#the all or nothing author strikes again

[chesacakeripper]

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! DM

Relationships: Jounouchi Katsuya/Kaiba Seto

Word Count: 7,500

Warnings: Extremely Dubious Consent - Click through to read full warnings & tags

Complete - part 2 of 2

Read part 1 here

Description:

Kaiba Seto was not a benevolent man. What he wanted, he took. What he wanted was right in front of him, and the flesh was willing.

~~~

Following their release from Hirutani's clutches, Kaiba's possessive streak stops him from taking beaten and bloody Jounouchi to hospital. He'd much rather tend his wounds himself. Jounouchi is too out of it to resit - in fact, Jounouchi seems uncharacteristically willing to do whatever Kaiba says.

[toastsnaffler]

SUDDENLY STARTED RAINING SO HARD WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK

[alexiroflife]

sukuna takes a while to learn how to treat you with softness…

fluff, soft sukuna strikes again, vague mentions of suggestive themes

ask

🥀🥀🥀...

at first, sukuna's instinct is to reject you. he finds you to be rather too clingy for his taste, ogling him as though you are bound by a love spell to his will. he believes you to even be stupid, that hazy look in your round eyes growing heavier as you take him in, a dopey smile stretching across your face and pinching your cheeks. he doesn’t know why he entertains you at first. he thinks perhaps he can find your devotion useful in some way, considering the fact that you would have severed your own ten fingers yourself if he had ordered you to do so

as time goes by, however, your attachment to him grows to be a pestilence in his eyes. there is nowhere he can step without you stepping on the same path just behind him, nothing he can say without you nodding in eager agreement at his side, and nothing he can think without you reading his mind, voicing his inner thoughts before he has a chance to verbalize him. he’s glaring at you more often than he’s humoring you, attempting to puzzle who exactly you are and what your deal is. he’s seen worship under his authority, but not in the way you do so. you’re so… spritely, so happy to even look at him when he has accustomed himself to soldier-like obedience and fear-stricken loyalty

what he finds specifically confounding is that you don’t fear him. despite all the things you have seen him do, the obscenities that fall from his mouth, the humans like you that he has torn limb from limb, and the lack of mercy and sympathy he withholds within his bones, you still turn to him excitedly. as though he is some kind of savior to you when he should have been the very thing making you run for the hills

and you're so... innocent. at least, you behave in such a way. you carry a brightness about you, one that shines into the darkest aspects of his world and almost blinds him with your beam. you seem far too light to be associated with himself, yet he knows you aren't completely innocent because you spend your time in his company, allowing him to do to you as he pleases

despite how often sukuna brushes you away when he is not physically indulging his needs by means of you, you are nothing but chirpy greetings, heart-shaped eyes, and polite requests to sit in his lap and kiss his cheek. sukuna denies all of this at first, but the more your persistence proceeds, he finds himself allowing you to get away with more. he keeps a blank face as you press your warm, soft lips to his cheekbone and wind your arms tightly around his neck, giddily bouncing on his thigh with glee when he doesn't push you away. his body goes limp rather than turning from you completely when you throw yourself into him, tightening your arms around his midsection and pressing your warm cheek to his chest. he even ducks his head for you wordlessly when you reach a hand up to fix his hair mindlessly, threading your fingers through silky salmon locks with your face aglow with pure adoration. while his gaze elsewhere looks hard, you know he is warming up to you nonetheless

sukuna knows something is wrong with him when he starts waiting for your affections, bringing you around him more often to sit nearby and keep him company. any time you fail to greet him with a huge grin and wide, inviting arms (which only really happened once mistakenly), he's glowering at you harshly, brows ticked downward and lips set in a firm, tight scowl. he's in a crabby mood, but he doesn't say anything or mention it to you, refusing to show in any way that he has begun to look forward to your daily interactions with him

he's cold for the next few minutes until you're pressing your palm to his broad shoulder, looking up at him curiously with loving eyes. you ask him if he's alright, to which he responds with a grunt and the twitch of his arm away involuntarily. you blink, yet do not take his bitterness personally, and smile kindly

you tilt yourself up onto your tip-toes, palms meeting either side of his face, and press a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips. he stills, expression faltering slightly though his arms remain crossed over his chest and his crimson eyes stare ahead. when you pull away, grinning, he visibly softens and attempts to hide so. his teeth grind together and he snaps his gaze to you out of the corner of his eye, frowning. you walk off without another word, hand lingering on his arm when you turn away mentioning something about fixing him tea, and his eyes follow your fading figure calmly

as much as you enjoy bestowing your affections upon the king of curses, he struggles to understand that you in turn desire the same affections that he is previously incapable of providing. you, ever the foolishly kind woman, never complain or express your needs to sukuna, but he begins to observe a shift in you when your arms cling around yourself for comfort or your hand runs tenderly over the back of your own neck, a tired glint in your normally shining eyes

naturally, instead of speaking to you, sukuna seeks uraume for assistance, who knows far better about the human race and their conditions than sukuna cares to recall or learn himself. though he does not at all understand what the purpose of giving you such attention is when he never asked for it from you in the first place, something within him is itching to satiate your needs, to bring you contentment and peace the way you do him. he wants to put this feeling off as a burden, but internally, he knows that you and this blooming desire are anything but. still, he doesn't make knowing this easy

his reciprocation starts with him opening one of his arms slightly when you approach him, welcoming you into his side. he feels odd doing so, but once he catches the way your eyes burst with joy and that breathtaking grin of yours appears, a flutter in his chest tells him that he is on the right track, though he truly hasn't even done anything

he slowly transitions to nodding his head over to you, beckoning you over to sit with him, or having the servants make you whatever meal you tell him that you are craving when he asks. it's difficult for sukuna not to take completely to only showering you with material gifts as a form of reciprocation, for displays of affection are very rare for him to come by. it's even harder for him to understand that he can't be as rough with you as his subconscious encourages him to

a sort of cuteness aggression often takes hold of him when he is with you, the urge to squish your cheeks in bruisingly or smack your ass so hard it leaves a bruise (which he actually has done a couple times) as you walk away consuming him, but uraume reminds him that you are breakable - still a human, and a human who favors soft affection at that

he finally gets the gist one night when you are tangled up against his bare body, nose tucked into the crook of his neck with your arms thrown around him, the very action serving as your sole source of comfort

sukuna keeps a hand over your waist and the other just under the plush of your bum, holding your thigh. you twitch against him, weak from your previous indulgences of lustful hunger, when you murmur something into his skin. sukuna turns slightly, quirking a brow down at you. "what? speak up," he demands, his voice soothingly low.

you hum and shift, pushing yourself further into him. "can you massage my head, please?"

sukuna's lips turn up, befuddled. "what for?" you're silent for a moment.

"dunno. i think it would feel nice." when sukuna fails to respond, you're quick to add: "but you don't have to. this already feels good."

sukuna exhales, now faced with a task he did not comprehend. how fast did you want him to go? how hard? how soft? did you want the top of your head massaged or the lower part, closer to your neck? what if his fingers are too sharp?

