddie’s confident mask fumble.
“Then I would have to agree that I also like what I see…” He stops walking, his eyes solely focused on you now and you shift under his gaze— wiggling in Eddie’s buff arms.
“You do?” You can’t help that his confession catches you off guard. You knew Eddie enjoyed your presence, it was evident in the way he would always make excuses to come through to the front and talk to you. Eddie never usually had cause to be at the front desk unless it was to hand a customer their car keys back— but he always found a way to weasel his way through.
‘Have you got a pen I can borrow?’ There was always one tucked behind his ear.
‘Did I leave any tools through here? I’m missing my screwdriver…’ He had plenty to spare.
‘Do you need any help with anything?’ He was hopeless when it came to schedules.
‘Hey, is there any cold ones in the fridge today?’ He knew there was.
‘You got the time, Sweet girl?’ He wore a watch of his own.
He knew how to make you smile and he did it continuously every single day with his perky can-do attitude and his admirable personality. Eddie Munson checked all of your boyfriend boxes. He’s good with his hands, not afraid to get down and dirty, he is scarily strong and stupidly handsome. If it weren’t deemed inappropriate you would worship the ground his work boots walked on.
“Don’t act so surprised— I haven’t been so discreet with what I think of you, Sweetheart.” He was right, but you also couldn’t fully believe him. Eddie Munson thought you were attractive? It made you wanna laugh.
“Y’know… I’m not feeling too hungry anymore,” There’s a glint of desire that shimmers in Eddie’s dark eyes and you match his lustful enthusiasm, “What’d ya say we head back? I wanna… show you something…”
And by ‘show you something’ he meant that he wanted you to see the back of your skull as your eyes roll from the feeling of him pumping inside of you.
“Let’s go… let’s go now!” You don’t care how desperate you sound as Eddie turns on his heels and flees back toward Tucker’s. You are a giggling mess in Eddie’s arms and he chuckles warmly alongside you. You both have at least 10 minutes left of your lunch break as you burst back into the office and the next customer is due soon so this will have to be somewhat quick…
-
You wish you could pinch yourself to ensure you weren’t dreaming but your hands were too busy snaking through the thick fluffy curls of Eddie’s hair. It doesn’t take much effort for his wet tongue to dominate yours in a passionate and needy kiss.
His strong fingertips grip the soft flesh of your hips and his hands are like a powerful vice as he clings to you hungrily, “Can I touch you?” He asks between laboured breaths and you nod with a sweet hum. You can feel the swell of his cock pressing against you and you couldn’t think of anything you want more than to have his hands roaming your body.
“Fuck— you’re so fucking beautiful.” His thumb traces the line of your jaw, settling on your chin where he demands that your eyes meet his, “Wanna fuck you so bad, but I don’t think we have time today, Sweet girl.”
You pout out your bottom lip and Eddie chuckles darkly at the sight, “Think my fingers will do, hmm?” He cocks a brow, his rough finger tips dance up the length of your inner thigh before he is clasping his hand over the mound of your underwear. He sucks in a deep breath at the contact, struggling to control the raging storm of his hormones, “I’ve wanted this for so long, you have no idea.”
“Me too.” You gasp as Eddie’s fingers start rubbing tedious and teasing circles over your clothed clit, eliciting soft breathy moans from you.
“You’re gorgeous and your moans are pretty too— how lucky can a guy get?” You whine and swirl your hips down to meet Eddie’s movements, your body craving more of his touch and the filthy man doesn’t hesitate to slip his fingers past the lace of your panties.
Warm skin touching skin has your mind reeling with sin, “Getting impatient?” Eddie clicks his tongue, his free hand coming to curl around your neck. You welcome the action and your vision shifts as Eddie’s touch tightens on either side of your throat, “Tell me how good it feels, Baby.”
He punctuates his words by thrusting two of his long slender fingers inside of your aching slick hole and you release a dampened moan as your eyes flutter closed in ecstasy.
“Feels so good…” Your voice is a quiet whimper and Eddie shakes his head disapprovingly, his fingers curling inside of you and thrusting quicker and harder.
“Couldn’t hear you, Love…” His lips pepper kisses along your face until his mouth rests at the curve of your ear, “Speak up, Pretty girl.”
You feel as though you could cry at how good the tattooed brunette was making you feel. You hadn’t experienced anything quite like it before; all of this praise, the choking and the dominance. It felt good to let everything go— to give yourself to him.
“So good, Eddie! Feels so so good!” You’re a babbling, moaning mess beneath Eddie’s touch but you are beyond the point of caring as your euphoric release rushes toward you. Each skilled pump of Eddie’s decorated fingers leaves your walls clenching and your thighs quivering beneath you.
A wolfish growl rumbles deep within Eddie’s throat and he forces his knee between your thighs, leveraging you upright and keeping your back pressed against the brick wall.
“Gonna cum for me, Angel? Gonna cum around my fingers?” His pace quickens, if that were even possible and your eyes roll to the back of your head as your front teeth pierce your bottom lip, gnawing and nibbling at the plump skin like a desperate bunny.
You nod your head, but Eddie isn’t having any of it, “Words!” His fingers grab your face roughly and you open your lips in a pant, moaning greedily.
“Yes! Yes, I’m gonna cum! Please— fuck!” His chocolate eyes look fiercely into yours, dark and domineering; controlling.
Your orgasm shakes your body from the top to the bottom and you let out a noise that can only be described as a erotic scream and in a fit of slight panic Eddie pushes his hand flush against your mouth as you continue to ride out your high on his fingers.
“Shhh… gonna get us caught.” He offers you an egotistic toothy grin and your chest rises and falls with every intense breath you take in through your nose.
Eddie’s eyes flicker to the watch on his wrist, his eyebrows knitting in thought, “Looks like our lunch break is over…” He removes his hand slowly from your reddened and slightly swollen mouth, “Maybe we can continue this later…” a smirk never wavering from his face as he says, “Same time tomorrow, Princess?”
-
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Sweet Creature
Azriel x Fem!Reader
Summary - The bond snaps after a rather brutal breakup, and after witnessing you with another Vanserra, Azriel is trying to find a way to avoid being hurt once again.
Warnings - fluff, angst, pining, swearing, unrequited love, heartbreak, sad Az, happy ending (yay!)
Word count - 8.4k (oops)
Based on this ask
It had become so intense in the House of Wind that you had little to no choice in moving yourself to the River House. Between Nesta and Cassian's bustling sex life and the constant bickering arguments between Azriel and Elain, you decided that you needed some peace.
And fast.
Rhys had welcomed you at the door that day, his sort-of sister in arms surrounded by brown leather bags that he could almost envision you launching down the House of Wind steps just to escape as fast as possible. Flipping him off and smirking at his chuckle, you slipped around his form stood in the doorway and headed right to Nyx who was more than thrilled to see you, babbling incoherently and grabbing for you the moment you were in eyeshot.
"I take it that it's getting a bit loud over there?" Rhys turned to you, his shirt half unbuttoned and hands burrowed into his pockets. He was lucky. To have a mate and a child. To not have to live with the band of animals currently residing in the Night Court's most opulent residence.
"How am I supposed to get anything done wedged between that lot?" Nyx smiled at your cooing, lapping up all of your love and affection, "I'd much rather be here with my favourite prince."
Within minutes, your bags were taken upstairs by Rhys who was grumbling to himself about never being able to have any peace to which you blissfully quipped that you'd be out of his hair the moment he bought you a lavish apartment in the city. It wasn't as if he couldn't afford it after all.
Your position within the Inner Circle was irreplaceable. Not only were you Rhys' childhood best friend, the only one he could truly depend on before Cassian and Azriel flew into the picture, but you were also known as a witch. A powerful celestial being that had the capability to destroy and create as you saw fit with an affinity to sky and water magic.
The scales could have tilted in the wrong direction had you truly taken up Amarantha's offer to be her pet, the only reason you had confined yourself to that chamber Under The Mountain was to make sure that Rhys survived, and you played your part well, just as you always had.
A break was needed, the air in the House of Wind was almost suffocating, and no amount of your power was able to drown it. Elain was spending more time with Lucien, her mate, and Azriel was not happy about it considering that they were meant to be in a committed relationship. The barking insults and shouting had become too much to bare, so intense that your own power was itching for release in order to silence them for at least a couple of minutes.
"They're going to break up, aren't they?" Rhys certainly wouldn't be the first to tell Azriel I told you so, but he'd certainly be thinking it when the Shadowsinger would inevitably return to the River House just like you had to escape the nightmare of his life.
Humming softly, sadly, you looked up at Rhys, your godson in your arms resting his head on your chest, "I think so. Az hasn't been himself lately."
It was true, your friend had become a shell of himself, wallowing in self-loathing and doubt, and you cursed Elain eternally for turning him into such a thing. How anyone could hurt Azriel was beyond your scope of realisation, he was perfect in every way, devoted, kind, caring, and definitely a force to be reckoned with in the bedroom if your ears served you right.
Being attracted to Azriel was a natural bodily response, you had told yourself at least, it was difficult to not want to jump the bones of the illustrious Shadowsinger who kept a watchful eye on your every step. Like he was waiting for his moment to swoop in and save you.
But you had never needed saving, and you never would.
Elain and you had never really gotten along, it wasn't as though you hadn't tried to be friendly with the Made sister, she just couldn't stand to be around you. Maybe her own abilities clashed with yours, perhaps she was terrified of you. You couldn't blame her, the idea of you was one that stalked travellers and gifted nightmares to the young.
A celestial witch. In the flesh.
Anyone who knew you well enough would be able to dispel any wrongful intent, but Elain was not one of those people.
"I did warn him," Rhys' finger drifted to hook itself around Nyx's outstretched hand, and he shook it gently as he continued on, "A mating bond is not something to get entangled with."
"Az needs us to be his friends right now, Rhys. A breakup on its own is awful, but when it's so close, when he's been waiting so long for it, it's bound to hurt."
A firm hand on your shoulder comforted you, you knew how tough it must be for Azriel to go through it, after how painful it was to hold out hoping that he would be enough to suddenly not be, "I know, Witchling," you scoffed at the nickname as you always had and always would, Rhys pressed a dainty kiss into your hair, like a brother to a newly born sister, "Whatever he needs, I'm here, and so are you."
If you had known what awaited you that week, you'd take the telling words back in a second.
Like you had guessed, Azriel moved back into the River House, residing in his own room across the hall from your own. And boy, was he a raincloud if you ever did see one. Even his shadows looked solemn, and they didn't have faces. Azriel looked positively awful, constantly messy hair, large bags of onyx that imprinted onto the skin beneath his usually warm hazel eyes that had turned into nothing but dark pools of heartbroken sadness.
In the night, you had heard him crying, you'd stood outside of his door, not saying a word, but hoping that he knew that someone was there for him even if he didn't want them to be.
You had tried to talk to him, to coax him out of his haze by offering to train with him, or walk with him along the banks of the Sidra, you'd even asked him if beating your ass whilst you wore a mask of Lucien would bring a smile to his face. Unfortunately, everything you had tried had failed you, and you were at a loss as to help your friend.
"Honestly Rhys, how do you reach anything in here?" Rhys was hovering in the doorway, eyebrow raised with delight as he watched you try and scale the countertops to reach the top shelf of the cupboard.
There were chocolate chips for your cookies up there, and they had your name all over them.
"It's not my fault you're not Illyrian," his eyes darkened into a smirk, "Why don't you just hop onto your broomstick and fly?"
Even a silent Azriel emitted a gasp from his place on the opposite side of the centre island. If there was one thing you hated, it was being likened to the witches children sang about in their storybooks. It offended you how utterly unalike you were, and it made you seethe when someone, usually Rhys or Cassian, would use that hatred to rile you up.
"Oh," you stood on the countertop, towering over the High Lord by a few mere inches, "Is that why all of the doorways are so wide? Because your fat fucking head needs all the room it can get?"
Rhys stood speechless before you, the room fell silent.
Then a laugh.
Not yours of Rhys', you had to check it wasn't you making any noise before your eyes landed on the owner of the most joyful thing you'd heard in weeks.
A smile. Curled parted lips as a howling laugh ripped through them. Azriel's shadows danced to the sound, and his body shook with it. You could have cried, but you kept it together, you choked down your happiness to witness the momentary return of the one who meant the most to you.
It was no secret that you used to be Azriel's favourite. There was nothing that the two of you wouldn't do together, even if it was a medial task like taking you to the bakery or finding you a new Starfall dress that would make Mor dim in comparison. Azriel was always happy to come along. Until Elain, and then you had stopped seeing another, you'd drifted so far apart that he didn't even properly greet you anymore, all you were adorned with was a curt nod and tight lipped smile before Elain would whisk him away.
The male in front of you was nothing like that one, not in that singular glimmer of hope at least. Once his laughter died down, and a serene smile planted itself on his lips, Azriel opened his eyes and moved them to you, they glowed with something you couldn't quite understand, and then they widened. His eyes faltered. His smile faded.
Azriel gasped.
"Mate."
Darting your line of sight to Rhys, you pointed at him, flickering your gaze back to Azriel who had rose from his seat "Him?"
Rhys swatted your finger away, "I'm mated, y/n," Rhys glanced between you and took a step backward.
"So?" It couldn't be. Not right now. Not now.
"I can't do this," Azriel was struggling to breathe, his chest was rising and falling rapidly, sweat beaded at his brow and his skin had paled.
Scrambling down from the worktop, you went to take a step toward him, one that he mirrored in the opposing direction, furling his wings behind his back and clawing his shadows into submission, "Don't, Az. I can go."
The visible wince of pain that shot through you was enough for Azriel to suck in a breath and disappear from sight. The bond was dull, a golden thread soaring across the night sky to meet a shield of inked darkness. Azriel had closed you off. Shut you out.
Silence befell the kitchen, the chocolate chips you had gotten from the top shelf now scattered across the dark oak wood beneath your bare feet. Rhys had never seen you cry, he almost thought it impossible, but then he saw that single tear roll down your cheek, he could feel the pain radiating from you from finding your mate for him only to run from you.
"Hey, it's alright," he wrapped you into his arms, shushing you softly as he ran his fingers through your hair to soothe the quiet sobs rattling your shoulders, "It's going to be fine, y/n. Azriel's just confused, he'll be thrilled soon. Just you wait."
The snap had been gentle, like you had just come home after a long day, like you'd stepped through the door to see everyone you had ever loved all in one place and he was at the epicentre of it. Safe. Warm. Perfect.
Being a witch, you were never sure how life would look for you. Not even the cauldron understood your kind, you had always thought that perhaps the cauldron overlooked your species for the things most pure, like mating bonds and children. Witchlings were rare, you were the lone example of it, perhaps a part of you thought that you weren't allowed to have any love or joy, that you weren't good enough for it.
And there it was right in front of you, with the male a part of you had always yearned for, dancing in ash.
In the weeks that followed, Azriel did all he could to avoid you. No reason was good enough to make Azriel even glance in your direction let alone utter anything to you.
It had gotten to the point where you had asked Rhys for the keys to the cabin, you packed up your things and stepped through time to stand on that cold wooden floor with moonlight drifting through the small square windows.
You’d never thought that you could ever feel so alone, but as you stood there in a cabin so cold that you could see your own breath, the loneliness certainly began to set in.
There was little else to do other than light a fire to warm the little cabin on the outskirts of the city and run a bath; the tub was surrounded by candles, the ottoman at the foot of it was full of scented oils and salts which made your heart flutter. At least if you were to wallow in your own heartbreak you’d be able to do it smelling like the ocean surrounded by candlelight.
Bubbles crept up your neck as you sank into the wooden tub, it should have been a tranquil moment for you, but it was far from it in reality.
Az, please. Just talk to me. I'm still y/n, I'm still your friend. Things don't have to change.
Instead of enjoying the alone time like you should have considering that it was rare to have a minute of peace in a city full of needy children, you sat and let your mind wonder just how everything had gotten so messed up. You understood his confusion, really, you did, you understood how conflicting it must have been for him to separate with Elain, the female he was ready to spend the rest of his existence with, to then find out he was mated to you, not just you as his friend, but you as a witch.
Talk to me.
Too many tears had been spilled, you couldn't stop them from flowing from your eyes each time Azriel would fumble some excuse to get away from you. The bond was cold, it was like trying to break through a shield, an icy 10 foot deep floor that wouldn't even crack under whatever you would throw at it.
If you need me to leave then I will, Az. I'll leave for you, so you can have space, so you can think.
In the weeks that followed the revelation, you'd done all you could to try and get through to him, to let him know that you weren't expecting him to accept it, that he could take all the time he needed to process everything before speaking to you, all you needed was a sign that he was listening to you, that you mattered. It didn't surprise you that Azriel hadn't exactly thought about you in the predicament, of what it had done to you, and you couldn't even be angry at him over it because you'd be the same.
It didn't mean that it didn't hurt though.
Dark skies littered with blinking starlight was cast overhead, too beautiful to be real, too beautiful that you were sure that it was some kind of abstract painting on a black canvas. The cabin used to be one of your favourite places, Azriel and you used to escape there frequently, spending nights upon nights drinking Rhys' best wine and talking about everything and nothing.
A soft knock at the door pulled you from the memories, your eyes drifted to the clock softly ticking on the wall and you frowned, it was quite late. Lifting yourself from the tub, you wrapped a towel around your frame and padded over to the door, your wet footprints embedding themselves in the wood below. Slight disappointment sliced through you when you opened the door to see Mor, Nesta and Feyre on the deck shivering in the brisk breeze.
"We brought supplies," Nesta pushed past you, placing a wicker basket on the table and shrugging off her coat, "By supplies I mean wine, wine, and more wine."
Mor and Feyre entered, sniffing the air with soft smiles, they had always loved your scent, it was peaceful, like ocean waves lapping against the side of a mountain at dusk, airy, blissful, fresh.
The news had spread around the Inner Circle rather quickly thanks to Rhys, he had told Cassian, and well, Cassian wasn't exactly known for holding his tongue. The Lord of Bloodshed had apologised to you, feeling guilty for making things worse between you and Azriel, but you didn't mind. All you wanted was for the Shadowsinger to simply look at you. Anything else was a pointless worry. Not worth your time.
Tugging the towel tighter around your frame, you forced a smile, "This is really nice. Thank you."
Strangely, both Nesta and Feyre had been surprisingly supportive of the bond between you and Azriel. To them it made sense, you had been friends for over 500 years, you both struggled with fitting in, and you only felt truly comfortable to let your walls down around one another. To them, the bond had been there for a long time, waiting for the perfect moment. Too bad that the perfect moment had ended up making feel like the most worthless creature on the planet.
"Has he let you in yet?" Nesta rested her hand on your shoulder, her other hand was busy handing you a goblet of wine which you hugged closely to your chest and shook your head, "I'm sorry y/n. I really thought he would have by now."
"Give it time. He'll come around," Feyre draped her cloak over the arm of one of the dining chairs, smoothing out her skirt. It had always astounded you just how perfect they all were, the Archeron sisters that is, it was hard to understand how any male couldn't be attracted to them. They were quite heavenly.
"You've all been saying that for weeks," you shrugged off Nesta's hand, exasperated, "If anything he's become colder. Azriel doesn't acknowledge me, he looks right through me, he finds any reason possible to not be in the same room as me and when he sees me in the halls he turns on his heels and runs."
"I'm now living in this damned cabin hoping that some space will help him," your shoulders dropped, "I've waited my entire existence for this, I started to think that I wasn't worthy of it, and when it happened and the bond snaps with the one person I know that I could be truly happy with," your bottom lip wobbled slightly, but you choked it down and swallowed hard, "He ran."
Mor leaned forward in her seat, wide eyes under her perfectly sculpted furrowed brows, "It has nothing to do with you, y/n."
"How am I supposed to believe that when he won't even look at me?"
Something thick and fluffy draped over you, Nesta's robe that you always eyed was resting on your shoulders, "Go and get in your comfy clothes, then we can talk and bitch until all you feel is anger."
Amongst the chatter, you spied the three leather bags full to the brim of differing clothes and cosmetics, and then you realised that you weren't alone, not really, not when those three bags of clothes and trinkets belonged to the three females in the cabin with you, clearly ready to move in and stay with you until you were ready to face life again.
Who needed a man when you had three raging bitch queens?
Nesta was right, you just had to get back to work.
If anything was going to be able to distract you from that aching in your chest, then it would be work.
Luckily, Rhys, whilst he loved your abilities greatly, saw you as much more than just a celestial witch residing in his court, he likened you to a sister, blood family, which meant that he trusted no one more than you to act on his behalf when it came to court politics.
Holding such a position meant that you were rather close with the High Lords, they never saw you as Rhys' lackey at all, they saw you as a being that cared greatly about the continent who would stop at nothing to ensure harmony in all jurisdictions. Such a role meant that you were also required to entertain the High Lords whenever they visited Velaris, a place you had extended to them after the war to aid their research and better their own courts, with your help of course.
That particular evening, Rhys had asked you to entertain a certain High Lord of Autumn, Eris Vanserra; he was visiting Lucien and his new mate, Elain, and the entire visit was putting Azriel on edge. So, naturally, you couldn't say no.
"I always love our dinners, y/n," Eris' whisky amber gaze burned into you, searching the supernatural speckles in your own.
It was no secret that Eris had a flame for you, a being he found intriguing beyond belief, in the grasp of the Night Court when Eris knew how much you would thrive in Autumn by his side. The High Lord had offered Rhys pretty much everything he could to try and convince him to let him near you. All attempts had been swiftly denied.
Plates were littered with blotches of sauce and chicken bones, two empty bottles of red had been disposed of long ago, and you were just about to order that sticky toffee slice that made your toes curl when Eris asked, "When were you going to tell me about you and Azriel, hm?"
Candlelight drifted over the side of his face, illuminating his eyes against the darkening backdrop. "What are you talking about?"
Eris smirked, swirling the second glass of your third bottle that evening in perfect circles in his palm, "Come on, y/n. You reek of him, that cedar scent that even I have to admit is rather interesting."
In all of your self wallowing and sudden busyness you hadn't realised that the scent of the mating bond lingered on you, entwining with your scent of blissful oceans to create something new, something drowning. Something suffocating.
"I can admit that the news did hurt me, just a little bit," Eris, since the war, had allowed his hair to grow out. It sat just below his shoulders, layered and playful, he had it lazily pulled back low on his head. Something about that hair and those eyes made you question everything you knew, and you did know that you weren't the only one who felt like that when around the High Lord of Autumn.
Fluttering your lashes at Eris, you ran your fingers across the line of your bodice, "I apologise. It seems that fate wanted to lead me elsewhere."
Eris dismissed the waiter, eyes grinning at you through his lashes, "Let's go to Rita's. I need to drink some more, and you," he pointed to you, knowing that he was interrupting a rather important date with a rather important pudding, and said, "Need to loosen up, Witchling."
That fucking name.
You were sure that steam was emitting from your ears, but you couldn't deny that he was right, you couldn't really remember the last time you let loose and danced the night into oblivion. So you grabbed your purse from the table, a ornate gold cage that matched the intricate details of your skirt, and rose from your seat, "I hate how right you are, Vanserra. Let's go."
The High Lord towered over you, like all of them did really, stupid high fae and Illyrians and their stupid perfect genes making them so handsome and mysterious and utterly fuckable.
Stumbling from the restaurant at the edge of the Sidra, you looped your arm through Eris' and he practically had to pull you along the streets of the city or else you'd go and do a ritual in a field or something. Despite his crush, Eris found that part you a bit odd. In a way, you did too.
"When are you going to come to Autumn, Witchling? You know you'd love it there."
Eris propositioned you with the notion every time he saw you, he clearly thought that if he pestered you about it enough then you'd agree to it one day. Even just a fleeting visit would be enough to satisfy him. Just a day or two. You couldn't deny that Autumn piqued your interest, and with everything going on, perhaps a little break would do you some good.
"Maybe sooner than you think," despite the shameless flirting, you were glad that you could call Eris your friend, underneath that mask of loathing, you found the High Lord to be complex, and he appreciated your understanding. You were the only being that had ever approached him with kindness and treated him for who he truly was and not what he displayed. "All of this stuff with Azriel is spinning my mind. I feel like I'm going insane."
Eris hummed, tugging you a bit tighter into his side as he draped his arm over your shoulder, something completely platonic that you knew would send a certain someone spiralling, "That's what mating bonds do, y/n. I know that everyone keeps on telling you that he'll come around, I hope he does. Truly." It was the first time you had seen him say something and know that he was sincere of it "But, for tonight and tonight only, you are mine and we are going to drink and dance until we physically can't anymore, alright?"
Inhaling deeply, you met his gaze, "Alright."
Rita's was packed to the brim, you could feel the music thumping through the air so intensely that the ground beneath your feet was vibrating in time with the bass. Suddenly, you felt overdressed, but Eris commanded that you not think of it as he pulled you through the doors and past the guards who nodded at you with a curt smile as you clicked by.
In Velaris, you were quite known for being the wild one, the entire city was in awe of you and the powers you displayed so beautifully. More often than not, you would be found in the poorer parts of the city enchanting the children with your magic, curls of water would dance along their cheeks, and they would gasp when you would pluck a star from the sky and rest it in the palm of your hand. You knew what it felt like to feel alone and forgotten, being the last existing witch in your coven and all, and you didn't want anyone else to feel like that. So, if some water and a star would bring some form of happiness to those children, then you'd spend the rest of your life bringing them that wonder.
Eris tugged you through the grinding bodies, some of which parted as soon as they saw your eyes glistening in the lights, and stopped at the bar, shouting over the music to order drinks for you both before he turned, handing you a glass of what you could only assume was straight liquor, "To stealing you from the Night Court, Witchling," Eris raised his glass, rolling your eyes, you met it with a clink and wasted no time in downing the liquid, relishing in the burn that travelled down your throat and chest.
"Keep dreaming, Vanserra."
Hand on heart, Eris swayed into you, "Oh believe me, y/n, I do."
If you had known who was staring at you from across the room then you would have taken a step away from Eris, much like if you had seen the shadows followed you since you left the cabin that evening you wouldn't have agreed to go to Rita's. It was too late to do anything when your eyes connected with his, yours widened in surprise and solemn shock as his own narrowed, flickering between you and Eris before softening.
Of course, the first time Azriel actually looked at you was when you were stood beside Eris Vanserra, a High Lord, the brother of the one now laying with Elain.
Fuck.
It was like he didn't even see you really, he only saw Eris standing far too close to the one the cauldron had decided to be his mate. There was no way to be blind to the hatred between them, and with Azriel's temper and Eris' flare for the dramatics, you weren't surprised that Rhys had asked you to entertain the latter for the evening.
Noticing how your body froze, Eris frowned, he followed your line of sight to the Shadowsinger perched at a booth across the room ignoring both Cassian and Rhys who were trying to speak to him, to keep him calm.
Rhys. I didn't know.
I know, y/n. It'll be fine. We can handle Az if you can handle Eris.
Stiffly nodding, you turned to speak to Eris, to convince him to leave and find another place to drink, but he was gone. Then you saw his red hair moving through the crowd and you cursed, colourfully, and you scrambled through the crowd to try and reach him before he did something stupid.
Rushing up the steps to the usual booth reserved for the Inner Circle only, you stopped in your tracks as Eris' voice sliced through the chilled air, "When are you going to give our sweet y/n a break, Rhys? I keep on asking her to come to Autumn but she keeps on refusing."
Stop talking.
"It seems that she could use a break now more than ever."
Stop fucking talking.
"Especially since the bond is unrequited and she's sat in that little cabin day in day out wondering what her fate will be."
Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you tugged on him, harshly, like you were reprimanding a dog on a leash, "Stop talking."
Little did you know, that one touch alone was enough to make Azriel visibly flinch and shudder with pain. That one act pierced his heart deadlier than Elain ever had or could, the way your fingers rested just over Eris' pulse, the way you looked at him with flame in your eyes, it was too much.
Eris wouldn't hurt you, you were the closest thing he had to a true friend, bit his loosened lips would be the end of you, "You both know that this isn't fair on her. Why is she the one who has to sit in misery and move to the outskirts of this city in order to make your poor Azriel more comfortable?"
Tension bubbled, Rhys was slowly rising from his seat whilst Cassian angled himself in front of Azriel, probably to stop the Shadowsinger from doing something he would come to regret, "Eris, you're making it worse," he finally gave you his attention, "Just wait outside for me, we can find somewhere else to drink, okay?"
It took him a moment, but your pleading eyes convinced him to listen, and Eris moved from your side, disappearing from you and leaving you stood before three Illyrians, all of which you were sure didn't wish to be around you in that moment. Fiddling with your fingers, you looked up from the ground at them, "I'm sorry. I didn't know that you were going to be here. You told me to keep him entertained, I'm sorry."
Rhys froze, his breath caught in his throat, and Azriel was glaring at him with such intensity that it made even you shrink, and you didn't shrink away from anything or anyone, "I'll go. I'm sorry," your chest ached when Azriel didn't even glance in your direction, instead keeping his gaze trained on his High Lord who simply nodded once at you.
Then you left, you grasped Eris by the lobe of his ear and dragged him away from Rita's before Azriel could make him pay for his words, or even worse, Rhys. It took only a few blocks for Eris to swat your hand away, "I'm not a child, y/n." Eris rubbed the red tinged patch of skin at his ear with a pout.
Velaris watched on as you bundled down a cobbled path toward the bank of the Sidra, a place you went to often to channel your magic, it was serene and beautiful, and had been the perfect place for you to find your calm in the midst of such brutality, "That is my mate, Eris. Do you understand that? Azriel is going through so much already, he lost Elain to Lucien," Eris cocked his brow in warning but you continued, "Elain was meant to be the one for him, and as long as Az was happy then I could choke down everything I had ever felt for him because he deserved all of the happiness possible after everything he's been through. I could live alone for the rest of my days as long as he was happy. Then it turns out that he's mine, that he was always meant to be mine, it should have been the best day of our lives," tears pooled on your bottom lids and you were sick of it, of crying, you had never cried, it wasn't in your nature but it was all you could do these days.
"Azriel can't even look at me, I had to move out of the River House and isolate myself from everyone I love just to give him a moment to think and process everything," you turned to Eris, "You just had to prod him, didn't you? You just had to get under his skin. Do you know how this looks? Elain chose Lucien and then he sees me drinking with you?"
Eris ran a hand over his face and sighed, "I didn't mean to make things difficult, y/n. I just want what's best for you, what you deserve."
"I know and I appreciate that, I really do. I just wanted things to get better, not worse."
It astounded Eris how Azriel wasn't over to moon to have you as his mate, you were elegant and graceful, a formidable opponent, tactical and sharp, and one of the most beautiful creatures to ever walk under the skies of Prythian. Perhaps he could have been a touch more sensitive to the situation at hand.
The moonlight waltzed over the rippling waters of the Sidra which acted as a mirror to the sky above, clear and bright, full of possibility.
The bond strained in your soul, empty and unrequited, a lone dying ember searching for its flame, and you knew then that Azriel was going to pull away from you more than ever.
"You should go back to the House of Wind," your voice was small and weak, "I'll see you before you leave tomorrow."
Eris took a step toward you, fumbling, knowing that he had messed up, "Please, y/n."
"Eris," he paused his movements, "Just go. I'll see you tomorrow."
Knowing that nothing was going to change your stubborn mind, Eris retreated up the embankment and down the cobbled path, leaving you completely and utterly alone.
Pebbles brushed together under your weight, moving flat to accommodate your position. You hugged your knees to your chest, unclasping your heels and tossing them aside, rubbing the skin on your ankles softly to alleviate the pinching that was once there.
How long could you go like this? How long would be able to deal with the rejection before it broke you? How long until you took Eris up on his offer and left Velaris forever?
You didn't have much time to think of an answer, not when a familiar cool pressure coiled at the small of your back, travelling up your spine and over your shoulders. The shadows drifted through your hair and you smiled sadly at them, at the sweet sign to tell you that you weren't alone.
"How did you find me?"
A shuffle sounded from behind you, shoes scraping along the pebbles, "This is our place. Where else would you go?"
You turned then, peering over your shoulder at him, examining him for a moment. Azriel certainly looked better, his eyes had lightened by a couple of hues and his skin was healthy an tanned to perfection, though, sadness and doubt still lingered in his eyes.
Silently cursing yourself, you turned back to the water. It was yours and Azriel's place, it always had been, until Elain came along that is and then it became your place. Whenever either of you had a bad day, the other would bring them there, to listen to the water rushing up on the rocks and watch the stars, and you'd talk, about anything that was bothering you and causing you any pain, and then suddenly you'd be alright again.
You rose from the ground, brushing little fragments of twigs and dirt from the golden swirls of your skirt, and Azriel gazed at you as you did, wondering how his best friend had become a stranger so quickly, "If I had known you were there tonight I wouldn't have taken him."
"I know," Azriel had his hands bundled into his pockets, afraid that if they lingered at his side then he would reach for you and risk a whole other world of pain, "I think we need to break the bond."
The world stopped moving.
"What?"
Azriel repeated, "I think we need to break the bond."
Break the bond.
It writhed in your chest, it writhed in pain and sorrow, striking you so deeply that you thought you may stop breathing, "I can't do it again. I can't be broken like this again, not with another Vanserra, not with anyone."
Thumping in your chest, your heart cried out, lurching around in its cage, and you struggled to form any words, "Az-"
"It's what's best for us, y/n."
No. No, no, no.
"How can you say that?" Azriel frowned, his hazel orbs softening, like he too was in pain, "I have done everything I can to give you space to process this, I moved out of our home, twice, to give you space to process whatever you need to process and feel whatever it is that you need to feel. I have gone 500 years being perfectly content of being your friend and that alone, because that was better than not having you at all. I stood by and watched you pine for Mor, and then her, the one who put such a wedge between us that I was reduced to polite hellos and nods. But I dealt with it, for you and your happiness. I dealt with all of the comparisons and pain, I dealt with the punishment of your feelings for her. I would deal with every ounce of hatred you throw at me if it meant that you would feel better, hoping that one day you'd realise that I have always been here for you, that I have always loved you in ways that no one else ever could."
You were pacing up and down the riverbank, pebbles knocking together as you walked, and Azriel stood before you unmoving, unknowing of what to say and only knowing that he needed it to end, "You never even gave it a chance," your choked whisper put him on edge.
Azriel had never seen you cry, had never heard of it happening, clearly Rhys had negated to tell him just how deeply the last few weeks had impacted you. To the point where you had actually cried. Tears gathered at your bottom lids and he noticed how you looked up at the sky to prevent them from falling.
"You never let me in."
Everything within Azriel was screaming at him to reach for you, the bond that he had frozen in place behind a wall of shadow was battering against the shield like a ram to break free and comfort you.
You were right, you had been his best friend, one of the few he could ever really depend on for everything. Elain had never liked you, she had always blamed it on her abilities not being able to harmonise with your own, but Azriel had always known it was deeper than that. Elain was a seer, and somehow it hadn't dawned on Azriel just how much she could have been hiding.
Elain hated it when he spent time with you, and being as in love as he was, he believed that it was down to some strange jealously that lingered on the surface. No one would have blamed Elain for her jealousy, you were truly a sweet creature, the other half to his marred coin that he had so carelessly tossed away. What if Elain had seen something and had chosen to lead Azriel away from you in order to preserve what she wanted them to share?
"I've given you everything I can," you sounded utterly defeated, "I don't know what else to do, Azriel."
