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sytoran · 1 year ago

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𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟎𝟓 — 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀

kinktober day 005 | mermaid!wanda x pirate!reader

as captain of a notorious gang of pirates, you've got a reputation of steel, but when there's a pretty little mermaid presenting herself for you, there's no chance in hell you're not saying yes.

cont. sweet talk, begging, humiliation, overstimulation word count. 2178

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

“Righto, fellas, so we got sixty ducats – twenty doubloons, is it?” Bucky asks lackadaisically, tossing gold coins up and down with his good hand.

A loud guffaw surrounds the group of you huddled around the campfire. You shake your head with a toothy grin at your right-hand man’s idiocy. Even the least educated pirates in your gang knew what sixty divided by two was.

You reach over and knock the side of Bucky’s head with your bloodied knuckles. “That brain cavity wouldn’t make a drinkin’ cup for a canary, buddy.”

“Aw, kiss my boot, ya fuckin’ cunt-licker,” the dark-haired man grumbles in response, still playing with his shiny gold coins. He playfully punches your arm his prosthetic one.

In record timing, you whip out your dagger from your cow-skin belt and pierce the hole in Bucky’s coin midair, pinning the coin to the nearest tree with a deadly aim.

“Cunt-licker is right,” you say smugly, going to ruffle Bucky’s already shaggy hair. The impressed hoots and jeering taunts at your dagger-throwing skills are all good-hearted, as is the general atmosphere within your gang.

The lot of you were specialists in your craft, the most formidable and deadly in the piracy industry. Five years ago, you had claimed the largest plot of land that was the very island you lived on with your mates. Tu’Au was surrounded by the freshest of ocean water and the most gorgeous of views.

There was also a legend of the mystical mermaids that lived beneath Tu’Au, but you didn’t believe any of that bosh and bullshit about supernatural creatures. You’d believe it when you saw one with your very own eyes.

“Yall’ finish up counting our loot for the day, I’m gonna take a walk by the shore,” you say, adjusting the piece of tobacco between your lips and then dusting off your pants. “Don’t let Buck do the counting.”

“Got it, boss,” Steve answers promptly, ever the loyal one. Bucky rolls his eyes.

Loveable idiots, you think, tossing your hat to the side. Strolling away from the main camp, you finally take a deep inhale of that tobacco, smoke trailing off into the orange sunset.

As you walk along the shore, bare feet on the wet sand, you look up and close your eyes. It was times like these that were simple, times like these that you never wanted to end—

“I said, get away from me! Please, just leave me alone!”

A feminine, desperate cry from the distant ocean has you blinking open your eyes in sudden alertness, darting to the source of the sound.

From a short distance to shore, there is chaos occurring within the waters. What seems to be a muscular, bare-chested man is swimming inhumanly fast towards a significantly smaller-sized woman with long, cascading hair.

Though both of them certainly spoke like regular humans, there was a certain way about their moving in the waters and tremendous presence that had you second-guessing yourself.

“Get back here, you good for nothin’! You’ll make up your mind when I fuckin’ want you to!”

He’s yelling foul words at her, catching up to her already, clearly incredibly unpleased. Suddenly, the man dives down, and you catch sight of a shimmering blue tail above the waters before it disappears.

Hang on a damn moment. Merfolk are real?

But before your brain can process what you truly just saw, the merman reemerges much closer to the mermaid, massive gold spear in a vice grip.

As if a gear was kicked into motion, you sprint towards the water. Kicking up water as you run through the shallow part of the ocean, you stumble but never slow down, eyes set on the target. It’s prey-or-predator right now, either conquer the enemy or die trying.

The said target has got the mermaid in his massive arms, wrapping around her torso and forcefully dragging her back into the deep waters. Her strangled cries get muffled by the water, cries and pleas ringing in your ears.

Just before you dive into the water, your hand flies to that trusty weapon holster, and a sharp dagger flies at the merman with an air-cutting, brutal force. “Y/N bullseye L/N,” you remember Bucky saying with a stupid grin on his face. “Never misses a shot.”

A millisecond before your plunge into the ocean, the stunning blue eyes of the mermaid meet yours, and you lose all the air in your lungs.

You’ve never seen anything like it, never laid your eyes upon such a breathtaking beauty before. Blue eyes deeper than the depths of the ocean, sparkling more than the brightest of glimmering stars,

An agonized cry from the merman hauls you out of your trance. The dagger struck him directly in the right eye, just as expected, just as you had calculated. Opaque red blood comes out in spurts, and his hands release the mermaid and go to clutch at his eye.

Your arms glide in the water, smooth and cutting, bringing you closer to the struggling pair.

Seizing the moment of the merman’s distractedness, you wrap your arms around the mermaid. You immediately notice the way she sinks into your embrace, head drooping to lean against your chest as you struggle to move through the water.

You really try to not think too hard about the lithe body in your arms. It was proving to be an incredibly difficult task.

After your hell of an escapade, you have the mermaid girl propped up against the wet rocks. It takes a while for you to notice that you’re on all fours above her, panting heavily with wide eyes and a drenched white shirt.

When you do realise it, though, you get off her immediately, clearing your throat awkwardly. So much for being a scary pirate.

“You alright?” you ask instead, fiddling with the collar of your white shirt. It had gotten drenched while you were in the water, along with all your clothes and your hair.

You were having a hard time trying to avoid looking at her chest since it was literally in front of you.

“You saved me,” the mermaid finally speaks, eyelashes wet with drops of water, her voice softer and sweeter than you could ever have imagined. You get a bit lost in the delicacy of her red lips as she stares back at you.

“Right,” you answer, your throat suddenly dry.

“What is your name, human?” the mermaid asks, hand going to stroke at the curvature of your jawline that was dotted with droplets of water. The touch was honey-like.

“Y/N. How ‘bout you?”

“Wanda.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“Prettier than me?”

“No,” you answer a little too quickly, voice a little hoarser than before. Your eyes dart around to focus on anything but the ethereal mermaid before you, but soon they land on a wound at her tail.

“Oh, shucks, you’re bleeding. I’ll go get bandages an’ stuff from base,” you say, looking at the nasty wound on the tip of Wanda’s tail, incarnadine blood leaking out of it.

“Don’t go,” the mermaid suddenly says, and there’s this little begging lilt to her voice that messes up your brain chemistry. “I mean, mermaids have healing properties, so you don’t have to go,” she mumbles, looking away with her cheeks flushed. Cute.

“That’s cool,” you answer, leaning back to let your hands run over the tip of her tail. Just like she said, the wound heals itself, slowly stitching back that scaly-smooth skin with a magical touch.

You give her tail a long stroke, running your fingers through the little scales that decorate this new thing you’d like to explore.

“Hng,” a little whimper suddenly escapes from the mermaid, and the both of you freeze. It’s a fine line between comedy and erotica.

You rub at her tail again, harder this time, and Wanda lets out a louder moan.

You start massaging her tail, hands spreading out over the sensitive area, kneading gently. Wanda’s face is absolutely flushed, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, the prettiest thing you’d ever seen.

“Kiss me?” she asks, breathlessly, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Warm mouths meet in an inferno of lust, Wanda’s head tilting up to meet yours, your head tilting down to chase hers. The moment you taste the sweetness of her lips, a trigger is flicked inside of your brain, and your body kicks it into overdrive.

Your hands tug off the seashell bra with unbridled haste, flinging it behind you without a care in the world. Wanda squeaks against your lips at your sudden boldness, hands going to encircle the back of your neck.

But that’s before you’re grabbing both her wrists with one hand and pinning it above her head against the wet rock. She moans as your lips make their way down the column of her porcelain, leaving red hickeys into the pale canvas like it was a work of art.

It was true, to a certain extent, because this mermaid before you was a work of art: brown hair splayed onto the wet rock like something out of a Renaissance painting, water droplets across her eyelids, breathing and panting your name, hips moving helplessly under your stronger body, trying to chase a fraction of the pleasure that you’re dangling out of reach.

Your mouth latches on to her supple breasts with eagerness, lips wrapping around her hardened bud. Wanda lets out a shriek when you suck on it, hard. As a mermaid, the sensations and emotions that they felt were many times that of a human, and you were making it no easier for her.

“N-Need you,” Wanda pleads, when you flick at her other pretty pink nipple, admiring how her body arches along with the sensation.

“Need me where?” you ask, a lust-coated rasp in your voice, edged with a tone of teasing that has Wanda’s head spinning.

You finally release her hands, and Wanda grabs your right hand with certainty, sliding it down her shuddering body and scaled tail to where a pussy would be.

Instead, your fingertips find a hot, wet, slit.

“Fuck,” you growl into Wanda’s skin, lost in the sheer thoughts of how much you could ruin her.

“Please?” Wanda begs again, giving you the biggest doe eyes she could. You didn’t need any convincing, anyway.

“All this for me?” You ask, ruthlessly plunging two fingers into her dripping slit. It’s warm and wet, and so tight. Your fingers explore, straightening out then curling in, going in big circles then in smaller ones.

All through your unabashed exploration of Wanda’s cunt, the pretty little mermaid is left completely at your mercy. She’s writhing, never been touched like this before.

“S’ too, too much,” she babbles incoherently when you slide a third finger in, thrusting in and out of her gorgeous little cunt like it’d be the last time you’d get to do this. Because in all honesty, it might be.

That thought alone spurs you on to go even faster, playing with Wanda’s body like a fiddle, making all the right noises with the right fingerings.

“Y/N,” she cries, long fingernails ripping the back of your vest to shreds. You don’t give a damn about it.

Turns out, mermaids have several sweet spots, because you’re finding all of them and breaking her with it.

“Gonna cum already?” you ask, “Needy little thing, hm? Couldn’t even wait five minutes?” Wanda tries to shake her head, but your other hand is stroking the length of her tail.

“Come f’me, sweet thing.”

Those words send her over the edge, snapping the knot that had been building in her belly.

“Y/N!” Wanda screams, a melodious tune, hands clawing at the edges of the rocks, then the back of your neck, all while her head is thrown back. Her tail is flapping in a state of no control, lost in the pleasure you’re feeding her.

Acknowledging the delicious tightening of Wanda’s mermaid slit around your three fingers, you opt to instead go at an even faster pace, fingers thrusting deeper into her body, because you wanted every inch of it.

“Y/N,” Wanda sobs, because she sees stars. Those brilliant blue eyes getting teary with your relentless pace. The tears escape the corners of her eyes and cascade down her cheeks like a waterfall.

It’s a sight you’d imprint into your memory forever, when Wanda’s ocean blue eyes roll into the back of her head and her little mermaid body goes limp in your arms.

You admire her for many moments, at how she had made you fuck her silly, at how she was yours now.

—

“Why’re you smilin’ like a baked possum?” Bucky asks you once you head back to camp. It’s early the next day, still dark out in the wide seas. He’s sprawled out on a wide hammock, sharpening a knife. Steve is cuddled into his chest.

Your lips curve into a stupidly smug smirk. “Not that you would know a dime about pussy, but remember what you said about cunt-lickers?”

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#sytoran's kinktober 2023 #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader smut #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #gxg smut #wlw smut #sub wanda maximoff #bottom wanda maximoff #top reader #dom reader

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qoldenskies · 2 days ago

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It feels like Donnie always has a bundle of nerves. While Leo seems to have a more chill attitude. At least on the outside.

So I kind of write them like that.

One example I can think of on top of my head is Mant Unhappy Reminders.

Where Leo says to everyone to trust him, but it seems to the others that he is not taking it seriously. But had a plan, but does not communicate it.

Comparatively, when Donnie faced the Shredder, at least in the stadium. He was the only one who was shaking like a leaf. And teeth chattering.

He had a moment when he said “Eat science,” scene. But when that didn't work, he kind of just started having a breakdown and crying. And such.

Also, when the Shredder returns, I think Donnie might have froze.

when shredder broke his tech his first instinct was to scream and flee!! honestly i cant tell if his tech-bo activated on its own or not but regardless that was what saved his life and he didn't expect it to, and pretty much the SECOND shredder gets knocked away from him he collapses. im also thinking about minotaur maze when his first instinct is to scream for help repeatedly when he's in a life-or-death situation, its very telling

(also actually when people do post many unhappy returns fics nobody ever acknowledges that donnie also got the SHIT beaten out of him in end game when the others didnt because he was holding off draxum from the front??? like he's visibly super fucked up afterwards??? guys you could use this if youre treating their injuries realistically anyway, especially with the added angst of him having to fight all day after even though he was already pretty banged up)

(donnie being in the front lines in end game to distract draxum.... ok canary)

donnie is VERY vocal when he's afraid and his confidence is very easily shaken when he fails on the field, i think he's shown to have to fall down and just breathe through it after close calls when the others dont. he's very jumpy, unexpected loud noises freak him out, he freezes when he's out of immediate danger etc etc. he's not someone who hides it while leo usually does. leo feels like he has to be strong for his family, while donnie doesnt.

like lol leo locks tf in and focuses on the field when things get life-or-death (also very apparent in the fight with the kraang, where despite being under the threat of death he's focused enough to make split-second decisions, the line about missing on purpose!!) and donnie panic and freaks out LMAO (jumping in front of mikey to take the hit was completely instinctual by contrast! if he had leo's kind of focus he probably would have made something a lot more structured than that split second shield; donnie's ninpo reflects it well, he needs time to prepare before he jumps in while leo can think quickly)

#ask #rottmnt #raph and donnie got that shared trait of not being able to handle sudden pressure well love them for that

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vampcubus · 1 year ago

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:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟑 : 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : nsfw, sub!yandere!zenitsu agatsuma, mean dom!fem!reader, modern au, spit kink/spitting, finger sucking, light master kink, light oral fixation, spit as lube, dacryphilia, overstimulation, degradation, sadism/masochism, pet name (lamb), fingering (m!receiving), cumming in pants/untouched, referenced stalking, zentisu is aged up to twenty-one in this.

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 2.2k+

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 : 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓

Zenitsu kneels at your feet, arms hugging your legs as his wide, brown eyes bore into you through dewy, blond lashes. His gaze is reverent and desperate as if he can’t tear himself away from you. The sight is reminiscent of how a golden retriever would look at its owner, equal parts pathetic and adoring.

‘Pay attention to me,’ his eyes say, ‘Love me,’ they beg, ‘Take pity on me,’ they plead with your own.

These are the eyes of the same man you’d just discovered snooping around your home. There’s something familiar about him as if you’d seen him before.

No, you’d definitely seen him before. All those times you’d felt watched, followed, or hunted.

His hair is the same canary-yellow you’d see retreating in your peripheral when you’d look over your shoulder. Your heart sank into your stomach at the realization that you hadn’t been paranoid after all. Someone really had been out to get you all along and now they’re here, clinging to your legs like a child.

You lower a hand to stroke your fingers through his golden hair in a placating manner, and the simple gesture of affection seems to flip a switch in him. His breathing quickens and he buries his face into your stomach, hugging you tight enough to hurt as he begins to sob. His band-aid-riddled fingers bunch in your shirt as if he’s afraid you'll slip through them if he doesn’t cling.

“You’re touching me… you’re really…” The blond murmurs, his words muffled against your tummy. He shivers and trembles like the sensation is overwhelming, but he shoves his head into your hand anyway, chasing the affectionate caress. “Keep doing it. Keep… petting me, please…”

"I-I'm not dangerous, I swear,” he whimpers with a sniffle and looks up at you, hoping that his doe-eyed gaze would be enough to get you to relent. "I just... I burn for you. Please, just let me stay! I'll do anything! Anything!”

Your fingers tighten in his hair, forcing his head back none-too-gently.

“Ah!” Zenitsu recoils in a mix of surprise and pleasure, not expecting you to manhandle him so firmly. He lets his head be forced back, his eyes still puppy-like, but a faint blush has spread across his cheeks.

He looks dazed, drunk off of your mere proximity. He hardly cares if your touch is rough, just that you’re touching him at all.

You lips curl into a sadistic smirk at this realization.

“Kind of pathetic aren’t you, lamb? If I didn’t find it mildly amusing I might have turned you in to the authorities,” you taunted, entertained by the way his bottom lip trembled. Zenitsu looks up, his face splotchy from tears as he sniffles wetly, his heart pounding with nervous anticipation.

"Lamb?" He croaks, looking up at you through his dewy lashes at the pet name, allowing himself to hope. “Does that mean you'll be my shepherd? My master?"

“Of course you’d focus on that part,” you tsk, though you can’t say you’re displeased at the tears dotting his lash line. Sick in the head or not, he was a pretty crier, and you’d be lying if that didn’t turn you on. “That’s all you’re thinking about; being a dumb, mindless slut for me aren’t you?”

Zenitsu moans aloud at that, cock twitching in his pants. But he frantically shakes his head ‘no’, trying to insist it wasn’t true, cheeks aflame with humiliation.

“Don’t say that! I-I’m not p-pathetic. I’m just–” he warbles, only to cry out as your foot presses against the prominent bulge tenting his pants, calling his bluff in a simple movement.

“What’s this then?” Your self-satisfied sneer and vibrant eyes glimmering down at him make his mind go blank.

“Th-that’s- haaa~ mmh!” His voice trails off into a mewl, and he can’t stop himself from humping himself against the arch of your sock-clad foot. “I’m sorry, you’re just so beautiful. It gets like this whenever you’re around. I’m sorry!”

Your eyes darken with lust at his pathetic display, tongue dipping out to drag across your lip as he wraps both arms around your leg and bucks his hips. Heat pools between your legs, and you clench around nothing.

“Aren’t you embarrassed? Look at how hard you are, and all I’ve done is degrade you. You truly are pathetic,” you laughed, fingers tightening in his hair.

“Ssstop, I’m gonna cum,” he sniffles, teary, amber-colored eyes rolling back and tongue flopping out as his dick gets even harder. “Y-you’re gonna make me cum.”

Zenitsu squeezes his eyes shut and sobs when you take your foot away, humping the air uselessly, chasing friction that’s no longer there. His eyes flutter open at the feeling of your thumb tracing the seam of his lips, and he hums curiously.