despite the questions that flow through his head, sukuna does not desire to leave you hanging. especially so after you've tried to reel back in on your request, and you hardly ever ask him for anything but his time and presence in the first place. the salmon-haired curse clicks his teeth. "do not tell me what i can and can not do," he orders, and he feels you smile against him.

"yes, my lord."

slowly, sukuna raises his hand from your thigh to tuck through your hair, fingers sliding into your scalp. you exhale softly, relaxing further against his chest as he gently scratches at your head in gradual, calming circles. your lashes flutter in contentment, heat lifting to your face and gentle hums of satisfaction falling from your lips. blood-red eyes keep themselves pointed down into your back, his other hand smoothing over your spine.

"kuna," you murmur, and for a moment the said being believes you are going to tell him to stop, that he is harming you in some way.

"what is it now?"

"...a little lower please?"

he scoffs. "needy," he remarks, though obeying mindlessly and sliding his hand down further, pressing his fingers tenderly into the back of your head and caressing meticulously. "i'm only doing this because you have manners."

you hum again, your thigh rising over his torso as you curl into him, the sensation of his fingers in your hair alleviating any tension in your body and rendering you to putty in his embrace. "thank you," you whisper, a coat of goosebumps dotting over sukuna's skin in reaction to your gentle breath.

you sound so grateful, so humbly in love that it tears away at sukuna's hardness, and he suddenly wants to massage all of you until you're thanking him again and again, over and over, and the honey-drenched sweetness of your voice soaks him in its honesty.

he thinks he gets it now as he turns his head into you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. skin to skin, heart to heart, sukuna shivers at the realization of what you are to him and the proper place softness how has in his life when it comes to you.

from then on, sukuna's at your beck and call whilst pretending, very poorly, not to care about you. he presses his lips to your temple swiftly when you hug him, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder to carry you along with him to wherever he decides to go, he brushes pieces of hair from your neck on hot days to reduce your discomfort, and he holds his arms tightly around your waist when you sit with him on his throne, his chin tucked to your shoulder and that same stern expression on his face

he lets you do as you please, holding his hand and dragging him out to the garden with you, bringing him to sit beside you when you eat lunch, and asking him to help you with little mundane things that he would have never bothered doing before

your clinginess to him has grown contagious, for suddenly he can not imagine you failing to be by his side, and frankly, he does not want to. he anticipates your kisses, learns how to cradle your palm gently, figures out all your likes and dislikes and interests and desires and has his servants work twenty times as hard to make you happy, though all you really need to be happy is him

he still doesn't get how someone like you managed to fall in love with him, nor how he managed to return those feelings just as strongly, but he now stubbornly holds onto you, refusing to let you out of his sight for any reason. you are his, now, his alone, and he would burn the world for you if you only asked with that soft politeness in your tone that entertains him so much

sukuna is a hard being, with a hard exterior and an even harder heart. he's a sadist, a murderer, a king of demons and all chaos and misery that roams the earth

but you... you bring him down to a wordless, tranquil being of action who has taught himself how to care for you with the same gentleness that you care for him. his roughness, of course, has not been stripped away. he still fucks you with intense vigor and speaks to you with the same firm haughtiness in his tone, but even so, for you, he has become lighter. quieter. handsier. easier. softer.

[g0dlyunsub]

stitch me.

you were assigned to negotiate with an unsub keeping a group of females hostage, or so you thought. turns out he has a partner and he’s determined to destroy you, all in front of spencer.

pairing :: spencer x fem!reader

warnings :: lots of physical violence, blood, mentions of murder, knife threats, biting, general criminal minds themes.

word count :: 1.8k

author’s note :: so… this is my first post, like ever. sorry if it’s poorly written, but i’m all for slightly (?) protective reid and just wanted to write about him :3 accompanying song :: savior by novulent

you knew something was more than just off the moment you were violently thrown into the room. the hostages were huddled near the left corner of the room, their eyes locked onto you as their shoulders shook in panic.

but the hostages were all supposed to be women. brunettes. young women in their twenties. so why was there a young man among them? there was no mention of a young man reported missing in the case files or when garcia had compiled the final list of hostages, so who was he?

must’ve been a gap in the reports, you shook your head and tried to get up, but your left cheek met the cold concrete ground once again.

“don’t move, sweetheart.” his knife was positioned at the nape of your throat, and you felt your breaths become more jagged, more erratic.

“listen, i swear i’ll make it up to you i never-“ your breath gets caught in your throat when the blade presses ever so slightly into your skin.

“shut your pretty little mouth. i know who you are, an undercover cop. if you think you’re so smart coming in here without your wire and gun, you should be prepared for the consequences.” he spits the words with a nasty drawl.

you barely have any time to respond as he lifts you up by the back of your shirt and drags you to an adjacent room. he grabs a fistful of your hair and throws you to the ground forcefully.

“all the other girls in there, they’re nothing compared to you. i’ll take my time with you, sweetheart”. he approaches you while cracking his knuckles and waving his knife around menacingly.

“who’s the boy?” your voice comes out with a slight quiver, but you’re determined not to sound scared. the man lets out a bellowing laugh in response, examining his knife in one hand.

“that’s my buddy jack. you cops surely would have done your research, right?” his hand is now gloved around your throat, and you struggle to loosen his grip with your arms.

this killer had a partner sitting right between the hostages and you and your team had completely missed the signs.

but the adrenaline must have kicked in at the right timing, since you manage to knock your head back into his face and quickly swivel to deliver a kick into his shins and bring him to his knees before he has any time to react with his knife. then you strike him unconscious with a swift elbow to his temple.

you barely have any time to recover, however, when a blow hits the back of your head and your world comes spinning down. before your eyelids slowly close, you manage to steal a glance at the perpetrator — the male hostage had knocked you with a bat and was now trying to shake his unconscious partner awake.

when you open your eyes, you can’t move. your arms are tied behind your back, and your legs are tightly trapped behind the legs of the chair with knots of rope. you were in the main room now with all of the other hostages, and the former hostage was on the ground, still trying to shake his partner awake.

“look what you’ve done, you stupid brat. i swear if you’ve killed him i'm going to SLIT YOUR THR-“ the crescendo of his voice halts with the abrupt ring of the telephone hanging on the wall. he huffs and makes his way to the phone, never losing his eye contact with you. you try to wrestle against the ropes, but your efforts are useless and your energy is at an all time low.

it was your team on the other end. they must have figured out that it was a team of two and not just one.

“your stupid cop knocked samuel cold and split his skin open. send me a medic and maybe i won’t kill all of them here”. jack’s tone is agitated, threatening, and also lost. now that his commander wasn’t in charge, he didn’t know what to do with the hostages, let alone you.

you can barely decipher hotch’s words as they filter through the noise of the phone. “release the women, and i’ll send you all the medical attention you need. we’ll make sure samuel gets the stitches.” his voice is level and controlled. you’ve always trusted hotch and you’ve always trusted your team, but you couldn’t help but let a sliver of anxiousness cloud your thoughts.