His name was like a sonnet on your lips, one of heart-breaking sadness and longing, and he stepped to it, his shadows swirled around his body and drifted out to you. They had always adored you. They had always sought after you, a stark difference to their hiding from Elain.
"I would ruin you, y/n. You deserve so much more, so much better than me," his fingers twitched for you, he was so close yet so far from holding you, from inhaling the coconut scent of your shampoo and the scent of your soul, of soft salted breezes and jasmine, "I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted you to feel like you weren't worthy of love, and I'm so sorry for making you think that you were alone in the world," you had cocked your head to the side in question, "Rhys told me."
Azriel took another step forward, exhaling with relief when you didn't make a move to get away from him, "Love scares me. Elain had my heart in the palm of my hand and then crushed it, and then the bond snapped with you, with the one person I know would never hurt me, and I just couldn't risk it. I can't risk it. I can't risk being broken again, I can't risk hurting you."
All this time, when Azriel had been wallowing in the loss of Elain, of having to deal with her and Lucien's bond, he had completely neglected you, and your feelings. It was something you had never done to him, something you never could.
A gentle breeze flowed through the air, it carried your scent to him, and on inhaling it, he felt his entire body relax, he felt his aching disappear, and it was as though the world had gotten clearer. You turned away from him, hands folded over your chest and facing the river so that he couldn't see your tears, "I thought I was destined to be alone. The rules of your kind and the fae have never really applied to me, even the Cauldron doesn't understand me. I thought that it took the chance of love from me, but now I see that it was just some cruel joke."
Let her in. Feel her.
The shadows cooed to him, faintly, like a lullaby to a new-born babe.
"If it'll bring you peace," your voice broke, "Then break it. Break the bond. I'll find some other place to be."
Don't let her get away. Mate. She loves you. Love her. Let her in.
As though the world was tilting, Azriel let down that wall, he felt that bond slither over the seam of it to reach you, and then what he felt brought him to his knees.
Love. Wanting. Hope. Pain. Sorrow. Longing.
It consumed him with light, fighting off the demons that had been left to plague him, decimating them with the most pure substance in Prythian. Love.
When you heard his knees hit the ground you had turned and ran to where he knelt on the pebbles, meeting him as you slid onto your own, ignoring the stabbing into your skin, "Az? Are you alright? What's wrong?" You cupped his face in your hands and he felt each one of your fingertips flow life back into him.
The two tethers to the bond were dancing with one another, meeting in the middle and thrumming as two became one, turning dark skies into ones of bright sun and opulent warmth.
It was you. Sweet and fierce you. You who had always protected him, you who had always put him first even when he couldn't return it. You.
"Az? Talk to me, tell me what's happening. Do I need to call for Rhys? I'll get him right-"
Azriel stopped you before you could rise to your feet, the act of wrapping his fingers around your wrists enough to make your words vanish in your mouth, "You love me."
Settling into the space before him, knee to knee with him and his shadows itching to pull you closer, you didn't remove your hands from his, the feeling of it so powerful that it wiped all of your pain away, "I always have."
Walks along the Sidra. Visits to the bakery. The countless thoughtful gifts for Winter Solstice. The nights spent locked away in the cabin talking about dreams and fears.
Azriel's fingers drifted along your cheek before resting there, his thumb softly soothing the tightness in your jaw, "Why did you never say anything?"
"Because you deserve to be happy, even if it isn't with me," Azriel watched your bottom lip wobble, and that stream of love within him rippled with upset. His thumb moved to it, dragging across that plump flesh that he had always wondered of the taste.
Would you taste sweet or of lightly salted oceans? Of the air at dusk perhaps?
All he had ever chased was happiness, how foolish of him to be blind to the fact he had always had it within you.
"I think the only time I've ever truly been happy, at peace, has been with you. You've always felt like home," your eyes met and he offered you a small, genteel smile; his fingers moved to your hair, raking over your scalp and floating to rest on the small of your back, "I've missed you so much."
"You have?"
Azriel hummed in admittance, "The worst part of all of this was that I left the House of Wind to be near you, because I could be, nothing was in the way of us anymore, and I knew you'd be the only one patient enough to deal with me. It was selfish, but you've always been the rocks on which the ocean crashes, you've always been the one I can turn to without fear of judgement. You understand me."
"I can still be that person, Az. I can still be your friend."
Resting his forehead against yours, Azriel spoke lowly, like he had just awoken from slumber, "Do you know how hard it is for me to not take you back to that cabin right now and make you mine?" The carnal desire was dwelling within him, a rabid need that begged to be satisfied, "But you deserve better, y/n. Better than what I've done. So if you'll let me, I want to do this properly. I want to court you and make you feel like you're the only woman in the world, and when you're ready, not me, you, then you can accept it for the both of us. Because you deserve the magic of the bond more than me, you deserve this happiness."
"And if you don't want to, then that's fine. I can live with what I've done, and if you want to move to Autumn and find happiness there then I won't stand in your way. In no world would I ever stop you from finding love and passion and joy, because you deserve it y/n, you are everything that is beautiful in this world and then some. Every single part of you is destined for greatness, for a love so powerful that people drown in it."
"I hate what I've done to you, I hate that I've made you feel unworthy of a mating bond and I'll never forgive myself for it. But if you let me, I'd like to show you that I want this, that I want you, and you can decide for yourself if a life with me is something you want."
Silence fell between you but you didn't make a move to pull away, you knelt in place, peering up at him with your hands resting on his biceps, channelling the pulsing energy of the Sidra as it ebbed and flowed downstream, "A life with you is all I've ever wanted."
The bond glowed, golden and blinding, and Azriel was struggling to keep himself together as he basked in the ocean of your love and devotion, "Can I kiss you? Please?"
If he wasn't searching for it then he wouldn't have even noticed the tiniest hazed nod directed at him. Even the stars had stopped their flickering to focus on you, their most prized possession, the only one capable of harnessing their power and turning it into something blissful and good. It was why they chose you.
Closing the gap, Azriel tilted your head upward to give him better access to the lips that had often haunted his dreams; the scent of jasmine entwined with his own and he felt himself hold his breath as he closed that gap between you.
Your lips were as soft and warm as he had imagined them to be, they tasted of fresh saltwater and some kind of sweet fruit from the gloss you always wore that made them shimmer in any light. It stopped the world from turning for a moment, the universe watched on as Azriel sealed your fates. Moving his fingers from the small of your back to your neck and deepening the embrace of your lips, Azriel relished in the taste of you, in your warmth, in the way his soul sang and his shadows pulled you in closer to him. It was a feeling he had waited his entire existence for, one you had also yearned for.
Utterly magical. Soul consuming.
Everything made sense then. How everything you had both endured was meant to be, just so that you could end up entwined in that moment. All of the pain and sorrow, all of the false love and distance, all of the laughter and sweet memories, it was all worth it. It was worth every morsel of agony.
"Such a sweet creature. My sweet creature."
"Yours?" Azriel hummed, pressing dainty kisses to the tip of your nose and cheeks, and you closed your eyes to consume his touch and shuddered when his lips landed on your collarbone, caressing the skin there, "I think I could get used to that."
Authors Note
Hey besties!
I got very carried away with this - sorry if it's not great, these pain meds are really kicking my ass right now so I haven't even properly proof read this yet xo
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THE KID SWINGS BACK | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [4]
Description: The THREE times things feel weird between Spencer and you because you're just best friends.
Length: 21k (this is HALF of what I wrote for this chapter before I split it into two parts :0)
Warnings: explicit hints of suicidal ideation, as I have said in the last two chapters, Bugsy has really struggled with losing Emily and has been in a bad place. it is mentioned once or twice but please read with caution if you feel topics of mental health, not vividly described but the effects of it, are mentioned. Spencer's addiction is also mentioned. Violence, blood, swearing, usual CM warnings. Also there is a brief mention of SA (bugsy gets spanked by a stranger in a casino), again if this is triggering please be cautious. EXPLOSION. Emily and bug argue + fight. Bug + hatch fight. Bugsy takes no prisoners in this one won't lie. Spencer and bugsy turn each other on accidentally.
authors note: this was supposed to be a lot longer (I've had to split it with the next part released in a few days time) and yet every time I tried to upload to Tumblr, it crashed because it was over 30k words ;-; OTHER HALF IS COMING SOON.
previous chpt | next chapter
‘If you take a swing, the kid swings back,
she say I’m not your punching bag,’
The one where Emily comes back.
She felt the headache as soon as she woke up. She’d experimented with Molly her first week of college, hated every second of it after she had prattled on for two hours to some other random freshman about the breakthrough research in enzyme-replacement therapy like she was catching him up on an episode of the Kardashians. She’d tried the odd few brownies, though they usually turned her stomach the next day and made her paranoid for about a week, before she swore them off entirely for their yummy, sober counterpart.
She should have known what to expect when she woke up, but then again, if she had been smart enough to pre-empt how awful she’d feel the next day, she probably wouldn’t have taken the little pink pill with a candied love heart on the top at all.
The duvet was soft against her face, and for a moment she didn’t care about anything except chasing the warmth it provided; just that she was cosy and it smelled nice, smelled familiar.
Her eyes pinged open when she realised that whatever that familiar smell was, it was very much not her own sheets. And she was very much not in the clothes she left the house in last night.
Bugsy sat up too fast, that much she knew, because in the time it had taken her to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, reach for the side table where she hoped to find her phone, a home phone, or just any working phone she could call someone off, she felt the room that smelled like a dream spinning around her.
Her legs turned to jelly, her stomach tossed with a mix of nerves and nausea, and, graceful as ever, she fell face first to the ground with a thud, smacking her temple off the corner of the bedpost on her way down.
“Fuck,” She whined, raising a hand to her brow that thudded with more than the side affects of last night, and she was quick to hear footsteps approaching as if in a half run. The door to the bedroom dragged on the thick sherpa carpet as it swung open, and she blinked wearily up at the culprit.
“Alright, up we get,” There were hands slipping under hers before she got a chance to see anything that wasn’t a blurry mess of brown hair and worried eyes, and it wasn’t until she heard his voice she felt herself sigh in relief, “Of course you wake up the second I turn around,”
“Sencer?,” She cleared her throat, hands latching onto his shoulders as he lifted her back onto the bed, “Spencer?” She tried again, her lips chapped, her skin clammy.
“Good morning, to you too,” His voice was soft, quieter than usual, like he knew just how delicate her head was and changed his tone accordingly, “Did you sleep well?”
“Morgan- where’s Morgan, I thought we…” She murmured, turning her head in confusion to the window where Spence had gone so far as to pull the curtains closed for her, seeing just the smallest crack of daylight filtering over the bed sheets. Her hands ran down his chest, her eyes lost and dazed, like someone had taken her batteries out, and Spencer took it as an opportunity to hand her the glass of water he’d got her and two advil.
“Morgan’s safe; he went home, he said he had a wonderful night,” Spencer lied, hoping she was just a little out of it that she didn’t catch him in it. She always knew when he was lying. But, as he’d suspected, she barely picked up on it, her lips pouting in confusion when she took note of the medicine he’d given her, “Drink up, Morgan said you did a lot of dancing last night, you’re probably dehydrated.”
“I did…” She echoed him, trailing off when the blur of the nightclub caught up to her, and she remembered exactly the last time someone had handed her a little tablet like those ones. Her heart plummeted, her eyes widening into saucers, and she swore she might have felt the glass crack beneath her palm with how tight her grip became. She looked up at him, and instantly picked apart the pity and the sadness swimming in his honey pooled eyes, “You know,”
He nodded softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair away from her face, his gaze falling to where she felt something sore and achy forming on her forehead, bleeding into her brow.
“Spence-” Her own groan of pain cut her off when he brushed over the bump on her temple, and she understood she had perhaps hit it much harder than she’d initially thought.
“Let’s get you breakfast, and then we’ll talk,” He whispered softly, concern thick in his voice, and for the first time in months, she didn’t fight it. She just listened, and let him love her.
-
“God, I am truly pathetic,” She muttered, sipping her coffee with a scowl in between the maple ladened pancakes going down with a vicious chomp on her fork. Her other hand was occupied holding a bag of frozen peas to her head, where a nice dark bruise was spreading its way over the right side of her face, spider webbing out into a black eye.
“You’re not pathetic, everyone makes mistakes,” Spencer tried reassuring her, but he couldn’t help but smile as she devoured breakfast with the anger of a raccoon being dragged from a garbage bin, “You’re safe, that’s all that matters,”
She sighed, and Spencer didn’t actually think she had ever been so grumpy around him before, “Spencer, look at me,” He did, he had been all morning, but he did as he was told anyway, “I’m a federal agent who took molly from a frat boy all because I can’t just grieve like a normal person and cry my pathetic little heart out and be done with it. I crashed your night because I can’t even handle a little ecstasy without needing supervision and I just got into a fight with your bedframe,” She finished with a huff, dipping her next mouthful of pancake in the puddle of maple syrup she’d created on the plate, “And the fucking bedframe won.”
He smiled despite himself, reaching out to hold her wrist gently, making sure it was her turn to listen to him now, “Bug, I grew up being shoved into lockers and swirlied my whole life. I was the only kid in a classful of seniors that used to wedgie me so hard I had to have the school librarian, Mrs Addler, walk me between classes. Believe me, I’ve seen pathetic and you’re not- why are you crying, Bug, don’t cry,”
He remembered this bit, the mood swings, when he would pendulum between exhaustion and irritation straight into sadness and hopelessness, like there would never be an impasse between them unless he did more of the thing that had made him feel so awful in the first place. Still, he gently took the bag of now slightly soggy peas from her head, wrapping an arm around her back and scooching his chair to sit next to hers as she dropped onto his shoulder with a weepy sniff.
“I’m crying because I just thought of baby you all alone with Mrs Addler-” She sobbed loudly, and his heart bled out in his chest with warmth. No one had ever cried for him. “How could they be so cruel to you, I swear if we ever see those bastards, I’ll show them how we settled things in Russia-”
He chuckled, shaking his head, and she snuggled closer to him the way she had last night when the only thing keeping her on earth had been his body heat.
“It wasn’t all bad, she used to share her butterscotch with me,” He said with a small smile when she raised a wet glance at him.
“You know, you never have to be alone again, right?” Bugsy murmured, and he swore his heart might have just jumped right up into his mouth then and there, “You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I promise I’ll never leave you again. That was… selfish of me, I’m sorry I was so selfish.”
Spencer felt his throat tighten as he looked at her, innocent and entirely truthful, like he could ask anything from her right this second and her god’s honest words would be ‘Anything for you, Spencer, I’d do anything for you.’ He had never had anyone look at him like that, nothing even close.
“You’re my best friend too. And you weren’t selfish, you were grieving,” He choked out, and she tucked herself beneath his chin then, satisfied with the response, but his stomach turned sour when he remembered what he was going to tell her last night, what he should have told her months, years, ago instead of lying to her. Because he knew she would understand, knew she would get him the way no one else had even tried to, because she was just her. “I have to tell you something,”
She sat up straight, sensing the seriousness in his tone, and looked at him with imploring eyes, still sleep-addled and slightly wet around the edges.
He cleared his throat, “When I told you I was allergic to narcotics since I was born, that wasn’t entirely true, and I’m sorry I lied to you,” Her brows softened, creasing in a way that told him she was worried, or she knew where he was heading but couldn’t find a voice in her to say anything. He ran clammy palms over his pyjama pants, “There was a case, a while back, where we were tracking an UnSub to this farmhouse in the middle of Atlanta. Me and JJ got split up and the UnSub took me hostage in his father’s shed,”
She stayed quiet, but she quickly took his hand in hers when she saw him fidgeting with it in his lap. He smiled at her weakly, and squeezed her fingers gently, telling her he was okay to talk about it no matter if his chest was rattling and his face felt like fire.
“He was very sick, the UnSub. Tobias. He took on an alter of his dead father because he couldn't handle life without him. Even though his father was extremely violent and abusive, he still loved him enough to never want to let him go,” His lip pulled between his teeth for a moment, and he couldn’t look at her for what he was about to say, “Tobias tried giving me something to stop the pain of his father’s beatings when he would front and being a drug addict himself, the best thing he had was dilaudid. So, he gave it to me for the three days I was with him before the team found me,”
“Spence,” She said softly, knowing he would hate to hear an ‘I’m sorry’ because she hated those two words with a passion, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,”
“No, I want to, it’s just a little… fuzzy in parts,” He whispered, and she nodded, gently knocking her head against his jaw to let him know she was there to listen, “After the case wrapped up, everyone got home and just sort of pretended things went back to normal, even though I felt like I was drowning in everything that had happened, and the only thing I could think that had stopped the pain was the dilaudid. So I took more, and more, until I was using every other day, sometimes even at work to cope with the cases,”
“Did anyone know?” She asked, lips pressed tight as she scolded herself for talking, but he stroked her hand with his thumb to show he didn’t care if she asked questions, “Did Emily know?”
He nodded gingerly, “Everyone knew, but no one could do anything, or say anything, because otherwise Hotch would have to file a report on me, and I’d be forced to leave the team,”
“So no one helped?” She said, and there was an unexpected trace of anger in her tone that he knew too well. He’d be lying if he said that there were more than a handful of times when he was at his lowest he didn’t curse the team out for not giving a single shit about his condition. But when he’d sobered up, when he’d got clean and back to his usual self, he knew they were trying to do what was best, that they were in uncharted waters as to what would be the correct approach to helping him that wouldn’t diffuse a bomb that could ruin all of their careers.
“There was nothing they could do, Bug. If they said anything they would be just as liable as me for what I was doing, the same way Morgan and I aren’t going to say a word about what happened last night,” He pointed out, and she seemed bitter as if she knew he was right but hated the point of it anyway.
She held onto herself for long enough hearing that, and he saw it coming before it came as a shock when she threw her arms around him, hugging him tighter than she ever had before, not crying like she had been, but full to the brim of sadness and grief and mourning, as if she was trying to squeeze it all out of him so she could take it on for herself.
“You’re never going to be alone again, I swear, Spencer,”
And he believed her with everything in him.
–
Bugsy had been back in the field for five weeks now, looking healthier than ever thanks to Hotch’s insistence she joined Beth for triathlon practice despite the fact she really had started feeling more like herself.
It had only taken six months, but who was counting, right?
Sure, walking past Emily’s desk had stopped her in her tracks the first day she got back, and Morgan had quickly jumped in to distract her with a cup of coffee, leading her over to the kitchenette and far away from the empty table her sister’s things had once been on.
She was still adjusting to this alternate reality version of the BAU where Emily wasn’t there to protect her and watch out for her, and where they didn’t bicker about who got to ride shotgun with Hotch because Bug loved when he would drive fast (he pretended not to notice but would floor it when they hit the freeway), or when they would butt heads over who finished off the biscuits Emily kept in her secret stash (it was almost always Bugsy sharing them with Spencer and Penelope, when the three of them would gossip in Pen’s lair at lunchtime.)
She was adjusting, slowly yes, but there was one thing to keep her going, to keep her holding her head high as she walked past Emily’s picture on the way, full of smiles and dark hair the day she’d been instated in the bureau, her excitement tangible even through a piece of paper and a thin sheet of glass.
There was one thing keeping her going, and it wasn’t Penelope’s cheerful good mornings she showered her in the minute she entered the building, it wasn’t Beth’s runs that would take everything out of her even though she felt stronger than she ever had, it wasn’t Rossi’s insistence on cooking for her once or twice a week because ‘he had more wine he could ever need alone and she could stir the pasta while he chopped the meat’, and it wasn’t even Spencer sticking to her side like damn velcro since she had been back. Although, they played a pretty big part in it.
No, the one thing keeping her going was revenge.
Morgan had let it slip accidentally, the morning she had come back into the headquarters to fill in some forms with Hotch and Strauss before Hotch was reassigned to Pakistan, when she had slinked into his office with an apology ready at her lips for the way she had behaved, to which he was going to say he had no idea what she was talking about because that was how things had to be, only to find file upon file upon caseload on Ian Doyle splayed all over his desk, and she quickly realised Derek was not one to let sleeping dogs lie either.
And, reluctantly, he had let her help, because he hated the idea of them keeping secrets from her. Especially ones that involved them secretly tracking down the guy who killed her sister, who had threatened to abduct, torture and kill her if Emily hadn’t gone after him first.
Because Bugsy was always going to be her little sister, no matter how grown and headstrong and stubborn as an ass she was. And Emily had had zero intention of letting Bugsy come even close to danger at the hands of Ian Doyle or any other motherfucker dumb enough to think they’d get away unscathed making threats to her sister. Which was why Emily had been the one to track him down first, no matter who she had to trample on, what lines she had to cross.
And now it was Bug’s turn to reciprocate the favour.
The one thing that bounced around her head with every step she took across the BAU floor was how Ian Doyle would look when she dragged him to hell and back and everything in between, when she made him burn the way she had burnt.
Hotch had been away on temporary duty for the month, bar the occasional phone call where he checked in on her directly or through Spencer, and it wasn’t until she walked into Morgan in a blunt exchange with his own cell that she realised he was perhaps closer to coming home than she’d thought.
The man nodded, and bid the mystery caller goodbye before he flicked a look up to where Bugsy had entered his office with a cup of to-go coffee and an expression of intrigue.
“We got him,” Morgan said, and it was the three words she had been waiting to hear for two hundred and fifteen days.
They had found Doyle.
She was in the back of an SUV not even two hours later, strapped to her neck with tactical gear and two loaded pistols holstered at her hips.
“You’re sure you’re alright to do this?” JJ asked from her place beside her, noting the way the girl’s leg was bouncing, her fingers twitching as the three of them crowded around the screen linked to the surveillance camera set up outside Doyle’s apartment, Spencer and David watching an identical feed in the next block over, outside the safe house his son, Declan, was supposed to be in.
Only, when they’d arrived, the little blonde haired, blue eyed boy that was the only thing Doyle gave a damn about in the world was gone, two agents and his nanny lying dead on the floor.
“Put it this way, JJ, I’m going in after that son of a bitch whether you guys cover me or not, and it would be real nice to have back up,” Bugsy said simply, like she was reciting the weather, not ready to rain hellfire on anyone who got in between her and wringing Doyle’s neck.
The blonde woman exchanged a look with Derek, the two of them cautious about her behaviour, but thought better than to try stop her when she had just as much right as any of them for justice.
Before any of them could say another word, a car sped around the corner of the cul-de-sac, veering and wavering between parked cars, narrowly missing theirs by an inch, and red-blue blaring lights came racing after it within seconds, the siren full blast and no doubt waking the neighbours.
Or at least one neighbour in particular, as they spotted the curtains twitching in Doyle’s apartment, and they had their first sign of life in hours.
“He’s in there, someone’s in there,” Bugsy pointed to where the fabric moved in the dead of the night, unholstering one of her weapons and bursting the back door to the SUV open.
JJ clicked her radio on, speaking into her shoulder as Morgan was a hair width behind Bugsy, equally armed and ready, “We got movement on Doyle, we’re heading up to search his apartment,”
“Be careful, keep an eye on the kid,” Rossi ordered, he and Spencer adjusting their positions in their SUV, waiting for forensics to show up and investigate the nanny’s house. Spencer licked his lips nervously, and he could only imagine what was going through Bugsy’s mind at that moment, wishing more than ever she could have just stayed with him and let Morgan and JJ catch Doyle.
But she would never. She had nearly ripped Rossi’s head off for suggesting it even.
–
She’d seen him move up to the roof, had taken the stairs in twos, and she felt like kissing Aaron the second she saw him for all that cardio paying off a treat. She heard Morgan panting behind her, urging her to wait up so she wasn’t going in alone, but she didn’t listen, not when she was this close to getting that rat in her grasp and squeezing the life out of him barehanded.
She kicked down the door leading to the roof from the stairwell, her pistol drawn high and sharp and Morgan’s steps racing up behind her were the only sound for a moment.
He was here somewhere, watching them, god only hoped they had caught him unaware before he could call in his own backup.
Taking a careful step out onto the concrete, willing herself to take a deep breath and calm herself; she checked her nine o’clock, checked her three, before her boots crunched under her and she moved further out onto the roofing. Flicking a look around again, her eyes squinted against the moonlight that did little to no good, searching for even the smallest movements that would give him away.
“I heard you wanted to see me, Doyle,” She said loudly, hoping he would fit the profile they’d put together and want to tie up his loose ends once he realised who she was, “Truth is, I’ve been wanting to see you too,”
She had barely a second to react as she felt something hard slam across the back of her head, and she realised he had hit her with a rogue, loose pipe, hard enough for her to stumble forward, dropping her pistol when his body soon followed to tackle her completely to the ground in the effort to grab for the gun himself.
But she felt like body was alive with excitement, like the pain in her skull didn’t ache, didn’t matter, because she had him in her reach.
It took her barely a second to bring her elbow into his stomach, winding him hard enough he weakened his grip on top of her, then another hit square across his jaw, another to his temple, one to his already crooked nose and she threw a downward thump into his groin for good measure.
He hissed, cursing her something vile, and it was only then she saw the grey-blue eyes of the man who had killed her sister with no remorse, who had taken the person she loved unconditionally within a blink of an eye.
“You recognise me?” She said, a manic smile on her face as she raised the other gun from its holster, kicking him hard in the knee she’d seen him limping on, a bullet wound shaped scar giving his weakness away in seconds.
She wasn’t the only enemy he’d made in that business of his, but she sure as hell would be his last one.
He fell to the floor, his eyes wary as he looked up at the girl he had spent weeks collating photos of, the girl he’d had two of his best men tracking, snapping pictures of her going about her day to day life before he sent them to Emily. Because she would know what that meant no words needed.
This was her sister. Her little sister she had fought tooth and nail for, that she had given her life for. Her sister, who had the same rock solid loyalty to her family as Lauren had.
“Do you want to know where you went wrong, Doyle?” She asked, and her voice wasn’t calm like her body was, it was hiding the glee she was taking from his alarmed expression, like they both knew she was the last person he would have expected to be grabbing him in the night, “Your mistake, Doyle, was not killing me first,”
She raised her finger to the trigger, feeling for a second the same thrill as when she popped that molly just to forget everything that was happening. Because she had tunnel vision, and pulling the plug on Ian Doyle’s pathetic existence was the solution.
Until Morgan’s hand came over hers, and his voice was closer than she’d expected to her ear. She’d barely heard him creep up on her, she realised with a jolt.
“Don’t do this, kid,”
“He deserves it,” She spat, hating the sorrow in his voice when he pointed the gun away from Doyle who wiped his fingers beneath his nostrils and pulled back with a wince and a blob of blood over the back of his hand.
“I know he does. But we need to find Declan, and we can’t do that without him,” Morgan’s voice was deep and bitter, knowing full well he had to be the one to take the reins as much as he would love to just let her have at him.
Her nose scrunched in disgust when Doyle laughed at her annoyance, and she quickly holstered her weapon, pulling the cuffs out of her back pocket and helping Morgan yank him off the floor.
“I got some friends that would love to meet you, honey,” Doyle said through a wheezing breath, despite Morgan’s rough hands shoving him forward towards the stairwell.
She chuckled however, her face still bitter, her eyes something nasty and wild as she flanked his other side, “Don’t worry, I have some friends for you to play with too, Doyle.” She tightened her grip on his arm just to make it hurt, “I wonder how the Chernuses would feel about you and your men being so close to their turf. You ever fucked with the Russian Mob, Ian?”
His smile wiped clean off his face at that.
-
“How’s it going?” Hotch asked, and she barely had time to comment on the fact he looked rather dashing with a beard and a tan, or that he had lost ten pounds, before he was straight back to business, even after an eighteen hour flight.
“He won’t talk. He said the only person who could have helped us find Gerace would have been Emily.” She replied, rubbing her hands over her eyes with a huff, “Just another dead end,” She threw the file onto the roundtable, which was slowly piling up with documents relating to anyone Ian Doyle had ever had relations with.
Hotch’s face tightened. He took a single moment to enjoy the calm that overcame the room, took a second to enjoy the fact she was looking normal and healthy compared to when he had all but barged into her apartment to force her on a run.
Because he knew the normalcy they had found themselves in now was about to be flipped on its head, JJ confirming with a nod from the other side of the room that she was on her way.
He turned to look where Morgan, Rossi and Reid had walked in, Reid stroking a gentle hand over Bugsy’s hair where she hunched over the table and flicked through some files for anything to keep her mind off of going into that interrogation room and ripping into Doyle. She flicked a small smile up at him as he passed her, leaning over her shoulder to take half her workload off her.
She looked happier than she had in months, and he was about to take it all away again. Hotch swallowed the self loathing that threatened to choke him alive, and opened his mouth.
“Everybody have a seat,” The team looked up at him in confusion, but followed orders, JJ moving around the table to stand beside him, the same reluctant look on her face when she saw Bugsy’s frown.
“Why?” Morgan asked, seeing as no one else was going to, “What’s going on? Everything alright?”
“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Hotch began, his eyes immediately flicking to where the youngest Prentiss faltered, “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilise her,”
Bugsy’s ears started ringing just hearing her sister’s name coming from his lips, said so casually and blunt that it felt like he had punched her in the stomach and she thought she was maybe over estimating how well she had overcome the grief.
And that hadn’t even been the worst part, she quickly realised. The doctors were able to stabilise her.
“And she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need to know. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security,” Hotch said, avoiding the piercing eyes that were slowly melting between confusion to heartache to one she finally could land on, horror.
No one breathed for a moment, no one said a thing as the words sunk in, and she felt her entire body wash over with a gut wrenching numbness as it dawned on her what he was saying.
Emily never died on that table like JJ had said. She had never died at all.
“What?” Her voice was tiny and childlike when it came out, and she felt like she was stuck in the world’s worst nightmare, like she could claw and scratch and rip at her skin just to wake herself up from this terrifying dream where Hotch had lied and Emily had left her and everyone who was supposed to care about her had kept her in the dark.
“She’s alive?” Garcia asked, tears in her own green lined eyes, looking at Hotch with utter shock.
“But we buried her,” Spencer found it in himself to murmur, because none of this made sense and if any of what Hotch was saying was true, then he knew things were about to become really ugly.
“As I said I take full responsibility for the decision; if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me,” And it was only then he looked at Bugsy fully, properly, since he had opened his mouth.
He could have swore he had never seen such complete and utter betrayal written across someone’s face, let alone directed towards him. Because he knew that’s what it was. He knew he had taken every scrap and shred of trust she had placed in him since that day she ran away from her own wedding and found herself stuck in that very same office, hugging him tightly with her sodden veil and even more soaked white dress, he had taken everything vulnerable she had ever given him and spat it right back at her.
He felt like crying but before he could think too hard about it, he saw Emily walking down the hall and her own face was just as, if not more, devastated than his own and he knew he had to be the one to stay strong.
Garcia’s head snapped to the doorway, the sight of it leading Spencer and Rossi to do the same, and Morgan’s face morphed into anguish when he took a look for himself.
Because there, looking like a glowing beacon of everything they’d been missing in seven months, was Emily Prentiss, alive and well.
She seemed lost for words, her eyes falling to her sister who seemed to force herself to look up at her from where she was staring in wide eyed terror at the table, as if she was struggling to comprehend any of this, or like the building was falling down around her and she was in complete fight, flight or freeze.
But she did, she looked up at her after a second, her face unrecognisable to Emily for a moment, and it took all of three moments where she seemed relieved to see her, before it curled into a vitriolic anger Emily had never, never seen from her.
She looked like she was ready to kill her with her bare hands herself.
Penelope was first out of her seat, practically flying across the room to grab her close friend in a hug, a complete bubble of sobs and wails, her pigtails shaking with her rattling chest as Emily hugged her tight to her.
“Oh, my god, it’s real-you’re real- like I can actually touch you and you’re safe and not in that god awful box-” Penelope was a catalyst for the rest of the team standing up to take their turn crying on the woman’s shoulder.
That is, the rest of the team except Bugsy.
She remained in her seat, her gaze falling back to the mess of files that all of a sudden felt a complete waste of time, felt irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Who cared who was Doyle’s financial advisor between the years of 2005 and 2007 when Emily was alive and they had known the whole time.
And the more she thought, the more furious she got. And then the more furious she got, the stiller she became; an atomic bomb ready to detonate at the slightest prod.
“I am so sorry, I really am,” Emily said as Spencer had wrapped his giant arms around her tentatively, smelling her perfume and feeling his heart ache with how warm and alive and healthy her body felt. “Not a day went by that I didn’t-”
But a sound cut her off, one none of them were expecting in the slightest.
Bugsy was laughing.
Not the sweet chirp she normally gave, or the hearty one that came from her gut that they hadn’t heard in months, but something manic. Something frenzied, beserk. Deranged.
Hotch’s head snapped to her, Emily’s too, though she had already taken note of the fact her sister hadn’t so much as moved from her feet, and stupidly she had hoped it was the shock sinking in.
But her eyes were cruel, her teeth more of a snarl than a smile and the laugh she gave was that of a person over the edge.
The straw that broke the camel’s back, she believed it was called.
“She never made it off the table,” Bugsy imitated woefully, her eyes snapping to JJ, who felt smaller than she ever had under the hatred in them, though the girl’s nasty smile hadn’t let up, “You are good, Jennifer. You really got me there, hey maybe if the agent thing doesn’t work out then acting is alway an option for you,”
“Bug-” Hotch started, only for her to stand up so harshly her chair nearly tipped back, but she didn’t seem to care as she rounded the table towards him in a bitter chuckle.
“And you! I didn’t know you had it in you. But very good, Hotch, very well played out. For a second I thought you actually gave a fuck about me,” She fist bumped his shoulder, a little harsher than something innocent behind it, before something spiteful settled in her tone, “But then again, you are nothing if not professional, aren’t you? I guess a suicide on your team would look terrible on your report card,”
“I think you need to calm down and let’s talk about this for a second,” Hotch tried to jump in, his brows furrowed enough to make him look annoyed but anyone with two eyes could see the worry that brewed there, that chased her as she retreated to where her jacket was slung over the back of her seat. She laughed again viciously, shaking her head. Grabbing her coat, she headed for the door where Emily stood helplessly, not knowing what to say for the best, and she thought for a minute her little sister was going to address her.
But she didn’t; didn’t even look her way as she approached, and it wasn’t until Hotch rounded the room after her with a fixed gaze she showed any sign of stopping. Not until he reached for her arm with a tight grip, a call of her name, did she even halt in her step.
“Stop, let’s just talk,”
“Let go of me,” Bugsy snapped, and it was the first time she actually gave way to the anger she felt, the amusement coming from a place of distraught long gone. She sounded pissed.
“Listen to me, we had no choice here,” Hotch barked, because it was the only way he could communicate when he felt this lost. And that’s what he was; he was losing her. They all were. “And I would have thought you’d be able to stop being so spoiled for one god damn second to see we were protecting-”
Her palm whirled around faster than he could have ever anticipated, slapping clean and sharp against his cheek, hard enough the air was sucked out of the room and his words died in his throat.
Penelope gasped. Spencer’s eyes widened. Emily took a heavy gulp.
“Bugsy!” Emily said in horror, and it was then her little sister’s eyes actually set on hers, every bit as cruel and hateful she’d expected.
“I want nothing to do with you, do you hear me? I don’t want to talk to you, or see you, don’t even speak that name, I don’t want it from you anymore,” Bugsy pointed at her with crooked, bitten nails Emily knew all too well, “You left me. You left me.”
With those three choked words, the other’s could only watch hurricane Bugsy whirl and burn and crash her way out of the room.