“Open,” you instruct, and with minimal hesitation, his lips part. He shudders when your thumb dips into his mouth, stroking over his teeth and tongue. You explore his wet cavern with little regard for his comfort, trading your thumb for your index and middle fingers and purring in delight when he begins to suck without coaxing.

“Good boy,” you crooned, and your cunt throbs at the hopeful, puppy-like look he sends you at the praise.

He suckles at your digits more enthusiastically, gagging cutely when you press them deeper. Despite the tears stinging at his eyes, he lets you fuck his mouth open with your fingers, swirling his pretty pink tongue around them with even pinker cheeks. Desperation seeps into his expression, and you raise a brow, retracting your fingers to let him speak.

“Please kiss me,” he begs, drooling dribbling down his chin from practically blowing your digits. “P-please I’ve imagined your lips on mine so often… Dreamt of how you might taste.”

You hum, tapping your chin as if considering his request. You drag him by the hair up to your level, and he gasps at the sting, though he looks so damned excited when you lean in.

“Open your mouth,” you nearly growl, and if Zenitsu had a tail he’s sure it’d be wagging. He obeys eagerly, parting his lips in anticipation of the hot caress of your lips over his own.

His brows crease in confusion when your finger hooks into his mouth again, holding his jaw open, unsure of why you would need to–

Zenitsu’s body goes rigid when instead of kissing him, you spit directly into his mouth. His eyes cross as your saliva lands on his tongue, and with a startled shout, he cums in his pants completely untouched. The blond convulses and moans out, sounding unhinged as he paints the insides of his pants with white ropes and nearly collapses to the floor. He swallows your spit greedily, and his hands cling onto your waist, blunt nails digging into your hips.

“A-again! Please, spit in my mouth again!” He cries, rubbing his overstimulated cock over your thigh despite the bright sting. “Fuck me, spit on me. I don’t care, just use me!”

You gnarl your fingers in his hair and tug him by it over to the bed, throwing his smaller form onto the mattress in a careless manner. He lands on his belly, with his lower half slightly raised, and the position brings your attention to his round ass. He attempts to pull himself up, only to be shoved back down, and then yanked to the edge of the bed until his legs are dangling off the side of it.

“W-what’re you doing?” Zenitsu whines, nearly choking when instead of answering you yank his pants down his legs. His underwear follows shortly after and he gasps as the cold air hits his cum-slicked dick. But you ignore his throbbing half-hard sex, fully fixated on the cleft of his ass, which you’re quick to spread to get a better look at him. “A-ah! Are you-? Are you really going to fuck me?”

“That’s the idea, got any complaints?” Your hands rove over his thighs, hips, and backside, kneading the heated flesh in your hands.

Zenitsu can hardly believe this is happening, that you’re truly rubbing him down right now. He had fisted his clock to the thought of this very moment for months on end, imagining every which way you’d take him. You’re not as tender as he’d hoped, but even your roughness is intoxicating. You’re throwing him around like a doll, doing with him as you please. He can’t help but lap up all the attention you’re giving him like a starved animal, even if you don’t love him, he’ll settle for this.

Even so, he’s eager to convince you to keep him.

“Please do! I-I’ll make it worth your while, promise! I’ll be the best toy you’ve ever— Ow!” His babbled reassurances are cut off by a harsh spank to his plump rear, and the deranged thing that’s decided you own him only wriggles his ass enticingly in response.

You even hear a choked giggle escape him and you mirror it despite yourself.

You lean in to trail kisses along the red handprint you’d left behind, and the boy erupts with shivers, his cock twitching back to full hardness whilst pinned between his tummy and the mattress. He cries out when you spit on his taint, his entire body jerking at the warm, wet sensation of it dripping down his hole.

Your finger follows the wet trail, pressing down on his rim. He startles like a spooked rabbit, a clipped ‘Eep!’ tumbling out of his drooling lips.

“Has anyone ever touched you here?” You drawled in an amused tone, forced to admit you were quite taken with the shameless blond now.

He shakes his head rapidly but grinds his ass back onto your fingers enthusiastically, brown eyes nearly heart-shaped as strains to watch you touch him over his shoulder, “Just you, master.”

You press a slicked finger he’d drooled on earlier into him and he arches, mouth agape at the sensation of being filled. You fuck him open with one digit for a while, and then two, and the stretch makes him whimper, “Hurts.”

“Relax, lamb. It’ll feel better soon, it’ll feel really good. You trust your master, don’t you?” You comfort him in a soft tone, mesmerized by the ways he clenches around your digits.

He nods quickly, and even as he moans that it ‘hurts’ his inner walls keep trying to pull you in deeper. Yes, master knows what’s best for me.

He doesn’t quite say it aloud, but his body relays the message well enough.

Soon you’re fucking him open with three fingers, and the small thing can only writhe, moan, and drool against the sheets of your bed. Your scent is all around him, your fingers deep inside him, your voice guiding him along toward his orgasm like a lover would. He’s ascended to heaven surely, and you’re an angel picking him apart.

Your fingers brush over his prostate and he nearly wails, delirious tears streaming down his face, choked praises and gory promises to always protect you spilling out of him.

He’s close, so so close but he needs more from you.

“Y/nnn, my love. Please spit in my mouth again. Need all of y-yo-ou insiiide me!” Zenitsu begs, voice already hoarse from screaming his lungs out in pleasure.

He’s sniffling and sobbing so hard it’s a wonder he can speak at all through the hiccups.

Something about his pathetic cries resonates with you. Here this stunning man was, clearly ill for you, begging you to desecrate and disrespect him. Treating your spit like it’s a blessing. He deserved better than you, or maybe you were perfect for one another in your fucked-upness.

You slide your fingers out and turn him over into his back. You crawl up his body, his hands grabbing at every part of you he can reach. Your clothed cunt presses against his flushed-red and leaking cock, and he keens at the feeling of your slick soaking through onto him. When your finger hooks into his mouth again, he’s quick to open it, anticipating your spit.

Instead, your lips find his own.

His limbs lock up, blunt nails digging into the flesh of your lips as he frantically humps against your pussy for a few more agonizing seconds. In the end and then he cums so hard it feels a little like dying. He lets out a strangled moan into your mouth, happy tears pouring out of him as sticky ropes spill out over his twitching abdomen.

It feels so good he can do nothing but cry and cling, hoping to god he won’t wake up to find it’s all been a dream. But when he comes to, all he can see, smell, and hear is you. A tired, dumb grin spreads across his face.

“You kissed me,” he rasps stupidly.

“So I did,” you replied resolutely.

“I was wrong before, about you being my shepherd. I think you’re more like a hungry wolf,” Zenitsu sighs, eyelids drooping sleepily. He fights to keep his eyes open, to look at you a little longer. “You’ll eat me alive.”

“You seemed keen to let me gobble you up a moment ago,” you teased, grinding your cunt down on his oversensitive cock.

“Mercy on your lamb, please!” Zenitsu cries, squirming away from the friction this time. “Too much!”

“My lamb?” You ask with raised brows.

He looks a much too demure when he replies, “I was only ever yours. I don't care if you string me along. You can lie to me, pretend you love me. I'll be your stupid little helpless lamb, just never leave me."

#‧₊🦇˚⊹ ashi writes #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #zenitsu agatsuma x reader #zenitsu x reader #sub zenitsu #sub!zenitsu #dom!reader #dom reader #female reader #fem!reader #sub kny #sub!kny #sub demon slayer #cw yandere #sub!character #n/sfw

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meocities · 7 months ago

Text

The Lack Thereof

Mithrun/Reader - 1423 words, hurt/comfort

You're nervous. You're sad and lonely and hurting, and on top of it all, you're nervous.

Mithrun stares at you from across the bedroom. He's been doing that a lot lately — you've noticed how his eyes linger. You notice a lot more than you let on about him, but you’ve realized that he ends up knowing anyway. You can't keep anything secret from him — he'll find out that you're hiding something, at the very least, and then he'll just keep staring until you tell him.

He's doing that now. Staring. His eyes bore into your own, and when you look away for a second, glance back, look away again, he moves his staring to your hands. You're wringing your fingers in your own grasp. The edges of your cuticles are dry and picked. Your skin might have bled a few times from your nervousness, and though the blood was the only thing that could have given your anxiety away (blood that had long been cleaned), you know Mithrun sees the red-flushed divot of wounds even from the distance you're keeping.

Mithrun raises an eyebrow, and the anxiety compounds in your stomach. It burns your skin, just as much as the memories do, and you know you're strong but you think to yourself, god, I want to cry.

You're strong, and you're brave, and you've always stood up to everything that has ever been thrown at you, and you're so tired. You're so tired of the effort. You wonder if he can relate.

So you bow your head, and you know Mithrun's eyes have gone wide — as much as they can, anyway — staring at you still. He's silent, unmoving on the bed the Canaries had set him up with after the new kingdom's establishment. Of course it would be silent. Of course he would be staring. You’re the one who invaded his room in the middle of the night, after all. You know you're lucky that he doesn't care.

Yet, for now, you're still looking at the floor while the former captain of the Canaries looks at you, with your hands wringing themselves into shreds, and the hole in your stomach is eating you alive. You know he expects something of you, so you take a breath (it's shaky, and you cringe because you know your words aren't going to come out right) and deliver, ineloquently, “you don't care about most things, right?”

Mithrun's told you his story. How he became a dungeon lord — and how he lost that title in five years. How he's been recovering over time, slowly but surely, thanks to the help of Kabru and his Canaries, and the noodle shop that he lives above, and everyone who's had the smallest bit of faith in him along the way. And while Mithrun's made endless progress, you know he still has trouble desiring, sometimes.

You can't imagine asking this of anyone else.

Mithrun nods his head slowly, and you realize you've looked back up at him when his brows furrow together. “I don't,” he says.

“Can you do me a favor,” you say, expecting to stop there, but highly reluctant to even consider the thought of him rejecting you before you even get the real question out. “Can I join you?”

Mithrun looks down, gaze sweeping his bed, before turning back to you. It's a silent question, and you nod, cheeks aflame. Are your legs shaking? You feel unsteady. You aren't sure if you're breathing right — feels too shallow, as if you're afraid to even make a sound. Your hands, still fidgeting with your fingers, twist a joint in such a way that your knuckle cracks, and you wince at the sound interrupting the silence. Mithrun remains quiet, and you think that you might never have taken a deep breath in your life.

He breaks this silence a moment after. “Why are you asking this of me?”

There's lots of things you can say to this — lots of things that go through your head in response. It feels delicate to dissect, yet heavy. Emotion and cognition flit through your brain, and you think about analyzing yourself in your typical pattern of being self-aware, but it feels like too much. There's no good straw to grasp onto, but the one thing that comes to your mind is that, despite not knowing him for long, there's something about him that makes you feel as if he's the only person in the world you can go to.

I don't know wouldn't suffice as an answer. Moreover, you would feel bad about not communicating to the best of your ability. To him, you say, “I trust you,” and you don't think about how his distance is the most familiar thing you've known.

He doesn't seem convinced, but he shrugs and lifts his head to lay on the side of the pillow — moving to make room for you. Your heart thuds hard in your chest, and you're both terrified and not. You wipe your sweaty palms on the surface of your clothes, because you don't want to put that on Mithrun, not at all — there's no need for him to see that you're any more nervous than he already knows you are. While your hands are wiped off, you approach the bed, lifting your leg so you can slide over the top, knees bent as you sit by his waist. You're so close that your knees are touching the right side of his waist. The bed wasn't very big to begin with, and by the way Mithrun moves his arm out to make room for you to lay down, you know he's aware of the proximity.

Which, this action makes your chest ache. He wasn’t supposed to be caring — he wasn't supposed to make this easy. You're tempted to pull back for a moment before Mithrun raises his eyebrow at your hesitation, and you bite your tongue even as your eyes begin to moisten. You won't cry, you know this for sure — you refuse to be weak in front of someone as strong as him, and even though his eyes narrow at all the things you won't say, you give up part of the act and lay your head down on his chest, nosing your face into his neck. Your left hand comes to rest on his stomach so that you're curled into him, and you can already feel the moisture from your breath condensing on the skin of his neck. You won't cry, you remind yourself. You won't cry, and if some tears do drop on Mithrun's shoulder beneath your face then it was an accident. You didn't mean to.

Slowly, his arm comes around to cradle you into his side. Your breath hitches as his fingers trail down your spine to pull you closer, stroking along the bone of your back. You can feel yourself shaking, frozen in place — you don't want to move, but something like this is so unfamiliar. You never would have expected this from him, of all people — wasn't the point of seeking this out from him because he wouldn't be overwhelming? Wasn't the point of this to have an image of being loved?

Yet, with Mithrun’s fingers at the slope of your back, the image you had is colored and crisp. Even if he's pretending, it almost feels like he actually cares about you.

He can feel that you're shaking now — there's no doubt about it. Your breathing rattles through your chest as your fingers grip the fabric on his stomach, and you feel his abdominal muscles clench for a moment before he forces them to relax. He shifts his face above you and you feel lips on your forehead — he pressed a kiss to your skin, you realize, and your heart shatters into a million pieces. You're warm, you're burning up, and all you can do is sling your arm across his ribs, tuck a leg between his, and bury your face so far into Mithrun's neck that you don't know where you end and he begins anymore.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this — nothing this nice. You're still shaking, but you're held tightly. Why did he desire to hold you?

You vocalize this sentiment. “Why are you doing this?” You ask, and your voice is quiet. Devastated. Unsure.

Mithrun doesn't look at you. He doesn't even shift his position. Just hums a short noise in the hollow of his throat — something you feel the vibrations of tickling your nose — and says, “I trust you, too.”

#mithrun of the house of kerensil #mithrun x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #mithrun #meo writings

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morgana-ren · 7 months ago

Note

Throwing out the idea that Astarion furiously masturbates over your sleeping body while he drinks your blood. Your blood is the first he’s ever drank in 200 years, it also dosn’t help that you keep being so nice to him. He can’t help it.

I am sorta back after months of medical troubles and I am announcing it in my normal fashion: with a reprehensible smut piece.

Warning: Extreme sexual content, vulgar language, thoughts of noncon, references to noncon, semi-dark Astarion, things that could be interpreted as sexual violence and regular violence, blood and the works.

The skulking has him feeling like more of a lowly rat than usual. He slinks quietly through the fauna like a cat stalking a canary, sneaking across the camp where he has made his own nest, his eyes darting about at every slight flicker of light and every unexpected noise. His comrades-in-arms sleep peacefully, strewn about the ground and various makeshift tents, blissfully unaware that a monster lurks within their midsts, and he fully intends to keep it that way.

As dastardly and lowly as he feels, an unknown feeling courses through him. Something that leaves him feeling strong– predatory. The weak blood of rodents and livestock thrums through his veins, every synapse sparking alive, the string and sinew of his body singing to his limbs in anticipation. Anxiety sends his thoughts racing, and yet, he is giddy as a child with mischief on the mind.

A long-denied truth demands acknowledgement, and so he finally acknowledges it. He is vampire. And he is hunting.

Even a spawn possesses fangs sharp enough to rend flesh from bone and claws of steel, honed to a fine point. His senses so keen that he is aware of the deer that scamper in the forest and the birds coupled away in the branches of trees on the outskirts of the meadow. The pulsing of blood that rings a siren’s song in his ears, awakening the long-dead glands nestled alongside his teeth.

He finds that, for once, he is not the victim in the arrangement. No, he isn't. In fact, he is the horror, looming over his vulnerable and slumbering mark, their body entirely at his mercy— His right to his to sink deep fang and claw and anything else he might deem fit, helpless to stop him. For once, his true self shines through in the dim firelight of camp, and he is not the Astarion he has been browbeaten into seeing himself as. He is not unmolded clay, ready to be shaped at will by clutching hands and eager thoughts. He is not malleable and he shall not bend.

He is not Astarion the spawn; Astarion the mongrel; Astarion the Honeypot; Astarion the tool to be used and discarded. He is not the meek, or the charming, or whatever else his prey finds need of. He is power and gluttonous greed incarnate. He is the prowling shadow over the unsuspecting sweet and he will take what he needs.

He is Astarion the Vampire– and he is ravenous.

The gentle toe-tip-toe through the grass to where his prey lies ignorant, sleeping so terribly peacefully, his silken shoes making nary a sound as he creeps ever closer. Feet light as air, graceful as a swan. Even the wind seems to disregard his presence, passing over him with hardly a fuss through his silver curls.

They suspect not a thing. Even the warrioress Lae’zel, her sharpened senses whetted like a blade, keeps her eyes sheathed shut, her breath even and her body unmoving. There is no cry of anger or protest as he approaches the clutch of blankets where you have made your rest, leering over your slumbering form, feeling all parts pure need as he observes.

Saliva slicks his ivory teeth like a slavering mutt, his hands almost shaking as he kneels on bended knee to witness the gently pulsing column of your exposed throat. It calls to him, sings to his senses, and every ounce of his being begs him to shred hungrily into his meal like a carnivore– like a beaten animal starved of nourishment. Like a dog offered scraps of offal.

But he is not an animal, and you are useful to him yet. He is dignified, but more than that, he is in control of himself. He is in control of his words and actions, and for one time in his all-too-long life, he will not yield to the whims of another, even the dark voice in the back of his mind that urges him to rip and tear and maul like the wretched thing he is.

No, his first meal will not be one of viscera and terror and screaming, even as the idea appeals to the baser parts of him. It shall be quiet and quick as a rogue in the night, and though he would expect disappointment from the revelation, he finds that this moment shared privately with himself and only himself is something he intends to treasure.

He has named you for his mark for this most special of occasions. Even as he knows you likely wouldn’t feel honored by such a thing, he feels a quiet sense of pride on your behalf. You are his first taste of true life. A place of high honor in the triumvirate of freedom:

His first glimpse of the sun; his first venture into the world; his first true meal.

Gentle as a lover, he kneels over you, teeth bared, scarlet eyes flashing in the firelight. A calm hand on your shoulder to steady you, the other splayed across the grass to anchor himself. His fingers quake in both eagerness and anxiety, his hearing hypersensitive to every rustle and sigh that does not belong to the chorus of nature in the evening hours. He has committed himself to this, but to be caught is to condemn himself red-handed to the stake– a fate he’d rather avoid.