and oh god, spencer. how would he cope when you were gone? how would he react at the sight of your cold body, drowned in the blood of the other hostages? tears fill your eyes and you make a poor attempt to swallow them back.

just as you think of your boyfriend, you hear his name through the phone.

“we're going to send in doctor spencer reid to have a look at samuel, alright jack? i want you to let the women go first. the sooner you do this, the sooner samuel gets his help”.

no. no, no, no. NO.

you squirm in your seat, trying to divert jack’s attention.

“wait-“ you try to shout, before jack cuts you off: “SHUT UP! this is all your fault!” he rolls his eyes before he turns around. jack’s knuckles had turned white, maintaining a deathly grip on the telephone.

“fine. but the cop stays with me.” he slams the phone before he rushes back to check on samuel.

the women are released one by one, each frantically making their way out, and you can hear cops outside ushering them and retreating.

it’s only a few minutes later when you hear the familiar sounds of the leather shoes make their way inside of the room. it’s spencer, and he has no wire, no gun, no vest. he’s carrying a medical first aid kit and making his way toward samuel, but not before taking a glance at you.

your world collapses, right there and then. he’s made the same mistake you had by entering without his gun and vest, and you had to give him a signal somehow. if luck was on your side, spencer would make it out alive. but you? your chances are slim.

“hurry up and stitch him up. don’t fuckin look at the other cop.” jack points his knife at spencer, and you let out a hitched yelp. please don’t hurt him. hurt me instead.

spencer gets down to work quickly, examining and tending to the wounds on samuel’s face, and he doesn’t look up in your direction once. jack’s watching him the entire time, tapping his left foot in impatience.

“there. he’s all good, samuel just needs some time to recov-“ spencer raises his arms and turns his back against you, and faces jack as he speaks.

“shut- sit on that chair”. jack motions at spencer to sit down on the chair across from you. you shake your head fervently, yelling constant streams of don’t to him. but he obliges.

“put your arms behind your back,” jack orders, and spencer obliges. you make a desperate attempt and kick at jack to try and distract him. but jack only slaps you in the face with his backhand before aiming the knife at spencer. your boyfriend flinches, and his friendly facade is now masked with a deathly glare.

“don’t move.” jack grabs duct tape and moves swiftly to bind spencer’s hands together behind the chair. you hang your head down. it’s over.

“listen, let spence- let him go. it’s just between you and me, your partner said you only need me”. you shakingly drew in a deep breath as you spoke.

jack chuckles before he makes a step toward you. the next thing you know, he’s grabbed you by the hair and he’s delivering punches left and right, hurling screams of expletives and slurs. he’s lost it. and you were going to die.

he positions the knife at your chest, and you know he'll do it. you know he will drive that blade straight to your skin. straight to your heart.

“STOP. STOP! PLEASE!” you hear spencer rocking his chair forwards, and jack finally stops. you can’t breathe with all the blood pooling in your mouth, and you let the excess drawl out of your lips to land on the floor.

“jack, listen to me, please.” spencer looks at you with pleading eyes, silently signaling you to not move. to not agitate jack further.

“no. samuel said he was gonna kill her and i have to finish what he started for him”. jack leans forward and pulls the collar of your shirt outwards, and bites down on your neck. you let out a painful scream, tears running down your face just as more blood leaves the corner of your lips. spencer thrashes in his chair, trying to shift jack’s attention.

“but i stitched him up. samuel will live. let her go. you can take it out on me.” spencer’s voice is desperate, but there’s a tone of controlled execution, because his voice isn’t quivering like before.

at that instant, doors fling open and less than a millisecond later, jack drops to the ground, his knife toppling down to the floor soon after. the team of cops, along with hotch and rossi, make their way toward you and spencer, untying the knots.

between the yells of “we need a medic” and comforting words of “you’re going to be okay” being uttered left and right, you hear spencer’s voice. it’s seemingly amplified for some reason, and you can’t help but smile. your boyfriend rushes towards you, sweeping your hair and cradling you back and forth in his arms.

“you’re so brave, you’re so brave y/n.” his voice comes out stifled and hoarse, and you feel him grip your hand even tighter.

“i’m so sorry i let you go in there alone. i’m so sorry i let him do that to you, torture you and almost-“ his head buried into the crook of your neck, and he lightly kisses you right above the dried cut where jack had attacked you.

you turn your head ever so slightly to get a better look at spencer. tears coat his eyelashes and his mouth shakes as he talks. a soft groan rolls out from the back of your throat, and you snuggle deeper into spencer’s hold.

“keep… talking. i want… to hear… you.” you manage to let out, and spencer’s eyes widen.

“of course. i can do that. i’ll keep talking to you, y/n. focus on my voice, can you do that?” he asks with a slight squeeze to your palm. you give a slow nod in return.

that’s all he needs, because when the medics transfer you into the ambulance, he’s sitting right beside you, not letting go of your hand, and whispering nothing but bittersweet apologies.

his voice is the only stitch you need.

[hopelessromantic5]

King Arthur happens to be traveling through Ealdor the exact day the citizens decide they’ve had enough of Merlin.

Labeling him too dangerous, they tied him up on the pyre in the center of town.

As long as Merlin had been alive, he’d never seen this pyre lit.

He would’ve just gotten himself out of this situation with his ‘gifts’ if it weren’t for his poor mother.

The villagers would never let her live in peace if he magically disappeared.

No, this was the only way she could go on living, even with a broken heart.

He didn’t fight. He didn’t really hear much of what they spit at him. But he could hear his mother wailing at him, to save himself, to do whatever he must do.

He’d resigned himself to an early death.

Tom, the town representative, started spewing some righteous words at him. New Religion words that didn’t quite make sense to him, but that’s to be expected. He is, himself, a creature of the old religion, if prophecy is to be trusted.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, serpent?”

Merlin opened his mouth to tell his mother that he loved her, but he stopped short.

In the distance, he could hear a sound.

The beating of hooves on hard, cold dirt.

Visitors were approaching.

It must be fate, he thinks.

As the horses drew closer, the villagers slowly turned their attentions away from him.

Merlin simply hung his head, letting the Earth he loved so dearly decide which way his life would swing.

“What is the meaning of this?”

A calm, steady voice came from behind him. Deep and concerned. Merlin wished he could see the man.

“My lord,” Tom bowed, as well as he could, which was strange.

Upon realization, Merlin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, were these visitors noble? They never had nobility stay long enough to make comments on anything, only ever just passing through.

“I asked you a question.” The voice said again, with all the authority of someone who’s used to using it.

“This man is a sorcerer, sire. We were just-“

“What has he done?”

“Sire?”

“What has this man done to call for these extreme measures?” When no one answered him immediately, he rephrased.

“Surely there must’ve been a crime committed?” As if it’s a question.

Merlin’s mother pulled herself out of shock and brought herself forth.