–
She sat on the steps to the federal building, perfectly dressed agents filtering around her with the occasional tut in disgust.
She couldn’t really blame them; her face was wet with tears, she was pretty sure there was snot running out of her nose hastily, and between her free hand, the other of which was pulling at her hair, was a cigarette that swirled its grey smoke around her head with a horribly addictive smell.
She heard footsteps approaching her from the back, different from the rest, and felt someone stop beside her, sliding to their ass on the step.
“Spencer, if you’re going to tell me this is taking seven minutes off my life then please can it wait for another day-” Bugsy started with a tearful cadence, only to be cut off by a woman’s voice.
“I was actually going to ask if you had a lighter,” Erin Strauss said, pulling her own menthol cigarette between her lips, and Bugsy dug around her pocket for the cheap ‘I <3 Virginia’ lighter she had snagged on New Years, clicking the flame out long enough for her boss’s boss to light the tip, “I heard you gave Aaron a shock,”
Bugsy stayed silent, taking a drag that burnt her lips and tasted awful, but it was the only thing she could turn to that would calm her even in the slightest, even if it was just the chemicals.
“Bit of an understatement,” She mused, exhaling softly with a frown, “Did you know?”
“Are you going to slap me too if I said yes?” Erin asked, and Bugsy gave a small, wet chuckle, shaking her head, “Would it matter if I did?”
“No, I guess not,” She replied, breathing in through her nose, “I want to feel sorry, but all I feel is just … empty. Why did JJ and Hotch know what happened to her but she didn’t think to tell her own sister?”
“Probably because you’re the one she loves the most,” Strauss picked over the hem of her navy blue midi dress that had been pressed neatly just that morning, and now here she was sitting on the steps to her building helping a girl in crisis chainsmoke, “It was how she ended up there in the first place, right? Because she wanted to protect you,”
“She left me torturing myself for months that her death was all my fault; believe me protection was not what I needed,” Bugsy said harshly, her final drag reaching the brown stub, and she scowled as she doubted it on the concrete floor below her, tucking her knees up to her face and resting her head on them.
Erin sighed, patting her on the back gently, not wanting to cross any lines for such a fragile girl, but not wanting to leave her entirely alone either.
“Our most basic instinct is not for survival but for family.” Strauss quoted, taking one more breath of her own cigarette before she squished it under her heel quickly. “Paul Pearsall,”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bug asked quietly, tilting her head onto her cheek to look over at the woman.
“It means you can hate her as much as you can right now, but sooner or later, you’re going to need her, or she’s going to need you, and you’ll wish you never pushed each other away,”
2. The one where you pretend to be a couple.
Her hair was shorter, Bugsy noted, where she saw the back of her sister’s head from her desk. It looked nice, not that she would tell her that.
She wouldn’t tell her anything.
It had been eight weeks, three of which Bugsy had spent taking a leave of absence and been forced to see the designated federal councillor for her behaviour towards Hotch. She had gone to the handful of sessions to keep him off her back, but had stayed quiet for most of them, except the one where she got the psychologist to tell her the dirt on her recent, messy break up so they’d have something to talk about at least.
She had only really been speaking to Spencer the weeks since she had returned to work, had handed the slip of paper that declared her fit to work to Hotch with a smug look on her face, daring him to extend her sick leave as punishment for the tantrum she’d thrown.
She knew it was dragging, knew most of the team were at least trying to adjust to the shellshock of Emily being back from the dead, but then again, the rest of the team hadn’t been writing their own eulogy so the burden wouldn’t fall onto someone else if they ever found her unresponsive.
In the time Emily had supposedly been dead, her mind had wandered someone cold and dark and alone. Worse than any of them had ever thought it had been, worse than they gave her credit for.
Only for it to be fake. As though she was the star of her own Truman show, with a laugh track playing on loop in the back; her own friends, people she’d considered family, watching her kicking and screaming and fighting through every breath for some sort of relief from the pain, a pawn in their little sitcom of horrors.
Morgan had forgiven her sister with little resistance. She’d always known that, to Morgan, trust was higher than anything in his books. Yet with some soft words and tears shed, Derek had cracked and accepted Emily back warmly like nothing had happened. Rossi and Penelope had just been happy to see her, happy to have her back and very much not dead, so convincing them she was innocent had been no big feat. The only other person who had put up nearly as much fight as her had been Spencer. He had told her about the spat he and JJ had gotten into for being an accomplice to their pain, but even he was beginning to warm back up to her sister, not that she could really blame him.
Emily was putting in overtime trying to get back into her good books, while she couldn’t even stand to look at her without remembering how hard she’d cried when she realised Nico and Sergio would be in her apartment alone and confused if she had been sad enough to do something rash.
“Good Morning,” Emily’s voice was nails in a chalkboard, two arms winding over her shoulder to plonk two take out coffees in front of her and Spencer, one with his name written in black ink on the lid and the other with a dozen hearts dotted over the cup, a little doodle of a lady bug and a bumble bee cuddling. What she supposed was meant to be the two of them.
Spencer watched Bugsy fight the urge to roll her eyes, surprisingly somewhat progress for her since the first two weeks of Emily even being near her resulted in the two of them screaming at one another until they were separated. Emily was growing tired of being punished for trying to keep her sister safe, Bugsy was full of hatred for every lie they had told her.
But he saw the way she immediately knocked the coffee into the trash without a second thought, ignoring the fact she would need to take out a very heavy and wet bin liner later, if only to drive the point home to her older sister. I don’t want your charity.
Emily faltered for a second, her eyes snapping to him as if he could do or say anything to help her out, but he could only give her one of his awkward, straight smiles, because he had absolutely no intention of pushing Bugsy to heal any faster than she was doing like everyone else was, nor did he want Emily to feel like he didn’t care she was hurting too.
Emily gave a resigned nod, daring to pat her sister on the shoulder. “Better in the trash than thrown over my face, right?”
She moved away from the woman’s desk, shooting a disheartened look at Reid as she passed him and he murmured ‘thankyou’ for his own coffee, until the sound of JJ calling them into the round table room cut off whatever she was going to say back.
Spencer thoughtlessly handed Bugsy his own latte, smothered with caramel and cream the way he liked it, and she took an appreciative sip without a word.
He hadn’t brought up that night, hadn’t spoken about the way she’d pressed her lips to his for a split second the night Morgan had dragged her over to his apartment to sober up. And because she hadn’t brought it up either, he assumed she didn’t want to talk about it anymore than she wanted to talk about what had got her there in the first place.
He had helped her brush her own teeth more than once in the early days of her grief, hell he had even had her lips against his, so when she handed him the coffee cup back, he didn’t think much of it when he continued drinking the hot caffeinated goodness.
Bugsy was wired differently in his brain, everything about her was different than how he felt about everyone else. So if she didn’t want to talk about kissing him, if she wanted to forget it ever happened, then he would swallow his feelings and accept she didn’t ever want to do it again. If she wanted to keep the bond they had carefully crafted through days and months and weeks of being each other’s solace, then he wouldn’t fight it. Because he didn’t want to ruin it either.
He just nudged her gently with his shoulder as they meandered up the stairs to the round table room, looking at her with the puppy dog eyes that usually followed her around when she was in one of her silent moods.
“You okay?” He asked carefully, noting the way she tugged her files to her chest, smiling up at him nevertheless. Because she could never be mad at him, it was Spencer.
“You don’t have to do that, you know?” She said, lowering her voice as Morgan trailed behind the two of them his own mug of fresh brewed coffee sloshing in his hand, “Pretend like you don’t forgive her for my sake. I want you to be friends again if that’s what you want,”
She’d noticed his sheepish glances when he met Emily’s gaze, unmoving from her side like he wanted to make it clear he was there for her above everything else. But she saw how he would smile and joke with her sister when he thought she was in the bathroom, or when they would return from a crime scene, working together again like a well oiled machine.
They were still friends, even if she felt sick every time she saw her sister’s noir black bangs flick her way, even if her heart was aching and her chest heavier than she would have ever let on.
“But you’re upset with her?” Spencer muttered back, with a frown on his face, “I’m upset you got so hurt by the whole thing. I’m essentially hurt by proxy,”
She snickered, leaning into his side for a moment, pulling away when they reached Rossi’s office and began walking past the long window she saw everyone settling down behind, “I appreciate that, Spence, I do. But you were her friend first, and she’s my sister. It’s different for you guys. And it’s not like we’re dating, because then I’d be allowed to be upset if you were still friends with her,” She explained lightly, though she felt her chest pick up at the very fact she had let that silly little dating word slip past her lips.
She had no idea where they were. He was the only thing keeping her together some days, the only one who understood her for all her silly, complex feelings and didn’t make her feel dumb or crazy for feeling the world so deeply. He was special to her in a way no guy had ever even come close.
She just wished she hadn’t made such an idiot of herself that night with Morgan; wished she remembered anything of what was said or done, because things had felt electrified since then and she had no idea why. All she knew was she was falling harder for him every time he stood so close, or offered her his drink, or every time they had a movie night at his and fell asleep on his couch pressed together like they were meant to be that way forever.
He sighed, still stuck on the situation, and shot her a frown, “I’ll never understand the rules,” Though he hoped she didn’t see how his cheeks tinged pink at the fact she’d brought up whatever it was between them too.
Because he wasn’t entirely talking about her and Emily. Sometimes, he really didn’t understand the rules of telling your best friend you were in love with her.
-
The press was calling him “The Circle of Eight killer,” no matter how much media liaison JJ had tried to do to stop them from giving him notoriety and possibly boosting an already inflated ego. But the team had already managed to profile that the killings were some sort of ritual the UnSub was using to turn his luck on a gambling addiction, or whatever suspicion he had mentally linked from the victims needing to die and being dealt a royal flush.
“Eighty eight dollars, the UnSub’s getting generous,” She said grimly, her gloved fingers counting the wad of cash tossed over the victim’s body. Where they had usually found eight, single dollar bills and an eight card of any suit, his signature seemed to have changed on the most recent body and he had dumped a much larger sum of money, “There’s more remorse with this kill too; shot from behind so he didn’t have to see the victim when he did it,”
Bugsy slipped the cash into a clear baggie to send to forensics to see if they could pull prints, but then again bills usually gave a million possible UnSubs with how many people touched them. “There’s less rage here, an undoing,” Emily chimed in, her own gloved fingers checking the victim’s pockets for anything off.
When they were in the field, Bug could hold her eye rolls and sharp tongue and resting bitch face for the sake of helping the victim’s families find closure. Because, despite how much she seethed in private about how Hotch, JJ and her own sister had conspired without her, she knew she could choke it down if it meant she could help someone, if it meant no one else had to grieve as deeply and gut wrenching as she had when Emily ‘died’.
“There’s no sign of robbery either, wallet is still intact except his ID,” Spencer added, standing back from the body while Bugsy handed the evidence off to CSI and the chief on the case headed their way.
“Is it even the same guy?” Agent Goslin asked, looking between Hotch and Emily for an explanation, Hotch shaking his head with a stoney look on his already tired face.
“The ritual’s too similar to discount,” He said, Bugsy frowning and tugging her lip between her teeth in thought.
“The change in MO makes sense if the UnSub is still refining his system, maybe killing the cashier at the gas station didn’t work so he’s back to the drawing board.” Emily speculated, her little sister nodding along with her in the first sign of agreement she’d seen all day.
“Two eights instead of one could also be significant; I know in China the number eight symbolises prosperity, the more eights the better. As a matter of fact, in Chengdu, a telephone number consisting of all eights recently sold for over a quarter of a million dollars,” Spencer said, and Bugsy flashed a look up at him, her eyes thoughtful.
“In ancient Egypt, the number seven represented completion in this life while the number eight represented success through ambition and determination in your reincarnated life,” She replied, peeling the gloves down her hands as they clung to her skin with tight clamminess, “And the eight pointed star is associated with the Babylonian goddess, Ishtar, or the light bringer,”
He nodded with her and he hated to admit that he loved that she managed to fill in the gaps in his own knowledge, like they were two puzzle pieces finding a way to fit together; like they were two halves cleaved from the same brain that hadn’t stopped growing in the entirety of her twenty seven years.
That, and he’d always found her brain one of the most attractive things about her. One of the long list he could think of.
“Why would he be doubling up on his luck out here, away from all the casinos?” Emily asked, because she was trying not to stand in awe of her sister’s fat brain that rivalled even their pretty boy.
“There’s been another killing,” Agent Goslin stated, hanging up the phone with a tense frown on her face, “A guest in his room at the Sapphire Lady,”
“Same ritual?” Hotch asked without a pause, because they were on body number five now and they were barely closer to understanding him than they were a few hours ago.
“No. His neck was broken. And he was robbed of $50,000.” Goslin replied, shaking her head, “Strange thing is? The killer left another $20,000 behind with the body,”
“Money isn’t his motive here,” Bugsy input, crossing her arms while Hotch got on the phone to Garcia, “Atleast, not that guy’s money,”
“Garcia, is there a casino in the neighbourhood of Penrose and Morningside Avenue?” He asked, clicking the perky woman onto speakerphone.
They heard a quick clatter of typing, “Uhhh, No casinos per se, but there’s a private gambling establishment right around the corner.” She replied helpfully, with another bout of her long, delicately painted nails against her keyboard.
“Is it legal?”
“Yeah, but it’s ultra exclusive. They have a monthly high-stakes poker tournament,” She paused for a second, “Today being the day for the month, coincidentally enough,”
“Or no coincidence at all,” Emily said, as they began putting together exactly where this chain of events had come from.
“What’s the buy in?” Bugsy asked, though she already guessed the answer.
“Yikies, $50,000,” And with that Bug and Reid exchanged a knowing look, her suspicion confirmed, “But, it’s a million dollar guarantee if you win,”
“What time does it start?” Hotch asked, Bugsy already rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingertip, willing herself not to be right about what they were going to do.
“Later this evening,” Pen replied and Hotch thanked her, hanging up the phone. A second of silence spread around the crime scene.
“So, if anyone’s got fifty k lying around, now would be a great time to share with the group,” Busgy humoured herself with a straight face, realising the paperwork that would almost definitely be declined if Strauss had anything to say about it the would enable them to borrow fifty thousand from the government.
Because if they missed their chance tonight, she had no clue when they would get another.
–
“Any luck?” JJ asked, Emily sat to her right, Rossi across from her. Spencer and Bugsy sat on the end of the table, the girl breaking a KitKat in half to share with him, which he accepted happily.
“No, they don’t want to allocate emergency funds for the buy-in, I’m still working on it,” Hotch said shortly, his phone blowing up with messages, no doubt needing a lot more details if they were really going to get the money they needed.
“Well, I can’t imagine why not, we’re only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money, so that FBI agents can play Texas Hold ‘em,” Rossi drawled, shaking his head with a cynical humour that was all they had to hold onto while they waited in limbo.
“Hey, what about you?” Emily asked, something mischievous in her eyes as she watched David freeze in his seat, so like the old Emily that Bugsy felt her stomach turn.
“What about me what?” David said with a frown, pausing in his writing for a moment.
“You could stake us the buy-in,” She suggested, and the other three members of the team turned their attention back to Rossi’s palling face.
“You’re a best selling author,” Spencer chimed in, devouring the last of the chocolatey biscuit snack as she pulled another out of her bag.
“No,” Rossi replied, slightly wide eyed at the suggestion of it, to which Emily jumped in.
“Why not?”
“One, it’s against regulations and I’d like to hold onto this job for a little while longer.” David said, his arms out in a defensive stance towards the four people who suddenly felt like his kids asking for the newest IPhone on the market for Christmas.
“It’s a minor administrative violation,” Bugsy pointed out between bites, offering the second half again to her best friend who took it without delay.
She could have given the whole thing to him to start with, and had the first one for herself, it would have ended the same, but she liked sharing with him. She liked being the one to split things with him when he cringed in horror at other people touching his food.
“And, two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork,”
“Poker chips are things!” Emily tried to reason, but it only ended with David scoffing in her cheeky, hopeful face.
“Maybe just think of it as a new experience, I mean at your age how often does that happen?” Spencer said innocently, licking the chocolate from the tips of his fingers, noticing how Bugsy tensed up and Rossi slowly turned in his seat to face the BAU’s youngest members.
“At my what?” He asked in an aghast tone, Bug grabbing onto Spencer’s forearm with a gentle squeeze.
“Reel it in, reel it in,” She whispered, and he looked at her with a lost expression, willing her to explain to him where he had gone wrong, because he knew she would, “What he meant to say was this may be our only chance to get this guy,”
David chewed his words for a second, as if he was trying not to bite at the kids who looked between one another hopefully, and he wondered if this was what being a father felt like; handing his credit card over to two twenty something year olds and watching his bank deposit plummet in seconds.
“All right. Fine.” He sighed heavily like he’d seen the fifty thousand burned there and then, “I’m a decent poker player, but I can’t promise that I can stay in the game long enough to…”
“You know what? I bet you’re a great poker player,” Emily started kindly, her gaze drifting over to the hazel hues that watched between them curiously, “But what if we sent in Reid?”
“I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin and Pahrump because of my card counting ability,” Spencer said, and Bugsy rolled her eyes.
“They can’t ban you for maths, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” She said, nudging his side with her shoulder, “They hate to see an underdog win, it’s Rocky all over again,”
“Tell me about it,” He murmured back, even though he had never watched any of the Rocky movies, he just liked humouring her.
“Look I know I’m not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not black jack. It’s about bluffing; reading human nature, head games.” Rossi pointed at Reid, who badgered over Bugsy’s shoulder for the cookies she had packed in her rucksack, “The kid does not have a poker face.”
“Which is why we’re going to send him with someone who does,” JJ chimed in, and it was then that the youngest members of the team looked up from where they had cracked open the packet of chocolate chip delights, near identical looks of innocence painted on their faces, like they really were kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
Bugsy looked between JJ and Rossi, who had equal parts hopeful and worried looks on their faces, before she glanced over to Spencer to see if he had any explanation. He looked as lost as she did.
“Huh?” She asked cluelessly, as Rossi buried his head in his hands.
At this rate was going to have to remortgage his house for wedding number four, he thought sourly.
–
“I swear to god if this dress rides up anymore, it will be me who’s charging fifty thousand per head,” Bugsy growled, her hands frantically tugging the dress down her legs more. She couldn’t deny it was a beautiful dress, bunched around certain areas that made the most of her body, but goodness was it shorter than she would have ever picked out for herself. She was the last person to be a prude when it came to showing off just how alluring she could look when she made an effort, but this was something else.
It was a striking red, meant to match the ruby of her lipstick and the vermillion of the diamonds and hearts on the cards spread around the tables in the room, flushed in between little plastic chips worth thousands of dollars, handfuls of dice being tossed over the green velvet surfaces, deciding whether the players lost their cars or paid off their kids college fund.
They queued up to be patted down, as if they were heading through airport security or into a packed nightclub. A handful of bouncers waved metal detectors over patron’s clothing, dipping hands into coat pockets, trousers, even some shoes were ordered off in the name of a fair game. She swore she had never seen so many sets of weighted dice confiscated off one man who swore blind as he was kicked out.
“Only fifty? You could rinse them for a hundred at least,” Spencer replied, his arm entwined behind her back, if not to hold her up in the clunky heels one of the women on Goslin’s task force had loaned her along with the dress. She smirked at him, pressing herself closer to him when they both saw a dozen eyes shoot towards her as they entered the building, and he tightened his grip just the slightest with a calculating coolness.
He wished his cheeks didn’t feel so hot feeling her body so close to his, wished she hadn’t made such an effort to look the part of the expensive call girl they knew the UnSub had a history with, not because he didn’t like it, but because she made everything a little more difficult when she looked like that.
He was having a hard time trying to calm the way his manhood brushed against his pants whenever she showed some of that saccharine affection, even though he knew it wasn’t real. Or atleast, was an extreme version of the love she usually showed him.
The bouncers called them up next, and he let her go first, because getting her through would be easy. He was the one with the panic alarm disguised as a shot of Halitosis in his pocket.
Spencer would never admit that his eyes fell straight down to the curves of her butt that seemed to be spotlighted by that damn dress.
Why did she have to look so irresistible? He supposed that was the point; he was the mysterious young gambler that was going to keep them in the game long enough to spot the UnSub, she was the attractive, woman of the night brought only to boost his ego and as his good luck charm. She certainly wasn’t the only one, she’d already seen a handful of other women, tall as models and so toned it looked as though they hit the gym every morning and didn’t leave until sundown, primped and primed for their player’s delight.
They were ten times better looking than she was, but to Spencer, she was the only woman in the room who he was envisioning ripping that dress right off.
She was making it very hard, no pun intended, for him to accept the idea of them as just friends.
The bouncer patted her down, Bugsy flashing him a cheeky smile just a little too forced for it to be one of her real ones, when the woman patted around her waist and hips for any hidden pockets or stashed bills.
“You wish this was you, huh, baby?” She teased him with a wicked look in her eyes, and he could only smirk back, hoping his blush didn’t give him away as quick as he reckoned it did.
He felt his knees weaken, worrying he might just fall to the ground there and then and be forced to crawl towards her if he had any hope of getting into the casino alive, but even that sent a new wave of lewd thoughts through his head, and he was grateful when the other bouncer called him forward to inspection.
The muscled guy waved a metal detector over his torso, moving down to his trouser legs where he wondered with cynical humour if the rod he now sported in his pants painfully would set off the alarm. It didn’t, and he begged his crotch to let up even the slightest if he had any hope of keeping his head on his shoulders during this game, but the detector sprung to life the minute it waved over the alarm in his pocket.
He produced the medical looking device, one they’d already planned and checked for faults, showing the fake prescription clearly to the guard, “Halitosis,”
The guy seemed to frown, took another look over the gangly guy who was with a woman way, way out of his league. A woman who waited for him after her own inspection, a very real diamond necklace that had been a sixteenth birthday present from Steph around her neck, courtesy of her dad’s bank account and ten years worth of emotional distance. Whether he took pity on Spencer because Bugsy looked like the kind of girl who could chew up a guy like him and spit him right back out, or he really didn’t care about his medical condition, he didn’t know, but he waved him through without another thought, and they both took a sigh of relief.
“You want a drink?” He asked nonchalantly as possible, wrapping his arm around her waist again, and he tried to not let his flustered demeanour show when he found slits cut into the side of the fabric, and he felt the softness of her hips under his fingertips.
“My treat, to get you started,” Bugsy replied, something unreadable in the teasing of her eyes, and she leaned up to his jaw to steal a quick kiss there like any other girl wanting to be paid the full sum of her night would have done.
At least that’s what she told herself, pretending as if her brazen action hadn’t caused her heart rate to spike.
She got him an iced tea, because she knew he wouldn’t want alcohol, and got herself a half shot Moscow Mule, sipping the lime rim appreciatively.
“See anything yet?” She asked under her breath, one hand trailing over the back of his neck, playing with the curls that sat there with vixen sly eyes that scanned the room.
He forced himself not to moan at the sensation, and he worried it was too obvious to the other patrons in the gambling room just how easily he melted beneath her fingertips. He felt like a dog drooling after a bone, like she was shaking a lead in his face and asking for walkies, and he was panting beneath her, tail wagging and dopey eyed.
Not the look of suave, mysterious stranger they were initially going for when they were coming up with identities for their covers. But at least it sold the part of a man desperate to win the jackpot if it meant he could spend the night with the siren woman that clung to him with a giggly sip of her pink straw.
“No one looking particularly suspicious,” He noted; everyone was almost too good at a poker face, though he supposed that it made sense seeing the value of the prize pool, “You are getting a lot of attention however,”
And she was. In fact, he was quick to take her hand in his own free one when he saw a group of men dressed to the nines, solid gold rings along their knuckles, diamond encrusted Rolexs staring back at him from their wrists, their faces dead yet starved when they drank in every inch of her skin, their eyes falling to where her dress rode up high, as she had whined about the entire way there.
She chuckled, and something about it sounded like her own, not the woman she’d had to become for the evening, and she kissed where his jaw clenched in annoyance, “Not from anyone that matters, boy wonder,”
And he felt his heart rest for a moment, because as long as she was with him he knew he could shift that big brain of his into gear. He loved nothing more than the click he felt when he was with her, like their brains and bodies just seemed to bluetooth to one another and they weren’t Spencer and Bugsy they were just them. A since cell amoeba.
He smiled at her, and she preened under his attention, so genuinely her that he felt the vignette that had clouded his vision shift into focus, and he knew he could find their UnSub if she was there with him.
He sat at the nearest table to them that was about to deal in, and within twenty minutes he was racking up a nice, fat pile of poker chips next to his iced tea.
Bugsy knew he was a smart man, knew he was good at magic tricks, but if he had turned to her then and there and pulled a rabbit out her ear hole she wouldn’t have questioned him otherwise. Watching him play was something else.
It was entirely sordid, the whole hour of his first game was spent trying to keep her focus on any patrons sat at their table and the rest that seemed to be twitching, whilst also trying not to look awed at just how amazing his brain was when he won damn near every time.
But she did manage to rip her eyes off him when she could, not enough to seem suspicious, just enough to scan the area for someone who could be their UnSub, her eyes quickly jumping to the guy on the table across from them with a large magic 8-ball tattoo across his bicep, unsurprisingly already looking her head to toe as he waited for his hand to be dealt out. He winked at her, a smarmy, cocky grin on his face, almost too confident in his ability to be someone to turn to suspicions and rituals in order to win.
A serious contender, but nothing that screamed their UnSub.
She looked around a little more, ignoring the handful of men who tried to grab her attention, who thought they were somewhat validated or interesting for having her look at them for a split second. They were just part of the wallpaper compared to Spencer anyway.
It wasn’t until she spotted a guy in a baseball cap a few paces away from them fiddling with yet another magic 8-ball, though this time a key chain, giving it a gentle touch every time he picked up his hand as if it really had the power to change the values once they’d been dealt.
From the quick glance she got of his face, he seemed to be running on an hour’s sleep tops. His eyes were rimmed redder than her lipstick, and his hair was damp with sweat and grease against his temple.
Unstable if there ever was a man for the word.
She quickly looked back to Spencer’s cards, her hands weaving over his shoulders to rub his muscles gently, the signal that she’d seen something important masked as an affectionate gesture.
The House called the end of the round, Spencer being awarded a heaped pile of tens, hundreds even a small few thousands thrown in there, to which he collected onto his tray they had handed him at the door.
Bugsy leaned down with a girlish squeal, giving him another big, cherry lipped kiss to his cheek, to which he felt himself blush under immediately. Quickly dodging to whisper into his ear, it looked to the other patrons as if she was simply promising him an even bigger reward later for his winnings in exchange, “Nine O’Clock at table two, guy in the green jacket has an eight ball keyring he ritually plays with before drawing,”
Spencer nodded, standing from the table with his winnings, using Bugsy’s as an excuse to angle himself to where she was talking about. He pulled her to him effortlessly, his long arms wrapping over her bare back, his neck craning over her shoulder to serveill the table she had indicated, and she quickly hugged him back with that fake giggle of hers, her body pressing to his desperately like the other ladies of the night he had seen with men three times their age.
He clocked who she was talking about almost immediately, running a hand down her spine and squeezing her waist gently to let her know he’d seen him.
They moved in tandem, just like they always had.
A hostess came over to them, all big smiles and a tight fitted black dress, a log book in her arms of where everyone was sitting in the next round to keep a fair game. Bugsy took a look at him, wiping away the smudged lipstick on his cheek with a loving swipe of her thumb, nodding at him for a small bout of reassurance.
“I’m going to go get another drink, honey,” She said loud enough for the hostess to hear, as she flashed him a flirty smile, “Don’t forget to wait for your lucky charm,”
He bristled, a smile twitching at his lips at that, “I wouldn’t dare,”
Because her message was clear. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m updating the team.
She swanned through the crowd as if she owned the place, but then again a packed scene had never been an issue for her. She felt through her concealed inseam of the tiny cardigan she draped over her shoulders, until she felt the long bullet shaped object stuffed into a tampon wrapper that Penelope had geniously planted there to look like a feminine product.
Her own alarm, the one meant to let the team know they had sights on the guy and to be ready. It was Spencer’s that would give them the signal to enter.
She was fiddling with the damn thing when she felt it, a sharp crack across her ass as she was walking towards the bar, heard the laughter in the second she froze up.
Turning on her heel with a tight expression, the anger burnt hot in her eyes when she saw the guy with the tattoo who had been trying to get her attention not even a half hour ago, watched him sidling up to her with a conceited smile.
“So, has that twiglet over there paid for you in advance or are you going home with the highest bidder?” He said, his head flicking to Spencer who now sat at table two, counting his chips out onto the table and paying himself in.
She smiled at the assailant widely, and it would have been pretty had it not been for the crazy look in her eye that twitched when he made a move to step towards her more.
“I’m spoken for in advance,” She said lightly, eyes trailing down his outfit like she was trying to commit it to memory, over his defining markers like the slit in his brow and his tattoos that looped over his hands, “But I’m sure I’ll be seeing you real soon, sweetheart,”
And she flashed him a toothy smile again, yet something was wolfish about it this time, like she was ready to lunge for him there and then.
The guy wasn’t their UnSub but he had made it to the very top of her hit list in a split second decision.
She waltzed away, securing herself another Moscow Mule she had no intention of drinking, and headed back to where Spencer was being allotted his hand of cards. Their round started, Bugsy keeping a close eye on the UnSub who sat directly to Spencer’s right, and she found a little solace in the fact he couldn't have brought in any weapons since they had all been patted down at the door.
It didn’t shake the feeling of edge the guy with the tattoo had put her into when she watched their guy flick a look over Spencer’s shoulder to look her head to toe, glancing back at Spence who was already glaring at him.
“Is she part of the winnings?” The other guy to his right chimed in, sliding a stack of hundred dollar chips into the centre, two of the players already bust as they watched the others play on for the house.
She saw her partner tense in his spine when he heard the man’s drawling voice, and she knew he was struggling to keep a lid on the facade they were putting on for the evening.
Snickering, she ran a gentle hand through his hair, down the nape of his neck with a sickeningly sweet simper, “Sorry, boys. Only person who’s taking me home tonight is the pretty boy,”
One of the guys who had already busted out scoffed, grumbling under his breath, “Lucky fucker,”
And Spencer knew it too. He felt almost rejuvenated just feeling her near, a damn near cocky smile on his face when he pushed his chips into the centre of the table, barely flicking a glance at his hand when he realised he had almost certainly secured a winning run.
Maybe she was his lucky charm, he thought cynically. Maybe he couldn’t blame the guy to his right for carrying a silly little trinket around with him in the name of luck if he was no better.
“I’m calling,” The guy on the far right declared, shuffling two piles of his chips into the middle with the total pooling.
“I’ll raise,” The UnSub cut in, grabbing some of his black thousand dollar tokens and clinking them one by one next to his opponents, “Eight thousand,”
What a surprise, eight thousand, Bug mused, squeezing onto Spencer’s shoulder again as he was quick to match the bidding and then some with his own checks.
“$8,000, that’s fifty six months’ wage for the average person in Bangladesh,” Spencer said, doubling the bet with a flick of those long fingers of his. It was heinous how much his brain managed to warm her insides, Bugsy thought, hoping she kept her poker face intact, “Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it?”
The two remaining players, UnSub included, looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and Bugsy fought off the urge to laugh in their face, because for a minute he was so Spencer like all she wanted to do was quip something back equally as smart.
“Look, it’s eight thou’ to you, are you in or are you out?” The first man snapped, perhaps seethin with jealousy that the pretty woman wanted nothing to do with him or perhaps just pissed that the fresh faced teenager of a man was serving their asses up cold.
“I am in,” He moved some more chips towards them, his eyes falling back to the guy they suspected was their UnSub with a challenge in his eyes, “And I raise,”
“Three raise,” The dealer declared, and the first guy huffed in defeat.
“That’s too rich for my blood,” He growled, crossing his arms and flipping his dead cards over.
“Sir, are you in?” The dealer asked the UnSub, and for a minute his eyes snapped to Bugsy’s where she was keeping a calm look on her face despite the fact her insides were stumbling with nerves. But she never doubted Spencer’s maths, she would stake her life on it in fact.
“I’ll call,” The UnSub replied, flicking his cards over with another small token of a hundred, an okay run of cards but not an entire failure.
Spencer met it with a couple hundreds of his own, revealing his four and his eight that met the five, six, and seven he already put down. A winning flush. “Straight.”
Her smile was genuine, dazzling, when the pile of chips were pushed over to him, and she would have laughed with glee had the UnSub’s face not dropped into something devastated, borderline demented, when he saw his ritual had meant nothing. That he had lost despite killing his own friend and four more people as a sacrifice.
He was unravelling fast, and it was then Bugsy knew they had only moments to confirm he was their guy obsessed with his suspicions and that damn lucky number eight.
“I guess you won’t be needing this anymore, will you honey?” Bugsy reached over for the charm with a cheeky grin as the other patrons grumbled at their losses, only for the guy’s hand to come slamming down on top of hers with a brutal grip, hard enough she knew it was going to bruise by morning.
“Don’t,” He hissed at her, and it seemed to click with confirmation in Spencer and Bugsy’s mind there was no doubt this was their guy.
Spencer stood up to defend the woman, only for both of them to be grabbed by security second’s later.
“You’re going to let a man put his hands on a woman like that- would you relax I can walk,” Spencer snapped, watching the other security guard manhandle Bugsy just as roughly, pinning her arms behind her back, though she complied with a victorious grin, “Real tough there pal, grabbing on a woman half your size,”
“Relax honey, I got a taser in my pocket if they really want to behave like bad boys,” The bouncers looked at her in alarm, and it was the distraction Spencer needed to reach into his jacket and trigger the signal. She gave the three of them a shit eating grin, and Spencer thought he might just love her even more, “Don’t shit your pants, I’m kidding. I charge extra for the rough stuff,”
Spencer was still laughing when Hotch and Emily barged past them after the UnSub, who was by now leaving out the back door.
–
“Spencer, really, we can go back to the hotel and forget about it,” After revealing their cover with the bouncers, courtesy of one David Rossi and his famous face clearing their names, and the UnSub caught and well on the way to the nearest jail cell for questioning, Bugsy was more than tired and ready to strip out of the impossibly tight dress.
“I want to see this guy brought to justice, think of him as another UnSub,” Spencer said, his arms crossed over his chest as they sat on the bonnet of a squad car out the front of the building, the tournament slowly trickling to an end with its patrons leaving for the night.
She rolled her eyes, his jacket over her arms the only thing keeping her warm against the evening air. It would have been so much easier if they had been allowed back in, but FBI agents or not, the guards had clear rules against breaching the peace in such a high stakes game. A bad rep for having the feds show up on their busiest day of the year was not welcomed, just as much as they weren’t.
“Except he’s not murdered anyone,” She replied, eyes darting between the guests leaving with their earnings spilling out of their pockets, “He’s just some dumb asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself and- it’s him,”
The guy with the tattoos, Mike Folio as would later be printed on the police report, had barely a second to grieve his losses of the night before Spencer had him cuffed against the squad car, yelling and spitting about his rights as an American citizen.
It wasn’t until he saw the gorgeous woman donned in the candy red dress looking down at him with amusement that he felt the colour drain from his face.
“Hi sweetheart,” She smiled viciously, “I told you I’d see you again. Spence, read him the Mirandas,”
3. The one with the bank explosion
The tweed trousers irritated her thighs, the head band fluffed her hair away from her face in a way she kept trying to fix, and the brown pumps squeaked every time she walked, but her smile was dazzling nevertheless.