As he leans, his teeth gliding gently across delicate, slightly dampened skin, he believes it worth the risk.

The tang of sweat and flesh hits his taste buds as he softly glides his tongue across the pulse-point of your throat. He licks where he intends to find his feast, savoring the flavor of his intended prey. Many times he had caught himself staring, wondering what it might be like; what you might be like, and he fully intends to satiate the curiosity that had been building in his brain for weeks on end.

As he indulges himself in the thought, he finds he can no longer wait. He tells himself he cannot stall– cannot draw this out as he might’ve liked to– but the nagging churning in his gut rings above all else. He is starved and he must sate it. He does not join in the argument between the two warring forces in his mind, and instead resorts to pure instinct to settle the matter.

His fangs dimple tender flesh at first, and then, soft as a whisper, sink inside. Lifeblood floods his mouth like a symphony of rapture, the taste of ecstasy on his tongue, and his lips clamp like a viper on your throat, eager and yearning for more. It is as liquid fire as it slides down his throat, your soft whimpering spurring in tandem with the glory that branches through his every quivering limb and sets his mind alight. His eyes, vigilant at first, now flutter shut, allowing himself to fall into the velvet-cloaked abyss.

The thousand-year fog lifts from his brain as he drinks and for the first time since breath still filled his lungs, he feels right.

Raw strength almost seems to inflate his lean muscle, plucking a harpsichord on his tendons. The pounding drum of your rabbiting heart beneath your ribs plays in tandem with the rush of blood in his ears. The deafening cacophony of the cold, miserable years is blasted away and finally stitches together in unison with an ethereal orchestra of utter intoxication. A preternaturally beautiful song that lulls him into the first sense of peace he has felt in years– perhaps that he has ever felt. A tune he shall never forget for as long as he lives.

His senses soar so high that he swears, beneath the deafening chorus of euphoria, he can hear the revelry as far as Baldur’s Gate. In his mind’s eye, the unsuspecting citizens of the Jewel are celebrating the birth of a new man born under the silvery spears of moonlight miles away. These many long years, he has been truly dead, and only now, he is resurrected in the swaddling shroud of blood and dark. He has been truly reborn. At one with himself at last, he thinks. At one with you.

The blood falls easily down his throat, pooling warmly in his gut in glorious fulfillment. The delirium tendrils outward, gently coaxing bliss and promise where it caresses. His legs buckle, pale cheeks hot and flushed, some unknown sensation taking hold like a fist as he suckles and refusing to relinquish the iron grip. The low of his abdomen tingles, drawing in life like a vacuum to a place once desolate and lifeless.

It is a feeling he cannot place at first. Something dusted and forgotten and placed far and away in his mind, out of reach. And yet, as the delectable warmth floods every inch of his body anew, he experiences it as plainly as when his heart still beat in his chest and youth was as inevitable as the rising sun. The needle-thin hairs of his body stand on end, palms beginning to sweat against your shoulder. A primal need swells in his stomach, a gentle throbbing between his thighs that translates into pain as he strains against the leather of his breeches.

Arousal.

Desire bleeds into itself, separate colors swirling together to become one enthralling splash on the rapacious canvas of his brain. The scalding hot bliss of the feed and the tiny, breathy mewls of your still-sleeping form. You have given him what he so desperately coveted, and now, it seems, his nature demands he take more– everything you hold dear in its entirety offered up at the altar of his superior strength and cunning and existence.

The inherent eroticism of feeding is not lost on him, but it has never held any meaning until this moment. Lust is a cruel stranger that he has opted to spurn. Something wielded against him as a weapon– a barbed whip that has flogged and scarred him into conditioned disgust. It is unfamiliar at first, and yet it screams now with the same familiarity as every other function and twice as demanding.

Pale lashes flutter open, doubled vision focusing in almost too sharply on your strained features: the soft furrow of your brow, the scrunch of your still-closed eyes, the soft pout of your petal-pink lips, slick with moisture from your unconscious whines of pain. He has noticed you, yes, in the way another might notice a dagger or a halberd or a stocky shield to wield. Your appearance is just one in a long line of defenses he intended to harvest for his own gain, and yet now, as he hazily stares at the shadow of your profile that flickers in the flames, he feels the unmistakable curl and coil of a different kind of need.

Something steely clamps onto his consciousness beyond the haze of unreason. He cannot. That is too far, and something distant and shrill in his mind knows it. As desperate as he is to crawl atop and mount you, leaving you breathless and hoarse in his wake, he cannot. Some things can never be forgiven, and he has already crossed that line for his own well-being. Ravaging you as you lie vulnerable and helpless– trusting– serves no purpose in keeping him alive.

He tells himself this, his suckling receding to a temperate drawl, laving tongue and teeth across the puncture wounds. The baser parts of him cry protest, the pulsing becoming more insistent with each passing second, until it leaves him knock-kneed and clutching at the grass for purchase against the cresting tide of want. All variety of debased scenarios fly through his mind, each one more debauched than the last.

Control and lust, two things unfamiliar with each other before now due to the cruel nature of his existence, fold in perfectly as one and sharpen into a vengeful blade he craves to use. How he longs to leave a wound as deep as the one he carries day after day, unrelenting and open as the day it was wrought. He wants to lash out, to strike, to take as he pleases as the world has taken so from him–

A wound not meant for you, he must remind himself through the hot-pink haze, even as it defies him.

No. It is a line he will not cross. He is a monster, but he is a monster of a different breed. You have given him everything, even as you do not know it. More pragmatically, he will not give his life for one brief, violent encounter of forcefully obliged desire. He is worth more than such vile things, he tells himself, and strangely, he finds as he ponders it, so too are you.

He repeats it in his head as a mantra, over and over, practically yelling it over the tidal wave of instinctual impulse that threatens to drag him undertow. He is his own man, and he shall not be controlled ever again; not by Cazador, and certainly not by the more wretched pieces of himself, even as they screech and claw at the cell where he has locked them away, howling their dreadful, unspeakable demands.

It does not abate. The insistent pulse of blood that brings long forgotten life to his appetite, the mortifyingly genuine urge that begs him to touch you, feel you, taste you in the ways he has not craved in eons. It frightens him, and yet, even as he longs to pull himself away, to run and run and run into the darkness where neither you nor this horrible need can find him, he does not. He sits still as a marble statue, almost as if carved in some grotesque form of this heinous moment captured in one rotten, eternal exhibit: half atop your sleeping body, clutching and panting in need, and half splayed absurdly in the dirt, straining and desperately trying to conceal his shame from some invisible force that mocks him.

He cannot have you. Even as he yearns and craves it with a fire that singes and burns his overactive nerves and imagination, he cannot. Yet, his body will not relent, demanding release from the torment that plagues both his mind and his nethers in equal form, paralyzing him in a dangerous inactivity. You won’t awaken– he has taken too much and your weakness is apparent– but the others might and he must act. Compromise is a risk he cannot take–

And still he must.

And so, even as he should withdraw and return to the pitiful, empty loneliness of his tent, he does not. Instead, he realigns himself, as quiet and swift as the wind, still half-perched over you, but with a newly freed hand to his disposal for a contemptible purpose. It snakes the length of his torso to the waist of his breeches, his dexterous fingers undoing the laces with desperate speed and agility, his expression equal parts humiliation, shame, and anxious desire. He slides the waistband down enough that his long-neglected cock springs free, his muscles bracing and tensed as his newly blood-warmed flesh is chilled in the cool night air. Pinprick pores betray his discomfort at the crisp evening gale, but the rest of himself is otherwise occupied, consumed by his present task.

One of his sharply tipped fangs worries at the swell of his plush lower lip as he wiggles his pants further down, both internally cursing and praising the newly unlocked spectrum of his vampiric grace that make such conspicuous actions effortless and reticent. Even as he is agile and practiced, each urgent movement feels fluid and natural. Silent as the grave and insignificant against the sounds of nature that envelop their surroundings. He does not fumble or falter, smooth as satin and with steely resolve as his palm finds his shaft and a shiver runs the length of his spine, settling readily in his abdomen.

In his previous encounters, he could put himself into working order, but nothing like this. It was a job– something that must be done, no matter how distasteful or degrading. What he feels now, it’s almost foreign to him; his cock strangely hot and pulsing with a heartbeat of its own. Heavy as sin in his hand and just as demanding, just as cruel in its insistence. Stiff and throbbing, a compass point dogged and unrelenting as it seeks to nestle between your wet, silky thighs and burrow there. It shrieks in his head, unsatisfied and wailing at his refusal to acquiesce.

He ignores it, testing with one brusque stroke with his palm. It twitches, pleasure blooming upward through his gut even at the slightest of contact. Again, he tightens his fingers around his girth, pumping slowly as the sepulcher where he had locked away all dead semblance of lustful craving and fervor comes to life once more. As he thumbs the top, he feels the thin, sticky fluid leak from the tip, betraying his eagerness even as he pretends composure– as much composure as he can pretend in this unbelievably humiliating debacle.

He will have to worry about that later.

His eyes sweep over your face once more, peaceful now that his teeth no longer injure your tender neck. Your lips slightly agape, eyelashes fluttering softly as you sweetly dream once more. He imagines how different it might look if he were to uncage his urges– to allow himself the forbidden pleasure of sinking himself inside of you twice in one night. How your eyes might fly open in horror, your lips ready to shriek, little fists balled in defense, only to gasp as he pushes his length between your splayed thighs, enveloping himself in your tight, wet heat. White-hot. Exquisite. Immaculate.

The companions are gone– no, they don’t exist. It is only you and him now, you sprawled beneath him, half shock and half horror, and he– the predator that has stalked you from the shadows, the vampire in the night– taking as he pleases, as is his right. He feels your velvet walls flutter around him, trying to adjust to the cruel new thickness bullying inside them, squeezing him in the most delicious way. Your mouth is still open in a wordless cry as he plunges his tongue between your teeth, tasting a different part of you now, swallowing the desperate sounds you begin to make.

His cock throbs against the calloused flesh of his palm as he strokes himself, teeth gritting to quiet the noise that bubbles in his throat from the blossoming pleasure that takes root and begins to grow rapidly out of control. The fantasy plays in perfect form in his head, and it almost feels real as he gathers the precum in the crook of his thumb and slicks it over the shaft with firm fingers, pretending it’s your body that wets and grips him.

You would fight and struggle– he knows you would– but you are nothing in the face of his sheer strength and dominance. Pinned by the deceptively strong muscle of his lean body, you have no choice but to follow his lead, thighs forced wider to accommodate his narrow hips, back pressed firmly against the ground by his weight. Your tits, warm and soft beneath the thin fabric of your nightshirt and begging to be squeezed, squashed against him with the frantic rise and fall of your chest.

The squeal his first thrust would rip from you would be heavenly. High-pitched and pathetic, and yet almost drowned out by the equally sweet clench of your body around his. So tight that it almost aches him, unaccustomed to the intrusion and compelled to yield to him, moulding itself to the shape of him inside of you. He slides out slow, almost callous and so terribly casual in his malice, making you feel every inch of him drag against the supple walls of your cunt before slamming in again, vicious in his impact. Your body jumps beneath him from the force, whining into his mouth. Your blunt nails digging into his arms and tearing at his frigid, stone flesh. It is futile– he can barely even feel it, and the slight sting he can is laced with pleasure and the reminder that you are at his mercy now.

He is panting, breath coming in ragged staccato bursts even as it is unnecessary to him. Pure instinct has a hold of him now, his hand working in unfailing rhythm between his thighs as he loses himself in the vision. Your injury weeps ever so slightly, and he cannot help the flick of his tongue along the twin-pocked bitemarks, leaving a thinly shining trail of blood-streaked saliva in his wake. He aches to touch you; to slip the delicate sleeve of your nightwear down and indulge himself in the softness of your body.

He is not so subtle in his mind. He simply tears the garment, ripping it from your body with terrible ease. One hand busies itself with containing yours above your head, squeezing at the wrist to keep you captive even as you thrash, the other luckier still as it gropes and pinches your breast. Warm in his hand, he can feel your pulse skyrocketing in fear or perhaps excitement– whichever suits him most– as he reels back and cants his hips forward again.

His hips slap against your thighs with bruising strength, your body beginning to respond to his in kind. He feels your wetness slick over his cock and lubricate his next few thrusts, heightening his pleasure. You mewl against his tongue, body arching into his, perhaps against your own will, fingers flexing and furling fruitlessly in his grasp. He settles into rhythm, cruel but precise, hips grinding with every punctuating impetus. It takes an absurd amount of mental discipline not to simply take you in furious, animalistic fashion as he longs, but he manages through the impulse, lower body moving in circular rhythm, his pelvic bone stimulating you with each contact.

Your panicked breaths become heaving pants, flittering eyes glazing over and becoming heavy, the muscles that are pulled so tautly in defense waver and eventually flop, accepting your defeat at his hands. Perhaps you are betrayed and hurt and hateful, but you desire him. He is beautiful in the moonlight, pale as a ghost but alive and burning with unhinged need and that same fire kindles between your legs and winds and winds tighter like a top before the spin. He releases your swollen, puffy lips only for his fangs to find your throat and your cry is desperate and howling, your blood sweeter than the finest wine as it touches his tongue.

You cannot formulate words– neither of encouragement nor protest– as he fucks you relentlessly into the ground, helping himself to your body and your blood. Only nasally, frantic cries can make it past your throat, your hands grasping at him, pleading and desperate. He hooks your thigh around his waist, fingers digging into the flesh with bruising strength, and you clamp it there, almost as if clinging to him for purchase as he bucks and snaps, snarling like a beast perched to pounce.

You are helpless and small and defenseless and vulnerable in the face of him, and he is strong and virile and predatory and fearsome. He has no need of your protection; he is the ruthless power of the night and the fear the lurks in the dark. He ravages you with no regard to the future, knowing only that he holds it in his palm, and if he wants you, he shall take you. He does not walk in shadow and skulk in fear, but boldly in the open, the world and you ripe for the plucking.

He cannot help it. His hand is not enough. Ecstasy builds in his apex, building and bubbling at his fantasy, but he needs to feel. The hand not currently stroking himself in frantic need finds a way under the loose opening of your shirt, defying his mental mantra. The curve of your breast coaxes his skin, swelling and warm against his flesh as his insubordinate fingers find their way lower and lower under your blouse. Your nipple peaks as he gently rolls it in his careful, ghostlike fingertips, squeezing at your chest with an inhuman tenderness that only has him craving harder, more–

Your cries would come in unison with his own, yours wailing and pathetic and squealing, and his rugged and husky and snarling. You would bare yourself to him– all of you– acquiescing to his unrelenting power. He would take you there, on the ground like an animal how he pleased and for as long as he pleased. Now you are the clay for him to shape and play with and use as he pleases, existing only for him and his wants. Your blood is in no short supply, and he sups and dines as he pleases while he uses your body to pleasure his cock and the baser parts of himself that have reignited inside of your core. You are powerless to fight him, so you give yourself over completely to him, debasing yourself for him, crawling for him, needing him.

You’d beg for him, body and soul, so eager and ready. Desperate and pathetic. He’d fuck you until your whines became higher and higher, eventually spilling into the night in humiliating urgency as you came undone beneath him. Your legs quivering and shaking, senses gone and inhibition nonexistent. Your fluttering walls would tighten and squeeze and damn near strangle him, the absurd sound of your wetness utterly mortifying if you had your wits about you, but music to his ears.

Harder and faster with no regard for your overstimulated crooning, he’d take you, working himself to his peak, almost rabid in his unhinged, disjointed movements. His rhythm would fail, becoming more convulsive and urgent with every plunge of his hips. He’d chase his end inside of you, the blissful heat of your body, the cadence of your moans, and snug, velveteen swaddling of your sopping cunt the closest taste of the divines he’ll ever have– that he’ll ever want.

He’d cum inside of you, burying himself so deep that he’d be certain you could taste it. It would spill out of you as he milked himself to completion with your pliant body, heaving against your bloody neck, a hand in your hair to rip your head back and drag down against him. Bruised inside and out in the shape of him, his hands, his teeth, his cock all leaving their permanent mark. It won’t heal, it won’t ever heal, he’ll make sure of it–

It’s his– it’s his– it’s all for him and no one else. Not even the Gods could wrestle this away from him. There isn’t a force in the planes that could pry him from atop you– you belong to him, your body, your mind, your tongue, your taste, your cunt–

His cock throbs furiously in his hand, gritted pants and strangled noises escaping his throat. It is only through sheer supernatural ability that he is able to withdraw his hand from your shirt and catch himself before he slumps completely atop you, no doubt waking you with the force of it. The ecstasy spills over, unfettered bliss exploding outward from his core and sparking fire throughout every inch of his body. His eyes roll backward, head slooping forward as he works his pulsing cock, every last ounce of self-control in his ancient body holding back a howling cry.

He spills into his palm, carelessly covering his shaft in the sticky, gossamer fluid as he milks clean the very last remnants of pleasure from himself with the fervor of a man starved of it. His toes curl in his shoes, teeth gritting to the point of pain as he withholds a sigh of euphoria. His extremities tingle as his body sags, muscles exhausted and screaming from the exertion, and he almost collapses as it fades from him as quickly as it approached, still singing beautiful contentment somewhere deep inside of him.

Sagging completely into the dirt, he lies there, bare and open to the sky: Hand defiled and dripping with the seed of his shame, sweat wetting the delicate white curls behind his ears, breeches pulled cleanly to his akimbo knees. It takes a moment for the world to settle into his foggy brain once more, but shame cuts as cleanly as a knife as the clouds of desire split and the light of reality once again illuminates the situation.

Frantic fear takes hold of his stomach, and his head swivels towards where you sleep, calmed only by the fact that you still sleep soundly with no inkling or inclination as to what he has just done. As he glances around, the rest of the camp is equally unaware, each person neatly in their place, unmoving and unalert. His secret is his and no one elses.