“He did nothing, sire.” She spoke firm and unmoving. She must’ve seen hope in this man that Merlin had yet to lay eyes on. “He’s only ever used it for healing wounds and helping our gardens in the winter. Please have mercy on him, my lord. He is my only son.” Tears started falling as her voice broke. She finally met Merlin’s eyes again and he smiled at her, weakly.

“So this man-“

“Sorcerer.” Corrected Tom. What a dick.

“This man, did nothing but heal you and help you survive and this is how you repay him?”

Again no answer.

The man seemed to gesture at Tom, walking towards the town elder, and bringing him finally into Merlin’s line of sight.

The doomed boy nearly gasped.

Silver and red bled together in the sun, armor and finery melded like roses in white sand.

The man-the lord…the knight? He had golden blonde hair, that shone like it’s own light.

Blue eyes made even more obvious and striking surrounded by unblemished, sun-kissed skin.

“You seem to be leading the horde. Tell me why?” No, answer. “Cut him down.” A command. The stranger’s face was a hard, blank line.

Funny how, even then, he didn’t feel like a stranger. But Merlin was in no state to remember it.

“My lord, I do not think that would be wise. Your father was the one to wage war on magic-“

“I am not my father. Cut him down.”

Merlin swallowed. Uther Pendragon was the only person in his mind that waged the war on magic, that began the purge. Which means this man could only be his son, Prince Arthur.

What a prince he was.

Well, King, now.

No wonder every person in the vicinity practically dropped to their knees upon his arrival. They’d all heard stories of ‘The Just King’ that now reigned over Camelot. Giving whatever he could to his citizens that needed it most, never turning anyone away who seeks shelter. Merlin had heard the same as everyone else. Seeing the King in person now, he was in awe.

“I will not endanger the lives of all who live here.” Tom turns back to Merlin with the lit torch.

Merlin held his breath, but the second Tom turned away from him, the King pulled his sword. It made the loveliest sound as it left the sheath.

The sound of salvation.

Tom had the tip of a majestic blade directed right at his throat, as the King spoke again.

“I said, cut him down.”

The look on the King’s face was one that could kill.

Merlin wondered momentarily why he cared so much.

Finally someone from the crowd stepped forward with a knife and began to cut away Merlin’s ties.

Hunith leapt forward and engulfed her son in a hug, while also somewhat holding his body upright.

He did not want to let go, considering he thought he would never get to hug his mother again. But the entire village was watching them.

As was-

“What is your name?”

It was phrased as a question but spoken like a command. Merlin knew it was directed at him without opening his eyes.

He did, reluctantly, release his mother and turn to the golden King, facing deep blue eyes head on. Never cowering.

“Merlin.”

The King must’ve seen something in him. Something every other person was blind to or chose to ignore, simply because he was a peasant. He took a step closer and Merlin could hear the tiny tink of metal pieces on his shining armor, as he did so.

“Well, Merlin.” He said, as if trying it out for himself. “Seeing as I’ve just given you your life, I’d like to ask a favor.”

Merlin’s curiosity was peaked, to say the least. King’s didn’t ask favors, they took whatever they wanted.

King Arthur did not wait for a reply to continue.

“I’m in need of assistance. And I could use someone with a gift like yours, specifically.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes in minuscule doubt. Doubt of intentions, doubt of his safety.

The King somehow knowing his exact thoughts said

“Of course you would be permitted to come back when you are needed. And when I have accomplished my goal, if you wish, you can leave. I will not keep anyone against their will. I am simply offering.” A small smile played on his mouth. Flush pink lips. He also held up his hands as if to say ‘I will not harm you’.

Merlin’s gut told him to follow this man.

Terrifyingly, his intuition told him to follow this man, practically a stranger, anywhere. Everywhere.

Merlin felt a pull he’s never felt before. In the moment, he assumed it was immense gratitude for saving his life.

Merlin turned to meet his mothers eyes, he already knew what she was going to tell him.

“I think it will be good for you. To get out for a while.” She smiles softly.

“Will you be alright?” He whispered, glancing at the crowd still gathered around an unlit pyre.

“I’ll be fine.” She grabbed him in a bear hug, like she always did. “And if they boot me out, I’ll come find you.”

Merlin sighed into her shoulder.

“Alright.”

When Merlin turned back, the King had turned his eyes to the ground, giving mother and son a moment of privacy.

Merlin was starting to warm to him already.

“Can I pack first?”

King Arthur met his gaze then, doing that half smile thing, again.

“I suppose.” He nodded. “But don’t dawdle we need to move if we want to make it back before sundown.”

“Yes, sire.” The title which usually held reverence and respect, was laced with sarcasm. He didn’t seem to think twice, as he strode away towards their hut to gather his things.

If Merlin had looked back, he would’ve found a fully beaming King looking after him and about six knights with faces of complete shock.

And perhaps, one knowing mother.

[leclerc-hs]

do i wanna know? (pt.2) - cl16

pairing: brother'sbff!charles x gasly!reader summary: in which you find yourself tangled in a web of emotions with your brother's best friend OR it was never just sex between you and your brother's best friend warnings: 18+, smut under the cut!, badly translated french (prob), angst!!!!, not proofread!! word count: ~2.3k author's note: SURPRISE SHAWTY!!!!!! i am here apologizing for being MIA for so long. if this is SHIT I apologize I just have been struggling with writer's block for months and have been very stressed and busy with work!!! I really tried my best so don't be too mean to me over this lmaooo. I love u all!!! there will be more of them to come ;) also since it's been so long since I've properly written this MIGHT be a little rusty so pls forgive me

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE TRANQUIL MELODY of the waves crashing against the shore is truly a captivating sight. You sat by the water in an oversized t-shirt and bikini bottoms, absorbed in the symphony of nature. So engrossed were you in the soothing sounds, the glistening water, and the caress of the breeze, that Charles’s approach caught you off guard.

“There you are,” his voice resonated like the ocean. You sensed the warmth of his presence as he settled beside you on the sand, propped up on his hands.

Though you didn’t turn to face him, you could feel his gaze fixed on your profile.

“Do you think we’re being stupid?” You couldn’t help but ask. 

“Quoi?” What?

“I just don’t want to hurt Pierre.” You finally turned your head to look at him. “Was it a mistake?”

You didn’t think it was. But the more you sat and thought about it, the more stressed over the situation you became. 

“No.”

You smiled softly, pulling your knees up and resting your head upon them as you truly took in the sight of him. 

“I think we should do it again.”

-

The two of you fell into a pattern quickly.

“Such a dirty fucking slut,” Charles groans out loud as he looked at the sight of you on your knees before him. His cock was heavy in your hand as you slowly start to pump him. Pre-cum leaking from the tip, oozing onto your fingertips. It was a gooey mess.

You stare up at him with a smirk on your lips as you take in his flushed cheeks and his pale knuckles from clenching the countertop so tightly.