“Okay, the TV movie is at Hall H at nine, can we go to that?” Penelope asked, reading from the pamphlet as Bugsy and Spencer all but ran to keep up with her.
“Absolutely!” Spencer chimed in, “Do you think we can make it to the Captains of Enterprise at eleven?”
“Obvs,” Penny replied, fixing the bow tie necklace her and Bugsy had made not even the week before. She looked over at the younger woman, who had a matching K-9 pendant, because apparently FBI salaries did not take into account life sized robot dogs, “Thanks for coming with me,”
“Ofcourse, I’ve been knitting this scarf for weeks,” Spencer replied, his eyes falling down to where Bugsy donned a Sarah Jane Smith cosplay.
“Who are you going as?” She’d asked, the minute he’d asked her to go, because there were few things he did these days without her.
“The Fourth Doctor,” Spencer replied, because he had explained in length to her about the concept of regenerating and had even flicked on some of the newer series for her to watch with him, “Tom Baker’s Doctor, he’s a fan favourite,”
He showed her a picture of the time lord stood outside the TARDIS, a younger girl stood opposite him in a pink suit, large white peter pan collar hanging wide over her chest.
“Who’s that?” She asked, pointing the girl with the cute bangs and pleated skirts.
“That’s Sarah-Jane, or Sarah-Jane Smith. She’s one of the longest starring companions since she was the Third Doctor’s companion first and also was in the spin off show for her dog, K-9,” He explained, warming inside when Bugsy listened with raptured interest.
“So like, is she his girlfriend or-”
“No, no! The Doctor is often speculated to be asexual when it comes to relations with humans. Sarah Jane was one of his closest friends however, and in the Tenth Doctor’s third season he even comes back to rescue her from a wedding set up by one of his enemies,” He said, and her smile pulled out widely when an idea popped into her head.
“Well, can I be her? For your convention?” She asked, somewhat shyly, still a little unsure how the show worked in the fine details, “You know, since you saved me from my wedding?”
He paused, because she’d never really spoken about that day she’d jumped into his arms in the elevator, holding him to her like he was the only thing that made sense. Bugsy was like that alot; giving him everything he ever dreamed in the moment and then acting like it was never a big deal the next.
“S-sure! Yeah, that would be really nice.” He said, and she immediately started searching up what she should wear for it, “I didn’t really save you though, you know, you saved yourself,”
She snickered, nudging him with her shoulder, “You all saved me, I don’t know what I would have done if Em-” She stopped herself, swallowing thickly, and he saw the glow leave her eyes.
If Emily hadn’t been there.
Things were still awkward between them. There were no more catfights, thank goodness, though there also wasn’t any doting between the sisters anymore. It was like a clean break had slit between them. Emily had given up trying to warm to her, given up trying to get her to come around, and had instead taken the high road of waiting for Bugsy to make the first move.
But Bugsy was nothing if not stubborn. So Emily would be waiting a while longer.
“Hey, listen, next time I promise I’ll be the first one to object and then you can say I saved you,” Spencer joked, because he knew the subject of Emily stung her, because he knew she needed to stop thinking about it or she’d unravel into self hatred.
She chuckled aghast, “Next time? I was kind of hoping to keep the next one, Spence, whoever the unlucky guy is,”
He shook his head, a fake look of disapprovement, “Sorry, rules are rules. You wanted to be Sarah-Jane, I have to crash your wedding with the TARDIS I’m afraid,”
She laughed, resting her head on his shoulder as they flicked through the TV some more together.
“Well, I mean if those are the rules,” She simpered, snuggling under his chin, “Does this mean I get a sick robo-dog too?”
She looked every bit the part he would have ever expected her to look. Down to the maroon tie, and the white dress shirt, and the matching tweed blazer and pants that made her look embarrassingly hot.
He was about to tell her just how great she looked because she still seemed unsure, being a casual fan of the show not nearly as religious as some of the surrounding guests were, when Penelope cut them off in a near gutted voice.
“Oh my god,”
“Penelope?”
Bugsy and Spencer looked up to see Penelope’s ex beau, Kevin, dressed in a nearly identical outfit to her (though in Bug’s opinion he didn’t have the same pzazz as she did with the glitter and the sparkliness,) a red headed woman beside him donned in a police woman uniform.
“Kevin, hi, you came,” The blonde woman replied, her face mortified as she took in just how pretty the other woman was, “And you brought a friend, CSU technician Sharp, how are you?”
Hannah Sharp, from two floors below them in the BAU, grinned tightly, as if she could sense just how disastrous the situation had suddenly become, “I’m fine, uh, you?”
Bugsy gripped onto Spence’s arm tightly, hating the turn this was taking, every second of it.
“I am also fine,” Pen replied, though she looked as though she was ready to float outside of her body any minute now. “Okay, well, see ya,”
“You’re not gonna go in?” Kevin asked, his eyes crestfallen when he saw Penelope also grab onto the boy genius’ arm, and he cursed Spencer Reid for getting so many attractive women.
“Actually, we just went in and it’s super lame,” Bugsy interrupted, flashing a disjointed smile at the two of them, turning to usher her best friend away before he could call her out in her lie. “So we’re leaving,”
“Oh, okay,” Kevin replied, his date all but forgotten as the three of them made a sharp exit, a wince on the youngest Prentiss’ face when they got far enough that the girl could cringe in peace, “Well, great costumes,”
“Yeah, you too,” Penelope called back, her heels practically leaving tire marks with how fast she had sped away from her ex that was opening fresh wounds as they spoke. At work they were separated by a whole floor, so it wasn’t quite so scathing to see each other around or even hear of one another, but to be brought out in front of what she could only assume was his new woman was horrifying.
Bugsy was at her side immediately, grabbing onto her hand with a squeezing grip.
“Well, that was awkward,” Spencer noted aloud, and Bugsy lightly slapped his arm for him to shut up, her eyes wide with worry.
He looked at her in alarm, but her face told him everything he needed to know. Girl rules.
He hated girl rules. He never understood them.
“Oh my god, we used to come every year, I can’t believe he brought someone else,” Penelope sighed to the younger girl, who watched her with furrowed brows.
“Well you brought someone else,” Spencer pointed out, only to have his arm whipped at again in a chiding motion, and he watched Bugsy stroke Pen’s back with a bite in her tone.
“Girl rules, Spencer, girl rules,” He tutted at her, rolling her eyes as if they were a married couple and she was nagging him to wash the dishes.
Sometimes it felt easy like that with them. Like she really was just his best friend and not the only girl who held any sort of romantic connection to his heart.
“Yeah, someone I couldn’t possibly be attracted to,” Penelope stated, “Besides, he always thought the two of you were a thing anyway, oh god what if he thinks I’m your guys third-”
“Woah, woah, what?” Bugsy asked with wide eyes, “He thought me and Spencer were, like, dating?”
Penelope nodded, and Bugsy couldn’t even look at him without stumbling over her words.
“Well he knows we’re- like I mean we’re not even each other’s seconds so how could you be our third you know?” She said with a forced laugh, because she could feel her face going hot.
Spencer watched her tongue tie herself into oblivion, thinking of any and every excuse as to why she didn’t want dating associated to the two of them. Because how could she ever feel the same way? He was just him and she was, well, her. So incredibly, beautifully her.
It wasn’t until she bumped into an older gentleman waiting for his valet she even shut herself up.
“And I mean Kevin shouldn’t have just assumed- oh sorry,” She whirled around to apologise the man she presumed was a fan of the early seasons of the show, perhaps even around when they first aired, though the thought died in her throat when he turned around, “Oh, Rossi?”
David Rossi looked suave as ever in his age, a blazer thrown casually over his shoulder, a neat shirt and dress pants ensemble at his hips as he looked between the three of them, their costumes staring back at him entirely too colourful for a Saturday morning.
He sighed, hard.
“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” He asked with a tired voice, as Bugsy bounced back over to Spencer’s side with an incredulous look on her face.
“Are you here for the convention?” Spencer asked, excitement bubbling in his tone as Bug grabbed his forearm gently, already sensing Rossi hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to put up with them today.
“Who schedules a cigar aficionado event back to back with this?” Rossi asked, his eyes clamping on the pendant around her neck, “What is that, a robot dog?”
“K-9,” The three of them replied, and it was as if it tipped him over the edge, his hair growing whiter by the second.
“Kevin brought another woman, I’m plotting revenge. Do you want to help?” Penelope asked, her face still warm from running into the guy who was almost her fiance.
“Know where we can get any horse heads?” Bugsy asked, her expression lost in though as Penelope gasped, “What? I’m thinking go big or go home. Also, horse head in the bed means they can't have sex-”
“I’m taking that as my cue to leave,” Rossi cut in, just as his valet arrived, “Now you know I love all three of you, but this is Saturday, and it is my day off, so I’m going to love you from afar,”
He ruffled Bugsy’s hair fondly as he took his leave, throwing his blazer over the passenger seat and bidding them a wave goodbye.
They watched him go, wondering where it left them for a moment before Bugsy spoke up again, “So are we saying a definitive no to the horse head idea, because I’m sure I know a guy in college-”
“No, Bugsy,” Penelope hissed, her face scrunched in disgust, and Spencer swore she turned green, “Definitive no,”
–
They had been half way through breakfast when Spencer got an emergency call from Hotch for a team of serial killers robbing a bank downtown, hostages and guns on scene.
She had barely had time to whip the tweed blazer off her shoulders, keeping the shirt and pants on as Derek threw her a kevlar vest.
“It’s definitely them,” Will said in his soft Southern drawl, JJ embracing him tightly to her with a worried expression. It had been him and his partner first on the scene, though unfortunately things had not ended well for her when they had ran into the three UnSubs slipping out the back of the bank and had engaged in a shoot out; Will’s partner getting a bullet to the head almost immediately, and Will narrowly escaping unscathed, but not before he managed to gun down one of the UnSubs in the stomach.
So there they were, the UnSubs back inside the bank for safety since they were now surrounded by the city police, the FBI, the SWAT team and a handful of ambulances and medics on standby.
“I only saw the King and the Jack but I figured the Queen’s inside too,” He added, JJ peeling herself from his side as they headed towards the building.
“The media's calling them the face cards,” Hotch informed his team, all eight of them decked in their thickest vests and weapons loaded in full, “Seven bank robberies in seven months. They’ve killed one person at each robbery,”
“MO?” Rossi asked, now dressed out of his smart, Saturday wear and something more akin to his usual business attire.
“Single gun shot wound, each of the victims has bled out,” Hotch replied, and it wasn’t until they turned the corner towards the bank did Bugsy realise just how packed the street was with law enforcement.
Three or four choppers circled overhead with snipers and back up SWAT teams at the ready.
“Serial killers with a thirty day cooling off period, and we’re only just hearing about this now?” Emily asked in an incredulous tone, her voice raised to accommodate the shouting between other chiefs and their units.
“Headquarters characterised them as robbers first, killers second,” Hotch said, his hands on his hips as they all assessed the situation from afar. Naturally a few new anchors had pulled up to the scene as well and were setting up their equipment despite the officers trying to corral them away.
“Oh yeah? How did that turn out for them?” Bugsy grumbled behind her thick, dark sunglasses, biting her lip from saying worse.
“I disagreed with the original assessment, I was overruled,” Her chief shot back, because things had been just as cold between them since that day as they had with Emily.
JJ was slowly reaching out the olive branch in her direction, and if it wasn’t for Henry being so darn cute every time he begged ‘Buggy’ to come play with him, she reckoned JJ would have taken even longer to forgive as well.
“Why are we here now?” Rossi chimed in, eyes locked on Aaron’s frown, that seemed to harden every step they took closer to the bank.
“Because crisis negotiation is overseas.”
“What do we know about them?” JJ jumped in straight away with the problem solving, because even if they were out in the field and not in their pretty little round table room anymore, the UnSubs were still just pictures on a white board needing that red string to connect them all together.
“They’re organised, they're efficient,” Hotch fired off, mentally running through whether he had loaded the pistol he kept around his calf for emergencies, “Each strike lasts about two minutes,”
Derek’s face scrunched in confusion, “They gotta be scouting out the banks in advance, why haven’t we been able to ID them off of surveillance footage?”
“They hacked the security feed and turn off the cameras both during the initial canvas and during the robbery, until the masks come back on and then were allowed to watch” Hotch replied, and the eight of them slipped into the base of operation for the day; a wide trailer converted to house the high tech computers Penelope needed to keep an eye on the cameras with those magic skills of hers.
Bugsy’s eyes landed on the black and white feed of inside the bank, her heart lurching in her throat when she saw well over forty men, women and children lined on their knees execution style, facing the doors to the bank to act as a shield if the snipers did happen to get a shot through the windows.
The woman took the lead, a mask over her face with a doll-like expression on it, the other men soaked in blood as one fought to hold the injured one up for dear life.
“Why haven’t they cut the feed now that they’ve been cornered,” Derek said with a shake of his head, his lips pulled into a grimace, “Letting us see inside gives us a tactical advantage, they have to know that,”
“Unless they want the audience,” Bugsy suggested, watching the jack slowly growing weaker and weaker as they discussed tactics, “Although the only one who really strikes me as the attention seeker is her, he seems more prioritised with the other male,”
“The masks add to their narcissism,” Spencer input with a nod, “Their personas are the royalty of poker,”
“JJ, you, Bugsy, Reid and Prentiss, look at past robberies, that’s going to be our victimology,” Hotch ordered, and they did as ordered with little delay, heading to the office they had set up in the opposite trailer.
This was going to be a long day.
–
“I can help,” Bugsy offered herself before the team even had a chance to protest.
It hadn’t even been an hour into them pulling research from InterPol as to who their UnSubs were before they had made their next dramatic move; they had shot a hostage.
Which meant they needed medics in there fast, fast enough to save the hostage and the jack if it kept the king from unravelling into a massacre.
“What do you mean you can help?” Emily said with a scathing tone, “Bug, you can’t just throw yourself in harm’s way if you have no clue what you’re-”
“I did three years of a medicine degree alongside my biochemistry before I got bored of doing both and gave up on it,” Bugsy snapped at her sister, brows contorting into a harsher frown than she’d had in months. She preferred it when they weren’t speaking at all.
“Because you were bored?” Derek asked, his face incredulous at the gall of the twenty year old they’d plucked from college and sent into the midst of the Russian Mob five years ago, “Did you not have anything better to do like partying or making out with guys- a whole medical degree on the side is your idea of downtime?”
She shrugged, looking back at Emily with a glare who seemed to bristle at the information.
“Can I speak to you outside please?” Emily said in the coolest tone she could muster, though even that sounded like a bite.
Something shifted in the air of the tiny, makeshift office and the other inhabitants tensed up at the sight of the Prentiss women gritting their teeth almost identically, staring daggers at one another for a moment before they stood from their seats and waltzed out of the side of the trailer to where there wasn’t the bustle of squad cars or media to be seen.
JJ looked to Morgan, who looked to Spencer, who seemed to have paled for a moment, and the three of them were out of their own seats to linger at the doorway in case things really did get ugly between the sisters.
“Do you honestly think that throwing yourself into the line of danger today is a good idea or are you trying to hurt me to get back at me?” Emily seethed the minute they had stepped foot on the ground, and the scoff that left her little sister’s throat was something nasty.
“Oh, please, don’t make yourself sound so important.” Bugsy snapped, whirling around on her heel to glare at her sister, “I’m not doing any of this to get back at you, I’m trying to save those hostages in there-”
“So I just happened to have never heard about this medical side quest you set yourself on until now because, what, it just never came up?” Emily laughed, laughed, in her sister’s face, and Bugsy saw red even more, “I thought you were a better liar than that,”
“Maybe if you’d bothered to even speak to me before you needed something from me that day with the Russians then you would have known anything about me that wasn’t being your dumb little sister you can just walk all over like you’re my mom or something,” Bugsy’s voice was getting louder, and Emily’s smirk wiped right off at the sound of that, because she knew she could have been ten times a better sister had she not wanted to get as far away from her mother as fast as possible. “Same with Hotch, he never wanted much to do with me until his wife died and then who did he come to needing help grieving, none a single one of you, and who gets bitten in the ass and punished when I find out I spent seven months grieving like some idiot to that uptight prick who lied to me-”
“Do not speak about him like that,” Emily was shouting now too because Bugsy was truly holding nothing back on her.
“Why? Are you going to pick him over me, Em?” The younger woman snarked, her eyes hateful and narrowed, “Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest given your track record-”
Emily shoved her, like, truly shoved her back and it robbed the words out of the girl’s throat. Yet it made JJ gasp where they were watching from the crack in the doorway, wanting to break them apart but knowing they needed to fix it for themselves.
The three of them hissed when Bugsy’s hand swiped against Emily’s cheek in a territory neither of them had ever wandered into. Emily was always too old to argue with her sister, too big to fight the way most siblings did with slaps and hair pulls and scratches, but Bugsy was a grown woman now; they both were.
Emily swatted the same back to her own cheekbone, after a second of shock washing over her face, and it was like they were two cats fighting in a back alleyway over a scrap of chicken.
Bugsy shoved at her around the tits, because she knew it would ache, Emily pulled at her braid with a yank that made Bugsy’s eyes water, the two of them banging against the wall of the trailer, their heads clunking together.
“Fucking punishing me after months like some insolent child-”
“I would never have left you thinking you were to blame for my death- I would never fucking do this to you-”
This was childish, entirely childish, playground offences and girlish curses in between. The worst part was they knew they could do much worse, they knew they could truly hurt one another if they wanted to. They were both trained to kill, and yet Emily had Bugsy grabbed in a headlock like they were two infants fighting over a sandpit.
Because they didn’t want to properly hurt one another in any way that would last. Never.
“Get the fuck off me or I’m punching you in the crotch,” Bugsy barked, trying to wriggle her way out of her sister’s freakishly strong arms with a frown, “EMILY- I SAID-”
“I was trying to protect you- just get your head out of your ass for two seconds and listen to me- I was trying to protect all of you-” But by the time Emily had somewhat gotten her to stop squirming, the girl had grabbed her by the calf where she had been forced to bend at a forty five degree angle, holding her one leg up off the floor while she sweeped at the second one to knock her off balance.
She had been known to shoot an assailant in the foot from twenty feet away to stop them from getting away, and yet she was resorting to simply pushing her sister over as a way to get one up on her.
She felt like she was ready to finger paint and take a nap time next; like they were about to be sat in the headmaster’s office and have their wrists slapped with a ruler for not keeping their hands to themselves.
But it worked, and in seconds the Prentiss girls were on the floor, puffing out of breath, Bugsy’s lip bleeding where Emily’s ring had caught it on the corner, Emily’s cheek red and raised from where her sister had a surprisingly strong right hook. They took a minute to breath, Bugsy glaring at the awfully clear blue sky, much too happy and cheery for the travesty that had been her entire day. And it was only then did she hear the other three members of their team exit the trailer, JJ going to help Emily up while Morgan's face appeared in the middle of the powdered clouds, something sad and sympathetic in his eyes and it was then that he held out his hand to get her up.
She didn’t want to, had every intention of laying there and staring at the broad daylight until she managed to float far away from there and from where her chest hurt with betrayal and her lip bled with lies.
He yanked her off the floor, offered her a cold can of coke for where she felt her lip swelling already, and she resigned to sit on the stairs to the trailer with her head in her hands until her temple stopped pounding or at least until she felt herself calm down in the slightest.
Emily shuffled to sit down next to her, her breathing still uneven but she could tell because she felt a tentative hand on her thigh rubbing gently, in the motherly way Emily had always watched her.
Because Bugsy had always been her baby, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
“Bugsy?” The younger woman huffed in indignance, pouting as she stared at her lap, because she felt the tears welling up already, “I’m so sorry I left you, you know I never, ever wanted to, you know that right?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice cracked as she finally looked over at her sister’s solemn face, “You told JJ and Hotch but you couldn’t even tell me? Did you just not want to come back for me?”
Emily’s brows pulled up into a sorrowful frown, and she felt her eyes start to burn too.
“No, that was never a part of it, I swear, there wasn’t a day when I didn’t want to come home to you,” She replied, taking a deep breath in through her nose as not to start bawling her eyes out there and then, “I had to tell Hotch and JJ as a matter of precaution, not because I wanted to tell them and not you. Bug, I missed you every day, I missed Niko and Sergio and those dumb documentaries you made us watch,”
Bugsy smiled despite herself, wiping a finger under her nose to stop the tears that had already started rolling there, “Well, I don’t know about Niko but Sergio missed you a whole lot,” She sniffled, rolling the Coke over to a cooler side to sooth her lip some more, “But I think he feels like you kind of abandoned him, and like you maybe don’t love him as much because he can be kind of annoying and, like, he’s real torn up about me telling him you died only to find your you’re not, like you can’t just do that to Sergio, Em, he doesn’t deserve that,”
Bugsy’s lip was quivering by the time she’d finished, but Emily chuckled wetly, wrapping an arm over her shoulder and pressing their pounding heads together.
“Are we maybe not talking about Sergio anymore, Bug? Are we talking about you-”
“No, we’re definitely talking about Sergio,” She cut in, wiping under her eyes with her sleeve, looking back up where Emily’s face was glistening with tears though it seemed like she had somewhat calmed under her sister’s gaze that wasn’t so full of vitriol hatred anymore.
Emily nodded, a humoured smile on her lips, “Right, okay, my bad. Definitely Sergio,” She held up her hand, stroking down Bug’s cheek for her where her tears had started pooling, “Well, I want Sergio to know that even if he is annoying sometimes, that there’s nothing that could ever take me away from him again, cause even though I’m not his mom, he’s still always going to be my kid, you know?”
Bugsy’s face crumpled in pain for a minute, sniffling and meeting Emily’s eyes, dark brown hues watching her sadly, imploring her to know how much her heart called out for her.
“Really? You promise?” Bugsy whined, and Emily nodded with a sad smile, stroking the back of her braid that looked a little ratted and wispy from where it had been yanked at. She took a shaky breath, looking down to her shoes where they scraped against the steps, “Well, I’m sure he’ll love to hear that, I’ll tell him when we’re home-”
Emily laughed, kissing her sister’s forehead, and pulling her into a side hug.
“Alright, tough guys. Let’s get back to working on the profile, Sergio can wait for a minute,” Morgan said, though his face fought off the smile that crept on his lips seeing two of his favourite girls finally at peace with one another.
Bugsy looked five years younger within seconds, and they clicked back into place, hopping up off the steps to get right to work, cursing herself for wasting so much time on silly things like hating her sister, because forgiving her felt cathartic in a way she didn’t understand she needed.
Maybe they had a chance after all.
–
Bugsy swore she would never have an optimistic thought a day in her life again.
Because just as they had thought perhaps things could look up; just as they had sent in a different agent medically trained enough to save the jack, their UnSub, that they’d identified as Oliver, had bled out before he could have done anything to save him. Without a second thought, the king, Chris, had shot the agent, and demanded he wanted Will next as retribution for his brother’s death.
They had of course turned down the offer in a heartbeat but the moment everyone turned their backs, Will, ten times the cop Bugsy could ever hope to be, had walked into the bank with his arms raised in surrender despite JJ screaming for him to stop from where Morgan and Hotch held her back from following him in.
Bugsy and Penelope watched from the CCTV in blood curdling horror when Chris put two bullets in him before he could even declare he was unarmed.
“Did you see where he was shot?” JJ asked, her tone empty, her eyes bloodshot where she had broken down into a fit of wails as soon as the gunshots had sounded through the street.
Bugsy opened her mouth to speak, losing all hope as soon as the bluebell gaze fell to her for an explanation.
“Is he alive or dead, Bug?” JJ snipped, but she knew she didn’t mean it, knew she was just worried out her mind and grasping at straws.
“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Bugsy replied, Emily’s hand at the small of her back in a comforting gesture because she sounded scared. She wished Spencer was with her, he always knew how to make people feel better, but he and Kevin had gone back to their office uptown to use Penelope’s personal lair for better coverage on the BAU’s resources.
“He was wearing a vest,” Emily jumped in, because Bug was tense and upset enough as it was, “He might be okay,”
“Might be?” JJ said humourlessly, her face hollow with sadness, “Alright we need to get inside,”
“JJ, it’s too risky,” Morgan tried as the woman stood up, a new found determination, because she refused to accept her partner, the father of her child, was dead until she saw him in a body bag for herself, “We don’t have eyes in there anymore,”
Jennifer’s eyes welled up again, and she turned to their unit chief; he was the only one who could understand just how desperate she felt right now if there was even the smallest chance he could still be alive. “Aaron.”
Hotch took a breath, nodding to her with complete empathy, “Let’s go in,”
Bugsy leapt for the medical kit they’d kept in the cupboard, because if she could stop the bleeding as soon as possible he might have a chance. She was taken back to when she had gotten to Emily that night with Doyle, when she had nothing but the clothes on her back and a loaded gun to treat her sister with, when she had felt completely helpless.
She refused to feel like that again, not now she’d been lucky enough to get Emily back. She refused to let JJ and tiny Henry go through what she did.
Will wouldn’t die if she had anything to do with it.
-
“Seeing what’s going on outside doesn’t help us inside,” Spencer said, standing behind where Kevin sat in Pen’s office, his hazel eyes falling to the surveillance footage of the bank live streaming from one of the choppers, where the familiar woman he worried for more than he could ever tell her moved behind a SWAT unit towards the front doors, a large med kit strapped to her back, a pistol at her side.
He looked down at the blueprints of the bank because if he watched her get even ten feet away the bank he thought he might just throw up, even if there were four armed men shielding her.
“Kevin, can you possibly pull up each of the surveillance feeds prior to Will being shot?” He asked, quickly diverting his attention away from where they were at an impasse waiting for something to happen, Emily’s SWAT team moving slowly towards hers.
“Sure, what are we looking for?” The other man asked, his fingers sprawling over Penelope’s keyboard as he did as requested, playing the older footage on the opposite screen, though even he was getting cold feet watching their team getting ready to breach the perimeter.
“The female UnSub disappeared once before, if she wasn’t looking for an escape, what was she doing?”
Spencer paused, because he couldn’t help when his eyes flicked back to the footage of Bugsy shuffling closer to the entrance behind one SWAT agent, and the doors burst open, the entire street pausing for a second to see what the movement was.
The hostages. The civillians caught in the crossfire at the bank slowly trickled out of the doorway, their arms raised in peace, some crying in relief though there was no sign of Will anywhere.
This was bad. Though he felt utmost care that the hostages had been released safely, he knew that the UnSubs keeping Will meant one of two things. One, that Will was already dead and useless to them, or two, keeping him bleeding out as a bargaining chip was their final play. Meaning they had no intention of releasing him, otherwise they would be left with nothing.
If he wasn’t already dead, he would be any minute now.
Spencer’s chest crashed in devastation for his friend and his godson, though it soon took a turn of terror when it seemed the same thought ran through Bugsy’s mind and she began stepping forward towards where the hostages were shuffling out in floods of tears.
He saw Morgan and Emily yelling at her to stop, two of the SWAT team trying to follow her because they had no idea what had come over the twenty something year old rookie with a death wish. Spencer tried to ignore the way his chest clawed in horror, his eyes snapping back onto the surveillance of the female UnSub disappearing into the back rooms of the bank, completely ignoring the vault and the very clearly marked exit, meaning she had no intention of using either.
So what was she doing?”
Spencer felt his head rattling with a horrid thought, hoping his intuition was wrong when he held the blueprints up to the screen, his skin turning to gooseflesh when he realised just exactly where she had been dipping out to with that backpack of hers.
“Gas mains,” His voice was numb with fear, his body diving for their comm link to Garcia, where she sat in the trailer with Strauss and Rossi, watching the surveillance just as he was, “Garcia, get them out of there now,”
But no sooner had he said anything, Bugsy’s figure disappeared into the building, the SWAT team confirming that the entrance was clear, JJ and Morgan moving after her with their own agents protecting them.
But she was already inside, his head screamed at him. Even when he heard David’s frantic voice through the radio they had linked to their kevlars, “ABORT, ABORT!”
Even when he heard Hotch swear hastily, calling to his team to hold back, trying to yell loud enough JJ and her team could hear his orders to take cover.
Spencer couldn’t truly take any of it in as he watched the large glass windows wobble for a second, a shock wave of what he knew was about to come.
The lines went dead, and he thought for a second his heart stopped. Because he hadn’t figured it out fast enough, hadn’t warned them before she had chance to throw herself head first into danger the way he should have known she would.
Because Spencer watched the footage with a terror he had never known, not even in his eight years on the team, not even in his own situations as a hostage, not even when he was at his lowest and he thought the dilaudid was going to finish him off, alone and high in his apartment’s little bathroom, a burnt out drug addict who had so much going for him.
Spencer had never felt the sheer, spine-chilling dread that he did when he watched, useless and heart broken, as the bank went up in a colossal explosion, a plume of flames bursting out of every window, shattering glass and cracking the brickwork, hard enough he watched part of the building start to crumble inwards.
And Bugsy went down with it.
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No Sweeter Innocence than Our Gentle Sin Pt.1 | Remus Lupin x Reader
Pairing: Priest!Remus x reader
Word Count: 8.6 k
Prompt: You did not want to go to church that day, but your spirits are uplifted when you meet Father Remus, and your mind starts creating a mischievous scheme, to both retaliate over those years of being forced to go and take something from them.
Alternatively, R is really mad at the church and decides to steal one of their priests for it (but also kind of falls for him).
Warnings: SMUT, Non-apt for Christians(?). Reader is a little cynical (or maybe cynical Af). Suggestive talks, touching oneself, fingering. Reader seduces a Priest (so whatever you might expect from that), hierophiIia, corruption!kink, praise!kink (if you squint). Consent is sexy!
Proofread by lovely @aremuslupinsimp
Part 2 is out now!
♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut
ACT I: Remember to keep holy the LORD’s Day
You really didn’t want to go to church. You had one hell of a week and you were incredibly tired so when you got the phone call with your grandma inviting you to go, you were about ready to say no.
But your grandma has always been extremely catholic, and while you weren’t anymore, you hadn’t seen her in a while, and you missed her. Her being in town for your short vacation was a good enough reason to visit her more often (she was staying with your parents) and if you’d have to live through a whole hour of some boring priest talking about all the things that are wrong with society nowadays, then you would. Even if you didn’t want to.
That didn’t stop you from being cranky over the fact that you’d have to wake up extra early to take the 40-minute ride to the church she claimed “was the best one in the city,” according to her priest back at home (of course she couldn’t just ask you to the nearest fucking church).
Breathe, you told yourself. This is for your grandma, you repeated as you sat on the narrow seat of public transport, next to the gym bro that smelled like he could use a shower and whose massive arms would bump into you whenever the bus went through a pothole.
When you finally reached your spot, you had to wake him up so he would move his massive legs to the side and you could fucking pass through, walking down the bus in the sea of people that for some reason had taken the same one. Once outside you took a deep breath and tried to relax again. You didn’t want to look as pissed as you felt when you finally saw your grandma. At least it was a fucking cloudy day and you wouldn’t have to deal with the sun as you walked the 4 blocks left you had until you arrived at the church.
Who the fuck would invent a church so goddamn far from everything important? You wondered as you approached.
Oh, you thought once you saw it. Someone who wanted a lot of space then.
The church was massive. And while you might have been prone to exaggerate when you were pissed, you were far from exaggerating now. It was almost a small castle, maybe the largest church in the city, certainly the largest one you had seen in your life (not that you had seen a great many but certainly a few).
On the outside, there were very many intricate details carved, a few gargoyles at the top in a very Notre Dame-esque sort of way. Except while Notre Dame ended in a very square and neat way, the towers of this one extended far above the roof and ended in a pointy, almost menacing sort of way. You had been so absorbed by the intricate details of the tower, that you didn’t realise you were walking straight into someone.
“Uhh sorry,” you said as you stumbled back, pulling your gaze from the structure and towards the person right in front of you. You were absorbed by him the second your eyes met his: golden brown, almost shining with the way the sun was hitting them. You weren’t sure you had ever seen a more perfect person in your life, they were exactly your–
“I see you’ve met Father Remus!” Your grandma said as she grabbed onto your arm and pulled you back from him a couple more steps.
Father? He’s married? You wondered until you noticed his clothes, all-black suit, white necktie, she meant Father as in Priest?!?
The man –Remus– smiled, gentle, sweet and caring. “Nice to meet you…” there was silence. It took you a second to realise the man was expecting your name, and you gave it to him, fast and still slightly disoriented.
“Come on, angel,” your nan said as she pulled you towards the entrance. “We can talk after the mass.”
“Nice to meet you, Remus,” you said, turning up your most charming smile as you waved goodbye to the man. His eyes seemed to trail on your hand, but your grandma pulled you again, and you were forced to turn around.
“It’s Father Remus,” your grandma corrected.
“Right, sorry,” you said, almost carelessly, not carelessly enough for her to notice, though.
“I’m glad you came, I don’t think any of your cousins made it.”
“Oh, it was nothing, Nan,” you said as you turned around to see if Remus was still around. He was not anymore, you turned back to her. “It’s lovely to be here with you.”
That wasn’t entirely a lie, you liked spending time with her, she was lovely. But you did not like going to the church, you had long parted with the catholic ideals and you weren’t interested in most of the archaic teachings of the church. Especially the homophobic ones, you thought the closed-mindedness of the church was a terrible thing, and that it stopped many people from being who they truly were, not to mention how it affected a lot of people you knew. It was because of that close-mindedness that some of your friends had to hide themselves from their parents. Because god forbid their children were gay.
Now, not everything about the church was bad, some values were good and important, but at this point in the progressive world, perhaps the bad outweighed the good. And in the end, religions were just a way of controlling the masses, no surprise the church service was called “mass”.
You could have made a list of everything that was wrong, in a very Lutheran manner, sent it to your grandma and never attended again, but she was old and you knew there was no way she’d understand, especially when she’d been conditioned to think a certain way for far more years than you’d been alive. So instead, you decided to sit through the service with her, and make her happy, rather than be the rebel you sometimes wanted to be.
Ah the service, it was boring until Remus came out. If you thought he’d look handsome in the cassock, you could have been awestruck when you saw him wearing that white alb. Yes, those Sunday school days had taught you enough. He wore a cincture around the waist that matched the alb, and you’d swear you deserve hell when you pictured yourself pulling the entire thing off him in a secret corner of the massive church. In the middle of mass, while the head priest kept talking about things related to Jesus and how he saved someone or whatever, you were thinking of calm and collected Father Remus, losing control and giving in to the lust of the flesh, and all of it for you.
A small smirk played on your face as you thought of all the things you’d like to do to Remus, of all the sounds you’d have him make. Was it sinful? Perhaps. Did it warrant hell? Most likely. Luckily, you didn’t believe in hell any more than you believed in heaven.
And then it came to you. The idea that would certainly warrant a hell of a lot more than your lewd imaginings. If stealing was a sin, then how sinful would it be to steal something from god? To pilfer one of his men for yourself?
What an ungodly thing to do, so devilish that perhaps you wouldn’t be in hell to be punished but rather to punish. Was it perhaps a revenge for being forced into church for so many years, for having to sit through hours of Sunday School and the indoctrination you had to put up with but somehow managed to see past? Yeah. But at this point, you weren’t sure you cared. Something about Remus had sucked you in like a moth to a flame and you wanted to cling to whatever that was. Otherwise, you might have not be able to go through with your plan.