He allows himself a few moments to catch the breath he does not need, wiping the evidence of the encounter into the grass with a sense of disgust and indignity as he does. He feels remarkable– alive for the first time in centuries– and yet it is marred by the yoke of scandal he feels having been bested by such an absurd thing. Overwhelming desire he has not felt since he was a young, handsome elf brimming with potential and swarming with suitors, back when his chest still beat with blood and his skin was flushed and warm rather than pale and pallor.

It’s unfamiliar to him, and he bares his teeth at the thought. Sex is something filthy and cursed– and yet it didn’t feel so in the moment. Even now, his fingertips tingle at the thought of your puckered peak gently caressed, the soft sound of your sighs, the vulnerability you show him. He’d barely touched you and yet you sent his senses alight like a bonfire. The taste of you still lingers on his tongue, and he cannot help but savor it. As he hikes the band of his pants back up his hips, he feels shame, yes, but also something different. Something oceans away from the helpless misery he usually feels after the degrading act.

He feels at peace. He feels satisfaction. He feels right. He does not feel debased, but empowered– almost giggly as a schoolboy at the wrongness of it all.

He chose this. For the first time he can remember, he chose this. He took control and his pleasure did not come at his own expense. It came at yours, yes, but he doesn’t like to make a habit of grappling with fragile, banal things such as morality. He is a libertine, and where he finds pleasure, he shall take it, because he knows all too well what it is to be starved of it and all that makes life worth living.

Besides, you seem fine. Sleeping deep as a babe in the cradle, none the wiser. As he sits right and dabs potion at the wounds at your neck so as to not leave a trace of his crime, he allows himself one quiet, satisfied sigh. It disconcerts him that as he studies your slumbering body and slack face, he feels pinpricks in his core once again, whispering remnants of that desire that had unhinged him so before, but he will have to unpack that later.

He is no fool. Something has changed, and it isn’t the strength that flows through him free as a fountain that was once clogged and stunted, nor the heightened attunement of his mind to damn near everything around him to the point of absurdity. He feels right for the first time with the blood he has stolen away with, and smug at getting away with something so risky as he often does, but more than that.

He is a vampire fully satisfied in more ways than one, and the fulfillment and delight he feels overrides the shame and wrestles it into the quiet.

You are something to him, though he isn’t sure what. He had not questioned why he’d picked you before, but the question begs itself now. He does not allow himself the indulgence of touching you once more. He doesn’t taste you or feel your skin. He only withdraws as silently as he came, backing off and away from the light of the fire that burns low, dying embers spitting against charred, ashen logs, his shadow stretching long before disappearing into the dark of the night.

As he moves back to his tent, he stalks the shadows, but he does so with head held high, back straight as a bow, graceful and the very picture of pride. There’s an unmistakable grin on his reddened lips and a flush to his face not wholly attributed to the blood that now courses through him. Pieces of himself unlocked after so many years of servitude. He feels himself again, and the world feels his oyster once more. What your role is in that world, he doesn’t know yet.

But he has a feeling he’ll figure it out soon enough.

#Astarion x Reader #astarion x female tav #astarion fanfic #But unhinged #See warnings for... warnings #Dark Astarion #At least in his own head #He's conflicted okay?#Are we still doing cringe?#Well I am

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gothamite-rambler · 2 months ago

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Oliver Queen when he found out his son had remained friends with Jason Todd

Oliver Queen stood by his window, drawing back his bowstring, a steely focus in his eyes.

Oliver (whispering): All right, stand still.

As he prepared to take his shot, Roy was chatting with Jason when he caught sight of his father on the balcony, bowstring drawn and arrow ready. Acting on instinct, Roy tackled Jason to the ground just as Oliver released the arrow, which narrowly missed them both.

Roy (breathing heavily): Could you not try to kill him?!

Oliver (shouting angrily): I was aiming for his leg!

Jason, unfazed, lay on the ground, smirking.

Jason (mockingly): Destroy my leg, but spare my life… I respect that.

Roy rolled his eyes as he stood up.

Roy (grinning): He says he respects that it wasn't a kill shot!

Oliver (frustrated): I don’t care about his opinion! But thanks nonetheless!

Jason picked himself up, brushing off the dirt and ready to stir the pot.

Jason (tauntingly): Are you still butt hurt that I made you cry like a baby when I called you out?

Oliver’s face flushed with anger.

Oliver (defensive): That was allergies, you idiot! Just stay away from my son—you’re a bad influence!

Jason laughed, crossing his arms.

Jason (smirking): Hey, it’s not my fault I took care of your son better than you did!

Oliver’s expression hardened as he considered nocking another arrow.

Oliver (shouting): You son of a bitch! I did take care of him!

Jason stepped closer, challenging Oliver.

Jason: You kicked him out of the house and stripped him of his hero status when you found out he was on drugs!

Oliver (poorly defending himself): He’s alive right now, so it worked out! I am a good father!

Jason laughed, shaking his head.

Roy: Jason, let’s just leave.

Jason: No, no, I love this I'm not leaving until he cries!

Jason stepped forward, raising his voice.

Jason: Good fathers don’t disown their kids and refuse to help them! You make my father look like a saint; at least he tried! He was a hypocrite for most of it, but you kicked your son out instead of helping him! Just because he's turned out fine doesn’t fix anything!

Oliver shook with rage, angrily preparing another arrow, but Dinah suddenly walked outside and snatched it away.

Dinah: Act like an adult, or I’m calling off date night!

Roy put his phone away, having texted Black Canary about the argument upstairs.

Roy: Thanks, Dinah.

Dinah: You’re welcome! Good to see you again, Roy and Jason. I don’t like you that much Jason, but Oliver is overreacting.

She smacked Oliver lightly on the back of the head before going back inside with the arrows. Oliver groaned, resting his forehead on the railing of the balcony.

Jason: Want to cry again? I can slash the tires on your new car if you need some extra motivation.

Roy chuckled and shook his head, but Oliver, visibly irritated and embarrassed, pulled out his phone.

Oliver (firmly): You know what? I don’t care if you two are adults. I’m calling Bruce and telling on you!

Jason's eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as Oliver retreated to his bedroom.

Jason (threateningly): Old man, I will throw a rock through every single window of your house if you dial his number!

With a defiant smirk, Jason bolted toward the mansion, with Roy hot on his heels, secretly enjoying the chaos.

How it started

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raylaismad · 12 days ago

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“Why did you take Him from me,” said Life and Death.

Chaos didn’t look and the other, “I didn’t take anyone from you.”

“You were supposed to die first. You’re supposed to be The Canary. You know that.”

Chaos sighed, “You know that’s not how that works,” the being spread its burning wings, “I was never going to stay a consistent pattern forever, that’s not how I work, You know that.”

Life and Death whipped Its head around, “It wasn’t supposed to be Him. You know how much He means to me.”

“You know about Your curse. If You really wanted Him alive, You would have stayed away.”

Life and Death glared at Its equal, “You don’t get to speak about curses,” It’s pitch black wings puffed out, “and You don’t get to speak of staying away from people You know You’ll only hurt.”

Chaos sighed, “This is just like You isn’t it,”

Life and Death tensed, “You know nothing about me.”

Chaos said, “I know that You always blame others for the misfortune You cause. I know You are over emotional. I know You hate not to get Your way,” Chaos rolled Its eyes, “but most of all I know that You hate to see me win.”

“I do not!”

“But You do! I know You do because You are trying to blame me for His death when I did nothing!”

“You laughed at His grave!”

“You laughed at Mine.”

“…”

“Do You hate that I survived? Do You hate that I tried and I managed to almost make it? Was that why You killed Me? Is that why You killed Her?”

“Jimmy..”

“Shes a better sibling than You ever were.”

“…”

“All I did was survive.”

“…”

“You were always the lucky one.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Leave Me.”

—————————

Zero clue what possessed me to write this anyways @solidaritygaming-fanblog, @grian-fanblog, @moss-moths-eyes-and-whimsy cry lmao

#ray actually posts #trafficblr #grian #jimmy solidarity #canary curse #mumbo mentioned #ldshadowlady mentioned #wild life

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supercap2319 · 11 months ago

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"Why don't we skip the song and dance, Jase, and go straight to the fun part?" Y/N landed on the same building as the infamous Red Hood. The ruthless and the most dangerous criminal and vigilante in Gotham City.

Jason had been teaming up with Jonathan Crane, and despite Dicks's warnings to stay away from Jason, Y/N couldn't. Even now, with a gun pointed at him. Jason cocked his gun. "I don't know. Blowing your brains out seems like fun to me." Jason said.

"Yeah, until my canary cry stops your bullets." Y/N told him. "Why don't you really tell me why you're so angry and scary."

"Keep talking, and I'll show you just how angry and scary I can be."

"You know, Jason. They say when a man is pissed, he needs to either take a load off or blow a load. Which one are you? A guy with poison inside his mind or a horny criminal who needs to get off?"

Jason chuckled. "Why don't you come closer and find out?"

Y/N smiled. "I will."

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #curran walters #Curran Walters x male reader #jason todd #Jason Todd x male reader #red hood #red hood x male reader #titans 2018

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mentalisill · 11 months ago

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Ranking every Life Series Member based on how much I could beat them in a fistfight to the death (But I'm overconfident)

Characters not Content creators because I think I would be able to beat up most of the ccs and always winning isn't any fun

Also: I'm basing this off of when they were most insane, so like Griand and Joel when they were red in LL and Pearl in DL, if they haven't gone batshit crazy then whoopsies their loss

Lizzie - I say fairies aren't real and she explodes easy

Etho Slab - I do not think for the life of me that Etho Slab would be able to defend himself against anyone

Mumbo - I don't think I need to explain this one

Martyn In Thy Littlewood - pussy queen cry baby wet cat man I would Punch him and he'd run away to Rendog crying, but also if he gets possessed by the watchers or whatever that as in LimLife I'm dead but I think I could beat him before that happens

Joel Smallishbeans - All I have to do is call him short and he crumbles, although it might take me a few punches to get him down

Jimmy Solidarity - Doomed by the narrative lil canary man

Impulse - You see, you would think "oh impulse is tall and broad he would beat you in a fight" NO! I'll bite his ankles!!!!!!!

Bdubs - He's sneaky!!!! He's my fave!!!!!! he's so amazing!!!!!!! but I would be able to beat him he might've killed the end dragon but he can't kill me

Scott Smajor - Now, this one is tricky, I think I'd be able to beat Scott but I have a fragile ego so if he insults me too much I'll start sobbing

Cleorrrr - I wouldn't be able to hit her at all nope she'd win

Tango - a cheeky fella, has fire hair, I would put up a good fight but since its a fistfight and I don't have a weapon or armor I'm getting cooked alive

Grian - He'd beat me up while making fun of me :(((((((( I'd be on the floor sobbing and it wouldn't be no "I'm sorry!!!!! Scar!!!!! No!!!!" moment no. I'd be crying and he would LAUGH! But if we also take into account WATCHER GRIAN??????? FUCK THAT NOPE IM DEAD

Pearl - She'd kill me no doubt in my mind I am NOT winning this

Scar - He'd swindle me to death ????????? also he's buff

Gem - Uh huh yeah okay no I'm not winning???? No????? I'm just???? not?????? Not only would she kill me but she'd insult me while doing so

BigB, Skizz, Ren - I wouldn't have it in my heart to beat any of them actually I think I would try to hit one of them and it would deflect and I'd hit myself instead

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fortheloveofwonderland · 2 years ago

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Somewhere to Belong | 3/3 | S.R

Part three of my Family Challenge fic.

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N - I am almost positive this is not how the adoption system works but hey, it’s fanfiction, I make my own rules.

Summary - You reveal your master plan to Spencer and the two of you begin on your journey together. Will you be able to help Spencer bring Wren home where she belongs? And when the time comes, will you have what it takes to walk away?

Pairing - Spencer Reid x BAU Fem! Reader

Warnings - confessed feelings, tears, mostly just domestic fluff, making out, allusions to sex but still SFW, crying child, swearing, happy ending.

WC - 9.4k

Part 3

The wheels of your plan had been slow turning, painfully so. You’d started to think you may never reach the end of this goddamn road.

But finally after months, all the pieces had fallen into place.

When you received the phone call you were already halfway out of the door before the person on the other end had even finished their sentence. It was the phone call you’d been waiting for, holding your breath every time the device rang.

And now it had happened, it was time to go and see him.

You drove out into the suburbs, a manilla folder full of paperwork in the passenger's seat. You parked next to the curb by the house with the canary yellow fence and green front door.

Before you could exit the car you saw the door open and Spencer let someone out the house. The women had a briefcase and wore a smart pants suit. Definitely a social worker.

You watched the woman head to her own car and once she was inside the vehicle and starting the engine you stepped out onto the street, bringing your folder with you.

As you headed for the yellow gate your phone buzzed in your pocket. Slowing your strides you retrieved it and read the text message on the screen.

📱 Spencer Reid: I think it’s over. There’s another couple who have shown interest in adopting Wren and I don’t think I can compete with that. I’m ok, I’m not craving or anything. I just wanted you to know.

You stuffed the device back in your pocket and looked up at the house, a single light coming from the downstairs window.

Since you’d accompanied him to Beltway, the two of you had been in touch more regularly. Spencer texted you nearly every day and you spoke on the phone fairly often.

You’d seen him a handful of times for coffee but you’d never been out to his home in Woodbridge. It was a really nice house, a family home just like the team had described to you. It was a complete one eighty from his old DC apartment.

You unhooked the gate and slid past it, hugging the folder to your chest as you made your way along the front path and up the steps.

Before you could talk yourself out of this, you knocked on the green front door.

Soon you heard it being unlocked and then it tentatively opened. Spencer’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion when he saw you.

“Y/N hi,” he opened the door slightly wider. “I just texted you.”

“I know, I was…in the neighbourhood?” You shrugged. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” He nodded, stepping aside to allow you entrance to his home.

You walked inside while he shut the door behind you and you glanced around the living room.

You recognised his leather couch and armchair from his old apartment as well as his record player and chess set. The coffee table was the same but other than that this was not the home you pictured Spencer Reid living in.

He waited for you to take it in and only spoke again once you looked back at him.

“Can I get you a drink or anything?”

“No, I’m good.” You nodded, feeling oddly nervous.

He motioned for the couch and the two of you crossed the room together and sat side by side. You laid the manilla folder in your lap and ran your fingers over it.

“Whatcha you got there?” He asked, nodding at the file.

“Uh, well you see…” you trailed off, unable to find the words to communicate what you wanted to say. “How about you have a look.”

You handed him the file. For a moment he just stared at it with a frown before he cautiously took it from your hand.

He opened it and started one by one going through the pieces of paper inside.

The first was an application with a large red stamp proclaiming APPROVED in the bottom right corner. There were several sheaths that documented personal information about you, health checks, financial records, questions and answers relating to your childhood.

There was a rental agreement renewal for the address in which you lived which had gone unsigned as though you were hesitant in continuing your lease.

Multiple pages he’d seen before, floor plans of his own home, summaries of home visits at this address.

One sheet was a letter signed off by BAU Unit Chief Emily Prentiss agreeing to a cut in field hours. Two more sighed letters followed, both dictating what an upstanding human being you were, one signed by SSA Luke Alvez and the other Doctor Tara Lewis.

He read through them quickly as you knew he would but it still somehow felt like a lifetime before he was neatly tucking the pages away and closing the file. He looked up at you, eyebrows furrowed heavily.

“I don’t…” he swallowed, his hands starting to shake. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do.” You nodded. “You’re a genius aren’t you?”

“I…is this a joke?” His eyes flooded with unshed tears as he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth.

“It would be a pretty cruel thing to joke about.” You shrugged.

Spencer rubbed his eyes, trying to push away his tears before they could fall.

“Just to confirm,” he swallowed thickly, his eyebrows still knitted together in his confusion. “Because I don’t want to misunderstand what’s happening here…”

“Spencer,” you placed your hand on his knee and he noticed you were shaking too. “I would do anything for you. Anything. If this can help you bring that little girl home, then I’ll do it.”

“You…you’ve gotten approval from the adoption agency.” He croaked.

“Yes.”

“You’ve done the interviews, cut down your hours at the BAU, not renewed your lease and had Alvez and Lewis write you character references.”

“Yes.” You nodded. “I still don’t think I’m ready for a family, Spencer. But I can sign on as Wren’s adoptive mother on paper, just so you can get her home. Once she’s home and the paperwork is finalised they can’t take her away from you. We can figure out all the rest once you’ve got her home, I can terminate my rights or whatever. But by then it won’t matter.”

“W-why would you…” he trailed off again, swallowing. “Why would you do that for me? That’s…crazy. Why would you want to go through all this trouble just so I can have a better chance of adopting Wren?”

You inhaled really deeply, your chest heaving as you did so. Spencer blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear the new batch of tears from his eyes.

“I should have said it back.” You mumbled with a shake of your head. “Months ago, you told me you loved me and I should have said it back. But instead I walked away and let you believe I didn’t feel that way about you. But I do. Just because we aren’t together doesn’t make that any less true. And if I can help you bring Wren home I will. Because I love you.”

The room fell silent while Spencer worked to comprehend everything that was happening. His head spun as though he was drunk, making it harder for him to understand all of this.

This couldn’t have been some idea you’d just come up with, weeks if not months of work had gone into this. You were willing, on paper at least, to be Wren’s adoptive mother when you weren’t ready to have kids.

You’d told Emily, Luke and Tara at the minimum of your plans. You were willing to give up your apartment, cut back your hours at a job you adored to help him. Because you loved him. You loved him so much you were willing to put his happiness before your own.

“It’s too much.” He shook his head. “I can’t ask you to do all of this.”

“Good job you never once asked then.” You smiled at him. “It’s all temporary. Once Wren is home I can pick back up my regular case load, I spoke to my landlord about subletting my apartment for a few months so I can move back in once everything is settled.”

“You plan to live here?” He suddenly made the connection.

“Well I’ve got to live somewhere. And you know, us living in the same house gives the impression of a happy couple who want to adopt a child, don’t you think? It won’t be forever.”