“Mmm,” You moan as you bring him to your mouth, swirling your tongue around him slowly. You suck lightly before dragging him in and out of your mouth. 

You swore you could look at him for forever and never get tired of it. You were constantly in the depths of convincing yourself it was nothing but sex. 

“So fucking beautiful.”

“Could stare at you all day, mon ange.”

But is it really?

-

You’re not sure when it changed. But it did.

The gentle warmth of the morning sun seeped through the delicate curtains, causing you to let out a soft groan as you slowly awakened. Shifting in the bed, you squint against the bright light, and eventually force yourself to emerge from the cozy embrace of sleep.

As you turn your head, your attention was instantly met by the striking view of a broad, bare, and muscular back dominating your view. Instantly, a swarm of butterflies fill your stomach.

The early sunlight cast a soft glow on his smooth, tanned skin, accentuating the sculpted contours of his muscles. His breathing was steady and calm, a comforting rhythm that contrasted with the crisp morning air. His hair, slightly messy, fell against the nape of his neck.

The gentle upward curve of your lips was almost instinctive as you reached out toward him, running your fingers through the soft wisps of hair at his neck.

He lets out a small grumble as he shifts around, his face nestled in the pillows. Then, he turns to you, his gentle smile already in place before he opened his eyes. His arm drapes over you almost instantly, tugging you into the warmth of his body and immediately peppering soft kisses to your neck.

“Je pourrais rester ici pour toujours.” Could stay right here for forever. He whispers in between the soft kisses.

You feel the blush form on your cheeks almost instantly.

“Me too,” you respond softly.

“Do you think we could?”

The longing to say yes tugged at your heart, but you resisted, knowing the potential complications it could bring. Instead, you laughed, trying to shake off the heavy thoughts about the chaos and challenges that might follow. For now, it was just the two of you. Just two regular people.

No Pierre. No burdens of the outside world.

It’s been weeks of this. Whatever this was between you. You both found yourself too greedy to give it up. The sex was too good. He was too good.

-

Strong fingers intertwine with the strands of your hair, a delicate tug at the roots sends a tingling sensation cascading across your scalp, igniting a fiery yet exquisite sensation that dances on the edge of pleasure and exhilaration. 

“Nous devons faire attention.” We need to be careful. You softly groan as your bare back becomes flush against the contours of his chest, slightly dampened with sweat. The pace of his hips doesn’t falter as he brings his lips to the shell of your ear.

“Pourquoi?” Why? You know he’s teasing you. “Want me to stay hidden, hm?” The one hand that rests against the soft skin of your hips squeezes hard, as if he needed the reminder that you were here and, in his arms, and on his cock. “Ton petit secret sale?” Your dirty little secret?

The words wouldn’t come. Every time you tried to speak, they tangled in your throat, choked by the weight of the situation. You wanted to tell Charles that you didn’t see him that way, that he meant more to you than anyone else. But your brother…his best friend, loomed too large over whatever it was you two were.

You struggled to hide your wince as Charles places a quick but harsh squeeze to your throat. 

“Not even that will shut you up, hm?” He groans in between each thrust. “Pierre is in the room next over. It’s like you want to be caught.”

“Maybe I should just call him in here, hm?” 

You felt yourself pushing back against his thrusts, meeting him in the middle at a feverish pace, needing to remove the ache between your legs.

“Let him see how big of a cock slut you really are.”

You shook your head, soft moans escaping your dampened lips as his arm slips down and presses to your clit.

“No?” He eggs you on. “You’re just my little cockslut, right?”

You nod eagerly, your head lolled back against the crevice of his shoulder and neck for support. 

“Say it.” He demands, his fingers quickening on your clit. “Tell me you’re my little cockslut while you cum all over me.”

“I’m-“ You struggle to get the words out, too caught up in the way his cock slips in and out of you, his fingers rubbing your clit, and the groans escaping past his lips into your ear.

“C’mon mon ange,” He grits. “Make a fucking mess.”

“I’m yours.”

It happened so fast, it was almost a blur as Charles hurriedly pushes you face first into the mattress, hips slamming into you at such a speed, you both went soaring over the edge of your orgasms.

A few quiet minutes passed as you both caught your breath, little laughs and smiles as both of your bodies lie in a tangled mess.

-

“The Gala is coming up,” Charles spoke. His throat burning in anticipation as he waited for you to catch onto what he was implying. He wanted you by his side. Wanted you on his arm. Wanted no one to touch you but him.

“Nous avons déjà discuté de cela.” We’ve discussed this already.

Charles could slowly feel the annoyance building in his chest as he pushed himself up off the bed, dragging his body to the bathroom to retrieve a wet cloth to clean you up. He wasn’t used to this, to say the least. And he wanted you to himself so fucking badly.

It wasn’t until after his finished cleaning you up, that he spoke again. “Combien de temps?” How long?

You sat up, slipping on whatever article of clothing was closest to you. No doubt, one of Charles’ worn t-shirts that draped to your thighs.

You tilted your head to the side just slightly, encouraging him to continue.

“How long will you avoid telling Pierre?”

-

Giving Charles the silent treatment was probably the worst thing you could’ve done to him. But you didn’t know what else to do. 

Your back was turned to him, the burn of his eyes on the nape of your neck had you on high alert. You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t meet his gaze.

The room felt colder with each passing second, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you both. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak. A part of you wanted to turn around, to meet his gaze and to find some way to fix whatever this was. But the fear of what you might see in his eyes—hurt, anger, hunger—kept you frozen in place. Well, as frozen as you could be while dancing with another man.

He was proper cute. Tan skin, chocolate eyes, scruffy hair. His name, however, slipped past your mind. You think it was Rob. Or was his name Ryan? Something with an R. You think.

It didn’t help in the slightest bit that Pierre is the entire reason you’re in this situation to begin with. He practically forced you into the arms of Rob. Or is it Ryan?

“You look beautiful tonight,” The man looked down upon you, a small grin on his face as he twirled you around the dance floor. A small blush crept up on your cheeks.

“Merci.” You thanked him. “How do you know my brother?” You needed to keep the conversation going. Anything to take your mind off the stare burning your skin from afar.

He opened his mouth to begin a response but was instantly interrupted as soon as the voice of another was by your side.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Charles began, but he was clearly anything but sorry. His voice was stoic, void of any emotion but annoyance. “I need a word with you.” And before you could put up any argument, his fingers clasped onto your wrist, dragging you away from the dance floor and out of the ballroom.

Despite your protests for him to slow down, he continued at his unrelenting pace, tagging you along without regard to your inability to keep up. Charles then ushered you, if one could call it that, into what appeared to be a cramped coat closet.

The dim lighting obscured the usual green hue of his eyes, leaving you uncertain whether it really was the poor illumination or his evident anger that caused this change.

“Are you crazy?” You half-shout, waving your arms in the air in frustration once you pull your wrist from his grip. “You just made an absolute scene in there!” 