It wouldn’t happen all in one day, it couldn’t happen all in one day. It had to be slow, steady, and repetitive, like the snake tempting Eve, like Eve tempting Adam. You hadn’t seen yourself as a sexy woman throughout your life, at least not the kind of Sexy Femme Fatale that men seemed to live and diе for in movies. No, you had never been like that, and you wouldn’t start today. But you would perform the most outrageous and strong act of seduction you had ever thought of and it had to be done perfectly, or you wouldn’t get what you wanted.
What was it that you wanted again? Right, you wanted Remus Lupin.
ACT II: Thou shall not steal
“When was the last time you confessed?” Your Nan whispered as she leaned onto you, people were already standing for communion.
You hesitated. “I’m not sure, Nan.”
She hummed in return, clearly disapproving of your distancing from the church. You were sure she would have called you heathen if you said the truth, it had been years.
“I could go up and confess now,” you said as you looked at the confessionary in the back, you had seen Remus enter it, but you suspected it was too soon to start with the plan.
“No darling, repent for your sins and you can confess later. Perhaps after mass.”
“Or during the week,” you said with a knowing smile.
“Isn’t it a long way from your apartment?”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth it anyway.”
She stood up and took the communion, leaving you sitting on the chair and looking at the way people would walk toward the altar. Judging them, if that made sense. There was a woman who accommodated her breasts back in her seat before standing up, she threw a look at one of the other priests as she took the host. You gave her an approving sort of glance before you turned to someone else. Now you didn’t exactly consider her way of seducing appealing, but then again, yours wouldn’t be much better either. So to each their own. The man behind her had been touching himself in the very back of the church and had stared at her ass throughout the entire line, probably for more material.
Sinners, the church claiming to be so saint, and it was full of them.
You weren’t much better than them either, the difference is that you didn’t harbour the same hate towards yourself for it. No, you knew what nature was and you knew that despite how much we humans pretended to be better, we still were all animals. And there are a few things that animals want and need. Love, or the act of love, was one of them. That’s what you’d be using to your favour.
When your Nan came back, you helped her kneel and do her praying; all the while you attentively looked around. Remus had left the concessionary already and he was at the front with the rest of the priests. He spotted you looking at him and you smiled kindly, innocently at him. The kind of smile someone with the thoughts surging in your head wouldn’t be able to give, and yet, you accomplished it seamlessly.
He gave you a courteous nod and you reciprocated it. The rest of the mass was as boring as you’d expect it to be; except for the fact that Remus was looking at you rather often, either he was curious about their new parishioner, or he was interested. Either way, you were sure you’d be able to use that in your favour.
When the mass was over, you had to wait for all of them to exit the church first and then you helped your Nan stand and walked with her towards the entrance. Remus was there, giving short blessings and handing out some pamphlets about donations and other similar stuff. Your grandma was the one to pull you towards him. “What a wonderful mass,” she said. “Father Ernest was onto something when he told me to come here while I was in the city.”
“Thank you,” Remus said bashfully, you could almost see him blush at the praise. What would a real blush look on him? You were dying to know.
“Wonderful indeed, although I would have liked to hear your interpretation of the verses, Remus,” You said.
“Father Remus,” your grandma corrected.
“Oh, it’s fine. If it feels more personal you may call me just Remus, dear one.”
You tried to hold back the snide smile you would have thrown your Nan had it been any other woman. You could call him Remus. You were a dear one.
“Right, perhaps another day,” you added with a smile and pulled your grandma to the side so the next person could take the blessing.
“I preach on Wednesdays,” Remus said, tone borderline desperate, as he raised his head over the people and women piling around him. Clearly, you weren’t the only one to harbour a little crush on Father Remus. It didn’t matter though, because you’d be the one to have him.
Next Wednesday you didn’t make any plans, and you put on something simple but elegant. A squared-neck shirt and a pair of jeans. When you arrived at the church, you didn’t waste as much time admiring it, instead, you decided to walk straight inside. His mass had started already, and you sneaked in through the side until you reached the third row of seats. There weren’t as many people as you’d expect on a Wednesday, but Remus was preaching like there were hundreds. He was wonderful.
He had a way with words that made you want to listen, perhaps if you weren’t so cynical, it would even convert you. But rather than thinking of his prayer, you were thinking of how incredible he would be as a teacher, you imagined the students, squirming for him and his words in their seats. You imagined the older, more daring girls going after him. You were lucky that wasn’t the situation, the kind of woman that could seduce any man had the benefit of practice that you didn’t. You wouldn’t have stood a chance against them.
But the kind of woman that went to the church, the kind that flocked to him at the end of mass, they weren’t a threat. They were too pious to try anything even remotely similar to what you had in mind. In fact, you even dared to think you were lucky that he had been a priest and not a teacher because then he would have perhaps been married, and while you were willing to take a man from god, you would never take one from another woman. You had limits.
After the mass was over, you waited a few minutes before leaving the church “accidentally” bumping into him again. “Remus,” you said with a smile. “We seem to continue bumping into each other,” you added as you leaned closer to him and pressed your cheek to his, making a low smacking sound, and then repeating on the other side. He looked bewildered at the contact. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable? I got this habit while I was in France and I still haven’t shaken it off completely.”
“Oh… No, no,” hesitant, bashful, you loved every bit of it. “Not at all, it’s fine. You can greet me however you like.”
“Is that privilege reserved to me, or does every other parishioner have it?” He seemed taken aback by your words. “I’m joking, Remus,” you added and placed your hand on his arm, before pulling it back tentatively. “Your mass was wonderful.”
“Thank you, I’m lucky to work at Saint Gryffin.”
“The way I see it, Saint Gryffin is lucky to have you. I mean lots of women come here to see the beautiful priest Remus.”
“You think?” he asked. Remus didn’t exactly consider himself handsome, he thought his scars would scare people away rather than attract them. But he sometimes failed to see past them and didn’t pay attention to his beautiful eyes, to his charming smile, to his long lashes, or to his well-toned frame. It was as if he had been carved by Michael Angelo himself, from your perspective.
“For sure,” you replied. “Take a closer look at the way they look at you on Sunday and you’ll see.” He blushed, a deeper shade of red than your Nan had pulled out of him, you resisted the urge to bite your lip and smiled instead. “Today was lovely, I’ll see you around,” you said before waving goodbye and exiting the church.
You went again a week later, Remus would sometimes lose his focus on the bible and look at you instead. That day you had chosen a skirt. Nothing too short or indecent, but certainly short enough to allow your legs to be seen and admired. An older man hadn’t stopped staring at you throughout the mass, and you would have perhaps told him off if it hadn’t been for the fact that Remus had been in a similar position.
Remus’ distraction, his hesitance and his constant turning to you were enough to drive your attention away from the man and onto him. You would smile, and you would nod, and you would pretend to be a supportive little lamb. Innocent, and meek and kind. Just what he expected from you. And it was that Wednesday, the third time that you’d met him, that you realised you had him right where you wanted him to be.
He for sure had a thing for you, be it curiosity, admiration, or a small crush. You had gotten his attention, and you had gotten into his mind. Now all you needed was to have him.
ACT III: Thou shall not Covet someone else’s property
The next Wednesday you had been late, you had allowed your hair to be slightly dishevelled and your cheeks were warm, despite the autumn getting colder. You had bitten your lips and you looked like you had just gotten away from a dire situation. You’d done it on purpose. When his gaze fell on you he almost stopped talking completely. He staggered to complete his words and you nodded for him to go on. When he was done, he rushed out, and you stayed in your seat. Eyes closed and hands clasping each other, pretending to pray.
That’s when you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, he whispered your name. “Are you okay, Little Lamb?”
It took a real effort not to laugh at his nickname. Not because you thought it was stupid, but because you were so far from a lamb that you might as well have been the wolf that ate it. You turned to him, fake distress clouding your features, “I’ve done something terrible, Remus.”
He was kind, almost impossibly so, it almost made you want to stop your plan and leave him the pure man he was.
Almost.
“I’m sure there’s nothing you could do, that was as bad as you’ve described.”
“I’d like to confess,” you said. “Would you take my confession?”
Remus seemed hesitant, biting his lip. He knew he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t hear your confession, not when he wanted to maintain a personal relationship with you, not when he’d develop a crush. But it was in your preoccupied gaze, in the small frown that etched your features, in the way your lips curved down and in the bobbing of your throat as you swallowed. How ever could he deny you?
Oh, those thoughts would be the ones that would drag him into sin, nay, not drag, but rather, waft him into it. If Remus hadn’t been so enamoured by you, perhaps corrupting him would have proved a harder task to accomplish for you.
“Okay,” he said simply. And helped you stand. Guiding you towards the empty confessionary and sitting in his spot as you opened the door to the other one. It was a narrow place, enough for you to sit. There was a screen dividing the two of you, you couldn’t see him, but you suspected he could see you. And there was a small, square hole in between, enough to fit perhaps a hand. You assumed it was there in case you’d like to give something to the priest, as a thank you.
Remus cleared his throat, and in the most professional way he could muster he said, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. My child, what brings you to the sacrament of confession today?”
His voice had been different, stronger as if he was trying not to be himself. You loved it. “Father, I come seeking forgiveness for my sins. I have strayed from the path of righteousness and I seek reconciliation,” you let your voice bend and crack near the end.
“I am here to listen, my child. Let us begin with a moment of reflection. Take a moment to examine your conscience and bring to mind the sins you wish to confess.”
You held back the smirk that threatened to appear when he said that, just in case he was actually able to see you. “I have fallen in love with a man I cannot have.”
“Oh, darling,” he said, that was Remus, not Father Remus. You had cracked through his façade and you hadn’t even started. “That is not a sin. It’s happened to the best of us.”
“But it is a sin the way I think of him, Father,” you responded. You heard a sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t speak further. “I have dreamt of him, of his lips, of his eyes with long lashes, the way his hair frames his face, of his beautiful and strong hands–” Remus tried not to be jealous of the man you described, but everything about him seemed perfect, and unlike himself, he probably could have you. Your beautiful lips, and eyes, focused solely on him. He hated the guy already. “–sliding between my legs, and touching me.”
“Do not speak further,” there was an edge of alarm in his voice. A bit of a broken end to it.
“Oh but Father I must,” you said. “If I don’t I’m afraid I’ll act upon my feelings in the same way I did today while thinking of him.”
“You…” he hesitated. “You touched yourself… Is that why you’re here?”
“Yes,” you replied with a frown, almost a wince, all of it an act, of course.
“Pray Our Father 10 times and–”
“No! Allow me to relate my story, Father,” he tried to stop you. “I must, I must, or then I might go to him and offer myself in a terrible, ungodly manner and then I won’t ever be deserving of the church ever again.”
Frankly, you didn’t even know how you’d gotten so inspired, but Remus relented, nodding and when he realised you hadn’t heard, he bit his cheek and said. “Go on then.”
You sighed, that was a real sigh, you weren’t sure you’d get this far. “I had a dream of him, Father. He was handsome as ever, and he looked at me, with such kind eyes, with such loving eyes, that when he leaned in to kiss me, I didn’t stop him.”
Remus was already praying for himself. He did not want to imagine you in your bed, your hair sprawled over the pillow and your mind away in a dream, kissing another man.
“I didn’t stop him when he pinned me against the wall, and I didn’t stop him when his hand dug under my shirt. I said nothing when it travelled to my breast, and I all but moaned when he pinched my nipple.”
“That is enough, I get the idea.”
“But that’s not the whole dream,” you protested, you sounded mortified. How could he stop your repentance for his own misguided thoughts? A man of God wasn’t supposed to harbour this kind of feelings for a fellow human, he was not meant to like you so much, and his pants were not meant to be as uncomfortable.
“You don’t have to go onto the details–”
“But Father, I must repent for all of my sins.”
Remus sighed, “Go on then.”
“And then when he reached down, oh Remus, I spread my legs for him rather than shut them close…” you didn’t say a thing. You could hear his breathing had gotten a lot more ragged. “He slid this hand through my knickers and touched me, that place that should only be touched by your husband. And… it felt good. I moaned his name until my voice went hoarse in the dream. I saw him pump himself and woke up as he rubbed his cock onto my folds.”
There was a sigh of relief when he thought the story was over. “It is good that you repent–”
“The worst part is yet to come.” You said, and you breathed. “When I awoke, I felt a wetness between my legs. My underwear was moist and the stickiness had rubbed onto my legs. I know I shouldn’t have done it, Remus, but I couldn’t resist the temptation. I wanted to know if it would feel as good as in the dream.”
“Child.”
“I reached down and repeated the actions the man had done to me. My fingers weren’t as strong or secure, but I found a spot that felt incredible, and I kept touching it, rubbing it, circling around it.”
Remus’ boner was straining against his pants in an almost painful way. He wanted to let go, he wanted to set him free and chase his own pleasure at your words. At how he pictured you in your bed, sweaty and sighing as you touched yourself. You were so beautiful, he found innocence even in the way you sinned.
“And then there was bliss, I thought I was dеad and had gone to heaven, but I came back, vision cloudy and disoriented. My bedsheets were sticky with my juices and I had to change them. I’ve been in a permanent state of shame ever since then.”
“Let us pray for your forgiveness,” Remus said. And my own, he thought. Now not only your sheets had been stained, but so had his pants, just from hearing you. You would have relished on the knowledge if you’d had it.
“Thank you, Father,” you said as you stood.
“Pray tell me child, whoever is this man that has you in such an altered state of mind?”
Got him! you thought as you turned your gaze to the confessionary. And almost in a whisper, you murmured. “Well, it’s you, Remus.”
ACT IV: Thou shall not commit adultery
Remus couldn’t stop thinking of you since that day. He’d get boners with the mere thought of you, with the idea of you going back to his confessionary and telling him all the lewd things you had done while thinking of him again.
He thought of you in the shower, and he thought of you in bed, and he thought of you while praying to try and take his mind away from you as well. He knew he was in deep trouble and he had no one he could talk to about his problem.
He had avoided touching himself, but it was hard and it was painful to ignore the throbbing sometimes, and he had to give in. Gently brushing his hand on top of his trousers until either it subdued or he came, completely forgetting who he was and thinking only of your hot lips in his and your legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed you in the exact same way he’d had you in your dream. A dream that had now become as much his as it had been yours.
The next Wednesday he was nervous. Bouncing his leg while he had breakfast and playing with his nails while he read the verse he’d have to give that day. His breath was stuck in his throat as he started to preach and he waited. And waited as he spoke and looked at the door and then back at the bible held between his hands and then back at the door.
You didn’t go to church that day.
Naturally, he was mortified. Thinking he had done something wrong, thinking he had scared you and thinking he’d pushed you away somehow. Thinking you were too scared to see him again after those lewd dreams, thinking –God forbid- you had chosen a different church to attend.
So when the next Wednesday you showed up with a small skirt (the smallest you had ever gone to church with) and a simple preppy-looking sweater he couldn’t help but be both relieved and terrified, all at the same time. You had tinted your lips red, not enough for it to be lipstick, but enough for them to look raw and bitten, and while your hair was perfectly put together, and your makeup right in place, there was something about you that screamed danger.
You sat right in the very first row. There were like 5 other people in the massive church that day. Someone sitting in the middle. A couple of old people in the back and a few others scattered around. No one young, and no one near the front either.
Oh, what a terrible thing it was that you were about to do.
Remus was quick to dismiss his deacons, asking them to go fetch something while he preached mass and they gave him a courteous nod while he started talking. As per usual, you listened attentively, paying close attention to the things he said, and despite yourself, often finding the things that you disagreed with. You realized he could barely take his eyes off you, and you slowly, spread your legs. Only a little, only enough to get his attention. You saw the way he licked his lips, and went back to talking. And you smiled. You pulled your ass back and opened yourself a little wider before crossing one leg over the other. You accommodated your skirt with your hand, slow and steady. Pulling your skirt up to show more skin before pulling it down and settling it in place, but only after he’d noticed, and seen as much of skin as possible, all the while, pretending to be doing it all innocently. Like you hadn’t worn that small skirt on purpose and like you hadn’t taken off your knickers and placed them in your bag in that public loo before walking inside the church.
When the mass ended, you saw Remus disappear into the confessionary. Onto the confession side. You saw him look around and then get inside, nervous as if scared to be seen. Probably trying to run away from you. When you made sure that there was no one left, you walked inside the other side. He was hunched, elbows leaning on his knees and head hidden between his hands. You thought you had gone too far since he looked like he had been crying, but you quickly realised he had been praying instead.
Sure, he’d have complicated thoughts, but your plan was meant to be fun for the two of you, and you wanted him to enjoy being corrupted as much as you enjoyed corrupting him.
“Remus,” you said tentatively. “Are you okay?”
He gasped and turned to the small division, he couldn’t see you, but you could see him perfectly. “It’s you.”
Rather than replying you cocked your head to the side. “Take a moment to examine your conscience and bring to mind the sins you wish to confess,” you joked. He gave you a stern look from the other side, a reproaching sort of look as if he wanted to tell you how terrible it was for you to impersonate a Priest, but he didn’t speak. “Or should I speak of mine first?”
“Please don’t.”
“Then sing, little bird.”
Remus huffed. “I’ve been thinking about a woman, non-stop.”
“A church woman?”
“I’m not sure if she really is a church woman anymore.”
“A devil?”
“No.”
You smiled, “Then, what’s so wrong about thinking of her?”
“I’m no ordinary man. It’s against my beliefs.”
“To think of a woman is against your beliefs?”
“To think of her in the way I’ve been thinking of her.”
“Which is?”
“As terrible as your dream, my darling.”
You smirked at that, biting your lip so hard you might have drawn bIood if you hadn’t stopped to say something else. “So you’ve been thinking of kissing me?”
“Yes.”
“Of touching me?”
“Yes,” he said, strained.
“Of fucking me?”
Silence.
“Have you thought of the sounds I would make, of the sighs and moans and groans?”
He closed his eyes, a deep frown etched on his features. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I used your confession to fuel my imaginations, to satisfy my carnal desires to–”
“That’s okay.”
“It is not!” he responded, distressed.
“Remus,” you said simply. “I wanted you to think of me,” you admitted. “I wanted you to think of me while you touched yourself the same way I thought of you while I did it. The same way I’ve been thinking of you while doing it, in fact.”
His head snapped your way, he seemed mortified, but you could also see one of his hands being brought down, adjusting his pants.
“Do you want me to tell you how I do it?”
“No,” he lied.
“Are you sure? I won’t ask again.”
He looked to the side, red from shame. He bit his lip. “Tell me.”
You smiled, “I lay in bed, and then these images come to my mind, I think of you, of your hands. They’re touching me, they’re everywhere. I don’t know where you ended and I start and I love every bit of it. It’s my hands that travel down my thighs but I think of them as yours. It is my fingers that slide in between my folds but I believe they’re yours.”
“Fucking hell,” he said, his grip on the wooden latch, grip tightening until his knuckles turned white. You peered through the blinds and realised the tent in his pants.
“Remus,” you said quietly. He turned to the wooden division, gaze strained, eyes filled with guilt, he was looking for you, but he couldn’t see past the squares and the small, shadow of you that got through. “Touch yourself.”
It was soft, the way you said it. Soft like a suggestion more than a command, but neither of you doubted it was the latter. And as if it had been a command from God himself, he listened and did what told. He patted himself over his black pants and hissed at the strain he’d been on. It was almost painful, how constricted and trapped his cock had been.
“Soft,” you said then, watching, resisting your own temptation to dig your hand under your skirt. “Be kind to yourself, Remus, you deserve it.”
He listened, and continued to rub himself, passing his hand back and forth and allowing it to help with the strain. “Te” –he stuttered– “tell me how you feel.”
“The inner side of my legs is soft, incredibly so,” you said. “I get chills when I run my hands close to my core.”
“It’s wet,” you said then. You had dug your hand under your skirt now. “Really wet.”
He could hear your breaths getting sharper, he assumed you were also touching yourself on the other side and he could barely think properly, barely command his hand to do what it needed to do to help himself.
“That looks painful,” you said as you saw him continue to rub himself over his trousers. “Take yourself out.”
“What?” he asked, confused.
“Touch yourself with your bare hand, Remus.”
He seemed like he would protest, so you decided to give him some encouragement. You placed your finger between your folds and brushed over your clit, emitting a soft moan, “Please.”
Just like before, Remus followed your command, unbuttoning his pants and pulling his boxers down enough so he could pull himself out. You smiled. “So beautiful, aren’t you?” you praised from the other side. He was long, thick and standing proud. He was hesitant at first, but he eventually placed his hand around himself. “Fuck,” he whispered. “I’d forgotten how good it feels.”
Of course, he had been a teenager once, of course, he had touched himself while feeling terrible for doing so and having grown up in a Christian household.
“Remus?”
“Yeah?” he asked, as he pumped. Slow and steady, as if he didn’t want to go too fast and show you how easy it was for him to cum at the thought of you.
“You’re making me insanely wet, I might have ruined your comfy little chair here.”
“Are you teasing me?”
“No, I’m being a good little lamb that tells no lies,” you said in response. “Ah… fuck.”
“What was that?”
“Just thinking of how incredible your hand would feel if it were doing what mine is?”
“Which is?”
“Shhh…” you said. He stopped moving. “You hear that?” you asked. It was a lewd wet sound. “It’s my finger, coming in and out of myself.”
Remus moaned your name and bit his lips. He came in his hand before he had time to really visualize you. “Ugh,” he said as he looked at the mess he’d made all over his hands, some of it also on his pants.
You took a handkerchief from your bag and passed it over your legs, collecting some of the sticky stuff between your folds and then you passed it through the small, opened section. Crossing your hand, the one with still glistening fingers over.
You knew he’d noticed the second his eyes opened wide. “So you clean yourself, I used it for myself too.” He bit his lip and carefully took it from your hands, and cleaned your fingers with it as if he tried to wash his sin by cleaning your equally sinful fingers. But he didn’t bring his cum covered hand even close to it. Let alone his cock. “What? You think it’s gross?”
“I don’t want to ruin it,” he said as he brought it close to his nose and sniffed, stifling a moan with the fabric. Now you were the speechless one. “Do you have a napkin?”
You somehow managed to pull a napkin from your bag and handed it over to him through the same place. He used that to clean himself and placed it neatly folded in one of his pockets.
“Can I keep this?” he asked as he held the handkerchief between two fingers.
“Yes,” you almost stuttered. You had never seen a man do something as ridiculous –and hot– as what he’d done.
“Will you disappear again, angel?”
“Angel?” you asked with a smirk, “I would think you’d see me as something else, a devil, perhaps.”
“Impossible, a devil wouldn’t be able to show me heaven like you did today.”
Speecheless, again. This man really could bring you to your knees. “Do you even want to see me again?”
“More than anything on this earth.”
“Fine then, I’ll come to confess tomorrow, how does that sound?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
ACT V: Thou shall honour your Mother and Father
After the heat of the moment, Remus felt the sudden urge to repent, to throw away the handkerchief and to pray in bed until his knees were raw from how much he’d been kneeling. And he tried, but even as he prayed he knew how pointless it was. The act of repenting, of praying and being forgiven for your sins, only worked if you actually felt regret over what you’d done.
But Remus was far from feeling remorseful. He had repented a great many things throughout his life. Not trusting his innocent best friend and blaming him for things that had happened, not doing more for the world when he had the chance and smaller, pesky things that most people wouldn’t bat an eyelash about but that he constantly put himself down for.
But having done what he did on the confessionary, hearing your small moans and the lewd sounds that you’d made for him, telling him what to do and how to do it, that he didn’t regret. On the other hand, he wanted to do it again. You had taken him to heaven and he was eager to see it again. And he did it, repeated the same actions, it was cold and dark and there was no one even close to his room when he pulled that handkerchief out and placed it on his face. Smelling the scent of you while he pulled himself out of his pants and jerked himself for the second time that day. He came with the thought of you at the confessionary and your name muffled by the handkerchief that he refused to move from his mouth. By the end, he was sore and delicate and he felt like he had pushed himself too hard, but he found the most peaceful sleep afterwards.
When he woke up again, he was still covered in his own cum and he had to wash the sheets of his bed in his sink before anyone noticed what he had done. The shame he felt diluting as the sun rose, and he imagined you coming back to the church. He pictured you in that small skirt you’d worn yesterday, or in the simple dress you’d taken the first time that you went to hear his mass. But he was not expecting to see you walk in the clothes you’d worn.
A white dress, long enough to reach mid-thigh, and made of soft sheer fabric layered one on top of another. He might have been imagining things but he would have sworn he could see your nipples perk through the thin fabric when you turned to him, a small, innocent smile on your face as you threw him a look and walked inside the confessionary. An angel, you really were an angel.
“Pretty thing, you’ve come back,” he said as he too walked in, this time taking the side that belonged to him, he loved that he could see you.
“I promised, Remus.”
“I know, angel. But I’m always scared I’ve dreamed you up, that you’re not real and that I was just imagining you all along.”
You smirked and pushed your hand through the small hole connecting the two of you, “I’m very real, Remus, you can touch me.”
He did, he placed his hand on top of yours and you heard a sigh of relief when his thumbs pressed onto your hand. He was careful and kind, passing his fingers over your knuckles and under your palm in a soft, gentle manner that was sending shivers down your spine. This poor man was breaking down for you, and yet he was the gentlest of them all.
“You really are,” he breathed. He didn’t know if he should be happy that you were real, or horrified by the things he’d done for you, of the things he’d do. His faith? He might have been willing to throw it all away for another chance to see you, for another chance to feel your hands, for your lips, your kisses. How could he believe in a God that had given him nothing, when you were here, willing to give him everything?
“Yesterday I saw it all and you barely got to hear me, I thought of showing you my sins rather than describing them to you today, is that okay, Father?” That last bit was a taunt, in the same way you’d been taunting him since the very beginning.
“Yes,” there was no hesitance, if anything, you would have only described the waver in his voice as excitement.
You couldn’t hold back the smirk that pulled from your lips, Remus’ breath hitched as you accommodated yourself in the chair. Leaning back and spreading your legs for him, letting the soft fabric of your dress fall in between your tights and slowly show the outline of your legs.
“When was the last time you saw a woman naked?”
“In real life? Never.”
Your head snapped to him, although all you could see was the outline of a shadow through the dark-edged wood, “Never?!? Pictures?”
“When I was around 15.” He admitted. “My best friend Peter once took a few magazines to school after the break. He said his father had gotten them for him on his 14th birthday and that he told them to take them back before his mother noticed. I barely remember them.”
“Did you jack off to them?”
“I stole a page,” he admitted with a bitter laugh. “It was this girl with a forest-green, transparent robe. I took her home with me, my father found it and he was enraged. He called me a monster and drove me straight into church.”
“The priest there took a look at the image, and made me kneel down on the rocky floor and pray for forgiveness. I don’t know if he forgot, or if he did it on purpose, but he said not to stand until he came back and he didn’t come back until 7 hours later.”
“My god,” you said. Remus didn’t even think of reprimanding you for taking his name in vain. “That must have been awful. Your parents were terrible.”
Remus shrugged, “It’s what I was used to,” he added when he remembered you couldn’t actually see him, although you could feel his hands tense at the thought.
“That means, since then… you’ve never even–?”
“No,” he admitted softly. “I guess it’s easier not to do something when you don’t know how it feels. Although my best friend was always eager to tell me how good it was.”
“Worry not, you won’t have to use your imagination anymore,” you said as you pulled your hand back into your area and moved it to the thin strap of the dress, slowly sliding it down, he could barely see the valley of your breast, and yet he felt himself start to tense, his cheeks heat and bIood rushing south.
“You don’t have to–”
“But I want to,” you said, turning your gaze from your bare shoulder and towards him, he could see the mirth shining in your eyes, he could see the mischievousness and the licentiousness reflected on your pupils. You pulled the other strap down and then moved both of your hands to the fabric at the top of your breasts, pulling it down and letting them in full view.
Remus breathed sharply when he finally saw them. Of course, he knew what they looked like, the girls in Peter’s magazine had shown him. James had described them, but that was nothing compared to seeing them in real life, it was nothing compared to seeing yours in real life.
You smiled at the little to no sound he was making from the other side. You leaned your back on the stunningly carved wooden wall of the confessionary and squared your shoulders for him. “They look like this for you,” you said as you slid your hand over one of your nipples. “They turned hard the minute I spotted you at the door.”
Silence, nothing more than a ragged breath.
“Cat got your tongue?” You teased.
“I had never seen a prettier thing in my life,” he said. “Except for your angelic face, that is.”
You laughed in return, a sweet and soft laugh that he would have done anything to hear again. “You’re good at this for someone who’s never done it.”
“Good at what?”
“At making a woman blush.” You said. “But I’m just as good,” you added as you pulled one of your legs up on the small seat, your dress fell over and bunched up covering your core, but Remus barely even cared, he was immersed in the plushness of your thigh, imagining how it would feel wrapped around his waist.
You heard him swallow thickly.
“In my dream,” you started, “In my dream, we weren’t here, we were hiding somewhere in the church.” Your breath had slowed down, one of your hands was playing with your thigh, the other one on your breast. You didn’t usually pay much attention to them, but it was that you knew his eyes were on you, that touching them, knowing how it must have made him feel, was turning you on even more than before. “You were kissing me –ah– you were touching me.”
Remus was, by now, having to adjust his extremely uncomfortable pants.
“How?” he asked, almost in a whisper. “Show me how I was touching you.”
You couldn’t even hold back the smile from your face. “You traced your fingers over my thigh,” you placed your hand on your bare knee, and then started to move it downwards, towards yourself. “You were kissing me here,” you added as you leaned your neck to the side for him to see better. And then… you touched me here.” Your hand was already in your core. You moved the ruffles of the dress to the side, allowing him to see, to see all of you. You heard a small gasp, when he noticed you had worn no knickers.
“You slid your hands on my slit,” you said and followed your own instructions, “Soft and gentle, like you are when you’re preaching. In the same way that you moved your delicate slender fingers over the bible,” you breathed, a little more ragged now. “You slid one of your fingers in between my folds, and looked for my clit. You found it almost instantly, and you rolled your finger over it gently, you loved my whimpers.”
“I do,” he agreed. “I imagined them while touching myself last night. Those wet little sounds you make when you–”
“Ah,” you breathed as you dug your fingers inside yourself, your walls tightening around it involuntarily. “Like this?” you asked and smiled, biting your lip before you did it again. You brought the hand on your breast downwards and leaned back a little so you could spread your legs even further. Remus’ mouth watered, he wondered how wrong would it be to taste you?
To bury his head in your legs and lick all of the wetness that coated your fingers, to be so close that the smell of you got everywhere, that he wouldn’t need the handkerchief to feel you close. You continued to touch yourself. Breathing heavily, sighting and moaning softly, he wondered what that would feel if it were directly whispered into his ear.
You were so lost in yourself for those first few minutes, so wrapped in the feeling that you hadn’t realized the lack of beautiful moans from his side.
“Remus–” you said breathily, “Why aren’t you touching yourself?”
“Yesterday at night I– I did it again… a couple of times. I’m, it’s a little painful,” he admitted shamefully, but your eyes shone with lust so intense at his words that he continued talking. “It was your little handkerchief’s fault. I was going to wash it, but I got its scent and it made me feral.”
“Aha?” you asked, as you continued to touch yourself.
“I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Shut my door and laid on my bed with it over my nose.”
You hummed contentedly, half a moan, half a hum.
“I was so hard it was ridiculous. I had barely even smelled you. I hadn’t even gone through the images of that wonderful dream of yours.”
You sighted in bliss, breath ragged as you slid your finger out of yourself and turned to him with a smile.
“I have an idea,” you said and then let out a breathy laugh.
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Hey can you do a fanfic where cheerleader reader tries to subtly ask Eddie out multiple times but he is clueless and never gets the hint. This goes on for a while until the hellfire club talks about how Eddie is missing out on Y/N, Eddie overhears and realises all the times reader has asked him out and how much of an idiot he's been. Reader confides in Chrissy feeling humiliated that she thought Eddie would like her, and decides to give up on Eddie. Then with the help of Chrissy and some Hellfire members, Eddie plans a romantic gesture for reader then finally asks her out.
Tenth Time's the Charm
a/n: Thank you for requesting love! Also, two fics in two days, I told you I was finally free. Don't doubt to write me more requests ♡
warnings: kind of insecure eddie, some swear words, and a bit suggestive at the end.
words: 2.3k. masterlist
You were coming out of cheer practice with your friends, running to finally have lunch. You catch a glimpse of Eddie at his table, bickering with his friends. You can't help but stare at his messy curls and his adorable brown eyes from afar.
"Go talk to him" Chrissy tells you when she notices your staring.
"What do you mean?" you play dumb.
"You have such a crush on him, I know you" she says.
"He hates cheerleaders too probably" i shake your head.
"Oh, that's just an act. He would die on the spot if you asked him out!" she chuckles.
"You think?" you doubt.
"Go! I'm telling you!" she says.
"Alright, fuck it" you walk up to his table. "Hi, Eddie"
"H- hey" he looks at you confused.
"Um, I was wondering... are you free this Friday?"
"Uh... why?" he frowns.
"Well, i was thinking maybe we can hang out?" you say nervously.
"Oh... you need me to sell at some party? Sorry, princess, I don't sell anymore" he figures that is what you need.
"W- what? I don't-"
"You see that guy over there? He's Kevin, you can ask him" He turns around going back to his food, ignoring you.
You look at his back confused.
"Oh there you are! Lets go have lunch!" Jess, another of your cheer friends grabs your arm and walks with you, starting to talk to you about her problem with her boyfriend.
"So? Did you ask him out?" Chrissy asks you once you sit down at your table.
"Yeah, but I don't think he understood" you say.
"What do you mean?" she asks.
"He thought I wanted to buy weed!" you explain. "He told me to talk to that guy Kevin, and I just stood there! That was so embarrassing!"
"That’s not embarrassing! Just try again" she tries.
The next time you try it's when you find him at the parking lot. He was still bickering with one of his younger friends.
"Eddie?" you call him again.
"Yeah?" he frowns as he sees you again.
"Listen, I didn't want to buy anything from you earlier. I meant... Uh, you know there's a new movie, 'Ferri Bueller's Day Off'? They say it's really good" you say smiling.
"Man, hurry! We're gonna be late for rehearsal!" Another of his friends says from the window of the car. Gary you think his name was, something with a G.
"Coming! Uh, sure. Thanks princess, I'll be sure to swing by the theater if I'm free" he says in a hurry and runs into his van to leave.
You are left standing there once again, feeling foolish. Did he really think you were just suggesting a movie for him to watch? He cannot be that oblivious. Maybe you weren't being clear enough?
They say third time's the charm, so once again, you stand before Eddie at his locker.
"Hi, Eddie" you say trying to ignore the anxiety.
"Hey, I saw that movie you recommended, really fun actually" he says.
"Oh I'm glad! Umm, you know, there's a new ice skating place that opened up here in town. Maybe you would like to come with me?" you make sure to pronounce every single of those words in the question excellently so there is no more confusion.
"Ice skating?" he thinks and you nod. "Uh, I'm not very good at that, i broke my arm once doing it"
"Oh, well, It's okay. We can-"
"But you know who loves ice skating? Chrissy, you should ask her, she'd love to go with you" he says.
"What?" you ask.
"Yeah, she gets competitive though, so don't try to beat her!" he chuckles.
"Huh" you simply say.
"Anyway, see you in class" he smiles and walks away.