“What am I supposed to say to my social worker? I forgot to tell her that I had a partner?” Of course he’d try and pick holes in this, it was what Spencer Reid did best.

“We say we were together but I didn’t think I was ready for a family. But now I am. We tell them I met Wren and fell in love with her and now we want to adopt her together. It’s pretty much what I wrote in my application.” You’d considered every outcome, every bump in the road.

“But you haven’t met Wren.” He shook his head.

“So I will.” You chuckled. “Spence, stop trying to put blockers in the way when there aren’t any. Let me do this for you, please? Let me help you bring your little girl home.”

Spencer stared at you silently, blinking frantically as he tried to understand what was happening. He didn’t want to get his hopes up only to have them dashed again but you seemed sincere.

He still didn’t understand how you would be willing to go to such lengths for him but he supposed it didn’t matter. What mattered was you were willing to and he could use all the help he could get.

Suddenly he threw himself forward, arms flying up to wrap around you. He pulled you close, holding you tightly as he started to loudly sob.

“T-thank you.” He cried into your shoulder as you returned his hug.

“You’re welcome, Spence. You’re so very welcome.”

You continued to hold him while he sobbed, stroking his back in an attempt to calm him. It was over a half hour later when he finally shed all of his tears, sniffed heavily and sat back to look at you.

“You really are my most favourite person.” He smiled shakily at you.

If you didn’t love him so much there was no way you would have even considered helping him adopt a child even if it was only on paper.

But love makes us do crazy things. And this might just be the craziest.

***

Two days later you anxiously sat in the passenger's seat of Spencer’s Volvo while he drove the two of you to Wren’s halfway home.

You played with your hands in your lap, barely speaking as you tried to comprehend meeting this little girl who had become Spencer’s whole world.

You’d agreed to tell Wren you were Spencer’s friend it was the truth and much less complicated than explaining everything to her. You would test the waters with her first, see how she felt about it before broaching it with the social worker.

Your legs wobbled a little as you got out of the car and Spencer was regarding you curiously.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked softly, his fingers brushing across your knuckles.

“Yeah.” You forced a smile. “She means so much to you, I’m just worried she won’t like me.”

“She’s going to love you. Trust me.”

The look he was giving you made your stomach coil into knots. Your knees buckled and your heart yearned for him.

It was such a cruel world that you could be so in love with someone yet not be destined to each other.

As you started towards the building he slipped his hand in yours and it was so easy to pretend this wasn’t all for show.

He led you inside, saying his hellos to some of the people working in the halfway home, clearly he’d been here a lot. He carried on through to a larger room filled with kids of all ages, your heart bled for them all.

As your eyes cast around the room, you were quickly snapped back around when you heard someone calling Spencer’s name.

“Spencer! Spencer!”

You looked back just in time to see a head of dark curls you remembered from when you’d seen her sleeping on Spencer’s lap at the BAU running right towards the two of you.

He let go of your hand so he could outstretch his arms for the girl who happily fell into them.

“Missed you.” She tucked herself in his arms.

“I missed you too, pumpkin.” He sighed in content as he hugged her.

You watched the way he seemed to light up the moment Wren was nearby, how all the weight he carried on his shoulders slipped away. As he cuddled the five year old, he seemed at peace.

And you knew you were doing the right thing.

Wren stepped back from his embrace and looked up at you, head tilted to the side in a curious fashion and little dark eyebrows furrowed.

“Who are you?” She asked, pouting a little.

“This is my friend, Y/N.” Spencer spoke for you. “Y/N, this is Wren.”

“Why is she here?” Wren looked back at Spencer in concern.

“I thought you’d like to meet her.” Spencer’s tone completely changed when he spoke to her, you’d never heard him like it before.

It was soft and sweet, obviously it relaxed the young girl. Usually. But it was clear by the concerned expression in her face it wasn’t working today.

“But I like spending time with you.” Her lip jutted out.

“I’m still here aren’t I?” Spencer chuckled, tucking a rogue strand of her hair back off of her rosy face.

“Hey Wren,” you crouched down so you were the same height as her, garnering her attention. “I heard you love Halloween?”

She looked between Spencer who was still standing at his full height and back to you before looking back at him again.

“It’s ok,” he encouraged her with a smile.

She looked back at you once more, a hint of scepticism in her bright eyes.

“Yes.” She nodded feverishly.

“And you love books too, right?”

“Yes.” She nodded again.

“Well that’s perfect because I just so happen to have a book all about Halloween!” You grinned at her whilst reaching into your purse.

Spencer frowned a little, you hadn’t mentioned this on the drive over. He watched as you pulled a book out of your bag, a brightly coloured hardback depicting cartoon pictures of ghosts, witches and monsters getting ready for a spooky party.

The title read The Night Before Halloween.

Neither of you could tell what Wren was thinking, for a five year old she was amazing at masking her expression even though she probably didn’t realise she was doing it.

She looked from the book to your eyes then to Spencer and around in the same loop a few times before settling on Spencer.

“Do you want me to read it to you?” He asked her, trying to prompt her to speak.

“No.” Wren shook her head and turned back to you.

You tried to hide your disappointment. This was your only play, your only way in with her and you’d blown it.

But then the little girl smiled at you.

“I want Y/N to read it to me.” She reached out her little hand for you and you pushed yourself back up to your full height and took it.

She led you over to the couch with Spencer following close behind. You glanced at him over your shoulder and he was smiling at you as he mouthed the words, good job.

***

Two more visits with Wren and she had warmed up to you the same way he had with Spencer. By the third visit she even hugged you.

And you saw exactly why Spencer loved her.

By the time September rolled around you’d moved into Spencer’s suburban home - in the spare room - and had multiple visits with Jenny who struggled to grasp what was happening at first.

Understandably she was sceptical about your sudden involvement but after more rigorous interviews she started to warm up the same way Wren had.

As you weren’t travelling with the team so much anymore and mostly working cases out of Quantico, you and Spencer spent a lot of time together.

He was always home before you, his classes at Marlborough never running past four pm. And as much as you hated to admit it, having someone to come home to everyday was delightful in its domesticity.

When you did travel with the team, usually around every one in four cases, Spencer would call you everyday and send you photographs of him and Wren when he visited her.

Spencer was learning to cook for Wren so the poor girl didn’t have to live off of cereal, coffee and ice cream, or as you always referred to it: The Doctor Reid Diet.

He tried out his new recipes on you and at least eighty percent of them were edible.

You’d been allowed to take Wren out on more day trips, with Jenny in tow of course. The two of you took her to museums and book stores and ice cream parlours; to the park, once to a carnival and anywhere else her little imagination could think to go.

It was midway into October when you arrived back from a case in Florida in which you’d been gone for six days. You knew Spencer had waited up for you as he’d called you to tell you he would.

When you let yourself in the green front door of the house that was feeling more like a home by the day, it wasn’t the messy haired genius who met you.

What did meet you certainly had messy hair, but its dopey expression told you it was no genius.

The creature trotted over to you, tongue hanging out of its slightly lopsided mouth and offered you a single bark whilst nuzzling against your shin.

You stared at the scruffy dog using your leg as a scratching post with wide eyes. Somewhere in the house you heard footsteps and you glanced up to see Spencer appearing from the kitchen.

“Hey, how was your day?” He smiled at you, completely ignoring the confusion on your face.

“Uh, it was perfectly normal until I came home and was greeted by this.” You pointed down at the mutt who was staring expectantly at you.

“He. Not this.” Spencer padded over and quickly scooped up the small, messy animal in his arms. “This is Rover.”

Rover licked Spencer’s cheek and much to your confusion, the germaphobe didn’t even bat an eyelid.

“Last I checked Rover was a stuffed animal. This creature seems to be very much alive.”

“Wren decided she wanted a dog. I said we could go to the pound and look, just look. But, uh, she kinda fell in love with this little guy and I can’t say no to her.” He shrugged, scratching Rover behind his ear.

“So you now have a dog.” You hung your bag up by the door.

“We have a dog.”

“Oh no.” You shook your head, walking past him towards the kitchen. “I’m outta here once Wren’s home. The dog is your problem.”

Spencer placed the creature, which you thought more resembled a gremlin than a dog, on the floor and followed you.

“He’ll grow on you.”

“He most certainly won’t. I’m a cat person. And last I checked you weren’t all that keen on dogs either.”

“But Wren is. So I guess I’m a dog person now.” He leant against the counter in the kitchen while you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

You turned back to look at him as you uncapped it. You had a curious smile on your lips.

“What? What’s that look for?” He frowned a little.

“It’s just funny,” you took a sip. “Six months ago I would never have imagined either of us to be here.”

“Me either.” He agreed with a smile.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy before.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before.” He started towards you. “You’re a big part of that, you know? I know this is all for show and we’re just doing this until Wren is home, but, uh…I like having you here.”

“It’s not all for show.” You placed the bottle on the counter behind you as you felt a little dizzy with the way Spencer was looking at you.

“No?” He reached you, stopping a few feet in front of you.

“I like being here too.” You confessed, your legs shaking a little due to the look he was currently giving you.

“I’m glad.” He swallowed and your eyes were drawn to his Adam’s apple and the way it bobbed deliciously beneath his flesh. “I’m, uh, I’m on the verge of doing something very dumb.”

“How do you know it’s dumb until you do it?” You had a pretty good idea of what he was talking about.

“Because I’m a genius and my brain is screaming how dumb it would be.” He chuckled, stepping even closer to you.

“Maybe for once, don’t listen to your brain, Spence.”

To encourage him, you reached for him, placing your hand on his shoulder. He swallowed again as he stepped nearer to you still.

Cautiously he raised his own hands and placed them on the sides of your face, eyes darting back and forth between your eyes and your lips.

“Don’t listen to my brain?” He whispered, wanting confirmation.

“Just this one time.” You offered him a smile and it was all he needed to close the space between you.

When his lips gently brushed against your own, your hand quickly moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck to keep him close.

You parted your lips and he replied in kind by deepening the kiss.

He pushed his body flush against you, pressing you into the counter. He held your face delicately but soon the kiss was growing frantic.

It wasn’t at all long before he was manoeuvring you away from the counter and towards the kitchen door, never tearing his lips from yours. Not at least until his back collided with the door.

He broke the kiss and started to laugh, you did the same. He reached behind him and opened the door, taking your hand pulling you along with him.

The two of you were giggling like a couple of teenagers as you ascended the stairs, neither of you paying much mind to the dog asleep in his bed.

He led you to his room and once inside he pushed you back against the wall and kissed you ardently again.

He rolled his hips against yours so you could feel the bulge in his slacks and you moaned into his mouth.

And then he was leading you to his bed as he helped you out of your clothes.

It was only then as you lay beneath you realised how much you’d missed him. And you knew when or if the time came for Wren to come home and this little domestic bubble popped, it was going to be hard to drag yourself away.

***

You fell asleep wrapped in Spencer’s arm after several hours and multiple orgasms. When you woke in the morning he was already awake, staring at you with a smile on his face.

“Hey,” he stroked your messy hair behind your ear.

“Hey yourself.” You smiled back, inching closer and placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Last night was…” he trailed off searching for the right word but finding none that did it justice.

“Amazing?” You laughed lightly.

“That’s certainly one word for it.” He agreed, hand cupping your cheek. “So I don’t wanna be the kind of person that asks this but, uh…did that mean something? Was it just sex or did it mean something? Because I would…uh…I’d really like it to have meant something.”

His nerves were tangled in his words and you could see in his eyes that he hated asking you this. You smiled and ran your fingertips lightly over his bicep.

“Well I guess that…” you were stopped by the sound of Spencer’s phone ringing and he pulled a face of frustration.

“Shoot,” he let go of your face. “To be continued?”

You nodded and watched him roll over, grabbing his cell phone off the nightstand and putting it to his ear while sitting up on the edge of the mattress.

“Doctor Reid,” he spoke and then was silent for a moment or two and his back straightened. “Seriously? You…I…seriously? Uh, yeah of course. Today? Gosh…yes. Ok. Ok. Thank you. Goodbye.”

His hand holding the phone fell to his lap limply but other than that he didn’t move. You rolled closer to him with a frown, wrapping an arm around his waist when you were close enough.

He slowly turned his head to look at you and you couldn’t read his expression.

“Spence?” You croaked. “Is everything ok?”

He exhaled through parted lips, his eyes widening a little before he slowly started to nod.

“Y-yeah,” his voice cracked. “Yeah everything’s great. That was Jenny. Apparently we’ve been approved for placement under supervision for Wren. It might not be permanent and Jenny will visit every week. But they wouldn’t let us bring her home if there wasn’t a strong possibility of us being able to adopt her. She’s coming home, Y/N. Our little girl is coming home.”

His tears overflowed when he reached the end of his speech and the smile that adorned his lips was brighter than the sun and all the stars in the sky combined.

You jumped up and threw yourself into his lap, wrapping your arms tightly around him.

“Oh gosh Spence, that’s great!” You felt your own tears well in your eyes as he held you.

And for some reason when he called her our little girl, it didn’t freak you out in the slightest,

***

Wren was an excitable blur of hand gestures and bounces in her seat as Spencer drove the three of you home later that afternoon.

She’d only ever seen photographs of the room Spencer had put together for her and she was buzzing to see it with her own eyes.

It was only once he got close to home driving through the neighbourhood she had lived with her parents whom she watched die, that she clammed up.

You sat in the back of the car with her and watched the way her eyes turned down at the corners as she looked out the window at the familiar houses.

You reached out to her, held her hand.

“It’s ok if you miss them, Wren.” You whispered and her head whipped around to face you.

She was gnawing on her bottom lip, perhaps trying to stop from pouting.

“But I don’t want to make you and Spencer sad.” She spoke in equally hushed tones.

“Hey now silly girl,” Spencer’s right hand appeared between the front seats, blindly reaching for her knee. “You could never make us sad. You have no idea how happy you make us, pumpkin.”

“But you will miss your mommy and daddy and we want you to be able to tell us when you do, ok?” You added, squeezing her hand.

“O-ok.” She nodded, turning back out of the window.

Soon enough Spencer pulled the car to a stop outside of the house with the canary yellow fence and green front door.

He exited the car and rushed around to open Wren’s door while you unbuckled her seatbelt. He lifted her in his arms, spun her around twice, and planted her on her feet on the sidewalk.

She instantly reached for you both, gripping Spencer’s hand in her left and yours in her right.

You and Spencer shared a smile over her head as you led her up to the front door.

The second the door was open a messy haired small mutt ran at full pelt towards the three of you, practically crashing straight into Wren.

She giggled and threw her arms around the dog.

“Rover!” She screeched, burying her face into his matted fur.

Spencer took her bag from her and unzipped it, pulling out the toy Rover and holding him out towards the girl and her dog.

“Rover meet Rover.” He spoke and Wren beamed brightly as she took the toy from him.

She held it in front of the real dog's face and he licked the toy feverishly, making Wren giggle again.

“I think they’re going to be friends!” She cheered happily.

“That’s a relief.” Spencer chuckled, hand naturally slipping in yours.

“Would the Rover’s like to see your new room, honey?” You asked Wren, entwining your fingers with Spencer’s.

“I think so!” She jumped up and down. “Come on big Rover, come on little Rover.”

You and Spencer shared another smile as you led the way, hand in hand, up the stairs and towards the room at the end of the hall.

One of the Rover’s was held by Wren around his neck while the other followed of his own accord. You both stepped aside and motioned for Wren to open the door.

She looked positively giddy with excitement as she reached for the handle. She pushed open the door and Spencer reached inside to flick the lights on.

Her eyes widened as a dozen strings of pumpkin fairy lights cast their glow across the warm autumnal walls, thick cream carpet and everything in between.

She took a few steps inside the room and the two of you watched her eyes flicker between the My Little Pony bed sheets, her name placard above the bed, the bookshelf stuffed full of books, another shelf packed with stuffed animals.

They moved between the dog bed meant for little Rover which big Rover was now already making his way to, to the dresser under the window with a little mirror and her very own chess set.

They made their way to the wardrobe which Spencer had stencilled with falling leaves and little brown birds of her namesake.

Her eyes danced from here to there, there to here and back again. When they finally came to a stop on you and Spencer, they were full of tears.

“This is…for me?” Her bottom lip pouted.

“I don’t know any other little girls called Wren.” Spencer smiled at her.

She suddenly dove at the two of you, one arm wrapping around each of you and nuzzling between you. You felt her small frame racking with sobs and it made your heart melt.

“T-thank you.” She cried, squeezing you both as tightly as she could. “I love you.”

You looked at Spencer, you both had tears welling in your own eyes.

And god dammit if you didn’t love her too.

***

The three of you ate ice cream for dinner on the floor of her bedroom at Wren’s insistence.

You and Spencer played with her and her new collection of stuffed toys, as well as the real life Rover before you took turns reading to her until she finally fell asleep.

Rover was already curled up in the dog bed at the foot of Wren’s bed so you left him there and the two of you quietly crept from the room.

With the day's events you hadn’t had a chance to talk about what happened last night and now you were in the corridor, you weren’t sure what room to go to.

Clearly Spencer didn’t either.

He awkwardly scuffed the toe of his candy corn print sock on the carpet whilst rolling his lip between his teeth.

“Should we, uh…talk?” He shrugged.

“Most likely, yes.” You nodded and silently he led the two of you back downstairs to the living room.

You were both quiet, not meeting the others' gaze as you sat in the armchair and him on the couch. The air was thick with tension, and you didn’t even know where to begin with this conversation.

“I know you don’t want to be Wren’s mom.” He suddenly blurted out. “And I’d never ask you to. But I love you and last night was…it was perfect. I don’t want to choose between having you and Wren in my life. I know it wouldn’t be easy because if everything goes to plan I will have a child at the end of it. You think there’s any chance you’d want to date a single dad?”

He was talking so fast all of his words merged into one and it took you a few moments to ascertain what he was saying. But before you could really catch up, he was talking again.

“We get Wren home permanently, you can give up your rights just like you planned. You move out and you go back to your normal case load but maybe…maybe we can work things out? I know it won’t be easy but I don’t care.