“I made a scene?” He raises his voice in frustration. Like he can’t believe that you have an issue with his behavior when you were the one dancing with another man. “You might as well just go fuck that guy on the dance floor!” 

He knew he was talking in fits of jealousy, and he knows that it’s wrong. But he couldn’t contain it. Couldn’t help but have an outburst over this situation. You didn’t even look at him the entire night.

“It was one dance!”

“I don’t care if it’s just one. It may as well be five hundred!” He sneered while his fists clenched at his sides. “Je ne partage pas.” I don’t share.

“I can’t do this right now.” You pleaded softly.

“Do what, exactly?”

“This.” You silently begged for him not to continue questioning. To not go there.

“And what is this?” or what he really meant is ‘what are we?’.

You both fell into a silence as the weight of the question weighed down on you both. You didn’t want to reach this point. You both knew what it was, but you weren’t ready for the answer. It was supposed to be fun and just sex. Something Pierre would never need to know about.

Charles took your silence as an answer. But he refused to accept it. He made a small step towards you, his green eyes locked onto yours, to which you retreated one back.

“Please don’t come closer,” You begged with a small quiver of your lip. “I need you to stand a step away from me.” You knew the moment he was closer; you were done for. Your resolve would be over.

“I can’t.” He emphasized. “I can’t stay away. Not from you.” He was distraught. Why didn’t you understand? 

“Charles, please.” Your lip quivered just slightly as your hands fell at your sides, your fingers playing with the fabric of your dress.

“Do you think I want to be like this?” He pushed. “Do you think I want to be thinking about my best friend’s sister 24/7?” He could feel his resolve slipping the longer he stared at you. You were beautiful, one of the easiest people to talk to, and he couldn’t not love you.

It was so quick. One second you both were feet apart, the next his lips were pressed against yours as your hands grabbed onto his biceps pulling him closer to you. The feel of his muscles underneath his suit were prominent against your fingertips as you moaned softly into his mouth.

Both hands enveloped your jawline, sprawling onto your neck in a feverish rush. It was a clash of tongue and teeth, and neither of you wanted to stop.

[strwberri-milk]

Oooh could you give reactions of the LaDS guys when MC rescues them?? I can imagine their stunned faces followed by intense worry for MC

Zayne didn't think that disaster would strike the hospital but here he is using his Evol to try and help patients and their families escape. Anybody who had an offensive Evol was part of this shoddily thrown together front lines, desperately trying to buy time until the authorities arrived.

He thinks he's about to be closed in as the roof comes down, doing his best to try and lessen the damage when he sees you come to the rescue. Somehow you manage to push him out of the way, rolling the two of you to safety as you get up to continue your path. He immediately grabs you by the wrist, wordlessly asking if you're okay. You offer him a quick nod before running off to continue, both of you understanding that time is of the essence.

When he finds you again later he's giving you a full physical, wanting to make sure that you're okay despite the accident. He can only rest once you're safe, holding you close.

If you sustained a life threatening injury he's there the entire time. He's making sure that you're okay, monitoring your progress as much as the doctors will allow him to. They don't want him getting in the way, knowing that he's especially emotional because it's you despite never having seen him like this before. He knows he shouldn't be interfering but honestly, he can't help it. He's worried and he's going to blame himself for the rest of his life if you don't get better.

Xavier lost his mind when he lost sight of you, trying his best to fight while also looking for you everywhere. When he finally sees you after you took out a Wanderer he pulls you into his chest, hugging you tightly as he asks you if you're alright. He does his best to appraise your current condition, doing whatever he can to mitigate any pain you feel and trying to convince you to rest before things get worse.

The attack doesn't seem to be letting up at all and you know that the two of you have to split up to continue no matter how much he hates it. He decides fuck the orders and follows you anyway, knowing that he won't be able to focus if you're not there with him.

He hears the Wanderer too late - turning around and drawing his sword half a second later than he should when he hears your guns going off. The Wanderer immediately turns to you, giving him an opening to strike back. It's faster than either of you thought it was, the scream he hears from you shutting him down.

He's glad you saved him but not at the cost of your life and he wastes the creature, knowing his body will suffer the consequences from how powerful his attack was but that doesn't matter if it means it saved you. He immediately takes you to get help, refusing to leave your side until you're actually 100%. He promised himself he'd protect you and he's going to be even more protective of you from now on.

Rafayel didn't think that his studio would be ambushed like this but he was more than capable of handling it - or so he thought. He was close to burning down his whole studio if he needed to in order to escape the assailants, surprised when they suddenly start collapsing without him doing anything.

When you emerge with your weapon drawn he's happy to see you but immediately worries about how you got through the other people they said they brought with them. You were able to take them down thankfully but he's not convinced you're alright, securing his studio with you to ensure that the two of you have nothing else to worry about.

If you sustain a life threatening injury he's immediately calling for help but also takes care of you right then and there. He doesn't want to lose any time to waiting for medical staff to arrive or your fellow hunters - he knows how to take care of you and his fire Evol is thankfully good at cauterising wounds despite how awful he feels about you trying to be brave as he burns your skin. The scars that linger upset him deeply because to him, they represent a time he failed you but in spite of them he doesn't let it drag him down. He knows it'd just make you more upset to know that's how he feels so he just focuses on making sure his skills stay sharp enough to protect you.

Sylus doesn't normally get attacked when he goes out on a job but this was a first. He was a little underprepared, thinking he'd have a quiet evening but the fight wasn't too rough, thankfully. He turns, preparing to leave without realising that there was another figure hidden in the shadows, ready to strike him down when he hears someone fall behind him. You stand over their unconscious body, a little worse for wear but nothing some TLC couldn't solve.

Sylus insists on taking you home, knowing that while you look fine there was always a slight chance that something was being overlooked and he did not want to be negligent in your care. He doesn't like the fact that you got attacked most likely because of your association with him, telling you that you need to be more careful to avoid things like that happening.

When you do get attacked because of your connection with him he has no reservations killing the person who had the audacity to hurt you. He takes you back home, patching you up and making sure you're okay in the comfort of his house. You have round the clock care and you think that Sylus isn't too shaken about your near death experience until you realise his sleep is even lighter one night. He can't sleep properly and probably won't for a while. He'll always be even more alert, constantly having either Mephisto or himself on your trail to ensure that nothing like that happens again.

[eloquentlytired]

old!logan howlett x fem reader

18+ mdni

the taxi driver

pairing: old!logan howlett x fem reader word count: 3k tags: taxi driver logan - build up - eventual smut - large age gap ( reader in/over mid 20s and logan in his 50s ) - singular mention of thr0wing up and dr*gging - savior logan - some surface wounds - logan loves calling u sweet girl and sweetheart author's note: i wrote this hurriedly bc in case u havent noticed my blog has been full of old logan for a reason.. i too have become addicted w him- reblogs and likes are very welcome! ^_^

ৎৎৎ

“where to, sweetheart?” logan asks and you speak your address to him so softly that he almost misses it.

the drive is smooth and there's no real disturbance except some distant honking.