You sigh, staring at his back once again. You have to take the hint: he's not confused, he clearly doesn't want to go out with you. You decide to leave him alone. It's nice of him to not reject you directly, at least.
Eddie was about to get in the drama room that next Friday, when he thinks he might have forgotten his dices. He stands at the door, looking through his bag.
"Did you hear what he did on Monday?" Eddie can hear Gareth's voice behind the door. "She asked him out to go ice skating and he told her to go with Chrissy instead, since he's bad at it"
"That’s it? And then he left?" Dustin asks surprised. "I can't believe him, he has a fucking cheerleader asking him out three times already! And he rejected her every single time!"
"He's an idiot with a big ego" Gareth says.
Eddie was standing there confused, but not for long since he can hear an angry voice calling him out.
"Munson!" Chrissy walks up to him, almost red-looking.
"W- what?"
"What is the matter with you?!" she asks.
"Chrissy, I can explain-"
"You better have a good explanation! My friend is an incredible girl and you'd be lucky to go out with her! Are you stupid?!"
"Listen! Listen! I didn't know she was asking me out!" he explains.
"What?" she looks at him as if he is in fact stupid.
"Ugh, I mean, you saw her! How would I ever think a girl like her was asking me out?! I thought she was just being friendly, which was odd enough on it's own! I know I'm an idiot-"
"You are... very much so, an insecure one" she nods.
"Does she hate me now?" he asks.
"No, she doesn't"
"Is there any way I can make this better? I would kill to go out with her!"
"Fine, I'll help you" she says.
You can hear the honk outside your house, meaning Chrissy was waiting at her car. She came to pick you up to then go have a nice dinner together, maybe even go by the ice skating place after all as well.
"Ready?" she asks.
"Yeah, let's go" you confirm.
While she drives, you notice she took another route to get to the place. You look around confused.
"I have to make a quick stop first to pick something up" she explains.
"Oh, sure"
After ten minutes she stops at Forest Hill Trailer Park, a.k.a. Eddie's place.
"Come with me" she says before getting out of the car.
"Chrissy what are we doing here?" you ask getting nervous all of the sudden.
"Just trust me" she says and knocks on a trailer door before opening the door herself.
When you get in, you can see a living room illuminated with various candles, popcorn and wine already set at a table in front of the couch, acopanated by some movie options waiting to be chosen.
"Chrissy, I think we're interrupting something" you say, looking around. When you turn to Chrissy, you don't see her anymore, but instead you see Eddie walking out of his room, with flowers.
"Hey" he smiles at you.
"H- hi" you say surprised.
"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, first of all. I'm such an idiot" he starts, to then give you the flowers.
"These are beautiful" you smile at him.
"Listen, I would kill to go out with you, I swear. But I'm an oblivious idiot who thought you were just being friendly and sweet to me, recomending movies and inviting me to ice skate!" he chuckles.
"You cannot even begin to imagine what an asshole I felt when I realized you were trying to go out with me... but I mean, in my defense, in what world does the prettiest girl in this town wants to date the nerdy metalhead?" he continues.
"In this one, silly!" you chuckle too.
"What a beautiful world we live in" he jokes. "Princess, would you please go out with me?"
"I don't know, maybe Mike is abailable! you should check with him!" you tease him.
"Fair enough" he laughs.
"Yes, i will... you idiot" you walk closer to him with a grin.
"Thank God!" he grins too, wrapping his arms around your waist when you're close enough. "I picked out a few movies, Ferri Bueller's too! Maybe we can finally watch it together after all"
When you see that beautiful smile of his, so close to him as well, you just go for it, and finally kiss him.
You grab his face with your free hand, standing on your tippy toes and locking your lips with his plushy ones. He instantly wraps his arms tigher, bringing you even closer, smirking into the kiss.
"Maybe we won't pay much attention to the movie" you tease.
"It's alright, I already watched it" he says quickly before kissing you again.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson stranger things#eddie munson blurbs#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson x fem reader#eddie munson x cheerleader!reader
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Guys my age
Paring: Luke Castellan x Curvy AphroditeFem! reader
Req: hii can you please write a prompt in which Luke is 19 and reader is 16 and he thinks the age gap is too much as doesn’t see her as anything more than the kid he is counselling, but she’s an Aphrodite child so she doesn’t mind the chase, you can make it smut or not iyw!! also do you maybe mind making the reader like chubby/curvy? i love your work!! 🫶🫶 - 💜 Anon
ofc u can be!!! also omg i actually kinda hate this but whatever… hope u enjoy!
Warnings: MDNI, big age gap, cursing, drinking, use of smoking, reader implied to be curvy
Luke Castellan, a 19-year-old at the infamous Camp Half-Blood, stood tall and pretty almost like a loyal dog, and that made it near impossible for anyone to resist his charm, he’d had a go at almost all of the girls at camp half-blood, including all of my beautiful half sisters.
His unruly curly brown hair framed his handsome face, and deep brown eyes, which seemed to look straight into my soul whenever he gave me a task, even something as simple as asking to clean my dorm, held a hint of mystery. A small scar on his upper cheek added an intriguing touch to his otherwise perfect appearance. Luke is the epitome of a golden boy, capturing the hearts and attention of girls of all ages, young and old.
I’m only 16, luke had never dare even batted an eye at me last year but this year, I came back to camp, determined for a chance to stare into those beautiful eyes and have it mean something for him too. Since last year, i’d started to… well develop. My body had formed into a nicer shape, i certainly grew into myself. My chest was definitely a lot bigger, I started using normal bras, no more training ones. My thighs were thick and beautiful, something many men wished to be suffocated with.
“hey gorgeous girl, you’ve certainly grown up” My half sister Silene winked at me, I only ever see her at camp and I was packing my stuff into my bed. I rolled my eyes and huffed at her.
“Silene seriously? i haven’t seen you in a year and that’s the best you’ve got?” I immediately hug the girl as she chuckles quite a bit at my sharp tongue, we all start talking to our other half siblings and that’s when one of them goes
“hey y/n, you do realise you’re now technically old enough to be going to the bonfire party?” my half sister smirked
The bonfire party was tradition, 16 and up campers, it involved heavy amounts of marijuana, alcohol and other illegal shit. It was an excuse for people to get drunk and hook up and deeply regret it the next morning or so i’ve heard. It’s almost like a “back to school” party but instead it’s back to camp. It happens on the one night that Chiron is away and Mr D is in charge, of course, you bribe him with some alcohol and suddenly everyone’s happy.
“yeah uhh i’ll go, we should start getting ready then i guess?” i say, a bit on edge of what’s about to happen.
As i’m getting ready, i’m being handed a black lacy corset top showing off my double d tits extremely well, i look in the mirror and smirk, this is one of those times i KNOW i looks good. I wore a mini skirt along with it, sure i looked like a slut but hey? what can you do?
I enter the Bonfire, the glow of the fire casually illuminating my face in a perfect light. In hand was a red solo cup with… tequila and some other concoction i’ve been handed, i take a sip and spot him. Luke Castellan, my camp counsellor and the man I was practically already on my knees for. He made his way over to me and looked me in the eyes.
“Y/n? wow you look… grown up” His eyes clearly wandered around my tits a lot more than they should’ve, and he almost looked as if he scolded his self for looking but i wanted him to, this whole outfit was for him
“oh yeah? in what way?” i smirked and slightly tilted my head, trying to seduce the boy infront of me
He cleared his throat and came back to eye contact “You’re uh.. you’re taller” no i wasn’t, it was a blatant lie, i hadn’t grown an inch over the year, i knew what he was talking about and smiled to myself about it.
“Let’s play truth or dare!” Luke and I both turn our heads to a very drunken silene who’s perched up on the table, some guy with his arms wrapped around her waist and mouth colliding with her jaw.
And who was anyone to say no to my beautiful sister? Soon everyone found themselves sitting in this circle, bottles of Tequila, Vodka, Whiskey, Jäger and other liquors in the middle of the circle, ready to be there for whoever backed down from a dare.
“Clarisse, truth or dare” An Apollo girl slurred, looking into clarisses eyes from across rhe circle. Clarisse smirked and in return took a sip of her drink.
“Dare” It wasn’t surprising, her choosing dare.
“I dare you, to kiss me” the apollo girl smirked at clarisse, they obviously had tension and clarisse made her way over and kissed her, passionately i might add. The entire circle cheered and cheered.
Clarisse suddenly averted her gaze to me, we’d been friends for a while now whenever I hung out with silene she would be there.
“y/n, truth or dare?” I felt myself nervously stare at her, a group of maybe 25 people waiting on my reply to this one simple question she’d asked. It wasn’t that hard of a question so i gave a simple answer.
“Dare” I wanted to play it safe, truth was too much for me right now, I knew it would end up in me having to tell a huge secret and I just wanted a casual night, nothing too crazy, which was why i was baffled as to what came out of Clarisses mouth next.
“I dare you to spend 7 minutes of heaven with the person you think is the hottest, and don’t try bullshit your way out of this lovebug” Clarisse was obviously feeling happy with herself, she was tipsy as one could be. Actually no, she was just shitfaced.
I felt my body begin to grow weak and i scanned my eyes across the room, except i found one thing. No matter how hard I looked around the room, my eyes were always drawn back to Luke castellan. The man himself.
“uhh luke…” I said, everyone cheered and Luke looked at me a bit confused as to why I’d chosen him. Nevertheless we walked into a secluded spot in the woods.
“Y/n I uh… why’d you pick me?” Luke looked at me as he leaned against a tree and i stood there looking up at him
“why not, they said to pick the hottest person there” I shrugged, trying to come off as nonchalant.
“You do realise you’re far too young for me, sweetheart?” Luke muttered at me in a deepish voice.
“I know but what did three years ever do to anyone?” I smirked, it was time for me to use the powers my mother gave me and capture this boys beautiful heart.
“Y/n i- i was- no! still am, your camp counsellor, you don’t think this is a little weird? you coming onto me.. I mean, you’re hot but” Luke said conflicted with his own thoughts at this point.
“Oh would you shut up castellan I saw you looking at my tits earlier, don’t act like you’re surprised i’m coming onto you” I smirked at him, giving him doe eyes and fluttering my lashes
“you’re such a brat, you know that? you need to shut up, it will get you killed someday, that pretty mouth of yours” Luke furrowed his brows and almost scolded me
“how about you make me shut up?” I wrapped my arms around his neck and whispered this seductively into his ear.
“oh I can think of a few ways” Suddenly I felt Luke’s warm tongue slip into my mouth, his deep kiss sending sparks to my pussy.
he pushes me against a tree, his hands roaming over my body possessively. “Fuck, you're so young and pretty, tell me, you ever fucked anyone?” Luke continued to say as he slipped his hands to the back bit of my corset top
“n-no, i’m all yours” i managed to breathe out, goosebumps trailing over my body from his cold hands unclasing my top.
His hands reach under my bra, feeling my soft skin. He leans in, kissing my neck, my collarbone, as his hands grope my breasts. His hot breath against my skin sends shivers down my spine. “that’s perfect pretty girl, let me take care of you okay?” luke then continued to kiss my forehead and unclasp my bra
He looks up at me, his eyes filled with desire. "You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now," he says, his voice low and husky. He starts to slip his hand up my mini skirt, his hands shaking slightly. “I bet your pussy is so tight and wet...”
i groan at his words, whimpering at the boys touch. “I- do it…”
“I can’t, I can’t ruin something as perfectly innocent as you” Luke looked at me in the eyes, piercing me with his gaze
“i’m less innocent than you think you know” I trailed my hands to unbutton his jeans and i watch his eyes widen
“what did you lie on your book log in elementary school?” he chuckled trying to distract himself from his hard on being revealed
“yknow i hump my pillow most nights wishing it was your dick” i whispered in his ear, i could feel the head flush on his face as his erection was poking into my thigh.
“fuck… pretty girl… that’s so hot, i wanna fuck you senseless, show you what a man is” he collided his lips to my collarbone and sloppily kissed it, his hands making his way to my soaked panties, rubbing it through them
“all soaked for me, pretty?” he looked up at me as i nodded, biting my lip to hold back a moan. I felt him slide my underwear off and crouch down, i felt the warmth of his hot breath against my sticky wet pussy, his tongue beginning to lap it, finding my clit and sucking on it with a pop.
I became a moaning mess, begging for mercy and for luke to continue fucking my hole with his tongue just the way he did. “mmmph~”
His hands spread my thighs wider apart as his mouth works its magic. His tongue swirls around my wet, throbbing flesh, sucking and licking with expertise. I can't help but moan loudly, my fingers tangling in his hair to pull him even closer. “Luke... please...”
He can feel my body shaking with need as he continues to eat me out, his own arousal growing with each moan that escapes my lips. He sucks my clit hard, his fingers sliding inside me, curves up to rub against my G-spot. “Come for me, baby...”
His fingers pump in and out of me in a rhythm that matches his tongue on my swollen bud. The sensations overwhelm me, and I dig my heels into his back, shamelessly bucking against his face as I shatter, screaming out his name. “Luke...Luke...”
As I reach my peak, something inside me breaks. I convulse hard, and suddenly, a rush of liquid gushes out of me, drenching Luke's face. He moans approvingly, lapping up every drop like a thirsty man.
I become red from embarrassment and stare at the man in horror.. “oh my god luke did i- did i just pee on you?” Luke did nothing but grin at me, his wet face glistening in the moonlight
“No baby, it’s called squirting and it was the hottest thing ever” he grabbed my hands away from my face
After cleaning me up with his tongue, Luke gently lifts my legs over his shoulders, positioning himself at my entrance. He looks into my eyes, his own filled with a mix of desire and tenderness. “Okay, beautiful girl, this is going to hurt, but I'll be gentle”
I look up at him, tears welling in my eyes. He smiles softly, "Good girl. It'll start feeling good soon, I promise." He leans down to kiss me, his hips pulling back slightly before pushing in again, deeper this time.
As he continues to move in and out of me, his pace picking up slightly, Luke leans down to take one of my hardened nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. His thumb finds my swollen bud, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. "Luke... oh god, Luke..."
I cry out as my orgasm hits, my vision blurring, my body trembling. Luke doesn't stop, fucking me through my climax, his own need evident in his face. "Fuck, pretty girl, you're so fucking tight right now. I can feel your little pussy squeezing me."
As he thrusts into me, his pace becomes erratic, his breathing heavy. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum, Y/n. I don't know where to put it all," he groans, his eyes wild with need. "Where do you want it, huh?"
I gave Luke those oh so beautifully innocent doe eyes he’s currently corrupting, i batter my eyelashes and whimper as i speak
“I want you to do it inside of me luke” Luke’s eyes widen at the prospect but doesn’t have time and gives in.
“You’re lucky i can’t say no to those beautiful eyes of yours baby” With a low growl, Luke buries his face in my neck, his body convulsing as he spills inside me. He jerks his hips against me several times, unloading more and more of his warmth into my inexperienced core. "Oh gods."
He pulls out and we both lay there breathlessly.
“that was a lot more than 7 minutes…” i whisper sheepishly as i catch my breath and put my clothes on
“i’m sorry i had to be your first time… you do know we can’t be together right? i mean you should really be with a guy your age?” Luke refused to look in my eyes as he slipped his boxers on
“but guys my age aren’t… you”
#smut#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#fem reader#pjo#percy jackson#Tlf#luke castellan smut#18+ mdni#curvy#age regression#fluff#angst#sad ending#luke castellan x you#charlie bushnell#luke castellan imagine#percy jackson TLF#The lightning theif#luke castellan age gap#curvy reader#luke castellan x you imagine
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(Oh My God) They Were Roommates
Chapter Nine - Cough Cough I'm Sick
Lando Norris and Y/N L/N were teammates. Tension had been between from the minute they started driving together and, when it only got worse, McLaren CEO Zac Brown decides there's only one solution: Have them live together.
1.3K
(idk who sorts out the media stuff so i just said marketing manager)
Series Masterlist
Here's the thing, it was exactly what it looked like. Max let out a laugh as he looked at the papaya drivers panicked. "Relax," he said quickly and walked out of the driver's room. "I'll meet you both outside."
Y/N and Lando looked at each other as Max shut the door. "Fuck," she whispered as she pulled her clothes back onto her body. She swapped Landos shirt for her own.
Wordlessly, Y/N left his drivers room. She pushed past Max and sped walked out of the track. She was so fucking stupid - this was why they had those rules in the first place!
And now that Max knew, what was going to happen?
She didn't sleep that night, anxiety overtaking her. For the first time of the grand prix weekend, Y/N checked her phone. She went onto her private account, went to the for you page (for the memes) and was immediately flooded with pictures of her in Landos hoodie. Fuck, that was right. She was wearing Landos hoodie.
She didn't know if Lando went to the club with Max, but she didn't care. She wrapped her arms around her pillow and tried to get some sleep.
***
They'd been home for two days and they hadn't slept together. It was unusual, but Lando couldn't blame her, especially after what had happened in Spain.
He missed her. Which, this time just a few months ago, would have felt impossible. But he really did miss her, everything about her.
She didn't entirely avoid him, but it felt like she didn't want him anymore. They hadn't properly spoken since the grand prix, almost like they weren't even friends anymore.
Lando kept himself busy. He gamed and streamed a lot, rarely giving himself time to think about the little hole in his heart.
It was an overreaction, Y/N knew. But she was terrified of the consequences that they'd inevitably get. So far, nothing had happened. But that didn't mean it wasn't coming.
The next week was the Canadian grand prix. For every grand prix since they began living together, Y/N and Lando had travelled together. One of them would usually drive to the grand prix, taking it in turns.
This time, though, Y/N travelled alone. She made her own way to the grand prix, over thinking and then sleeping on the flight.
Lando hadn't realised she'd left. He knocked on her bedroom and pushed it open. "Y/N?" He called, but she wasn't there, already on her way to Canada.
Obviously, Y/N arrived before him. She’d slept on the flight, sure, but she still made her way to her bedroom for a nap. Exhaustion gripped her as she got under the blankets and closed her eyes, still in her travelling clothes.
When Y/N woke up, there was insistent knocking on her hotel room door. “Fine, alright!” She shouted, her voice croaky. Her throat killed as she pulled open the door and came face to face with the McLaren marketing manager. “Hey,” Y/N said, rubbing at her eyes.
“You’re meant to be doing media things with Lando,” the marketing manager said quickly.
“Fuck,” she whispered under her breath and checked the time on her phone. Had she really been asleep for that long? “Okay, I’ll get dressed.”
She shut the door and got changed. What she would have loved to do was take a shower, but with the way the marketing manager was talking, she definitely didn’t have time.
As soon as she was dressed, Y/N followed the marketing manager down to the lobby of the hotel. Outside there was a car waiting for her. She climbed into the back seat and pressed her head against the cool window as they drove towards the track.
Somehow, she fell asleep in the car once again. She woke up to somebody shaking her shoulder, and was quick to follow them into the McLaren hospitality unit. Her had swam as she walked, but she ignored it; she had a job to do.
It was the first time she had seen Lando since she left their apartment. “Hey,” she said through a croaky voice as she sat in the seat beside him.
“Are you okay?” Asked Lando, his arm resting on the sofa behind her.
Y/N quickly moved it. She nodded her head and looked at the camera in front of them as a member of staff past her and Lando question cards.
***
She was sick. That was clear to anyone as she threw up into her bathroom. But to her, it was just stress. She’d had a taste of her first win and she wanted more. Th thought of trying to keep being consistent was making her so stressed that she was coming across sick.
She threw up before qualifying. How she made it all the way to Q3, she didn’t know, but she struggled to qualify in the top five. As soon as qualifying was done, Y/N rushed back to the hotel room while the team at McLaren took care of the media for her. She managed to avoid fans as she was driven back to the hotel.
As soon as she was in her room as she asleep on her bed, still wearing the McLaren shirts and shorts that she had left the circuit in. She didn’t even climb under the covers before falling asleep, her head just about on the pillow.
Again, she woke up to somebody knocking at her door. Again, she reluctantly stood up and pulled open the door.
Only this time, it was Lando on the other side of the door. “Shit,” he whispered as he looked at her. “You look…”
“Like shit,” Y/N answered for him.
“Are you okay?” Lando asked again and Y/N nodded, leaning her forehead against the wood of the door frame. But Lando clearly didn’t believe her. He stared at her, raising his eyebrows, waiting for her to take it back, to tell him that she was feeling as terrible as she looked.
Still, she couldn’t admit it. Lando tried to walk past her, to get into her room, but she stood in his way. “What do you want, Lando?”
“I want you to admit that you’re sick and let me take care of you.”
“I don’t want you to take care of me,” she said, somewhat stubbornly.
So, Lando grabbed a hold of her shoulders and forced his way into her room. He sat the door behind him and sat her on the bed. “Talk to me,” he said, kicking off his shoes and laying back against her pillows.
“About what?” She spat back, crossing her arms as she looked out of the window.
“About why you’re not talking to me.”
She visibly deflated. Fuck, she had missed him, but their last time had scared her enough to keep her away. No, he was just asking to get into her head before the race.
“Max hasn’t told anybody, you know,” he said, leaning forward and placing his large hand on her shoulder. “He’s not going to.”
Y/N twitched her head towards him, but she didn’t say anything.
“We could go back to the way we were, you know,” Lando continued. “I… I miss you and I want to go to how we were.”
She let out a sob and wiped beneath her eyes. She missed it too. Missed him. “I-“ but she couldn’t say more than that.
Wordlessly she crawled towards him. she laid down beside him, placing her head on his chest. “Lando, we can’t tonight,” she said.
“I know,” he responded with a nod. “You’re sick.”
“I’m not sick!” She insisted.
“You’re sick.”
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#lando norris#lando norris imagine#lando norris smut#lando norris x reader#lando norris x reader smut#lando norris fluff#lando norris x you#f1#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula one#formula one x reader#formula one imagine#formula 1#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#ln4 imagine#ln4#ln4 x reader
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Scarlet Requiem
Pairing: emperor!Baekhyun x empress!reader
AU: historical au (Goryeo era)
Word Count: 4k
Summary: In his reign, Baekhyun strived to be a virtuous emperor, all for the sake of his kind-hearted empress, steadfastly resisting the temptations of power that had corrupted those before him. He held onto the belief that this was the key to securing her eternal presence by his side. Yet, he learned, to his heartbreak, that this very resolve would lead to the cruellest loss of all.
Genre: heavy angst
Trigger Warnings: major character death, violence, gore, lots of blood
MAIN MASTERLIST
"Capture that demon before she flees!"
Her hands trembled as she gazed at her reflection in the ornate gold mirror. Once healthy skin now bore a sickly pallor, brown eyes turned crimson, tears staining her cheeks red. Even her jet-black hair had transformed to snowy white. Confusion and fear gripped her as she struggled to comprehend the inexplicable transformation.
As guards roughly seized her arms, she pleaded, "No, please! I've done nothing wrong! I don't understand any of this!"
"Of course, you'd deny it, Your Imperial Majesty," sneered the Minister of Rites, one of many who had urged her husband, the emperor, to accept their daughters as concubines. "Little did you know, those potions you received from the royal healer for the past month were meant to reveal your true nature by shedding your human guise."
Horror pierced her heart as realisation dawned. The tonics meant to maintain her health had been a ruse. She had been poisoned, it explained the sudden and alarming changes in her body and health.
"You," she whispered, the weight of the truth settling heavily upon her. "It was all you."
She was not naive; she understood the ministers' discontent with her influence over Baekhyun throughout his reign. Their persistent attempts to sway him, offering their daughters as concubines to bolster their own power and threaten her position, had not escaped her notice. Their frustration must have reached its zenith when her husband adamantly refused their advances, steadfast in his commitment to her as his one and only empress.
"Hm? I'm not sure I understand what you're implying," the man smirked, his deceptive tone belying his words. "We've long suspected there was more to you, Your Imperial Majesty. It appears you're indeed a demon, effortlessly manipulating the emperor. Surely a man of his stature would desire more than one woman by his side?"
Struggling against the guards' grasp, she retorted weakly, "You vile cowards. You'll rue the day my husband learns of this..."
The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, revealing their sinister plot. They had bided their time, seizing the perfect opportunity amidst the chaos of war. With Baekhyun, the virtuous emperor she had wished him to be, leading the army, they saw their chance to poison her, framing her as a demon to eradicate her while he was away.
"Or perhaps we'll witness the rise of the ambitious emperor we've long awaited. He will finally be able to reach his full potential without you here obstructing his path," he sneered, gesturing towards the approaching healer with another bowl of poison. "Just comply and drink your tonic, Your Imperial Majesty. Your suffering will soon end, and our nation will thrive under the rule of a new emperor, liberated from your naive ideals."
As the sinister men tightened their grip, she sobbed in agony, the relentless headache from the past month resurfacing with a vengeance. Each touch felt like a dagger through her skull, each word a cruel reminder of her plight.
With an apologetic bow of his head, the healer cupped her jaw, his hands trembling as he forced the bowl of poison towards her lips. "Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty," he whispered, his voice trembling with remorse. "This will be the last one, I promise."
She gagged as the bitter liquid slid down her throat, burning with each swallow. Crimson tears streamed down her white face as she choked on the vile concoction, feeling her strength wane with each passing moment. In that desperate moment, all she could do was pray for salvation from the nightmare consuming her.
As the healer finally released his hold, she felt despair engulf her. The bitter poison settled within her damaged insides, coursing through her veins like a silent killer, slowly consuming her from within.
"It is done, my lord. The empress will not survive through the night," the healer declared, his voice carrying a finality that chilled her to the bone.
The minister's grin widened with satisfaction. "Excellent. Arrange for someone to confirm her death by dawn. Let her enjoy her final moments in the comforts of her own chambers. His Imperial Majesty will surely be grateful we've rid him of his treacherous demon of a wife upon his return from war."
Laying limply in the centre of her grand chambers, the very space she had once despised before ascending to empress, memories flooded her mind. She recalled the scepticism that clouded her heart when she first found herself falling for the crown prince of the nation. After all, history had taught her that no happy endings awaited the women who loved emperors. But Baekhyun was different—he was loving, caring, and considerate, going to great lengths to prove his devotion to her.
He swore never to take concubines, to resist the allure of power, and to remain hers, and hers alone. Despite the admiration of the entire nation, he remained committed to prioritising her above all else, even if it meant drawing the ire of his ministers and officials. Their accusations of his partiality towards his empress over his nation only served to strengthen his resolve, his unwavering loyalty to her.
But now, as she lay weakened by poison, she realised the tragic irony of his goodness. It was his very commitment to righteousness that led him to the battlefield, refusing to let his men fight in his stead. And it was this decision that ultimately sealed their fate, leaving her to face the consequences of his noble intentions.
As the darkness closed in around her, she couldn't help but wonder how Baekhyun would react upon returning to find her lifeless form in this state. Would he succumb to the poisonous words of his ministers, believing their accusations that she had been a demon all along? Would he entertain the notion that she had bewitched him, clouding his judgement and leading him astray?
Or would he remain firm in his loyalty, unwavering in his belief that this was nothing more than a cruel ploy to rid him of her for good? In the depths of her fading consciousness, she desperately clung to the hope that he would see through the lies, that his love for her would prevail over doubt.
On the brink of death, she yearned to trust in his endless devotion to her, to believe that he would never doubt the love they shared. It was a fragile hope, but in that moment, it was all she had to cling to as she slipped further into the darkness, awaiting the inevitable arrival of dawn and the fate it would eventually bring.
"Forgive me for not being strong enough, Baek," she whispered into the stillness of the chamber, her voice barely a breath against the heavy silence. "Please don't blame yourself for any of this."
As the darkness threatened to swallow her entirely, she couldn't help but reflect on the warnings of history, the cautionary tales of women who loved emperors, only to meet tragic ends. Once again, it seemed, she had fallen victim to the same fate.
Her vision blurred with crimson tears as memories flooded her mind—moments shared with Baekhyun before he departed for battle, blissfully unaware that they would be their last. Each memory stung with bittersweet intensity, a painful reminder of what could have been, had fate been kinder.
As her life ebbed away, flashes of cherished moments with him flickered through her mind like scattered stars in the night sky.
Wrapped in the warmth of silk sheets, doubts clouded her mind one morning, questioning her husband's resolve to remain faithful amidst the pressures of his position.
"Would you truly refuse to take any concubines, Baek?" she inquired, her voice laced with uncertainty. "You're aware that the ministers and officials desire it, and perhaps even the citizens of our nation. For all we know, the people might have grown weary of this same dull empress who has yet to bear you an heir."
He drew her close, pulling the silk sheets higher to shield her bare form from the chill seeping through the open windows. Pressing a tender kiss upon her head, he smiled reassuringly. "Never, my love. I do not care for their political machinations. I won't forsake my vow to you. You will remain my only wife, that is final. I did not ask to be emperor, the role was thrust upon me. Now that I am here, they should at least be grateful I am fulfilling my general duties."
She chuckled, nestling into the crook of his neck as he added, "Besides, if the ministers and officials are so displeased, they could just dismiss me. That would be even better; we could live in a quiet little village, just as we've always dreamed."
In another memory, standing before her reflection, plagued by insecurities instilled by the scheming ministers, his unwavering admiration melted her fears away.
"You look beautiful, my empress. You always do," he reassured, approaching from behind to envelop her in his arms.
"Not as beautiful as those young maidens, I fear. I am old," she confessed, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness after witnessing the ministers' attempts to seduce the emperor with their daughters.
Baekhyun gently turned her to face him. "If you're old, then I must be ancient," he teased. "I believe it's only fitting that I am with someone my age, and that's you, my empress. I have no interest in marrying children or anyone else for that matter; I am a taken man. Don't you dare compare yourself to anyone else again, you hear me? You're the most beautiful woman in my eyes, and that's all that matters."
In the final embrace before he departed for war, hearts heavy with the uncertainty of his return, they clung to each other.
"I will be back before you know it, my love. You'll wait for me, won't you?" her husband murmured against her neck, his arms tightening around her.
"Where else would I go, you idiot? Of course, I'll be waiting right here," she retorted, tightening her hold around his shoulders.
Amidst tears and laughter, he leaned in to kiss her deeply, pressing his lips against her soft ones over and over again to imprint the sensation into memory.
"I love you, my empress," Baekhyun whispered against her lips before pulling away, his eyes full of love and determination.
In the quiet of her chamber, she found solace in the fleeting recollections, clinging to them as the darkness threatened to consume her entirely. And as the crimson tears clouded her eyes once more, she resigned herself to the inevitable, silently bidding farewell to the life she once knew.
"I love you too, my emperor."
"I will not ask again, where is she?!" the emperor's voice thundered through the throne room as he stormed back into the palace, abandoning the battle upon learning the shocking revelation. According to the Minister of Rites in his letter, the empress had been discovered to be a demon all along, concealing her true nature under human skin to manipulate him and bend him to her will.
The eunuch panicked and fell to his knees. "Th-the empress is confined to her grand chambers, Your Imperial Majesty!"
Without uttering another word, Baekhyun stormed over immediately, his heart thumping loudly against his chest as fury overtook his being. Betrayal flooded his veins; he was seething with anger.
"You will regret lying to me," he growled under his breath, his vision zeroing in on the path towards her chambers, the place he frequented more than his own. "You will regret deceiving me."
Upon reaching the entrance of her chambers, he turned to the eunuch. "Gather all the ministers and officials who played a part in discovering the empress as what they claimed her to be in the throne room. I wish to speak with them soon."
"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty," the eunuch hurriedly replied before darting off to carry out his orders. Baekhyun steadied his breaths, his hand resting on the door as he prepared to face her once more. Under his breath, he vowed, "I swear, you will all regret it. How dare you accuse my wife of being what you are—demons."
I'm here now, my love.
Stepping into the familiar room, the emperor's heart raced with anxiety as he mulled over a perfect apology. He needed to express his deep remorse for not being there when she needed him the most, for failing to shield her from the treachery of those vultures. Reflecting on his actions, he realised he should have never left her behind. In his rush to leave for war, he had neglected to arrange proper protection for her. In hindsight, he understood that he should have never left her side in the first place.
Determined to make amends, he vowed to do better. He resolved to never again allow those ministers or officials the opportunity to torment her in his absence again. From now on, he would be her shield, her staunch protector, and her unending support.
But it might be too late for any of that.
His steps faltered, his breath caught in his chest, and his heart skipped a beat as he beheld the sight before his eyes. The sword in his hands slipped, clanging loudly as it hit the ground, and he sank to his knees in disbelief at the last thing he expected to see.
His shock deepened as he took in his wife's unrecognisable appearance. Crawling towards her limp form on the ground, he pulled her into his arms, his voice trembling with anguish. The horror settled within him like a heavy weight as he tried to imagine what atrocities these monsters had dared inflict upon her while he was gone. His mind raced with images of torture and torment, each one more gruesome than the last.
"Oh god, what have they done to you?" he whispered, his heart fracturing into a million shards as he struggled to comprehend her pale skin, her white hair, and the blood-like tears staining her cheeks. With shaking hands, he gently cupped her cold cheek, his fingers tracing the contours of her face as if seeking reassurance that she was still there, still his beloved wife.
"Please wake up, my love. This isn't funny, stop scaring me," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "You promised to wait for me. You promised..." His words trailed off into a broken sob as he refused to accept anything but the truth, shaking his head in denial even as he searched desperately for a pulse, even when she remained unresponsive.
"No, no, no... this can't be real. It can't be," he murmured, his mind reeling with the unimaginable horror of what he had found.
Despair and regret enveloped him as he sobbed painfully, holding her lifeless body tightly against his chest. The realisation that she was truly gone, that her final moments were spent alone in the very room she despised just to be with him, weighed heavily on his heart. He grappled with the bitter truth that he had failed her, just as she had feared when she hesitated to be with him.
Gradually, his sorrow gave way to seething rage as he recalled the faces of the ministers and officials responsible for this atrocity. They had callously taken her life, foolishly believing he would be deceived by their feeble attempt to frame her. With trembling hands, he picked up a shard of the shattered bowl nearby and brought it to his nose, recognising the metallic scent of mercury.
Suddenly, everything clicked into place.
They had poisoned her with lethal doses of mercury, causing a myriad of symptoms—tremors, headaches, muscle weakness, kidney damage, and breathing difficulties. And the deliberate administration of such high doses to turn her hair white revealed their sinister intent from the outset.
Just how much had they fed her? It was evident they had intended to kill her from the start. Anguish and fury surged within him as he vowed to make them pay.
Gently caressing her cold cheek, he leaned in to kiss her unmoving lips, his own trembling against hers. He blamed himself for everything that had transpired. Perhaps if she hadn't been with him, she would have lived a better life—a normal life with a normal man. She wouldn't have to endure such a painful and cruel death.
It was all because of him.
Regret hung heavy in his heart, but dwelling on what could have been served no purpose.
"I'm so sorry, my wife," he whispered, his voice thick with grief. "Just hold on a bit longer, alright? I'll join you soon, but first, I'll make those bastards pay. Wait for me—I won't let you face this alone. Not again."
With resolve hardening in his heart, he retrieved his sword and sheathed it once more before lifting her lifeless form into his arms. Like a man burdened by death itself, he trudged towards the throne room where justice awaited. Kicking the doors open with a forceful thrust of his leg, he was met with a sea of horrified expressions from the ministers and officials. Clearly, they hadn't anticipated the emperor's dramatic entrance, cradling his beloved empress in his arms.