You clearly mean a lot to Wren and I know she would love it if you were still a part of her life after all this, even if it’s not as her adoptive mother. And I hope that you can still be part of my life. As my partner, my one true love.

Wren will be my reasonability, I won’t expect anything from you in regards to her. But I don’t want to be without you, even if it means our life is separate from my life with Wren. I don’t think it’s entirely beyond the realms of possibility to think we could make it work. I just think-”

“Spencer,” you had to cut him off or he would spend the next hour rambling. “I don’t think it’s entirely beyond the realms of possibility either.”

“You…you don’t?” He inhaled sharply.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you pushed yourself up and moved slowly closer to him. When you reached him you lowered yourself so you were sitting in his lap. “It’s going to be hard in fact, really hard. But dating a single dad doesn’t sound like the worst idea in the world. Especially when that single dad is you.”

His hands glided across your back, settling on your shoulder blades and holding you firmly in place,

“We’ll make it work.” He smiled at you, inching closer.

“We’ll make it work.” You repeated just as his lips pressed against yours.

***

The day after Wren was placed with you and Spencer, he and the little girl started excitedly decorating the house for Halloween which was two weeks away.

The house was a menagerie of fake cobwebs which you kept walking into, strings of little ghosts hanging in every doorway. A newly carved pumpkin appeared on the porch every single day you returned home from work.

By the time Halloween rolled around the three of you had fallen into somewhat of a routine.

You had tried to distance yourself from parental activities, as soon as the paperwork was finalised you would be moving out and you didn’t want Wren to get too used to you being around.

The last thing you wanted to do was confuse a child who had already lost her biological parents.

Spencer dropped her at school on the way to Marlborough everyday and picked her up on his way home.

He cooked dinner which the two of them ate together and he saved leftovers for when you arrived home.

Nine times out of ten Wren was already in bed by the time you got home from Quantico which helped. It also gave you alone time with Spencer.

Usually you wouldn’t even be in the door more than ten minutes before he was leading you to the bedroom. You’d been sleeping in his room since Wren had come home, although there was usually little sleeping happening.

You’d both quickly learnt how to be quiet, not wanting to further traumatise the girl by having her hear the two of you having sex.

The routine seemed to work for the three of you, it allowed Spencer and Wren to grow closer whilst allowing you and Spencer to grow closer.

On Halloween night you got out of work slightly earlier but still expected Spencer and Wren to be out trick or treating.

He’d promised the little girl months ago to take her and she’d been so excited for tonight, talking about it non stop since she’d come home with you.

He wanted to make her a costume and you tried to teach Spencer how to sew but when that didn’t work you showed him how YouTube worked so he could learn that way.

He’d slaved over creating her a pumpkin costume which was a little lopsided and probably could have been neater but he was so proud of his creation.

Wren had insisted he dress up too so you arrived home to find Dracula in your living room.

“What happened to trick or treating?” You asked as you stepped in the door and hung your jacket up.

“Oh hey,” he smiled brightly as soon as he saw you, moving closer to you. He went to kiss you but then remembered the fake blood on his mouth and refrained. “We’re about to leave, Wren is just getting dressed.”

“Did she love her costume?”

“You have no idea. I’ve never heard a five year old scream before and I’m not sure it’s something I want to relive in a hurry.” He chuckled, straightening up his cape. “Now you’re home you can join us.”

“I don’t think so.” You shook your head.

“Oh come on, she’d love it if you came.” Spencer gave you his puppy dog eyes which you tried to ignore.

“You’re the parent.” You reminded him. “And besides, someone should stay home with Rover.”

“Rover is ten years old and sleeps all day.” Spencer rolled his eyes. “He’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know. I just-”

You were cut off by the sound of Wren running down the stairs. When she appeared in her pumpkin costume, complete with orange painted face, she was smiling from ear to ear.

“Y/N!” She jumped up and down excitedly. “I’m a pumpkin!”

“Oh wow, you look great!” You cheered.

She beamed, happily showing off her costume like a proud parent.

“Are you coming trick or treating with us?” She asked with expectant green eyes.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

“Please! You have to come!” She jiggled, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“Yeah Y/N,” Spencer smirked at you. “You have to.”

“I don’t have a costume.” You shrugged.

“Leave that to me.” Spencer stepped closer to you and took hold of your hand. “Wren give us five minutes and we’ll head out, ok?”

“Ok!” She nodded, moving aside so Spencer could lead you upstairs.

You let him lead you to the bedroom, which he’d done countless times before but you knew this wasn’t for the reasons you would like.

“I took the liberty of picking something up for you at the costume store when I was getting mine.” He let go of your hand so he could open the closet.

“Of course you did.” You sighed.

He pulled out an outfit in a costume bag and turned it to face you. Inside was sheathed all the makings of a witches costume.

A long, flowy purple crushed velvet dress with long, billowy sleeves. A black wig. A pointy hat.

You rolled your eyes as you took it from him, trying to ignore the stupid look on his face.

“Fine, I will wear it. But you are not painting my face.”

“Deal.” He grinned, in a smug way knowing he’d won.

***

Ten minutes later the three of you were out the door. Dracula, the witch and the pumpkin.

Wren was full of excitement as she skipped on just ahead of you, swinging her little bucket she hoped to fill with candy.

“She’s your problem when she won’t sleep tonight because she’s hopped up on sugar.” You spoke as Spencer slipped his hand in yours.

“Fair enough.” He chuckled, eyes never leaving the back of the curly haired pumpkin. “Thank you for coming.”

“Did I have a choice?” You joked.

Spencer briefly glanced at the side of your face before focusing back on Wren who was now making her way up a front porch of one of your neighbours houses. The two of you hung back by the gate.

“You don’t like spending time with her.” He looked back at you while Wren was busy getting her candy.

“That’s not true. I love spending time with her, she’s an amazing kid. But I don’t want her to get used to me being around all the time. She lost her mom and dad, I don’t want her to see me as a parental figure only to lose me too.”

Spencer’s hand slipped from yours and he quickly pocketed both of his hands. You frowned at him as he turned away from you.

“Right. Of course.” He watched Wren smile and thank Mrs Taylor for the candy.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” You glared at him.

“Nothing. I just forget sometimes what a hardship this is for you.”

“Spencer, I never said-”

“What did you get, pumpkin?” He cut you off as Wren came running back over, his tone lightening as he regarded her.

Wren showed off her haul and soon you were continuing on. Spencer walked with Wren now, holding her free hand while you hung back.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that this would get complicated. But why did it?

***

The night ended worse than it started. When your rounds of the neighbourhood took you past the old Briar house, the home where Wren watched her parents die, it came to an abrupt end with tears.

Spencer carried her home while she sobbed in his arms. He put her to bed and spent a long time coddling her while she cried for her parents.

He found you in the living room, your wig and hat on the coffee table. You stood from the couch when he entered the room.

“I don’t really feel like company tonight so maybe you should just stay in the guest room.” His jaw was clenched tightly as he spoke.

“Right, sure.” You nodded.

He turned away from you, started towards the stairs before quickly turned back around.

“You know what actually, maybe you should look into moving back into your apartment. This place is kinda crowded. You only need to be here when Jenny visits anyway, there’s no point in you being here all the time. And that way Wren won’t get attached to you and it’ll make it easier all round.” He turned again but before he could get too far you grabbed him by the wrist.

“Spencer, please don’t say that. We talked about this, we had a plan, we-”

“Stop it, please.” He cut you off. “I can’t do this right now, ok? I have a little girl upstairs who I had to rock to sleep because she couldn’t stop crying about her dead parents. I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with all this right now.”

“Fine.” You clenched your jaw to stop the tears falling. “But let me just say it isn’t fair for you to act this way when we had an agreement. You knew what my involvement was going to be in all of this and the plan was never for me to be her mother!”

“The plan?” He suddenly spat. “The goddamn plan? You make it sound so clinical!”

“I thought it was.” You rolled your eyes. “Did you expect that I was going to wake up one day and change my mind? Was that what you hoped for here? That I’d play happy families and realise this is what I wanted?”

“Yes,” he shrugged. “Yes, that's exactly what I hoped would happen. Excuse me for believing that two people who are as in love as I thought we were could raise a child together.”

“Maybe I should move out.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“I’ll help you pack.” With that he turned again and this time you let him go.

You watched as he ascended the staircase, clearly wanting to make more noise about it but not wanting to wake Wren.

Once you heard his bedroom door shut you fell back to the couch and your tears unleashed.

What had possessed you into thinking this would be a good idea? You’d wanted to help Spencer and never once stopped to think of the ramifications.

Like it or not you and Wren had grown close, despite your best efforts. Your leaving would be hard on her. And it would be hard on you too.

You’d come to care for that little girl even though you’d tried so hard not to. You weren’t ready to be a mom, or so you thought, but Wren had wormed her way into your heart.

And now you were going to lose her and Spencer through your own stubbornness.

Well done, Y/N, you thought to yourself as you cried. You’ve really gone and fucked this up.

***

The following day Spencer dropped Wren off at school, thankfully in a much brighter mood than she had been the previous night.

You both had the day off work for Jenny’s weekly visit and if she noticed the awkwardness between the two of you she didn’t mention it.

Spencer was amazing at keeping his emotions in check when he needed to and even you believed he was happy.

You sat amicably and drank tea while Spencer filled the social worker in on your Halloween night, glossing over all the bad parts.

It struck you that Jenny wasn’t taking notes like usual, didn’t even have her notebook out. You weren’t sure if Spencer noticed or not or if he was too busy pretending he had the perfect family to notice.

When the tea dried up along with the conversation, Jenny pulled a manilla envelope out of her briefcase and proffered it forward.

Spencer took it with a frown, in the corner in black ink it read simply: Re: Wren Briar - Reid Y/L/N.

“Uh,” he ran his fingers over the envelope and looked up at Jenny with a frown. “What is this?”

Jenny smiled softly, a smile that reached all the way to her eyes.

“Congratulations,” she spoke sincerely. “That is your official adoption papers. Wren is now formally in the care of the two of you.”

You felt a flurry of emotions all at once and you didn’t know which one to focus on. But you were distracted from that when Spencer, out of nowhere, started sobbing.

“S-seriously?” He stuttered, tears streaming from his eyes.

“Seriously, Doctor Reid.” Jenny smiled. “I know it’s been a long and difficult process, but it’s over now.”

“Oh my god.” He grabbed your hand and squeezed it tightly. “Oh my god.”

Seeing the happiness on Spencer’s face made your own tears fall and you gripped him tightly.

“We did it, Spence. We did it.” You cried.

Jenny saw herself out as the two of you continued to cry. At some point Spencer wrapped you in his arms and sobbed into your shoulder while you did the same into his chest.

Eventually both your tears started letting up and he sat back and wiped the stains on your cheek. He was smiling shakily at you and you returned the gesture.

“Don’t leave.” He whispered, voice cracking with emotion. “Please don’t leave. I don’t want to do this without you. I know this wasn’t part of the plan but-”

“Screw the plan.” You cut him off. “Plans change. I can’t ignore the feeling of elation and relief I felt when Jenny told us. Goddamnit I love Wren, I love her so much. And I want to be her mother, Spencer, I really want that.”

“You…” he choked. “You do?”

“Yes. This wasn’t the life I envisioned for myself but life isn’t straightforward. Things happen, plans change. I found my family. And it’s you and Wren.” You smiled as your tears started up again.

Spencer was quick to tug you back into his arms and hold you tighter than you’d ever been held before. He nuzzled against your neck and placed soft kisses on your flesh.

“I love you so much.” He cried. “And I love our little found family.”

You stayed like this for some time, until you needed to pick Wren up from school. For the first time you and Spencer went together.

When you told her the news she jumped up and down and squeezed you both as tightly as her little arms would allow and it filled your heart to the brim.

There was no doubt in your mind that this was where you were supposed to be.

As she planted big sloppy kisses on yours and Spencer’s cheeks, you heard him whisper, welcome to the family little pumpkin.

***

Four Months Later

The noise from the backyard filtered in through the open door, little voices chattering, the occasional screech of excitement, giggle from tiny lungs and small feet pitter pattering in the grass.

You poured yourself a glass of water and sipped from it while you observed the chaos.

It was Wren’s sixth birthday and damn near every child in her school had descended on your home. The BAU team members and their kids were all in attendance and you wondered if your garden would ever be the same again.

There was a bounce house in one corner, a magician in the other - for which Spencer had begrudged paying for when he could have done it himself.

You’d insisted he wanted to be more present for the event, really enjoy the memories made today on her first birthday as your daughter.

Rover had long ago distanced himself from children pulling his matted fur and retired to his bed in Wren’s room. You couldn’t blame him, you’d half contemplated joining him.

You were exhausted from all the planning, from the demands of motherhood and still trying to hold down your job at the BAU, albeit only part time now.

You hadn’t even stopped to consider how tiring the party would actually be.

You felt a presence behind you and spun on your heels to find Spencer smiling at you as he sidled up to you. He moved in close and placed a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Are you as tired as I am?” He chuckled.

“I don’t think anyone is as tired as you, you’re the life and soul of this party.” You teased him. “I saw Wren dragging you on to the bounce house.”

“It’s been a long time since my old knee injury hurt this bad.” He grumbled a little. “But it’s worth it to see her happy.”

“I can’t believe she’s six already. The months are flying by.” You sighed wistfully.

“She’ll be eighteen and going off to college any day now.” He laughed.

“Bringing boys home.”

“Don’t you dare!” He gasped. “Do not put that idea in my head.”

“Sorry,” you smiled sweetly. “It’s a long way off.”

“It better be.” He shook his head.

“So, uh…I got you something.” You reached behind you and grabbed the small, neatly wrapped gift off of the kitchen counter.

Spencer frowned at it as he took it somewhat cautiously.

“You got me a gift? For our daughter's birthday?” He ran his fingertips over the wrapping paper curiously.

“Just open it and be grateful.” You rolled your eyes playfully.

Still with a frown on his face, Spencer tore the gift wrap, the same kind as you used to wrap the obscene amount of gifts you’d brought Wren.

You held your breath and waited, your nerves getting the better of you and you leaned back against the counter top as your legs shook a little.

Spencer’s deft fingers made quick work of the paper, tossing it aside like the excited six year old had with her own gifts.

Once opened he stared at the item in his hand. Approximately five inches long. Thin. Hard plastic.

You watched him stare at it as if it was a completely foreign object, patiently waiting for him to look up, to say something.

His hands started to tremble and when he finally did look up at you, tears swam in his eyes.

“Is this…for real?” His voice cracked with emotion as he spoke.

“It’s like the fifth one I took so I’m fairly certain.” You nodded, feeling your own eyes fill with tears. “Wren’s going to be a big sister.”

Pregnancy test still in hand, he suddenly threw his arms around you and squeezed you so tightly you felt the air leave your lungs.

“We’re having another child?” He whispered against your neck.

“This family just keeps growing.” You laughed as you wrapped him in your arms.

You wiped away your tears, not wanting to be seen crying at Wren’s birthday party. But soon your moment was over, and you were being forced away from each other.

“Mommy, daddy, is it time for cake?” Wren’s voice carried in from the garden.

You sprung apart and stared at each other, a new batch of tears in both of your eyes for completely different reasons.

“Did she just…” you breathed, voice slightly horse.

“I think so.” Spencer sniffed, a delighted smile on his face.

Thus far Wren had always called you both by your names which was entirely understandable. Spencer had always told her she could call you mom and dad if and when she felt it was right.

“As if this day wasn’t perfect enough.” He wiped his eyes, pocketing the pregnancy test after giving it one last look.

“We better go, daddy.” You winked at him and went to pass him but he grabbed you by the waist.

“Oh jeez, why is that so hot when you say it?” He growled, bowing his head and placing kisses on your neck, making you giggle.

“Really?” You smirked.

“Really.” He hissed, stepping back and nodding to his crotch where you can instantly see the bulge forming in his slacks.

“Hmm, I’ll bear that in mind daddy.” You chuckled and he let out a soft low moan.

But before he could reply, you were summoned again.

“Mommy, daddy!” Wren hollered from the yard.

“Ok, not so sexy anymore.” He shook his head, stepping further back. “I’ll get the cake.”

“I’ll get my phone so I can film you and your horrible singing.” You gently kissed his cheek before he walked away.

Spencer lit the six candles on the pumpkin shaped birthday cake and cautiously carried it through to the yard while he began singing happy birthday.

All the kids and adults joined in as Wren beamed from ear to ear as all eyes were on her. You held your cellphone steady, hovering by the back door where you filmed the chorus.

When the song was over everybody cheered and Wren sucked in a huge breath before blowing out the candles.

You watched on as Spencer placed a kiss in her messy dark hair and she smiled brightly at her dad in return.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the two of them, Wren bouncing excitedly in her chair while Spencer went about cutting the cake into slices for all the children.

Spencer handed her the first slice and she gorged on it, stuffing the cake in her mouth and leaving icing smudged around her lips.

It was crazy how much things had changed in such a short space of time. Six months ago you never would have pictured yourself here, a mother to a six year old and growing another child inside of you.

Life has a funny way of giving us exactly what we want at exactly the wrong time. But for you and Spencer and Wren, the world had worked its magic and done you all the biggest favour.

It had given the three of you the kind of love you all so sorely needed, it had offered a home to three people who were out in the cold. It had created a family, who in eight months time would have a new addition to it.

Ultimately all we really strive for in life is to find somewhere to belong, and although it may have been unexpected, it was safe to say that you, Spencer and Wren had found that somewhere with each other.

@ultragirrl @wittlewowa @bxtchopolis @coldheartedmar

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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axlerica · 1 year ago

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CANARY ISLAND ~ PART 4

-Sorry for going MIA, everyone. I just got back from my vacation. Here’s part 4 for you all. Sorry to keep you guys waiting. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you guys think!🫶🏻

PART 3

As Y/N walked away, she couldn’t stop crying. Her heart hurt so much. She just knew that her relationship with Pedri had ended and she would never forgive him for what he did.