when the light is red and the cars remain static, he gazes at you through the review mirror. there’s a notebook in your lap which you seem to write in frantically. it is almost amusing how fast you're doing it too; the words probably look like childish scribbling.

“that pencil must be suffering.” his gruff voice makes you jump a little and you look up at him, feeling your skin grow warm when you realize what he means.

“it does. I gathered a whole collection of tortured pencils after getting into university.”

your reply amuses him even further and he offers a low hum as he starts the car again as soon as the light turns green. when logan finally takes you home, you hand him the money and wish him a good day.

“be good to your pencils.” is all the older driver offers before nodding at you.

the next time you see him, you're running late and there are tears in your eyes. tears that soon start falling when logan asks what happened.

you're glad it's him — you didn't want to be crying in front of a total stranger. he was a stranger but kind of familiar?

you wipe your cheeks and tell him you're in a hurry to go to university.

he drives fast but carefully — and he's sharp with it too.

“you’re absolute gold,mister.” you whisper stunned because this man has driven you five minutes early to your exam; if it was another driver he'd surely not give a fuck to be fast.

as always you hand him the money and you thoughtlessly press a kiss on his cheek while speaking so many thank yous to him.

“go. ace that exam.” logan offers a sympathetic look before you're running off to the gates.

he has no clue about the faint mark of lipstick that's tattooed on his cheek until his next customer points it out. there's some embarrassment there but also a smile that ghosts over his mouth as he wipes it away.

“third time's a charm.” you say smiling when you enter logan’s taxi. again.

he's just in time after you called; the weather will evidently grow bad and you're in no mood to be walking or waiting for some different transportation to take you home.

logan shares a faint smile with you; it's rare but it's there.

“where we going this time, sweet girl?” he asks and peers at you from the review mirror. his eyes always hold some sort of intensity that makes you shift in your seat. he notices but says nothing.

“just my home.” you reply dumbly and logan simply stares at you, unable to suppress that smile of his.

you realize how dumb your answer is because why would he remember your address? it's been a while and he has tons of customers everyday.

“gosh,I'm an idiot. my address—”

he surprises you by driving off absurdly, the motion startling you and making you grip the door. logan chuckles and shakes his head. “i know.”

oh. he does remember. you pray to reach your house before the upcoming thunderstorm but life has cursed you and the road is packed with unmoving cars. you will be stuck in there for a while for sure.

when the first thunder strikes, you yelp and cover your ears with your hands. you and logan stare at each other through the review mirror and you mumble a soft apology to him. all he wants to do is run his fingers through your hair and tell you it'll be okay.

another thunder roars and you helplessly pull your knees to your chest while resting your chin on top of them. logan deciphers the situation and before he's in the unpleasant moment of having your poor self break down, he reaches for the radio.

his favorite station is always on, he's at an age where he suffers from anything bass boosted or heavy. the jazz music that drowns the car is loud but not unpleasant. you stare at him surprised and when you realize he's done it for you, so you won't be scared, you smile so widely.

you can't talk since the music is loud but logan asks if this is okay with a nod and you nod back, still smiling. thank you, you mouth and he turns his head just a little to wink — nothing weird or bad. he just wants you to laugh again and you do.

“thank you once again,mister.” you mumble when he parks right outside of your home. logan gives his usual hum and turns to look at you again, his eyes regarding you with affection.

“see ya, sweet girl.” he says and you lean forward with purpose this time to press another kiss on his cheek. logan says nothing as he watches you go and by the time he gets another customer notifying him of the lipstick mark, he doesn't clean it up.

“what the fuck happened?” logan growls and he looks at the backseat where you're sitting, crying your eyes out. this was probably the second time he asks you something like that.

you don't reply and it worries him to his core.

“sweetheart.” you feel a calloused palm press on your knee and it momentarily distracts you from crying. you look at logan’s hand, the one he's outstretched to touch you.

your tears filled eyes stare at him for a long time before you tell him everything. “they put something in my drink. the ice in my drink..it just..and then everything began spinning so I left—" you mumbled in panic between intense sobs.

logan felt his blood boiling. “who? tell me who.”

after a few moments of convincing you reveal it to him — what the man looks like, what he's wearing and where he's sitting. logan enters the bar he's just picked you up from and you wait in the backseat of his taxi. silently and anxiously.

logan returns moments later and your heart raises to your throat. you can barely speak as you take in his bloodied sight — the blood on his shirt and knuckles, the cut he's sporting under his eye and a bruise that occupies the side of his jaw. but whatever blood is on his shirt doesn't belong to him.

“you should've seen the other guy.” logan says and he's smiling, and then you're smiling too.

you're throwing up in the middle of nowhere as logan holds your hair back with a single hand while his other hand strokes your middle. once you're done, he gives you a few tissues and reassuring words.

“it’s good you threw that shit out yar system, sweetheart. ya did good.” and the praise makes your heart throb. logan shakes his head as you stammer out a few apologies about dragging him around like this — he is glad to have helped. he is glad it was him you called and not another.

you two find a convenience store on your way back and decide to take a break. he watches with amusement as the first thing you do is buy toothpaste and a toothbrush while he takes care of some other needs — like water and something for you to snack on after everything.

he is waiting, sitting on his car hood when you return from the bathroom. you smile at him and he feels relieved to see you doing better than those few hours ago when he found you. to his surprise you sit by his side, your arms touching.

“thank you for everything. I feel like you're my guardian angel at this point.” he simply shakes his head while shoving his hands in his pockets.

“i’m no guardian. just a driver.” logan replies and his eyes find yours as you chew on the crackers he's bought you.

he stares at your wide eyes, your pouty cheeks and those lips that have occupied his cheek twice. logan shamelessly thinks he wants them a third time on him.

when the night breeze gets too much for your exposed shoulders, he's taking off his jacket without a second thought and putting it around you. you lean on him wordlessly and logan doesn't push you off. one of his arms settle around you before his calloused palm pulls you close by your shoulder.

“mister?” you call out and look up at him, your cheek squishing against his shoulder.

“spill it, sweetheart.” he says in a gruff voice.

“you never told me your name.” and logan realizes you're right — he should've introduced himself sometime ago, right? “it’s logan.” he says after sometime of simply staring at you.

“logan.” you repeat and if it was possible he'd melt right there and then because of how gentle you are with speaking his name.

he doesn't expect you to block his entrance when he's heading for the driver's seat. your eyes stare up at him, sparkling and pleading, and logan is a weak man. he curses himself.

“logan.” you moan softly as he kisses your throat while hovering over you in the backseat of his taxi. logan wants nothing more than to take you but he also wants to be slow — to be kind with you. what have you done to him?

he asks your permission for every piece of clothing he wishes to remove and you kiss his face every time for it.

when you're both bare — minus logan’s trousers which simply pool around his ankles — he worships you like no one else has done before.

logan presses passionate and possessive kisses at the center of your throat, then the space between your breasts before going further down. “o-oh.” when his beard scratches against your navel, your whimpers grow louder and he can sense how sensitive you are. he can smell the heat on you too.