Ignoring their shocked gazes, he strode past them, his eyes fixed on the throne at the far end of the room. With careful tenderness, he laid his wife down upon the ornate seat, arranging her robes and ensuring her comfort as though she were merely sleeping. Pressing a solemn kiss upon her cold forehead, he turned to face the assembled council, their unease palpable in the air.
The guilty culprits remained frozen in their places, uncertain of what awaited them.
As the emperor's gaze swept over them, the ministers and officials for the first time felt a cold shiver of fear trickle down their spines. His expression was unreadable, his appearance wild and dishevelled compared to his usual polished demeanour. Specks of blood and dirt stained his robes and skin, his hair a tangled mess, half tied up in a disarray that mirrored the chaos within him.
Gone was the warm smile that often graced his features; instead, a slow, unsettling grin crept across his face.
"My dearest ministers and officials," he began, his voice low and laced with an eerie calmness. "Your message has been received loud and clear. I hope you're satisfied now that you've succeeded in eradicating the empress, as you so desperately desired. I've given it some thought, and perhaps... you were all right."
The Minister of Rites, attempting to feign nonchalance, cleared his throat. "A-about what, Your Imperial Majesty?" he stammered.
Baekhyun's eyes gleamed with a frightening intensity as he smirked, his demeanour bordering on madness. "About what this nation truly needs," he replied, his voice carrying a chilling edge.
"Not a good emperor, but a mad one."
Without giving the men before him time to register his words, all Baekhyun saw was red. In a split second, he unsheathed his sword and transformed into a bloodthirsty animal, cutting down anyone and everyone in his path. The Minister of Rites tried to flee but to no avail. He watched in complete horror as his colleagues dropped dead one by one, their blood splattering over the grand walls of the throne room, their screams echoing.
The emperor went on a rampage, leaving no man behind. The Minister of Rites, who had been behind the idea of poisoning the empress, smearing her name by labelling her a demon, and executing her, was now filled with regret. They had turned him into the mad king his empress had feared. Perhaps they had finally achieved their goal, but it wasn't what they were prepared for.
The minister collapsed to his knees before the emperor, realising that His Imperial Majesty had saved him for last. Trembling, he rubbed his hands together in a desperate plea. "P-please, everything I've done, it's for the betterment of our nation."
Baekhyun's humourless laughter echoed through the hall, sending shivers down the minister's spine. "You truly believe that, don't you? Of course, that includes subjecting my wife to all that torment. Yes, because that is exactly what the nation needs. Unfortunately for you, I am the emperor, and I determine what's best for the nation. And in this case, I think it's better off without traitors like you. See you on the other side," were the last words the minister heard before his head was severed from his neck, rolling off to join the others on the floor.
The emperor finally turned back, his eyes softening as they landed on his beloved's lifeless body. Making his way back towards her, he knelt down beside her, tears streaming down his face as he reached for her hand. Holding it to his cheek, he missed the warmth it once had.
"I'm coming now, my love," he whispered brokenly. "I'm sorry you had to wait for so long. I'll be there with you soon."
"Yes, I understand His Imperial Majesty's orders not to enter, but it's been hours. Surely, any assembly would have concluded by now, wouldn't it?" With apprehension and curiosity, a senior court lady pushed open the doors to the once-bustling throne room, expecting to find His Imperial Majesty and his council of ministers. Instead, she was met with a horrifying sight—a scene of bloodshed and chaos spread across the grand hall.
Her piercing scream echoed through the silent room, jolting nearby palace staff into action. Rushing to the scene, they were met with a scene that chilled them to the bone. At the end of the room, amidst a sea of lifeless bodies, lay the empress on the throne, her appearance shocking all who beheld it. Beside her, her husband remained, his head cradled on her chest, their hands tightly clasped together. A gaping stab wound marred his chest—it seemed he had taken his own life before joining her in death.
Following that, the next prince in line promptly ascended the throne and found himself compelled to appoint an entirely new cabinet of ministers and officials. The entire nation descended into chaos, particularly since it was still embroiled in a war, with endless theories circulating about the events. While some speculated that the emperor succumbed to madness and killed his own council, others whispered of a conspiracy, suggesting that the ministers had orchestrated the demise of both the empress and the emperor.
Amidst this uncertainty, the new prince faced the daunting challenge of restoring order to the kingdom. With a heavy heart, he pledged to uncover the truth behind the tragic occurrences and ensure that justice was served to those responsible.
In the end, the truth of what truly occurred remained shrouded in mystery. All those involved had departed from the realm of the living. As centuries passed, that chapter in history became known as the Scarlet Requiem, a haunting tale that lingered in the collective memory of the kingdom. Despite countless efforts to unravel the enigma, the events surrounding the tragedy remained obscured by the sands of time, leaving future generations to ponder and speculate about the dark secrets of the past.
"What do you think really happened?" a woman asked her boyfriend as they studied a painting depicting the throne room scene in a museum dedicated to the events of the Scarlet Requiem.
He pondered for a moment before responding with a shrug. "It's hard to say. But judging by the way he's holding onto her, it seems he must have truly loved her. Let's hope they've found peace and happiness, whether in the afterlife or their next life."
She nodded in agreement, leaning into his comforting embrace. "Yeah, I hope so too."
He flashed a mischievous grin. "I'm just saying, if I were him, I wouldn't have left her for war in the first place."
She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful smack, though a smile danced on her lips. "I'm sure you wouldn't. I bet it's because the empress was described as beautiful as a celestial being."
He scoffed. "Doesn't matter to me how pretty she was. I'll stay only if you're my empress."
Unbeknownst to them, the couple had been contemplating their own past lives. Perhaps the emperor and empress had indeed found each other again in another existence.
Believe it or not, this has been on my mind for months ever since seeing those AI-generated photos of Baekhyun. I had an epiphany while looking at them again yesterday and just had to write this. It's my first EXO fic, and I hope it's decent hehe~
As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3
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@hollxe1 @pandabur666 @lilactangerine @oddracha @evidive
All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.
#edenesth#exo#exo fanfic#exo fanfiction#byun baekhyun#exo baekhyun#historical au#goryeo dynasty#baekhyun x reader#exo fic#baekhyun oneshot#exo oneshot#kpop angst#exo angst#baekhyun fanfic#baekhyun angst
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We need dad Carlos to be a thing can we have anything dad Carlos or dad to be Carlos 🥺 major Carlos girlie needs to see Carlos fluff 😭😭
Cw: reader's pregnant and has body aches
"Here you go, cariño. I promise this will help your sore back," Carlos soothed, helping you into the warm bath he ran for you. As you laid down, a sigh left your lips as he could tell that it was already helping.
Carlos was walking towards the door until you stopped him, "Can you stay with me? Please, amor", you pouted.
"I was just going to get your pyjamas for you to out on once you get out," he replied, kneeling beside the bath, "but I'm right here, love", he assured you and you nodded and closed her eyes.
Your husband moved his hand to gently brush the hair out of your face, "Feeling better?", he wondered, kissing your forehead. A small smile appeared on your face, "the baby likes your voice."
Carlos' brown eyes lit up as he sat up straighter, "Is she kicking again?", he asked earning a nod in return, "yeah, she hasn't realised that she's getting bigger and can't move around much anymore".
Carlos chuckled and noticed that your baby bump was perfectly sticking out of the water, surrounded by bubbles as he gently scooped some water with his hands forming a shell and poured it over your tummy.
"Keep talking, handsome, we both like it", you whispered. On his end, Carlos frowned, thinking of what he could say.
"I can't wait for you to arrive, but you have to stay in there for a little longer", he began softly, gently pouring more water over your bump, "mama and I have waited so long for you and soon we will all be a family", he smiled as he looked up to see you fully relaxed at the moment.
"Cariño", he whispered smiling back at the curve of your stomach that was holding our baby, "your nursery is all ready for you with lots of toys and little clothes. I don't know who has brought more things, mummy, abuela or auntie Blanca", he smiled, "but I'm so excited to hold you, rock you to sleep, even to wake up in the middle of night-", he stopped when he heard you sniffle.
"Carlos, she loves you too", you cooed as he shyly nodded, seemingly only aware now that you had heard him too, "I can't wait for all of it", he whispered before pressing a soft kiss on your lips.
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carriage six – spencer reid
summary: Spencer Reid prides himself in his routine. Wake up at half-past six. Leave his apartment at a quarter past seven. Get onto the seven thirty train. Arrive at Quantico at eight forty five. He has a plentiful of reasons as to why he does it; it’s efficient, it gets him to the office early, it works. But the biggest reason is the girl that always sits in the seat a few rows across from him, headphones on and always reading a book.
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
genre: strangers to lovers, rated G for mutual pining and second hand embarrassment. no use of (Y/N).
warnings: fluff, boy band spencer reid (caution, hot!). i tried to write in Spencer’s pov, and with that comes a lot of rambling. i like to think that his mind is running 100 miles an hour, so i tried to write in a style that could implicate that <3
wc: 1.8k
part two: platform ten
Spencer tries not to look so excited when he enters the subway, clad in light grey slacks, a lavender dress shirt, a brown and purple argyle sweater vest and a mauve coloured tie. His signature leather bag is strapped across his chest and he has a light cardigan in his hand; the weather reports said it would be cold today. His head spins with the statistics on the accuracy of meteorology, considering the bright and sunny skies that blessed the citizens of D.C that morning. He’s donning a new haircut today as well. It was a lot shorter than he originally planned to get it, but he likes it. In fact, he likes it a lot, particularly the way it drapes across his forehead and the way it looks messy but still cool. That’s how he would describe it. Cool. He feels cool.
He hasn’t been able to get onto the subway for three days because of a case in Connecticut and his mind wanders. Will there be another case soon? How long would it take? He hopes it would be a local case. He feels guilty thinking that; he shouldn’t be hoping for a case at all. After all, that would only mean someone else has met their untimely death. He shakes his head to dismiss the thoughts.
He steps onto the train, onto the sixth carriage, and sits on his usual seat. In his mind, it’s the perfect seat. It avoids the sun so he doesn’t need to squint and he doesn’t have to turn the brightness level of his phone all the way up. It’s right next to the door in case he needs to make a quick exit. It’s right next to a handicapped seat, meaning that people tended to avoid it. But the best thing about this seat was the view.
He cringes when he thinks of it. ‘View’ sounds gross. Perverted. ‘View’ is the wrong word to describe it. His favourite thing about this particular seat is the company. Yes, he likes the company, although it technically doesn’t exactly count as company.
His gaze shifts to his company. Exactly four rows away, her eyes trained on the book in her hands. He recognises it to be ‘Pride and Prejudice’, the limited edition rose gold copy that was released eight months, three weeks and two days ago. He has the same copy sitting on his dresser.
She looks different today. Granted, it had been three days since he last saw her. He scans her figure to try to place his finger on the difference and he realises. She’s wearing a new lipgloss. Spencer’s cheeks burn when he realises. Why on earth— no, how on earth is he able to tell? He feels himself cringe and he shifts his gaze and scans the rest of carriage in an attempt to busy himself and his mind, but his eyes ultimately fall back on his company.
Spencer can’t seem to take his eyes off of her. What’s she listening to? Where is she up to in her book? Does she like Austen? Has she read any other books by her? What does she think of Elizabeth and Darcy’s relationship? So many questions enter his mind and he wishes he had the guts to go over and strike up a conversation. But he’s not like Morgan. He doesn’t have that type of charisma or that type of confidence. If anything, he supposes, he’s self aware. He knows that the moment he starts a conversation, he would start rambling for twenty minutes about the relationship dynamics between the characters and why Austen was so incandescent and exceeded all beliefs as a writer in her world. He’d start to bring in authors like Virginia Woolf and why her admiration towards Jane Austen was warranted. Ultimately, Spencer thinks to himself as his eyes wander back to the girl, he’d scare her off.
He watches as she falters in her movements, her fingers pausing from flipping the page and Spencer frowns. From what he could tell, she was a little bit more than halfway through the book. Maybe up to page 260? But there’s nothing remotely difficult in that part of the book. If anything, that was the most simple and straightforward section of the entire text. And then he realises. His cheeks burn once more and he quickly busies himself with his phone, biting his lip and avoiding her amused gaze. Your amused gaze.
You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze. You’ve seen him all the time, for the past three years in fact, when you first moved to D.C. He’s cute, really cute, and he’s even cuter when he looks like a deer caught in headlights. You raise a teasing eyebrow his way and you watch as he quickly avoids your gaze, looking into his phone. You can’t the soft laugh that leaves your lips, your fingers tracing against the pages of your book. Maybe you have a little more confidence in yourself than you thought.
***
The next day, Spencer feels a small sense of dread creeping into his heart. He feels embarrassed, so goddamn embarrassed, and he wonders how he could face you. His cheeks are burning and he tugs at his collar. He’s wearing a light blue shirt with a patterned purple tie, along with dark navy coloured pants. He teeters on his feet, waiting with anticipation for the train. The moment he enters the carriage, his eyes fall to the seat you would be seated at, only to see no one at all. He can’t help but frown, a little disappointed but a little relieved. He moves to his usual seat, and lo and behold, he sees you there, one leg crossed over the other and reading a different book.
He mutters a soft apology as he slides into the seat next to you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.
“Wuthering Heights,” he says, surprising himself.
He watches as you look up from your pages, a small smile on your face. You’re wearing the same lip gloss as yesterday.
“Yeah.” You smile, taking your headphones off and letting them rest around your neck. “You’ve… have you read it before?”
He nods, and he curses himself for looking so eager. “Yes! Um, yes, I’ve read it. It’s really good.”
“Brönte is brilliant,” You respond, sliding a bookmark in between the pages. “I finished Pride and Prejudice last night. Jane Austen is still my favourite.”
You’re baiting him. He knows that. He takes it.
“I saw,” He says quietly, biting his lip. “Not– not in like a stalker way! I just… I just noticed you reading it on the train. Yesterday. I, um, I saw you reading it yesterday.”
He wants to kick himself. His face is flushed and he’s sure that his neck is just as red as his face. His ears are hot and his head spins when he hears you laugh.
“It’s okay. I saw you too.” You offer a smile, your own cheeks warm. “You were reading Edgar Allen Poe a few weeks ago. Is he any good?”
His eyes light up and he tucks an invisible strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a habit of his, since he’s had longer hair almost all of his life.
“He’s very good,” Spencer insists, pulling the little book out of his satchel. “His works range from short stories to poetry, his most famous works being The Tell-Tale Heart, and Annabel Lee. The former is a short story. It’s a little grim, but he writes in an incredibly eloquent way that presents the narrator’s descent into madness, despite the point of the text being to convince the reader that he isn’t mad. Annabel Lee is a poem about a man obsessed with a woman named Annabel Lee and-“
He purses his lips, realising how much he’s spoken. He coughs into his fist, setting his book down in his lap as he quickly glances at you.
“…and what?” You prompt, your head tilting the side in curiosity. “Go on, don’t let me stop you. You’re convincing me to actually get the book on his collection of works.”
His head practically snaps to look at you, a look of surprise on his face. He scans your face for any insincerity, from your eyes all the way down to your lips, before clearing his throat.
“Um… well, uh, in Annabel Lee, the narrator speaks about keeping her in a castle by the sea. It’s a classic case of isolation and some literature analysts even go as far as to say that the narrator was hoping that Annabel would fall in love with him through Stockholm Syndrome but died before the narrator was able to carry out his plan.”
You take in his words, nodding along to his explanation. “You seem to be an expert yourself.”
He laughs, running his fingers through his hair. “No, I uh, I’m not an expert on literature or anything. But I am a doctor.”
“A doctor?” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like… a medical doctor or…? No offence, but you really don’t look like a medical doctor.”
He laughs again, nodding. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not. I have PhD’s in chemistry, mathematics and physics, as well as BAs in psychology, sociology and philosophy.”
You let out a low whistle. “You a collector or something?”
He blushes, swallowing thickly. “No, I uh… no…?”
“You don’t sound too sure of yourself doctor…” You pause, realising that you really don’t know much about this man. You look up at him expectantly.
“Reid,” He says quickly, clearing his throat. “Spencer Reid. You, um, you don’t have to call me doctor.”
“Alright then, Spencer.” You smile, and he thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. You introduce yourself and he tells you that you have a pretty name.
Time passes, and the conversation continues. You could talk for hours with Spencer; about books, movies, anything. He can make anything sound interesting, it’s one of his charms. He smiles a boyish grin as he talks, gesticulating wildly as he rants about his favourite texts and why Austen is a genius. He asks you what you’re listening to and you almost scream at the thought of introducing him to Taylor Swift.
Before long, the train lurches to a stop at his station and he can’t help but feel a little disappointed.
“It was nice meeting you. Officially,” He adds, gripping the strap of his leather bag.
“It was nice to officially meet you too,” You respond, smiling up at him as he gets up from his seat. “Tomorrow?”
His eyes practically light up. “Tomorrow.”
reblogs are always appreciated!
part two: platform ten
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#matthew gray gubler#matthew gray gubler x reader#spencer reid x reader fluff#spencer reid fluff
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I can imagine Peter being extremely clingy to the people he loves. People always say he’s the opposite. That he believes its best that he stays away. Nah. Give me Peter ‘clinging to the sides of people he love’ Parker
Tony walking into the Avengers meeting with Peter who is gripping onto his arm. The older man simply isn’t bothered and just continues looking through his Starkpad: Hey everyone
Peter waves excitedly and he pulls Tony to sit beside Stephen. He sits beside Tony and scoots his chair closer, looking at whatever Tony is looking
Imagine this was the first time the Avengers are meeting Peter. As Spiderman. They know Peter is Tony’s intern yet they don’t know his identity. They’re all immediately staring at Tony weirdly, wondering why is Tony with Spider-Man. Tony seems to notice the stares and he looks at the kid with a look and the kid seems to nod at a sudden realisation. He pulls off his mask and a fluffy mop of brown hair pops out as big puppy eyes look back at them. They were surprised but they quickly relaxed when they realised that it was Peter.
—————
Another thing he does is he follows people around a lot. When he was young, he always clung to Uncle Ben or Aunt May. He never dared to approach anyone unless one of the two says he should or to someone interesting like when he first met Harry Osborn. Aunt May still notices that whenever Peter and her are out, he’s still always clinging to her. He’s hooking her arm with his and she laughs when she realises he’s still the clingy baby all those years ago. (Peter is glaring at everyone who is staring at his aunt for a little too long. Another reason he’s clings to her but he is also clingy)
—————
Wade walks into the penthouse one day and the team immediately tenses up. Despite his relationship with Peter, he shouldn’t have direct access to the area unless someone lets him in. The Avengers aren’t exactly welcoming when it’s Wade. Wade holds up both his hands and sighs.
Wade: Calm down folks! I got the package
He announces and turn his back to them to see Peter clinging onto him the way he would stick to a skyscraper’s window. His back pressed against Wade’s as he pulled his legs up to hide too. The Avengers are stunned to see Peter like that. (He’s definitely going to make that one of his hide and seek spots in the future)
——————
Peter hugs all of the Avengers/his friends every time he sees them. If Peter sees someone not moving and not busy, he’ll hug them. Sometimes for a fun and surprise factor, he leaps onto the person and basically tackles them with a hug
For Wade, he simply stares at the man when he spots him, walks up and kisses his cheek whether through masks or directly. He’s surprisingly not so affectionate around Wade but Wade knows Peter loves him. Despite the voices saying otherwise. Peter pays extra attention to Wade. Always noticing details about Wade’s actions or feelings, always observing his lover. He’s not physically clingy but he’s clingy in a way that Wade finds him adorable like a puppy. He’s always checking up on him and giving him a kiss on the cheek whenever Peter thinks he needs or wants one.
There’s the occasional kiss on the lips too when he’s alone with Wade. He’ll hug Wade when they’re alone and Wade immediately hugs back, holding him tightly to his chest before inevitably walking around with a spider koala wrapped around him when Peter feels like clinging onto him longer
#he definitely would do this if he wasn’t so afraid of his Parker luck#would be canon if marvel hates making him suffer#marvel#marvel cinematic universe#marvel universe#marvel headcanons#mcu#peter parker#spiderman#tony stark#iron man#irondad and spiderson#wade wilson#deadpool#spideypool#the avengers
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He Who Hides In the Shadows
Summary: You loved Tommy Miller, of course you did; he was the perfect gentleman. He was kind, he was generous and he was easy on the eyes. It’s just… he wasn’t Joel Miller. Loosely based on the idea from a lovely anon ask (here).
Warnings: 18+, MDNI plssss!! Public sex, age gap (unspecified but Joel would be mid forties, reader in twenties), unprotected p in v (do better & wrap it), mild degrading, use of ‘daddy’, breeding kink (ish), mentions of voyeurism, cheating, dark!Joel themes.
Characters: Joel Miller x (f) reader, mentions of Tommy Miller x (f) reader
Word Count: 5.8k
Life in Jackson was good, well, as good as life could be given the state of the world; it almost had a familiar sense of old times and a safeness you had craved for years.
You first stumbled into the gates of Jackson around fourteen months ago, you had been shot in the thigh by a raider and had managed to stumble your way to safety; everyone was hesitant to allow you through and into their safe haven, and you understood it.
The citizens were kind enough to tend to your wounds, dress them and feed you; you ate properly for the first time in months. You looked at your surroundings, the warm interior of the communal canteen as a kind woman explained the ways of living in Jackson.
That’s where you saw him for the first time… he was tall, broad and so rugged; he had brown hair with soft white hairs peppered through the gentle locks and he had the most intense brown eyes, they were dark and so much pain swam in them that it made you want to reach out and hold him. He locked eyes with you and you felt as if your surroundings blurred together, all you could focus on was this nameless man.
“Joel Miller.” The lady sat opposite of you announced. “He’s… a troubled man, older brother of Tommy Miller.” She informed you with a soft smile.
“Oh, I, I wasn’t staring.” You mumbled as you shovelled food into your mouth quickly, returning your gaze back to your plate of food.
“It’s okay, hon, a lot of women tend to stare at the Miller brothers. Just human nature, some things never change, even during the apocalypse.” She laughed.
You made a small noise, it sounded alien to you and then you realised it was a laugh; it wasn’t a noise you had made in years.
“Anyway, I’ve got you a small one bedroom house on one of the quieter streets; it’s been unoccupied for a few years but should be fine, the water runs hot and there’s electricity too. I’m on the next street over so please feel free to come over and spend some time with me and Jacob, my husband. My name is Lara.” She pushed another plate of food over to you and you looked up at her with thankful eyes.
“This place is fucking amazing.” You cursed, tucking into the next lot of food. “I mean, sorry. Thank you, y’all have been so nice to me already.”
“I understand, we are definitely blessed in this community.” She smiled, watching you eat up the food before you. “Anyway, hon, I should get going. I’ve got a shift to work in the kitchen, ready for the evening rush. If you need anything at all, you come and find me. Don’t worry about helping out just yet, you heal up and get yourself right.”
“Thank you.” You smiled, the gesture felt foreign, you had spent so many months alone that you couldn’t even recognise what it felt like to feel a small glimmer of hope and joy.
Lara left you in peace, she squeezed your shoulder before she walked off. You looked around at your surroundings once again, Joel was no longer stood in his previous place but instead he was sat at a table opposite yours, next to him was another handsome male. You could notice the similarities between the two of them but this younger male was much softer in appearance, his features weren’t hardened by pain and roughness.
The younger of the Miller men caught your gaze, he smirked at you, noticing your blushing cheeks and within seconds he was closing the distance between you both.
“Well aren’t you pretty, not seen you around here before. I’m Tommy Miller, pleasure to meet you.” He said softly, outstretching his hand to shake yours.
You shook his hand and introduced yourself by your name.
“I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot more of you around here, darlin’.” He said before tipping his hat and going back to sit with his brother.
The rest, they say, is history. Your relationship with Tommy had been a whirlwind, you kept finding reasons to bump into the younger Miller and eventually, he got the hint and asked you out on a date. You and Tommy had been together for about a year now and it felt like a dream.
You were in a domesticated bliss, you lived with him in his house that he shared with Joel but you didn’t have much involvement with the older Miller male. He kept his distance and things between you always felt icy; you understood why, he had been through so much loss in his life and Tommy assured you he was the same with everyone, which was somewhat true.
-
You were stood in the kitchen, washing dishes from the day before, humming to yourself when you heard the door click open from the front of the house. You assumed it was Tommy, back home after his shift patrolling.
“Hi honey, I’m just doing dishes. I was thinking maybe we could spend a little time together before Joel gets home; I’m pretty sure I’m ovulating, this is gonna be our month. I can feel it.” You giggled, wiping your hands on a dish towel as you walked through the kitchen, you stopped dead in your tracks when you were greeted with the sight of a sweaty Joel.
He looked at you with a raised brow before he kicked his boots off.
“Well, there’s an offer.” He laughed dryly, his lustful eyes drinking in your body.
You pulled your arms around yourself awkwardly and cleared your throat.
“I obviously thought you were Tommy.” You huffed.
“Obviously.” He smirked. “‘M gonna go take a shower and head out for the evening anyway.” He shrugged and with that, he stomped up the creaking staircase to the bathroom.
You rolled your eyes as Joel disappeared upstairs. You and Tommy had been trying for a baby for a few months now, you knew it was relatively soon into your relationship but when the world made no sense anymore, this made perfect sense to you both. You loved him so much and he loved you just the same, it made sense that you wanted to create your own little bundle of joy to share your love with.
You finished up the dishes and wandered upstairs to lie down for a while and wait for Tommy to return home. You passed by the unoccupied bathroom and found yourself standing outside of Joel’s bedroom, you lingered by it for a second; you were unsure what you were waiting for but you couldn’t seem to pull yourself away from the spot.
His door was cracked open and something inside of you told you to look in. You sucked in a deep breath and your hands shook by your sides as you watched on. Joel’s back was turned to you, he was naked and although you couldn’t see his front, you knew what he was doing; his shoulder jerked rhythmically and you could hear his soft grunts as his arm sped up. You swallowed down the gasp you were holding in, you knew you should turn away and leave him in peace but you couldn’t help but continue to stare on.
Your heartbeat threatened to burst right out of your chest, you could feel your blood thrumming through your veins as adrenaline coursed through every inch of you.
Joel grunted softly as he fucked his fist, he knew he was close to cumming and he tried to stay quiet but he couldn’t. He groaned out and then it happened, your name came rumbling out of his mouth like a forbidden curse.
You went to walk away but the floorboards beneath your feet betrayed you, a loud creak erupted the silence and you stood there like a deer in headlights, your eyes were panicked and wide. Joel turned to face the door; his chest was heaving and you could see him now, his hard cock glistening with beads of precum as his fist held the base. Your mouth fell agape, wrapped around his member was a pair of your panties; it was evident to see, there was no mistaking the stolen garment belonged to you.
Joel smirked at you, his cock jumped with arousal and he continued to stroke himself, only this time, his eyes were locked with yours as you gently nudged the door open a little more. He pumped himself roughly and brought a single finger up to his lips to shush you from speaking before he grunted loudly and spilled his hot seed all over your stolen panties.
You were ripped from your trance when you heard the front door unlock once again, and you knew for sure this time that it was your boyfriend returning home.
You walked away, your cheeks were burning and you felt ashamed. Why? Why did you feel ashamed? Joel was the one who stole your underwear and used it as ammunition to jerk off. It was confusing to you, Joel always seemed so distant with you, so cold and you just assumed he hated you, like he hated most people.
“Hi baby!” You smiled, greeting your boyfriend at the door.
“Hi honey.” He smiled back, he went down to undo his boots but you were on him in a flash.
You pressed his body against the front door roughly and pressed your lips to his to capture him in a deep kiss, your hands snuck under his shirt and started to peel the layer of clothing off of him.
“Hm, what’s got into you?” He chuckled lowly, lifting his arms so you could take his top layers off.
“Ovulating,” you mumbled against his lips, deepening the kiss again as your fingers lightly scratched down his torso. “And you drive me crazy, need you.” You whispered.
You wrapped your hand around his wrist and lead him to your bedroom without further distractions. That night, as Tommy made love to you, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander to the older Miller brother and what you had seen.
—
That eventful day was three weeks ago, since that moment you had noticed the tension between you and Joel had become so thick and unbearable that anytime you shared a space with the male, you struggled to suck in a breath. You felt guilty for having watched him, you felt even guiltier that it made your panties wetter than they had ever gotten with Tommy and that night, you orgasmed to the thought of Joel.
You knew you should have been disgusted and you should have ratted the older male out to his brother but anytime you tried to bring it up, the words died slowly in your mouth and never escaped. You pushed those thoughts deep down and swore to never mention it, you didn’t want to upset Tommy.
Instead, you avoided Joel like the plague, anytime he was coming back from patrols or a shift, you would find any reason possible to leave the room and make yourself busy. Tommy hadn’t really noticed it, you disguised your discomfort well; you would leave to make dinner, to wash dishes or go and see Lara, your friend; it all seemed fairly normal but Joel knew and it only seemed to make him more persistent in his attempts to be in the same room as you.
—
The sun was setting over Jackson, Tommy was on a night patrol, your least favourite and you were at home, alone. Well, besides Joel.
As the evening ticked on; you had done everything you possibly could to avoid the older Miller brother until it was time for you to go to sleep, or at least retire to your bedroom for the evening.
You had scrubbed the kitchen clean, made food for when Tommy would come in during the early hours of the next morning, scrubbed his work clothes clean and hung them up in the kitchen to dry in front of the stove.
You had a brief shower and finally, you were able to sink into the warm comfort of your bed. Your door was pushed to, barely left open by a crack and you let your eyes drift closed, patiently waiting for sleep to overcome you.
Time seemed to move impossibly slow, it felt like you had been laid there for hours, waiting for sleep to take you but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get comfy, you couldn’t get your temperature right and sleep didn’t feel like it was ever going to happen for you.
You huffed loudly and threw the covers off of you, letting your arms drop either side of you in frustration as he huffed again before your mind started to wander.
Soon, before you could stop it, thoughts of Joel fucking his fist were filling your mind and you felt yourself get slicker. You chewed on your bottom lip as you contemplated your next moves; Tommy wasn’t going to be home for hours to satisfy you and sometimes you did fall asleep quickly after masturbating. It didn’t help that you were ovulating again, which meant you were more horny than normal.
You let you fingers slide under Tommy’s oversized t-shirt just so they could trail over your panties; you shivered at your own touch and without any more messing around, you dipped your fingers between your wet folds and started to circle your swollen clit. The immediate relief was like a wave crashing over you intensely and you gasped as your back arched up when your fingers sped up.
—
Joel heard your bed creak, the problem with these houses in Jackson is that they were old and poorly made; the walls were thin and the floorboards creaked, not to mention a lot of the handcrafted furniture or hand-me-down’s.
He crept out of his own room to check if you were okay, he reached yours and Tommy’s bedroom door and through the crack, he could see your body glowing in the low light of the moon seeping through the threadbare curtains.
There you were, arching up and he could see your nimble fingers pleasuring yourself. It was his own perfect picture of sin waiting for him to take.
Joel couldn’t help the way his cock twitched with interest in his jeans; you were everything he wanted but couldn’t take. Ever since he laid eyes on you, the first day you arrived in Jackson, he knew he had to have you and since then, his dark obsession only grew.
And the fact you were with his brother? It only drove him madder and made him want you even more.
—
“Oh, yeah, fuck. Just like that, daddy.” You whimpered quietly as your fingers dipped lower to sink into your hole.
You had never once called Tommy daddy, it was a nickname you had reserved for Joel in the darkest, deepest and dirtiest depths of your mind. That small, reserved section of your mind that Joel took up; even when Tommy would be fucking you, you felt your mind drift off to thoughts of him. Thoughts of his thick cock. His hot ropes of cum on your soiled panties. The way he locked eyes with you and didn’t think to stop.
You felt the heat of shame swallow your body as your eyes screwed tightly shut, little flecks of white danced behind your eyelids as you came around your fingers; your mouth agape with pleasure.
“Dirty fuckin’ girl.” Joel muttered, pushing your door open further and stepping into the dark room.
“What the fuck!?” You screeched as you pulled your fingers from your panties and sat bolt upright to see the older Miller smirking at you.
“My brother know you’re at home fucking yourself? Or is he not doing a good enough job and you’ve gotta satisfy yourself?” He cooed, stepping closer to your bed until he perched at the foot and stroked his hand up your foot.
You kicked his hand away and folded your arms across the old fabric of Tommy’s t-shirt, trying to hide your hardened nipples.
“I’m gonna say this one time, and one time only… fuck off, Joel. I’m with Tommy. End of. I love him. I don’t want you.” You all but spat, your voice sounding like pure venom as you spoke.
“Oh. Feisty little girl. My brother got a fiery one. Good for him.” He smirked, his hand stroking further up your leg with each word.
His hand finally reached your upper thigh and the breath in your throat caught shakily; you felt like you suddenly couldn’t breathe and every touch of his finger tips felt like multiple electric shocks to you.
“Joel.” You warned. “I-I- I’m with Tommy, you need to l-leave?” Your voice was shaky, even with all good intentions you couldn’t help the way it sounded more like a question than a statement.
“Hm?” He purred, his brow quirked as he pushed your thighs apart; he could see your inner thighs glistening in the cool glow from the moonlight, your arousal making your skin sticky. “Fuck.” He groaned. “So wet, this all for my brother? Hm?”
“Y-yes. Of course, who else would it be for?” You blushed.
“I heard you call out daddy, you callin’ Tommy that? Something he don’t know yet? He gon’ finally be a daddy?” Joel’s fingers stroked so gently over your panties you weren’t even sure that he was actually touching you, yet you couldn’t stop yourself from shuddering.
“No. No. He’s not — I mean, we’re not.” You mumbled, your breath shaking as you watching Joel’s dark eyes rake over you. Your arms were back by your sides and your fingers were clutching at the sheets below you.
“That’s a shame.” He tutted, pressing one of his digits hard against the damp fabric of your panties. “You would look so sexy, all round and full. Fuck, you deserve to be bred the way you deserve.”
“Joel —“ you breathed, your eyes fluttering shut as his finger pressed against your sensitive clit. “We shouldn’t. I mean, we- we can’t, I’m with Tommy. Please don’t make this harder for me.”
“Come on baby girl, let me show you just how much better I am than Tommy. How much better I could be for you. Better lover, better daddy.”
You gasped at his words, they had such a visceral effect on you; it was instantaneous, with each word you felt yourself practically dripping for him.
“Fuck. Come here.” You whimpered, leaning forward to grab Joel’s shirt to crash your lips together.
It was an aggressive clash of lips, teeth and tongues; within seconds, Joel’s tongue found its way into your mouth and was kissing you in a way you could have only dreamt of with Tommy.
Joel’s hand found its way to your jawline and he gripped it tightly as he climbed onto the bed to lay next to you. His other hand found its way under your shirt to grope at your breasts.
Everything felt so familiar yet entirely different; Joel’s hands were larger, they were rougher and more calloused than Tommy’s. His touches felt more aggressive, more lustful and you couldn’t deny the way it drove you mad.
Joel’s facial hair scratched at the soft skin of your face, again, in a way that was entirely different to Tommy; it was hotter, it was forbidden.
“Waited to kiss you like this since day one. Fuck, you feel so good under me.” Joel groaned against your lips as his fingers toyed with the hardened buds of your nipples.
You arched up to his rough fingers and instinctively spread your legs further for him, all shame seemed to dissipate with every grope from the older man.
“Fuck, I need more. Please.” You whimpered.