Pedri stood there, his mind filled with regret. His thoughts raced as he reflected on Y/N's words. He couldn't shake the truth in what she said. Y/n was right. She was the one who had always been there for him. Through ups and downs. When he was sick, she stayed up all night taking care of him, making sure he was comfortable and getting better. She was there when he was injured, giving him the support he needed and always trying her best to help him recover faster. She was the only one who can put up with all of his nonsense and she never once complained.

“What have I done….? I have to fix this.” Pedri started to realize that he’s going to lose her forever because of what he did.

Pedri ran after Y/N and held her hand and said “Amor please wait, don’t go…”

Y/N was furious because Pedri called her "amor," and she responded, "You don't get to call me that after what you did. Don't you ever call me that. I'm not your 'amor.' Now let go of my hand!! I don’t want anything to do with you anymore! Go away you cheater!”

Pedri: Y/N, please, you don’t mean that right? just listen to me for a moment.

Y/N: Oh yes, I mean every word I say. What’s there left to say, Pedri? You hurt me! You fucked up!

Pedri: I know I fucked up, and I can’t even begin to apologize enough for how I treated you. It was unfair, and I should have trusted you. But.. please amor you have to understand…I…

Y/N: What? You trusted Isabela over me, Pedri! She manipulated the situation, and you fell for it, then you slept with her! NOW LET GO OF ME!!

Pedri: I was a fool, Y/N. I let my anger cloud my judgment, and I see that now. You mean everything to me, and I don’t want to lose you, please.. Sleeping with her was a mistake. I don’t know what got over me… Please, it didn’t mean anything to me. Please trust me..

Y/N: Huh? Trust you? You think I should trust you, Pedri? After what you did? You have got to be fucking kidding me right? You didn’t even trust me when I told you I didn’t do all those things yesterday! Now you’re asking me to trust you?FUCK YOU PEDRI! HOW CAN I TRUST YOU?! A MISTAKE MEANS YOU FORGETTING MY BIRTHDAY NOW THAT’S WHAT WE CALL A FUCKING MISTAKE. CHEATING AND SLEEPING WITH SOMEONE IS NOT A MISTAKE! IT’S A CHOICE!! YOU MADE THIS CHOICE!

Pedri: Please, Y/N, give me a chance to make this right. I didn’t cheat on you…I thought we were broken up already…

Y/N : So our relationship is going through a rough patch, and you immediately break up with me? And then you go and sleep with someone else? What makes you think that's okay? Huh. You’re unbelievable. Goodbye Pedri.

Y/N managed to slip away from Pedri's grip and walked toward the house's gate. Just as she was about to hop into the cab, Fer, who had just come back from the restaurant, noticed her teary-eyed face. He rushed out of his car and asked with concern, "Hey hey, Y/N, ¿Qué pasa? Why are you crying? Are you okay?"

Y/N, still upset, replied, "Hey, Fer, sorry... I'm not okay. Ask your brother." She then said goodbye to Fer and entered the cab, ready to leave.

Fer barged into the house, he was extremely upset. He confronted Pedri, "What the hell hermano? What did you do to Y/N? Why does she look like a wreck???"

Pedri stayed silent. But when Fer spotted Isabela coming down the stairs, wearing Pedri's shirt and collecting her things, he pieced it together. "No way��.bro…you slept with Isabela, didn't you?"

Fer looked disappointed and said, "You messed up big time, bro. Y/N doesn't deserve this. I'm really disappointed in you."

Surprisingly, Pedri didn't try to catch Y/N. He didn't fight for her. He let her go because it seemed easier for him than trying to convince Y/N to forgive him. Deep down in Y/N's heart, she was hoping Pedri would go after her and fight for her, despite what he did.

There was a part of her that wanted him to fight for this relationship, to prove to her that she was worth fighting for. Sadly, he just let her go, and with that, she knew she was replaceable.. It shattered her heart to see how easily he let their relationship end.

She told herself that she wouldn't forgive him and decided to cut him off along with everyone around him. She truly wanted nothing to do with Pedri. It felt easier that way, deleting him from her life and acting like she never knew him. So, she went on every social media platform and blocked him, Fer, and everyone associated with Pedri. She went MIA for weeks, distancing herself from it all.

Pedri returned to Barcelona and entered his house, only to realize that all of Y/N's things were gone. It was as if she had never existed in his life. Y/N must have taken all her belongings and moved out of the house. On the coffee table, he saw the spare key that he had given her, which used to be adorned with a custom-made keychain from their vacation in Paris. But even the keychain was missing now. Pedri was heartbroken as he realized that Y/N had left him forever, and he knew there was nothing he could do to change it.

Still, Pedri attempted to call Y/N, but all he heard was a message saying that the number was no longer in service. He also tried searching for her on Instagram and Twitter, but it seemed that she had blocked him on all social media platforms. It was clear that Y/N had made a clean break from him and had no intention of keeping any contact.

————————————————————

As the weeks went by, Barcelona's team was dominating La Liga, and Pedri was in top form, contributing significantly and scoring goals. His performance seemed to reflect a happier and healthier version of himself.

Y/N caught glimpses of this on the news before quickly changing the channel. Her roommate asked, "Don't you miss him?" Y/N replied, "Why would I miss someone who treated me like shit? It's not worth it."

Her roommate said, "I'm sorry… but you know…he's Pedri…He's got so many fans, especially girls. I can't imagine how you're managing to move on from someone like him."

Y/N replied, "Well, it's easy when that “someone” cheated on you. Your perception of them completely changes. Besides, I have to move on. It’s the right thing to do when someone doesn’t treat you well, no matter who they are.”

Her roommate said, "Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry for asking you that. Anyway….do you wanna go to Ibiza next week? We can party and enjoy the whole week. It's time for you to get out there and enjoy being single instead of moping around here and crying every single night. Yeah, don't think I don't know that? I heard you crying, babe. Come on, let's go with me!"

Y/N hesitated, "Well….I'm not sure. I've got a lot of work to catch up on, and I've barely unpacked my stuff. Plus, I'm not really in the mood for a party right now…”

Y/N had just relocated to Sevilla. She didn't want to stay in the same city as Pedri, so she made the choice to leave her apartment in Barcelona. She requested a job transfer to Sevilla and was fortunate that her transfer request got approved. Without delay, she moved to Sevilla. That's when she met her roommate, who happened to be her high school best friend. They talked, and her friend offered her a place to stay since she was working in Sevilla too. Y/N was really thankful because everything worked out well, and at least she had someone she knew in the city, so she wouldn't be alone.

Her roommate still trying to persuade her, "Come on, just ask for a few days off from work, I'm sure they'll be fine, right? Just use your annual leave, please, please."

Y/N replied, "Well….I do have a lot of annual leave I haven't used, but I don't know. I'll think about it, okay? I'll let you know."

————————————————————

It was Pedri's day off, he chose to stay home and play video games with his brother and his friend, Gavi and Fer. After a few games, Gavi accidentally asked, "Hey, where's Y/N? I miss her making us churros or caramel flan. She used to cook for us when we played, right?" Fer nudged Gavi and said, "Come on, man, they're not together anymore! What's wrong with you?"

Gavi then exclaimed, "Oh, mierda! My bad, sorry, bro. I keep forgetting that you guys broke up." Pedri was upset, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he went upstairs to his room and sit on his bed. The truth is, he still misses her. He hadn't gone out partying or enjoyed himself since the break-up. All he did was go to the gym, train, and play his matches. It was all over the news how well Pedri was performing now, getting better and better. But he still felt empty without Y/N by his side. It was like he was missing a part of his life, and it hurts so bad.

He would occasionally scroll through his phone, looking at old pictures of him and Y/N together. He missed their late-night conversations, her laughter, and the way she used to surprise him with little acts of kindness. He remembered the times when they cooked together, made each other laugh, and shared their dreams. It was all gone now, and he couldn't help but regret how he had let things spiral out of control.

Pedri tried to distract himself with his football career, and he was excelling. But even on the field, there were moments when he wished Y/N was in the stands, cheering him on. He knew he had messed up a good thing, and the pain of that realization never left him.

Ferran arrived at Pedri’s house and found Gavi and Fer sitting on the couch. He asked, “Guys? where’s Pedri?”

Fer responded, “This cabron made him moody. He mentioned Y/N’s name. You know him, once he hears her name, he’s immediately not in the mood anymore. I don’t know why he’s acting like that. He’s the one who messed up.”

Ferran nodded. He said, “Hmmm…. I think we should do something. Maybe let’s bring him to a club? Let him enjoy a bit? It’s been a while since he’s been to a club.”

Gavi chimed in, “Well, I’m down, but I don’t know if Pedri is. You should go convince him.”

Ferran agreed, and he knew he needed to help Pedri take his mind off things, even if just for one night.

Ferran decided to go talk to Pedri. He found him in his room, looking at some old photos on his phone. Fer said, "Hey, hermano, I know things have been tough since the breakup, but maybe it's time to get out and have some fun. What do you say we hit a club tonight? Just like old times."

Pedri looked up, a bit surprised by Ferran’s suggestion. He hesitated for a moment but then nodded, "You know what, Fer, maybe you're right. A night out might do me some good. Let's do it."

Fer smiled, relieved to see Pedri willing to give it a try. “Cool, let’s go!”.

———————————————————

Y/N was scrolling through her Twitter feed when she suddenly came across some tweets about the Barca boys having a great time at a club. She decided to ignore the tweets and kept scrolling. However, one picture of Pedri caught her eye. The tweet said that Pedri was seen having a blast in a club, surrounded by some Instafamous girls. He had his arms around them and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

Once again, Y/N couldn't hold back her tears, but she quickly wiped them away. She decided to put her phone down and switch to her iPad to watch a movie instead, trying to distract herself from the painful picture she saw just now.

Then, Y/N's roommate came home and asked what she was watching. Y/N replied, "Oh, just some old rom-com movie, '10 Things I Hate About You.' I love this movie. Wanna join?" Her roommate agreed, saying, "Yeaaah, sureee I'll join you."

Then, Y/N hesitated for a moment and said, "Hey, about the Ibiza trip...on second thought, I think I wanna go." Her roommate was thrilled and exclaimed, "Yay! Perfect! We'll go next week."

———————————————————-

It was the La Liga final, Barcelona was set to face their rival, Real Madrid. It was quite a big match, so Pedri's family had flown in from Tenerife to support him. Pedri felt grateful because his family is so supportive of him.

Before the game, his mom and dad wished him good luck, and they shared a hug. Then, Pedri stepped onto the field. When the whistle blew, the game began.

In the 44th minute, Joao Felix scored, and the team celebrated their early lead. The match became intense in the second half when Jude Bellingham equalized with a goal, making it 1-1.

However, in the 87th minute, Joao Cancelo scored a crucial goal, securing Barcelona's victory as the "Campeon de la Liga." The stadium erupted in cheers as they celebrated their hard-fought triumph.

After winning the championship, all the Barcelona players went near the stands to thank their fans for their support and celebrate the victory with them. Pedri walked over to the stands, scanning the stadium in hopes of seeing Y/N at his big game. Unfortunately, he didn't spot her in the crowd.

But the celebrations continued as family and friends were allowed onto the pitch to celebrate with the players. They took pictures and videos together, capturing this special moment of victory.

Pedri took pictures with his teammates and then with his family. As he was celebrating, a woman poked his shoulder, and he turned around to see that it was Isabela. Pedri greeted her, saying, "Oh hey, Isabela! I didn't think I would see you here. You came all the way from Tenerife?"

Isabela replied “Hey, Pedri! I couldn't miss this important game of yours. It's a big moment for you, and I wanted to be here to support you! Anyway…congratulations on winning La Liga! You and the team played amazingly.

Pedri then replied “Thanks, Isabela. It's been a great season.”

They share a warm hug and continue chatting about the game and celebrations.

Y/n and her roommate were at the airport when the match was on. Y/n has always been a culér, watched the game at the airport while waiting for her flight. When Barcelona won, she couldn't help but feel happy, though she refrained from congratulating Pedri because she didn't want him to think she was still thinking about him. Instead, she let out a sigh, put her phone back in her pocket, and prepared to board her flight as her roommate urged her to go.

———————————————————

Back at Pedri’s home, his mother wanted to celebrate his big win and invited some of Pedri’s friends over, including Isabela. It was a great party, and everyone congratulated him, calling him "campeón." Pedri was having a good time until he tried to go upstairs to his room.

He overheard Isabela on her phone with her friends, saying, "Yeah, I'm at Pedro's home in Barcelona. She's not here anymore. There are no pictures of her in his room. They've broken up already. It's so easy to get rid of her. I just created a little conflict, and boom, he broke up with her. He didn't even trust her, can you believe it?" She then laughed.

Pedri was shocked when he heard what Isabela had said. At that moment, he knew he had messed up. Big time. He didn't trust Y/N, let alone saying hurtful things to her and even sleeping with Isabela, the one who had created all this conflict.

He was so mad that he confronted Isabela and said, "What the hell?! So it was you?!!! YOU WERE THE ONE WHO PUT PEANUT BUTTER IN FER'S DRINKS? YOU SAID Y/N SLAPPED YOU, BUT SHE DIDN'T TOUCH YOU AT ALL, RIGHT?!"

Isabela stammered in her response, saying, "Uh….Pedro, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt Fer, but you have to understand, I'm doing this because I love you. We've known each other forever, and you're supposed to be with me, not her. Please, I'm sorry…”

Pedri then said, "You're not my friend anymore. You don't get to choose who I can or cannot be with. You wrecked my relationship, and you made me let go of the person I love the most. What kind of person are you? What kind of friend would even do that? From now on, you don't know me, and I don't know you. Now, get out of my house and never show your face here again!"

Pedri went downstairs to find Fer and asked for his phone. Fer was confused and said, "Yo, hermano, what's wrong? Chill." Pedri replied urgently, "I need to find Y/N. I have to get her back. It wasn't her, Fer. She didn't do all those things. It was Isabela. I caught her, and she just admitted it to me just now. I messed up, bro. I need to find her back. I've hurt her so bad. Give me your phone, let me try to call her or DM her. Maybe she will reply if it's from your account."

Fer handed over his phone, and said, "Brooo, I told you Y/N didn't do all that stuff, but you were such a dick to her at the time."

With Fer's phone in hand, Pedri tried to find Y/N's account and called her using Fer's number. Sadly, there was no answer, and he couldn't find her online. It was clearly she had cut ties with everyone in his group because of how much he hurt her. It was that much that she didn’t want anything to do with anyone around him.

Pedri wanted to bail on his party, but Fer said he shouldn’t do that. It would be rude of him to just leave like that when everyone was there for him. Fer told him to find Y/N tomorrow, so he stayed until the party ended.

————————————————————-

The next day, Pedri went to Y/N's apartment only to find out someone else was living there. He asked for Y/N, and the new tenant said there was no girl by that name living there. Pedri then asked Y/N's old neighbor, and she said Y/N had moved out four weeks ago after coming back from vacation with him in Tenerife. She mentioned that Y/N looked miserable and asked what had happened between them.

Pedri: “Do you know where I can find Y/N or if she mentioned where she's gone?”

Neighbor: “I'm sorry, but I don't know. Y/N wasn't really talking to anyone when she left. She looked very sad, with puffy eyes, so I didn't think it was the right time to ask her about her plans.”

Pedri: “So, she really didn't say anything to anyone before leaving?”

Neighbor: “No, I'm afraid not. She seemed like she needed some space, and I didn't want to pry.”

Pedri: “I messed up big time, and I need to find her. She means everything to me.”

Neighbor: “I hope you can work things out. Maybe you could try reaching out to her friends or family? They might know where she went.”

Pedri: “Yeah, that's a good idea. Thanks for your help.”

Pedri was feeling desperate to find a way to reach out to Y/N. He knew that her few close friends had also blocked him, making it even harder to locate her. At this point, he felt like he had hit a dead end in his efforts to make amends and apologize for his mistakes. He wished he could turn back time and change the way he had handled things with Y/N.

Then, he had the courage to call Y/N's mom. He greeted her warmly and inquired about how she was doing. Y/N's mom, who had always liked Pedri, reciprocated the greetings and asked how he was holding up. Then, Pedri couldn't help but ask about Y/N.

Pedri: “Hi, it's been a while. How have you been?”

Y/N's Mom: “Oh, I've been alright, dear. How about you?”

Pedri: “Hanging in there. I, uh, was wondering about Y/N. Do you know where she is right now?”

Y/N's Mom: “Well, Pedri, I know you care about her, but Y/N has made it clear that she doesn't want anyone to know her whereabouts, especially you. She’s been through a tough time.”

Pedri: “I understand. I just want to apologize and make things right. But if she doesn't want me to know, I'll respect her wishes.”

Y/N's Mom: “That's thoughtful of you, Pedri. Just give her some time. Maybe someday, she'll be ready to talk.”

Pedri: “Yeah, maybe. Thanks for understanding, and please tell her I'm truly sorry.”

Y/N's Mom: I will, Pedri. Take care of yourself too.

Y/N's mom had always liked Pedri because she thought he was a good guy. She didn't know the details of what Pedri had done to Y/N, as Y/N didn't want her parents to hate him. So, Y/N simply told her parents that they had broken up. Just that.

——————————————————————

Meanwhile in Ibiza, Y/N had a wonderful time with her roommate. They spent their days at the beach, soaking up the sun, and listening to the calming ocean waves. Y/N really enjoyed these peaceful moments, reading a few books, and temporarily escaping from the stress and heartache she had experienced recently.

On the third day of their trip, Y/N's roommate suggested going to a local club for some nighttime fun. Y/N was excited about the idea and agreed. She began to prepare for the evening by choosing an outfit and applying some makeup. Everything seemed to be falling into place for a great night out.

However, just as Y/N was about to finish getting ready, she suddenly felt unwell. Her stomach started to churn uncomfortably, and a strong headache throbbed in her temples. It was as if her body was objecting to the idea of going out for a night of partying.

Y/N turned to her roommate and said, "I'm really sorry, but I don't think I can go out tonight. I suddenly feel unwell, and I think it might be because of the food I had earlier."

Her roommate, understanding and concerned, replied, "Oh no, that's not good. Don't worry about it, your health comes first. Just take some rest and drink some water. We can always go out another night."

Y/N however insisted, "You should go, seriously. You’re all dressed up and ready to go. You look amazing, and I don't want you to miss out because of me. I'll be fine here at the hotel."

Her roommate hesitated, asking once more, "Are you absolutely sure?"

Y/N nodded with confidence, "Yes, of course! I can handle myself. Go and enjoy!"

Her roommate smiled, leaned in, and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Alright, babe, take care. I'll see you later!"

Y/N's roommate left for the club, leaving Y/N alone in their hotel room. She immediately rushed to the bathroom and couldn't help but throw up, her condition worsening with each passing moment. After drinking some water, she lay down on her bed, feeling utterly drained.

As she lay there, something hit her.

She haven’t got her period this month. Her period was overdue by a week, and she hadn't experienced any signs of it arriving. Panic welled up inside her, and she whispered to herself, "Oh no...no no no no, fuck no….”

Y/N vividly remembered that her last time being with Pedri was a day before they went to Tenerife, precisely a month ago. Y/N felt more and more worried, thinking about the chance of being pregnant.

PART 5 !?????

#pedri angst #pedri barça #pedri x you #fc barcelona #imagine footballer #pedri fanfic #pedri gonzalez #pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedrito #pedri x y/n #footballer #pedro gonzález lópez #pedro gonzalez #fc barca

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nightlyrequiem · 9 days ago

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The Canary Cage: Chapter 1. Inertia

Masterlist AO3 Next

w/c- 3,436

One meeting in a dingy bar on the cheap side of town. One sighting of you. The raw sadness in your eyes drew Valeria in. A parasite attracted to the taste of your tears. She'll chew you up and spit you out, but what she doesn't realise is you bite back.

A/N: Tags will be updated as chapters progress. Original plan was to outline each chapter but I think if I do that I'll never actually start writing the fic. So I'll just wing it. Also, I rewrote this like four times. Also also, listened to a bunch of Massive Attack - specifically songs from Mezzanine. Teardrop is my personal favourite. Also merry Christmas

Tags/Warnings: Tags Will Be Updated as Story Progresses, WLW, Mental Illness, Unhealthy Relationships, Angst, Violence, Referenced Self-Harm, A Healthy Amount of Self-Hatred

༺☆༻༺☆༻༺☆༻༺☆༻

Manicured nails pick at the delicate, sensitive skin on your lips. Grabbing ahold of a small sliver of it and peeling it away to reveal the rawness beneath. The voice of a siren carries through the smokey bar. Tauntingly caressing your ear drums. In the shadows of the hall leading to the stage you stare up at the woman singing. Harlow. Unblinkingly and jealously. Low bass reverberates through the wood-paneled walls.

In the dim yellow lights Harlow still manages to look angelic. Impossibly soft yellow hair brushed over her dainty shoulders. You tear your gaze away from her to survey the crowd tonight. It's smaller than usual. Not by a lot, maybe five or so people less than usual. A majority of the patrons are men. Eyes flash in the corner and you meet them momentarily before quickly looking elsewhere. Those eyes aren't for you anymore.

On stage, Harlow bows and blows a kiss.

"Thanks for coming tonight." She calls out in her stupidly soft voice. It grates on your nerves. Subdued applause rings out as she turns heel and walks towards the hall - towards you. You don't look at her as she passes, bumping your shoulder as she does. You straighten out your dress and gloves and walk forward, stepping onto the stage and taking your place Infront of the microphone.

The Fireflower, like most of the older businesses in Las Almas, is old and in desperate need of a new coat of paint. It's had the same owner since you were a child. It's on the west side of town and it's frequented by people that live there too. People who lack much money and choose to spend what they do have on illegally homemade beer that is guaranteed to fry their livers faster than regular alcohol. It is cheaper to produce, however. And when you live in a 'protected' neighborhood where the cartel demands a 'security fee', you have to find ways to get creative with money.

You flash your teeth in a smile at the crowd. Pretending that they're more interested than they really are. One of them is. Peter. He's also been here since you were a child. Often seen slumped over in front of the doors next to a puddle of his own vomit. He whistles and raises his drink in support. Your smile is a little more genuine when it reaches him. You don't bother with introductions. None of the faces here are new anyway. Three songs. Get through three songs then you're free to leave. Go back to your dingy, one bedroom apartment and cry yourself to sleep under the obnoxiously loud AC unit.

It's not that you don't enjoy your job. You like to sing, like being on stage and admired. It's just doing it here sucks out any possible joy that could be found in it. The bar is grimy and falling apart and its loyal patrons match that. You glance over at the corner. Where the eyes were. They aren't on you anymore. Their owner, a tall dark-haired woman, are gazing deeply into Harlow's eyes. Your grip on the microphone tightens, your voice weakening at the sight so you look away. Object impermanence.

Halfway through your second song the doors open and a woman walks in. She's notable because there aren't many women in the bar as it is. She's also openly carrying. She looks around, eyes briefly settling on you before shifting to a man in a far corner. You don't pay much attention to her as she strides over to him. He and the woman begin to engage in what looks to be a very serious conversation. It's not one that lasts long, she jerks her head to the side and he reluctantly rises to a stand. One few too many beers making him unsteady on his feet. He walks out, leaving the woman alone.

She finally turns her attention on you. You're used to being stared at, that's just what happens when you sing on a stage. People have looked at you in all manner of ways. Lustful, indifferent, judgmental. Some people have really intense stares. Ones that you can feel like a hand firmly planted on your shoulder shaking you. Demanding your attention. Demanding that you stare back.

You finish your second song and begin your third and final of your set. You sing it with a little more conviction. More passion. Because a face comes to mind whenever you hear or sing it. Downturned eyes and arched brows. Your eyes shift to the corner where the tall woman is. You don't know how many times you've traced the slope of her nose or brushed her unruly mane of hair away from her face.

You finish the song. Glad to have it over and done with. You bid the audience a farewell before walking off stage. Into the dark hallway. One of the lightbulbs along the wall has burnt out, leaving a dark patch of vague ominousness. You walk back to the dressing rooms. Passing a few of the girls smoking. They don't speak to you, something you're fine with. In the group dressing room, you grab your coat and purse from your locker. Slipping your arms into the cheap, water damaged leather.

You walk back out into the bar. Weaving around the tables.

"Hey!" A slurred voice calls out your name. A heavy hand claps you on the back and you grimace.

"Hi Peter, enjoy the show?" You ask.

He smiles at you, sun-damaged cheeks dimpling. "I did, come have a drink. Come." He ushers you towards the bar. Reluctantly, you follow. Peter doesn't have many friends.

He pulls out your stool for you and you take a seat. Having to shift to get comfortable. The padding has worn away over the years. Leaving barely any protection between your ass and the hard wood.

"What will you have?" He asks. Scratching his unkempt beard. "My treat."

"Um... just coke." You say. Smiling nervously.

"Coke? C'mon sweetheart this is a bar, you have to drink!"

You shake your head. "Not tonight." You say. You don't like drinking. It doesn't make you fun or sociable. Just angrier and more bitter than you already are.

Peter shakes his head back at you like a disappointed father.

"Alright." He concedes. "I remember when your father used to bring you around here." He sighs.

"Hm. Yeah." You nod. The Fireflower was your father's main haunt and maybe that's part of why you hate it so much.

"He was a good man."

"He was." You reply. Good, if you weren't his daughter or his girlfriend. Peter claps you on the back again.

"He and your mother would be proud, you've grown into a fine young woman. Too good for this town."

You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes. Your mother couldn't find the time to be proud of anything you did, and your father was incapable of being proud of anyone but himself. Peter lifts his drink in a toast, you lift yours back although you aren't sure what you're toasting to. While drinking, your spine tingles with the feeling of eyes watching you. Discretely you turn to see who it is but can't notice anyone outwardly staring.

The bartender comes back around with a whiskey lemonade and sets it in front of you. He goes to leave but you stop him with a hand, concerned about being charged for a drink you didn't order.

"I didn't order this." You tell him. He nods understandingly.

"I know, it's from the woman over there." He nods his chin over at the back corner. You tilt your head to see. It's the woman who walked in earlier. She's not looking at you, instead her eyes are on the stage, focused on the other girl singing.

Turning down drinks always makes you feel guilty but it's a necessary evil. Not only do you try not to drink, but you've come to learn that accepting them from strangers leads to expectations. The bartender leaves before you can give it back so you slide it over to Peter.

"If I were given free drinks, you best believe I'd never turn them down." He says, happily taking the glass.

You smile lightly. "They usually come with a price, Peter. Just not one that's monetary."

Peter replies with a low hum.

You stick around for a while longer. Keeping Peter company. You finish your coke and set down your empty glass on the counter.

"I should be getting home now, goodnight, Peter." You say. Your farewell is lost on him as he has already passed out. Head resting on the rough wooden counter. You get up and head towards the exit.

It's cold out. As cold as it can get in Las Almas. You walk to your bus stop and check the app, hoping you didn't just miss the bus. You didn't. A small win for you. You put your phone back in your pocket and wait. Watching a piece of litter drift by aimlessly in the wind. Something glass shatters in the alley across the street and a drunken yell rings out. Somewhere else a girl laughs at something. Down the street Dolly stands. Dark purple dress and extravagant fur coat on display. You watch discreetly as a truck pulls up to her. Watch her walk up to his window and chat. After a couple of seconds, she gets in and they drive off.

It gets to a point where you begin to shiver. Wishing you brought pants to wear over your dress when your bus finally pulls up. 'El Sin Nombre' has been spray painted over its side. Ominously red, the paint having dripped before it dried. You step on and pay the 13.95 peso fee. There aren't that many people on board. One of the few pros of working the night shift is not having to deal with crowded transport. You walk past a slumped over man and take a seat at the back.

It's only a five-minute drive, a fifteen-minute walk if you're fast, home. However, it's not safe to be out past dark. You had a colleague a few years ago, a sweet girl who lived in your building used to walk home. Her weathered missing person poster hangs up on the front of the worn brick apartment complex. You fish out your key and open the door, walking inside and slamming it shut because if you don't it won't close.

You almost trip over a little girl on your way up to your floor.

"Jesus. Maria, what are you doing pout here?" You ask, frowning. What is she still doing up is another question. Maria simply shrugs. As usual she doesn't speak or look you in the eye. You sigh and reach for her hand, which she promptly gives you. The two of you walk down the hall to her door. You brace yourself for what you're going to have to deal with next.

You knock on room 20 and one of the sickly green-blue lights flicker. There are a few seconds of cherished silence before muffled stomping draws closer. Maria tightens her hold on your hand. The door swings open, revealing a very short woman.

"What?" She barks. Glaring up at you.

"I found your kid." You reply, gently ushering Maria towards her mother. She scowls and pulls Maria inside.

"¿Qué te conté sobre tocar en la sala?" She hisses. There's no idle chit-chat or thanks. The woman slams the door in your face.

When you finally make it back to your apartment, you're exhausted. You've done what you could with the place. Paintings you made yourself to hide the holes, cracks, and stains in the wall. Saved up to purchase fluffy pink rugs to cover the water-stained floors. Fake plants to decorate the counters and shelves because the real things seem to die regardless of how much care you provide them. Still, despite the pink and colorful nature of your living space, it somehow still seems sad and dull.

You drop your bag down by the door, soon followed by your coat. You promise yourself that you're going to pick them up later, but you know you probably won't until you need them for tomorrow. Tomorrow. You shove the thought of tomorrow out of your head. Shove the fact that you're going to have to wake up, do your hair and makeup, put on a cute but uncomfortable outfit and go back to that sad little bar on 8th Street.

You wander into the kitchen and look around your cupboards for something easy to eat. You find a dubious bag of nuts that you forgot about. The milk has gone bad and you're out of eggs. Looks like grocery shopping is on your to-do list for tomorrow.

You peel off your dress and let it fall to the tiled floor. The water is cold as it sprays your nude form. You hurry your shower. Using up the last of your favourite body wash. You feel like you'll never get warm when you step out. Forcing yourself through your usual routine. Brush your teeth, wash your face, moisturize your body. Finally, you get to stumble into your room and crash into bed. Enveloped by soft pink pillows and sheets, watched over by your childhood stuffed animals. You reach into your nightstand for your pills. The bottle is almost empty. One refill left.

The cycle repeats. You stare out at the crowd blankly before over correcting yourself with a large smile.

"How's everyone's nights going?" You ask. "Good I hope, I know mine is." You broke down into tears ten minutes before this. "This next song is Valerie, one of my personal favourites, always a good time when I get to sing this." You begin the song. Voice far more enthusiastic than you feel. Each note burns your throat and the smell of smoke is worsening your headache. "Won't you come on over stop makin' a fool out of me. Why don't you come over Valerie? Valerie, Valerie, Valerie."

You're on closing shift. Helping the bartender wipe down sticky tables. There's a puddle of vomit in the corner. You pretend not to notice.

"Hey, can you go to the back and get a couple bottles of Smirnoff?" He asks. Lazily wiping glasses behind the bar.

"Sure, Tony." You reply. You set down your rag and walk past him into the back. You watch your step as you head down to the cellar. The wooden stairs are rotted.

Grabbing two bottles you go back upstairs, setting them on the counter for him. You turn away but he stops you.

"Oh, hey, someone left these for you." He says, placing down a vibrant bouquet of roses. You raise your brows.

"For me? Are you sure?" You ask carefully. Even Harlow, with her angelic vocal cords and appearance to match doesn't receive flowers. Tony pushes them towards you.

"No other girls here with your name." He replies.

You grab the bouquet with care. Inspecting it. The roses are real and look expensive. You gently trace your fingers over their petals, feeling the smooth velvety surface.

The bus is running late. You shift on your feet impatiently. You really need to get your license. However, you don't make enough to afford a car. Or the car insurance. The distinct tapping of heels approaches you and look over, seeing Dolly approaching you, diamonds glittering around her throat.

"Public transport is so unreliable." She rasps. She reaches into her bra and pulls out a cigarette carton, offering you one.

"No thanks, I'm trying to quit." You say. Dolly shrugs and lights her own. Taking a deep inhale and coughing roughly.

"That's a beautiful thing of roses you got, sweet girl." She says, eyeing the bouquet clutched in your hands.

You smile timidly.

"Thanks, got them from work." You reply, feeling a little proud.

"Wish my customers would give me flowers." She sighs, shaking her head. "Who're they from?"

You shrug. "Not sure. Tony said someone left them for me."

Dolly gives you a knowing smile. "Maybe Tony is the one who gave them to you. He's always been a shy boy."

"Ah, maybe." You say. Looking away. It wasn't Tony. He doesn't play for your team.

Dolly blows out smoke rings.

"Did you hear about the man found in the canal this morning?" She asks.

You frown, feeling heavy. "No. Cartel?"

"That's what the police think." Dolly says. "The man had twelve pounds of coke in his apartment, my guess is that he stole it from them."

An engine rumbles as the same truck from last night creeps towards the two of you. It stops and the window rolls down, revealing the man inside.

He's older than you, younger than Peter and Dolly.

"Thirty minutes with you and your friend." He says gruffly. Before you can even respond Dolly storms up to his window.

"Get the fuck out of here you good for nothing trout." She snaps. "Don't show your face around this corner again. Or I'll have my boys cut off your balls."

"Your boys?" He laughs.

"Eric and Thomas."

His laughter stops abruptly. He narrows his eyes at Dolly, expression dark and cruel. However, the threat that Eric and Thomas must pose seem to mean more than his pride. He rolls up his window and speeds off.

Dolly curls her lip in disgust.

"You have lipstick on your teeth." You murmur.

Dolly swipes a finger over her teeth. "He didn't pay me the agreed amount last time." She says angrily. "His excuse was that I'm old."

You frown. "What a pig."

Dolly sighs, turning to you. "My advice, Sweet girl," She says as your bus pulls up. "don't ever do this line of work."

The next night is the same. As it always it. As it always will be. Walking back to the dressing room you bump into someone.

"Oh, sorry." You mumble.

"Hey."

you look up, downturned eyes, arched brows. "... Erin." You greet stiffly. Erin's gaze lingers on you for a few seconds before she brushes her hand through her dark hair. She nods once and moves past you.

Something venomous coils around your heart as you put on your jacket and pull on some sweatpants. Speaking to Erin has ruined your night completely. Why was she even back here? Probably for Harlow. You scowl and storm out of the dressing room, purposefully knocking into another girl.

"Hey-" She exclaims angrily at you.

You clench your fists as you leave the bar. You lean against the foreclosed building in front of your bus stop. Avoiding the trash littered along its side. You check the app, seeing that you just missed the bus. You feel like crying. You feel angry. You punch the brick building and immediately regret it. Hissing in pain and cradling your throbbing hand to your chest.

"I'd hate to be that building." A smooth voice says. Your head whips up. The woman it belongs to looks vaguely familiar. Dark hair cut into a layered bob, severe brows. She's wearing a dark turtleneck and coat, hands tucked into her pockets.

Your face heats with embarrassment.

"I was just, like, I slipped." You mutter.

Her lips twitch up in amusement. "I broke my hand once by punching a wall." She tells you, leaning beside you.

You flex your hand, worried that it may be broken. It's stiff and sore. "Oh."

"You have a lovely voice." She complements. "Shame you're wasting it on the Fireflower."

You feel slightly defensive at her jab. The Fireflower is rundown, and you hate working there but it's where you've made most of your childhood memories, good and bad.

"It's not that bad." You reply.

"Sure." Valeria nods. "But you're still only making 7,500 pesos, no?"

You don't reply to that. It's not like minimum wage is exclusive to the Fireflower.

"I didn't mean to be rude." The woman says. "Valeria." she raises her hand. You look at it. Tempted not to shake it. You grab it gently, surprised when she lifts it to her mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

You stare, caught off guard. You're not sure if you're flattered or weirded out. You give her your name and she repeats it, then nods her approval.

"I'll be seeing you around, chula."

Valeria walks off into the night. Disappearing into an alley. The interaction leaves you feeling disrupted. It was weird. She was weird. But that doesn't stop a butterfly from emerging from it's cocoon within your stomach.

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