Joel took the hint quickly, he kissed down your neck and trailed his fingers down your sternum before he finally reached the waistband of your panties. Joel breathed deeply as his fingers finally dipped into the damp fabric, he didn’t mess around and immediately, his fingers found your clit without any fumbling around.
Your eyes widened at Joel and he just smirked as he circled it expertly with his thick fingers. He ducked his head down and kissed you once more, his teeth nipped at your bottom lip as you whimpered underneath him.
“Fuck.” You whined pathetically under Joel. “Fuck, daddy. Fuck.”
The words spilled from your mouth, they were smothered against Joel’s mouth but he still heard them and he smirked once more.
“Fuckin’ knew you thought about me. Filthy little girl, aren’t you? Look at you, all whored out and for who? Your boyfriend’s brother. Filthy little slut.” Joel cooed with deep condescension.
You whimpered again, it was all you trusted yourself to do; you knew if you tried to talk, your words would die in your throat and would fail you immensely.
“Take that top off. Need to see your beautiful tits again, fuck. Think about them all the time. I watch you, y’know.” Joel whispered into your ear. “I watch you when you’re showering, watch the way you soap up your tits. Fuck have cum over that image so many times.” Joel admitted.
You gasped at his confession, you knew you should have been disgusted by his words, by his actions but it only seemed to grow your attraction, your arousal for him further.
You quickly sat up, legs still spread for Joel and whipped the T-shirt over your head; your tits bounced gently as you laid back down and Joel let out a near animalistic growl at the sight of you below him.
“Need to taste your pussy. Fuck. Need to so bad. Can’t stop myself now.” He smirked and without another word, he was removing your panties and positioning his head between your messy thighs.
He used his thumb and finger to spread the glistening pink of your pussy before he licked a fat stripe up through your folds, collecting your arousal on his tongue. He did it a couple of times before bringing his head back up to you.
“Open.” He hissed at you.
There was a momentary second of confusion before you obediently opened your mouth for Joel, your tongue hanging out in anticipation. Joel spat into your mouth slowly, a fat line of your arousal and Joel’s spit landed on your tongue and you swallowed it back eagerly.
It was filthy; it was pure debauchery and you honestly thought you might have died and gone to heaven right there.
“Oh fuck, that’s it. Such a good girl.” He praised and dipped his head down to suck your clit into his mouth.
He suckled at the nub gently, the pressure sending thousands of shockwaves through your body at once. You shuddered with the pleasure and a soft whine fell from your lips. Joel’s nose nudged at your mound as his tongue flicked over your clit before he circled it and then went back to sucking at it; he repeated these motions in consecutive moments but would switch up what he would do next. Just to keep you on your toes.
“Fuck. Daddy. I’m gonna cum.” You cried, tears pricking at your eyes from pure pleasure.
Never had Tommy made you feel like this; your body was on fire, your skin was flushed and a slick layer of sweat settled all over your body.
“Good girl. Cum for me. Fuckin’ soak my face. That’s it. Atta girl.” Joel praised between his pleasuring movements of his tongue. “Call me daddy again, driving me mad.” He hissed, spitting onto your clit before licking it back up with a flicking motion of his tongue.
“Daddy!” You whined, your back arching off the bed like a possessed woman. “Oh my god!” You whined, the noise getting caught in your throat as your orgasm ripped through your entire body.
You peered down as Joel licked you through your orgasm and you noticed the way his hips were grinding against the bed. This man was going to kill you off. He was so turned on by eating you out that he felt the need to hump at the bed like a horny mutt.
“Jesus Christ.” You whimpered as Joel dragged a slow finger through your folds just to place a playful slap to your exposed pussy.
“I prefer daddy.” Joel smirked, sitting back to remove his shirt and unbuckle his jeans. “How do you wanna take me, my good girl?”
Your head was swimming, it span with pleasure and you could barely think straight for more than two seconds.
“I — um, you choose.” You whispered.
“On all fours then, I know that’s how you like it the best. You always seem to cum the hardest when he fucks you like that.” Joel grinned, removing his clothes and standing at the edge of the bed, giving his thick cock a few testing strokes.
You swallowed roughly, feeling as if there were razor blades sliding down. “You… you, you watched us fuck?” You asked dumbfounded, the words sounded bizarre as they bounced around the room.
“Course I have, darlin’. Told you. I wanted you the moment I saw you. Just ‘cause you ain’t mine officially doesn’t mean I was gonna stop wanting you.” He spoke so calmly, like it was a totally normal thing to say. “And for the record, I know you ain’t ever cum that hard with Tommy, now you’ve got me thinking you fake it with him.”
“I do not.” You protested, your voice not convincing even to yourself.
Joel raised a brow at you in question, his lips turned up at the corner with an air of a smirk.
“Fine. Fucking fine. I’ve faked it a few times.” You admittedly quietly.
“Atta girl, ain’t so hard to tell the truth now, is it?” He said smugly. “Now, get on your hands and knees, show me that pretty cunt before I destroy it. Good girls get rewarded and you’ve been real good for me, sweetheart.”
Silently, you positioned yourself for Joel; still unsure of why you were doing this; why you were potentially throwing away your great relationship and for what? A couple good orgasms. You were fucked.
Joel tapped the thick head of his cock against your entrance and instinctively, you tried to push back onto him.
“Tsk tsk tsk.” Joel cooed, slapping your clit with his hardened cock. “Not until I say so, baby girl. I’m in charge, I decide when you deserve my cock. Not sure you’re even gonna be able to take me. You look so tight and perfect.”
“Fuck, you’re such an ass. Such a tease. Please, I need it, Joel.” You whined petulantly.
“Try again, sweetheart. Who am I?”
“Daddy.” You whispered.
“And what do you want?” He beamed smugly.
“Your cock, please, daddy. I want your cock so bad. Please.” You mewled.
“Good.” Joel praised, he pressed his cock into your tight heat, so slowly that you felt every inch of the delicious stretch. “Good girl.” He sighed as he bottomed out in you.
Under Joel, your fingers grasped at the sheets and your knuckles turned pale under the intense grip you had on them. He was big. Not just in length but he was girthy, thicker than Tommy was and you knew going forward, he wouldn’t be able to satisfy you in this way.
“You’re so fuckin’ tight. Clearly not been fucked in the proper way, so wet and tight for me.” Joel groaned, drawing his hips back slowly before thrusting forward slowly once again so you could feel every inch of him; every notch and vein of him.
You nodded under him, your words failing you once again as pleasure swamped your body like an infection; it took over every one of your senses.
Joel’s fingers gripped tightly at your soft hips as he built a steady rhythm, with each thrust you could feel his cock head nudge at the spongy bundle of nerves deep inside of yourself. It was heady and intense, your fingers tingled as Joel fucked you roughly.
His soft, slow thrusts from the start were long gone; he held you tighter as his hips snapped forward with force and pure fervour.
“Daddy. Feels so good.” You whimpered under him, your tights swaying back and forth as he fucked you. “Want you to fill me up. Breed me, please. Fuck.” You pleaded.
Joel couldn’t help the groan that rumbled from deep in his throat, it was a deep and masculine noise that shocked you.
“Hm, want me to give you that baby you want so bad?” Joel asked, landing a harsh spank to your doughy ass cheek. “Want to feel my cum leaking out of you as you try to sleep? Hm? Want my cum to stick to your inner thighs ready for when Tommy’s home?” He spanked you again as he spoke and you nodded eagerly at him. “Bet you would, little fucking whore.”
“I am. I’m a filthy little whore. All for you though, daddy. Not for him.”
Joel buried his cock deep into you and snaked his hand around to your mouth.
“Spit on them, slut.” He instructed abruptly.
You collected some spit on your tongue before you spat onto Joel’s digits, ignoring the way it dripped onto the sheets below you.
He took his spit-slicked fingers and placed them on the swollen nub of your clit, you gasped at the contact and Joel circled it perfect, the spit and your arousal making it easy for him to pass his fingers directly over the sensitive bundle.
“I bet Tommy wouldn’t even be surprised if he came home and found some other man’s cum making you all messy and sticky; he knows you’re a filthy little whore, perfect little sinner.” He groaned, his fingers working faster to bring you closer to your orgasm.
“I’m gonna cum again, Joel.” You whispered, his name falling off your lips with ease, like you said it all the time.
“Sound so sexy when you say my name.” He cooed. “You want to cum on my cock? Hm? Wanna cum on it whilst I fill you with my hot seed. God, wanna breed this little cunt so bad. So hot and tight. Hope I get you pregnant.” He growled.
Joel’s words, his fingers and his cock all worked in perfect unison to push you off the edge and fall into your second, intense orgasm; your head lulled forward into the crook of your elbow as you clenched around Joel’s still cock. You felt so full, so deliciously full and you wanted to stay like this forever.
“Good girl. Now let me cum in this little cunt. You ready for that?” He asked softly, brushing some hair away from your shoulder before he placed a soft, tender kiss to the skin of your back.
It was a stark contrast to the way he had just been treating you and it made your stomach flutter with adoration for the older male.
You nodded, it was all Joel needed and he went back to gripping your hips with an intense tightness. He pulled his cock all the way out before he snapped forward again; his thrusts were rough and short, you could tell he was just rutting himself to his own greedy high. All you could do was whimper and moan underneath him, taking everything he had to offer.
“I know baby. I know. It’s okay. Almost there. Such a good girl.” Joel mumbled, his thumbs smoothing over your skin as he fucked into you feverishly.
You whined under the male as his hips stalled and stuttered, and then, suddenly you felt the hot ropes of his cum coat your insides. Joel’s thick cock twitched inside of you and for a second, you felt even fuller than before as his seed filled you.
Joel stayed like that for a second, only moving his hips with slow, sloppy thrusts; the obscene squelching noises of your arousals filled the silent room and you whimpered pathetically.
He slowly pulled out of you with a hiss, his cock fell and he collapsed onto the bed. You winced as you moved to lay next to the male, you knew you were going to be feeling sore for the next couple of days but you liked it, it would serve as a real reminder than this actually happened and wasn’t the result of a heavy night of drinking or a weird fever dream.
“Fuck.” You muttered, leaning up on your elbows to suck in a few deep and shaky breaths. “What the fuck have I done? What the fuck did you do?” You hissed, collapsing back onto the bed with a soft sob; the lust clearing from the room as the grim reality settled around you.
“Gave you what you’ve been wanting, sweetheart. It’s okay.” Joel offered up softly.
“Joel…” you whispered. “I’m - I’m ovulating and you just came right inside of me. Oh my fucking god. I’m dead. Tommy is gonna kill me. Tommy is gonna kill you.”
“Tommy won’t know. Just make sure you have sex with him in the next couple of days and you’ll be golden. And well, if it happens. It happens. Uncle Joel at your service. If it doesn’t, we’ll try again next month.” He teased, with his forearm draped over his eyes.
“You’re not fucking funny.” You yelled. “Get out Joel, you’re fucked in the head. Get out.” You screamed, slapping his side and pushing the male off the bed.
He got off the bed and held his arms up in surrender.
“Okay, chill out. I’m gone. Tommy won’t know, I won’t say a word. And when you want this to happen again, you say the words and I’ll be right here for you, sweetheart.” He smirked as he bunched his clothes up into his arms.
He picked up your discarded panties and left the room without another word.
You wrapped the duvet around your naked body and sobbed quietly to yourself; this whole situation was about to get real fucking messy. You laid there, tears staining your cheeks as you prayed that it wouldn’t happen as different scenarios played out in your mind like a horror movie.
You weren’t sure when you fell asleep but you awoke to the mattress dipping next to you and Tommy placed a kiss to your shoulder and stroked your side.
“Hello baby,” he whispered, snuggling up behind you. “Smells like sex in here.” He said, with a soft chuckle.
“That was me…” you muttered, still not daring to look your boyfriend in the eyes. “Got so damn horny I had to touch myself, I couldn’t wait for you to get home.” You lied and closed your eyes.
“Now as exciting as that sounds, I’m so tired I don’t think I could even get it up if I tried. Tomorrow? I promise.” He laughed, kissing your shoulder again before he turned his back to you and fell asleep.
You laid there for hours, watching your peaceful boyfriend sleeping; letting the guilt nibble away at every piece of you before you saw Joel leave for the morning patrols. He walked past your bedroom door, he lingered for a few seconds, looked at you with a smirk before he raised a finger to his lips in a shushing motion and winked at you.
You bit on your bottom and squeezed your legs together; it shouldn’t turn you on but still, here you were, laid in bed with his brother as your core throbbed for Joel Miller.
-
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#tommy miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel x reader#dark!joel miller#pedro pascal#joel miller#tommy miller x reader
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Ashes, Ashes | One | Bradley Bradshaw
masterlist | prologue | next chapter
Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.
So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.
Warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell, age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.
…
Crossing the threshold into Maverick’s home doesn’t come naturally to either one of them. This place is something that they had both left behind. Outgrown. It’s solely his. It’s not their home and it has never been, until now. Now, Avery, at least, is stuck here until things are figured out.
On that fourteen hour drive down to San Diego, she’d had a lot of time to think. How long is a person supposed to wait for a body to turn up before they go ahead and throw the funeral without it?
Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, she is met with a smiling family picture. Only, she’s not in it.
Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.
This picture is of a real family. Hung on the wall opposite the front door is a picture of Nick and Carole Bradshaw holding their infant son. He’s bald and gummy. They’re grinning and showing him off like a prize trophy — so proud of him even though all he did in those days was drool and pee himself.
These days, their infant son is up to more important things. Their infant son grew to an upsettingly grand height and is carrying two of her bags in one hand behind her today.
“C’mon, Mitchell — these are heavy.” Bradley huffs softly from behind her, reminding her that she’s standing stationary and blocking his path.
The nickname stings. Avery’s last name isn’t Mitchell because her biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because her mother’s husband knew she wasn’t his and would rather die before letting her take his name.
She shrugs her duffel bag closer to her body and turns left. Bradley huffs under the weight of her luggage, watching her walk her cute butt in completely the wrong direction. “Wait, where are you going?”
Not struggling at all under the weight of her single duffel bag, she turns slowly to face him and frowns slightly. “My room.”
Avery doesn’t remember Bradley. Not in her own memories, anyway. She knows he was around, she’s seen him in pictures but the image in her head doesn’t match. Not quite right. Like puzzle pieces bent and forced together.
He’s taller than he looked at his high school graduation, which sits pictured and framed above Mav’s mantle. Older, but that’s to be expected. Up close, he looks more like his mother than his father. A slight bump in his nose and scars, nicely healed, but jagged and raised nonetheless dusted his cheek and his throat.
Even with all those differences, there’s a very slight familiarity to him that makes this all feel a little bit less suffocating.
Bradley’s brows draw together. He gives a small nod in the direction of the spare room. “That’s… I usually stayed in that room.”
“Oh.” Avery realises with a hum. With Bradley being ten years your senior, the room was his long before it was hers. With him growing up so close by, it was probably his much more frequently than it was hers, too. It’s not like she had ever kept anything here anyway. It’s just a guest room that she would occupy every now and again.
There’s a brief quiet between the two of them.
“I just figured you could take the big room. ‘Til you get settled. I’ll go home once your car is fixed, if that’s what you want.” Bradley adds on. That sad little look on her face, right in front of him, is killing him.
The big room. The loft room upstairs. Avery thinks about it and finds herself pretty sure that she’s never even been upstairs in this house.
“You’re staying too?”
Oh. Yeah. He hadn’t addressed that point yet. Truthfully, he hadn’t even been planning to stay. He hasn’t even packed an overnight bag. But, from the second that she had stepped out of the car and looked up at the house with that look on her face, he hadn’t even considered leaving her here alone.
“Just ‘til we get your car fixed,” He offers with a small shrug. “I’ll be here to run you around until then.”
Like he’s doing this for her sake. Natasha has her own life to get back to and Bradley can’t stand the thought of going back to his apartment alone.
“Okay,” Avery agrees, turning to peer down the hall towards the spare room. It’s nothing special — it really never felt like hers, anyway. “Alright, I’ll take Pete’s room.”
Pete. She calls Maverick ‘Pete’ now.
Bradley just nods, shifting the weight of her bags and nodding for her to head for the stairs. All the floors in this house are tan oak. The entryway is now herringbone. With the help of a friend, Pete had done the entire thing himself.
Of course, as they walk silently across it, neither one of them would know that. Neither one of them was speaking to him last May, which was why he had needed a project in the first place.
Natasha’s outside on the phone. Bradley’s footsteps thud on the wood of the stairs behind her, following her up. She stops at the top, leaving just enough room for Bradley to stand there behind her.
The door to Maverick’s room is open. His bed is made. There’s a book thrown on top of it, the spine cracked and used, the pages yellow from years out in the sun.
“No way is he still trying to fucking finish War and Peace.” Bradley steps around her and heads straight for the book. Pete started this book before Bradley finished elementary school. Bradley twists and looks back at her. “He always gets bored and stops reading, then forgets his page and starts again.”
Another slow nod. One foot in front of the other, her shoes along the tan oak floors. Her fingers trail the white walls. Maverick wouldn’t have minded. This place was always messy before. It’s not now.
This house is vacant and quiet, but it’s far from empty. It’s filled to the brim, practically pulling apart at the seams with everything that Maverick was and planned to be. He was finishing War and Peace — he made it to chapter 253 this time; further than he had ever made it before.
Suddenly, Avery’s throat is thick with the knowledge that all she knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that she’ll never know.
Four days of knowing, a fourteen hour drive down here, and it’s a book that stings like a cold slap to the face, reminding her of why exactly it is that she’s here.
Fire burns behind her eyes, blistering and stinging as Bradley sets her bags on the floor with a soft thud.
He turns with his attention completely on the book, his fingers extending towards the peeling cover of the paperback. His fingers curl around its weathered pages and he lifts it tenderly, examining the front at first.
It’s too early to start this process bawling her eyes out, and Avery refuses to let Russian Literature be your downfall, again.
That thick feeling sits in her throat like a stack of weights as she sits down on the end of Maverick’s bed. The mattress is soft, taking her weight without a squeak of complaint. Maybe he finally listened to her and got a bed that wasn’t so harsh on his back.
It’s been almost two years since she had even set foot in this house last. If she had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… she sits and thinks to herself about if she would have maybe visited more. Probably not.
“I’ll change the sheets and stuff, then I’ll get out of your hair for a bit.”
Lifting her head, she blinks at him. He has already started to pull back the comforter and strip the bottom sheet from the bed, awkwardly forcing her onto her feet again.
Mobile once more, Avery turns slowly to take in her surroundings. This is Maverick’s room. It’s his house, she was prepared for that much — but this is his room. The last thing she wants is to be alone in it all night.
“Oh. Sure,” She nods, setting into motion to help take the sheets off.
He’s so methodical about it, like none of this phases him at all. But then, she hasn’t seen how he has been for the past few days.
“I was thinking of just ordering food tonight, since I’m kinda tired — and Pete never had groceries. Would you want… to maybe join?”
“Sure.” Bradley nods, tugging the pillows out of the cases. He glances up to her with a strictly polite, neutral smile. Quiet settles between the two of them until the bed is just a bare mattress and uncovered pillows.
Then, there’s a moment of total stillness between the two of them. Her gaze flickers up, meeting his, and the realization settles between the two of them.
Maverick’s favourite cologne was a French thing that some woman in the eighties had liked. Citrus in the shade of cypress wood. The scent fills the room like he’s standing between the two of them.
Bradley glances down at the white sheets in his hands. The snowy white peaks of those mountains, Maverick’s aircraft spiralling into them, engulfed in flames. In a sick way, Bradley hopes that he didn’t manage to eject. At least then, it would have been instant. Maverick wouldn’t have felt anything.
Avery watches his adam’s apple bob in his throat from the other side of the bed. The last you had heard, Mav and Bradley weren’t on speaking terms. She wonders if this is as weird for him as it is for you.
“I’ll put these in the washer. You can… unpack, or whatever.” He decides finally, already taking one step backwards, headed for the door. She stands there, blinking at him. Even with those steeped, broad shoulders, he makes it through the doorframe unscathed before he turns to check where he’s going.
He probably knows this house inside and out, just like he knew her dad. Once.
When it comes to wracking her brain and trying to remember Bradley Bradshaw, Avery can’t ever come up with anything. Maybe a glimpse, here and there. A blue t-shirt with green stripes. His school backpack accidentally left in the backseat of Maverick’s convertible beside her shoddily installed car seat.
Truthfully, her experience with Bradley Bradshaw is limited. He’s just as real to her as any of the other guys in the stories she grew up hearing about. Her very own Peter Pan is downstairs right now, trying to figure out Maverick’s ancient washing machine, just so that he doesn’t have to stand up here and stare across at her.
He can’t hide from her forever, though. Evening comes, and so does hunger.
He stares down at the pizza between the two of them as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when she had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.
Natasha has gone home. It’s just the two of them, now. Sitting in this unchanged, all too familiar kitchen. Avery has barely unpacked. She set up a couple of things in Maverick’s bathroom, but it doesn’t feel right to be in the big room upstairs. That wasn’t ever her space to claim.
She chews absentmindedly at the bite she had taken. The TV in the living room is off. The record player is coated in a layer of thin dust already. It’s dead quiet. The kitchen light is dim above their heads.
There’s a chip in the corner of the table on Bradley’s side. It’s there because Bradley was running through this kitchen when he was four years old and had tripped and knocked his front tooth out right here. His thumb trails the tiny mark, wondering how his teeth had ever been that small.
Wondering why she isn’t angry with him, too.
Maverick had picked him up that day, turned him around and held Bradley while he cried, stemming the blood and quickly introducing the concept of the tooth fairy. He had done all that he could, and Bradley still found a way to resent him for what had happened to his own father.
Bradley hasn’t ever done a thing for Avery. Except maybe pay for this pizza. And here she is, calm as can be.
The sauce base feels tangy and coppery, and the cheese makes him want to puke. He sets the slice down on his plate and wipes his hands on the paper towel beside him.
Finally, he lifts his head and looks at her. Her hair is up differently now, tucked out of your way after an afternoon of manual labour upstairs, tidier than it had been earlier. She’s wearing a stretched out old t-shirt. Bradley assumes she got it from a boyfriend.
Really, he doesn’t think she looks that much like her old man. He would really have to search for the resemblance. But, briefly, when she offers him a polite smile across the table, he knows that you’re Mav’s kid.
“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. They both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken.
“…For what?” Avery asks quietly, lips tugging into a small frown.
“I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows she probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in her spot, and not know how to talk about it.
It’s his fault that Maverick didn’t make it home.
She stops chewing. That last bite sits in her mouth, doughy and dry all of a sudden. She stares across at him, awkwardly making herself swallow down the last of her bite of pizza and picking up the paper towel to wipe at her mouth.
“We weren’t that close.” She tells him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. She’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.
But, he knows what it’s like to be told how to grieve. He just dips his head and nods awkwardly. “Right.”
“I got a call from an admiral the other day,” She picks up the slice of pizza and pick at its toppings. There’s no one here now to tell her not to play with your food. Mav never really cared anyway. Bradley watches her, unhungry. “Invited me down to Miramar. He said he was a friend of Mav’s and that he could talk me through… this whole thing. How it works.”
Bradley rubs a hand over the neatly trimmed hair above his lip. It feels like he has swallowed a golf ball, sitting here like it’s normal to be discussing the measures.
He knows how it works. It won’t be as simple as it was with his own father. At least Maverick had afforded him something to bury. For her, there’s nothing.
“I’ll have to be there around eleven.”
“Sure,” Bradley nods, scratching at the back of his neck. His legs tingle with stiffness. Clearing his throat, he shifts in the little wooden chair and stretches, knocking his foot into hers under the table. “Oh. Sorry. I’m sorry.”
Her teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.
“It’s fine.” She hums, pushing back in her chair and standing up from the table. “Well, I’ve been up since like… four, so I might just hit the hay.”
“Sure.” Bradley breathes out, hands braced on his thighs, eyes focussed on that tiny chip in the corner of the table. “Yeah. Goodnight.”
The downstairs bedroom seemed bigger when he was a kid. The twin-sized bunks on the carrier feel bigger than the wooden-framed bed that Maverick put in here. Bradley’s shoulder is practically hanging off the side, and the old frame creaks with each movement he makes.
It’s not like he would be sleeping much anyway. When he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is the fireball Maverick’s plane had turned into as it fell.
Bradley’s hunched over the coffee pot by the time that Avery wakes up. He hears her coming down the stairs and straightens up like he wasn’t three seconds from throwing the stupid thing at the wall, clearing his throat and turning around.
It occurs to him that he should have put a shirt on. This isn’t his place. It’s hers, now, he guesses — either way, he hadn’t considered making her uncomfortable. He folds his arms over his naked torso as she strolls into the kitchen, hair mussed and rubbing at her eyes.
She’s wearing big socks and the same big t-shirt she had worn to eat the pizza last night. He can’t tell if she’s wearing shorts or not.
“Morning,” He offers up, making her lift her gaze from busily tapping at her phone. Her gaze lands squarely on his navel — more so, how low his shorts sit on his hips and the way a soft trail of brown hair ventures from there to his bellybutton.
Blinking, she finds his face.
“Coffee machine’s broken, we can stop somewhere on the way to base if you like.” He leans down a little bit, like an awkward teenager shrinking away from a family picture. She locks her gaze on his, trying not to glance back down at his muscles.
“Oh. That’s not broken — if you hit it hard enough, it’ll work.” She heads right for him, fuzzy socks padding across the floor so softly that it really does startle him when she grabs the copy of War and Peace that now sits on the kitchen counter, and slam the book right into the side of the coffee machine.
He whips around as the machine whirs to life. Avery the book back down gently, and look up at him. He sets his jaw, brows knitted together, searching her face.
Maverick never taught Bradley anything like that. In fact — Bradley always, always was taught the opposite. You never take the easy way out; if something’s worth fixing, then you fix it right.
Then you, you on the other hand, beat the thing with the heaviest book you can find? He just doesn’t get it.
“Well. Thanks.” He guesses, turning his bemused expression back to the brewing coffee.
He hadn’t been expecting you to do that. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, given the way he’s still glaring at the machine. That coffee pot is older than you are, and Mav never taught him that trick?
“So this guy, the one who called me,” Avery skims her fingers along the cool granite countertop, just to have something to do, “He was the guy calling the shots up there?”
Bradley blinks. He doesn’t know how much she knows about the way all of this works. He knew everything there is to know long before he ever enlisted, but that was because he wanted to know.
“Um,” Bradley grabs his mug and takes a step back for her to get herself one. “He was our mission command so, kind of. He gives orders — but, y’know, everything happens fast, it’s… it’s hard to call the shots from back on the boat.”
“Did he like Mav much?” She asks, head tucked inside the fridge door as you scan for anything to make her coffee a little less black. Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese. She swings it shut with a resigned sigh, wondering if she’ll be here long enough to need groceries.
The thought flashes across her mind — what’ll happen to this place when she leaves it behind?
“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.
“Great.” Agitation creeps into her tone as she curls her fingers around a plain white coffee mug. All of his kitchenware is plain white.
“What?” Bradley tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse at the look on her face, stuck between whether she’s sad or pissed off.
It’s an easy answer, rolling off of her tongue with a shrug of her shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”
That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father.
He screws his mouth up, shaking his head and reaching for her without thought. His palm claps against her shoulder, platonic and soothing, but the first time he has touched you nonetheless. “I’ll be there. He won’t say a thing.”
Glancing upward, while his palm lingers on her shoulder, her eyes flit across his features. He doesn’t know quite what she’s searching for, or whether she finds it. His fingers squeeze softly against her skin before the touch is gone all together.
They drink their coffees in parallel, both subtly miserable in their silence but comfortable in it anyway. It’s difficult to prepare for a meeting like this — she doesn’t have a clue of what to expect.
Bradley wears black jeans and boots with a plain white t-shirt, which convinces her not to wear the more formal dress she had thought she’d have to wear. She slips into his passenger seat in a skirt and Mary Janes.
He drives a loud, blue vintage Bronco. It sparkles inside and out, and makes her dusty old car look even worse.
Bradley settles behind the wheel to the sound of chilled seventies music, the radio turned low. He drives with three fingers curled around the bottom of the wheel and the other hand resting absently on the stick shift.
Even though he seems calm enough behind the wheel, she watches him chew at the inside of his cheek for the duration of the drive. Gears tick away inside his head. His knee only stops bouncing nervously when it’s time to press his foot against the pedal.
He’s not as good at pretending as he thinks he is; she silently appreciates that he tries, either way.
Bradley, truthfully, spends the entire drive thinking about the last time he was face to face with Admiral Simpson. ‘Son, I’m doing this for you.’ He had sworn, face sullen, uttering the exact same words Pete Mitchell once had when delivering the words that had torn Bradley from him the first time.
Only, Admiral Simpson wasn’t pulling Bradley’s papers — he was just putting him on a month long bereavement leave. His protests had fallen on deaf ears once again, as they had fifteen years ago. He’s now a week into that leave, but it feels like longer.
It turns out that when sleep is cut from the equation, everything feels a lot longer. In his own apartment, his routine has been getting up at 2am after hours of tossing and turning, going for a run all the way down to the docks, coming back and showering, then waiting for the sun to rise.
Last night, he’d been awake in that creaky old twin bed, struck by the realisation that if he spent all night tossing and turning — one, he might actually break the old bed frame, and two, the squeaking of it would definitely keep Avery up.
All it had taken was the focus of trying to sit still for so long to finally knock him out. It was the best that he’d slept since the mission.
He kind of hopes that it’ll take him a while to figure out something to do with her car; at least that way he’ll be able to sleep at night.
“You ready?” His voice startles Avery from her daydream, the engine cutting out with a jingle of the keys as he stretches forwards in his seat to shove them into his pocket. “We’re headed just over there.”
“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” She’s stepping down and swinging the heavy door shut before she’s taking her next breath, leaving him to catch up to her.
His long strides have him at her side before long, reaching ahead of her to pull open the glass door to the post headquarters.
This process has already been easier with him at her side. He’d coolly handed over his service ID and greeted the guard at the gate by name, and he stops her from turning sharply down the wrong hallway with a soft bump of his shoulder against hers.
He catches her forearm as she tries to blow right past the front desk, his grip loose but firm.
“Rooster.” The woman behind the desk stands up sharply, looking sharp in her service khakis, her entire face creased with a deep worry. She’s older, maybe around Mav’s age. “I heard, I’m so sorry.”
Rooster loosens his hold on her forearm, his lips flattening into a line. He stands up straight, his interaction with the woman nothing if not totally polite. His thumb trails across the bend of her wrist as he nods his head towards her.
“Thank you,” He says softly, seemingly unaware of the way Avery has stiffened in the presence of this woman. “We’re, uh… we’re just here to see Cyclone, Lynn.”
Her warm, brown eyes whip towards Avery, widening. Recognition floods her features as she pieces together who the girl at Bradley's side must be.
Her boots hit the ground, Avery's lips parting slightly as she realises that this stranger is headed right for her. Bradley feels Avery's arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way she's trying to shrink behind him.
Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch Avery when he can see how unnerved it makes her.
“We’re a little late. I’ll catch you at the O-Bar this weekend?” His fingers uncurl from her forearm and his palm falls flat between her shoulder blades, giving her a gentle nudge and silent permission to avoid Lynn's hug.
The woman stops and there’s another polite, departing exchange between the two of them while Avery continues down the hall.
Bradley catches up to her as she raps her knuckles against the doorframe, fingers trembling when they come to settle back against her thighs.
“Miss Mitchell.” A chair scrapes along the tiled floor, Cyclone’s signature rumbling voice carrying out into the hallway. His boots tap across the ground, his face creased with sincerity and his hand outstretched when he notices Bradley standing behind the young woman he had arranged this meeting with. “Bradley Bradshaw.”
Avery checks back over her shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind her, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression.
Standing tall, his uniform crisp and his greying black hair combed neatly, Admiral Beau Simpson slips his palm into hers and shakes her hand curtly. The sunlight catches on his shining name badge, his face heavy with lines and sharp angles.
Letting her hand go, he then reaches to her right to shake Bradley’s. Bradley’s chest bumps her back as he leans into the handshake.
Avery steps away from him, angling yourself closer to the doorframe. “He just gave me a ride here. Is it okay if he comes in?”
“Of course,” Cyclone is far more polite to her than he has ever been to Bradley. “Anything you need. Please, take a seat.”
It feels a little bit wrong standing before his boss in jeans, and sitting before him. Everything about this feels a little bit wrong. Bradley rests his chin against his fist.
Avery sits in the chair beside him, shoving your trembling hands under your thighs, straightening up and trying to look as brave as you can.
It shouldn’t be this stranger sitting beside you in this meeting — your mother should have come with you.
“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.”
Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him, not really.
“We are forever grateful for his service, and the sacrifices he made on behalf of our country. I understand that this is an extremely difficult time, and I’d just like to say that I’m going to personally make sure that this process is as easy as it can possibly be.”
Avery blinks at him. Jet engines rumble on outside of the window. People bustle on outside of the closed office door.
Cyclone glances towards Bradley.
“When a man is lost in action, our resolve is to initiate a search and rescue effort as soon as possible,” The admiral explains, leaving out the part where that search and rescue effort had been delayed by seventy-two hours after Mav disappeared. “We’ve been working tirelessly, and our efforts to locate your father are ongoing.”
Her brows knit together, lips pursed, unimpressed.
“But— he’s dead.” She frowns abruptly, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?”
Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at her, her words like a jolt of ice-cold water, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in her expression, no fear or sadness. Pete deserved more than that.
“The point is to bring him home.” He bites from her side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.
She shoots him a look. When it’s clear that she isn’t going to say anything else, Cyclone clears his throat to continue.
“Miss Mitchell, we do have to prepare ourselves for the other outcome. If recovery efforts are unsuccessful, in two weeks time, he will be listed as formally ‘Missing in Action’. If that’s the case, we will honor him with a memorial service and all of his service records and personal effects are delivered to you.”
She drags her teeth across her plush bottom lip, swallowing hard and giving a small nod of her head. Closing her eyes for a moment, she pictures the moment that this is all over. She can get out of here and pretend it never happened.
“Okay. Two weeks?”
“This is going to be a longer process,” Cyclone warns her. He’d heard that she had come down specially for this, and he doesn’t want to mislead her about the time frame. “The recovery mission, if unsuccessful, will be suspended in two weeks’ time. After that, we’d like you to be local for the investigation.”
“Investigation?”
“Of ourselves. To ensure that the Navy had performed its due diligence, that kind of thing… I’d expect us to be here for a good few months.” He explains.
After that, it’s like Bradley can see a switch flip for her.
She’s biting at the inside of her cheek so hard that she must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of her skirt and breathing like she’s trying not to cry.
He’s still confused when he’s all but chasing her across the parking lot, listening to her try to control her breathing.
“Hey, hey, hey,” He tries, approaching her cautiously as she crowds herself against the passenger side of his car. “It’s alright. We’ll get through it, it’s just a couple of months.”
“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“
“Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around her. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes her bicep, bending his knees so he can catch her eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.”
Avery knows that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, she’s sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left her with no idea of who he really is. “Of what? There’s so much that I have to—“
He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of her plate for her. The idea sparks in him.
“You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at her bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in her eyes not to spill over.
She sniffs, turning her gaze towards the ground. The lump in Avery’s throat burns and bobs as she tries to swallow it away.
Mav really is never coming back.
“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that she is in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than her. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse.
He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud.
“You could stay at my place, for a night or two.”
…
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