“so sweet.” your thighs are on his shoulders as his face disappears between them. your entire body trembles while logan devours the weeping storm in between your legs, his tongue licking at your folds like a starved man before he's wrapping his lips around your clit.

it's a lot and you simply grip his hair while crying out. logan grunts and sucks on that sensitive bud hungrily before sliding his tongue low to your entrance. he gives it a rough lick before pulling away to create some space for his hand.

the slide of his first finger is smooth because you're dripping for him, all over, and he praises himself for holding back.

when he adds the third finger and goes knuckles deep inside you, he feels your gummy walls clenching around him so tight. logan curls his fingers and you shudder, your thighs trembling on top of his shoulders.

“please—” you whimper and he's grinning at you while thrusting his fingers in and out of your hole. the sweat that slowly forms at your nape does not bother you. the only thing bothering you is that logan isn’t fucking you yet — with something more than his fingers.

“please what, sweet girl?” he asks and you draw a sharp breath when he flicks your clit with his tongue while driving his fingers deeper into your pussy.

you flutter around him and whine. “fuck me. please fuck me.”

logan is fixated on your eyes as you straddle him and sink down his cock. you react at the same time, groaning, as the thickness penetrates you and stretches you out endlessly.

you sway your hips once experimentally then twice and you already feel so full.

“logan.” you moan and your hands grip his shoulders for support.

“come ‘ere, sweet girl.” he grumbles and slides both of his hands around your thighs, squeezing them hard.

you're confused at first until he's leaning his face forward and kissing you. there's a fondness in your heart when that beard brushes against your cheeks and you smile before returning the kiss; it's passionate but slow. patient. exactly how you'd been with each other until now.

you do most of the work raising your hips until only the head of his cock is nestled within you and then you fall back down, taking him in deeper than ever. you bounce on his lap and when logan slaps your ass with his hands, your walls tighten around his cock.

he does it again. and again. until he knows your skin has grown tender beneath his hands and aching. he can tell by the way you whimper into his shoulder as you ride him, your buttocks slamming against his hips.

"you on the pill, sweetheart?" logan has to ask for obvious reasons. you nod and his cock throbs inside you as something in him snaps. his fingers dig into the sensitive skin of your ass and he slightly raises his hips from the seat as he takes control of the situation. he slams his hips against your own, his heavy balls colliding with your skin. you moan into his shoulder as your body jolts with each thrust you receive below you. "logan!" you sob when the head of his cock assaults your sweet spot repeatedly and his grasp on your asscheeks tightens; you're sure you'll bruise by that type of hold.

logan can't remember the last time he's acted like this; his current age didn't exactly allow him to have fun like he once did. but right now he was going into a frenzy with you, burying his face between your bouncy breasts and licking the space there. his thrusts were rough and hurried, your clit brushing against his pubic hair, the sensation causing your pussy to clench even tighter around his thick girth. "won't last, sweetheart." he warns you and you place your hands on the seat behind him as you start bouncing on his cock again, moving opposite logan's thrusts.

he comes with a growl, his chest vibrating as he does, and you follow right after as your weeping pussy comes around him with a rare tremble. you feel everything; the way he empties himself inside you and slides impossibly deeper as if his solid purpose is to fill your womp with his seed. the way he grows soft inside your cunt and slowly slips his cock out. the way his cum dribbles out of your gaping entrance, probably staining him and the seat. he doesn't care.

"everything alright, sweet girl?" logan asks, one of his hands caressing your buttocks while the other settles over your cheek. you look at him, all spent and pretty, your eyes unable to stay open for long. logan faintly smiles and presses a loving kiss on your forehead while swiping his thumb across your cheek.

"sleepy." you explain in a single word and he hums. you stay still as logan drapes his jacket over you for the second time that night. the heat his body radiates and the gentle rumble of his chest lulls you to sleep. and as that soft caressing on your hair continues, logan contemplates what to buy you for breakfast.

[deesixxs]

CW; breeding k!nk, slight choking k!nk, very rough and dark!abby. That’s all I can really think of, have fun!

Authors note:

Dni if ageless, under 18 or a man!!

Thank you for reading this, this is my first ever time writing a fic, if I need to do anything to improve please let me know! This is the raw unedited version and I hope you enjoy

Love yall!

You have never been so bored, so horny. Abby was at the gym and you had nothing to do except lay on the bed and wait around. You groan and you grumble when an idea pops into your mind. Sure, it’s dumb and possibly dangerous. You decide to give Abby a call. Calls are only reserved for emergencies but you being this horny should count as one. The phone rings and you are met with no answer. You try again about 4 more times before she answers. “Is it an emergency?!” She sounds panicked. “I’m horny and I need you.” You respond back. She’s furious. “Really? Are you serious? Fuckin’ wait until I’m home” she hangs up the phone and you got the answer you expect, but not the one you wanted. You wanted her to speed home and fuck you the moment she walks in the door. You begin to grow impatient and start to touch yourself, you pick up your phone and take a picture, sending it to Abby. You know it will drive her mad and it will get you in trouble, but maybe that’s the fun of it. You don’t receive a message back, she only leaves you on read. It’s what you would expect from her but still, you wish you could see her face when she received the picture. About 10 minutes later you hear the door slam and a heavy bang of her gym bag on the floor. The sound of footsteps filling your ears along with the fast thump of your heart. You know you’re in deep shit. The door slams open and you feel hands wrap around your ankles and pull you towards the end of the bed. The blonde girl sits down next to you on the edge of the bed and then props you over her knee. You know what’s about to happen. And you know it’s going to hurt and there will be no mercy. “Fucking whore. You couldn’t wait hm? You wanted to get punished didn’t you? So fucking stupid.” She strikes your ass open palmed with a thwack. “Answer me you little shit. You wanted this?” Your mind races, barely able to form coherent thoughts. “Y-yes” you finally mumble out before another blow meets your round, and now red ass. She grabs you by your hair and throws you onto the bed, your ass up in the air, facing her. She places her cold hand against your spine and pushes down, making you arch. Without warning she licks a fat stripe from your clit all the way to your hole. She slurps up all your juices mercilessly. She kneads your ass and smacks it once more before grabbing you by your neck and pulling your back to her chest, you let out a small whimper and a yelp. “You gonna be a good girl and listen to me? Huh, princess?” Her hot breath tickling your ear and your neck. She pushes you with full force back against the bed before she stands back up. You already know what she’s going to grab, you don’t have to see to know what’s going on. You hear her rummage through the closet before pulling out a black box. She pulls out a breeding strap and buckles it to her hips. She sits back on the bed and without warning she slams deep into you, immediately hitting your cervix. You let out a loud yelp and your back arches upward. It hurts, the immediate impact to your insides. She doesn’t care, she keeps going and continues to pound fastly into you. “God, so fucking tight. Look how this pussy just swallows and begs for my cock.” She whispers in between thrusts. You can feel her hips start to falter and her breaths get quicker, you know she is about to cum, and so are you. You’re quick to get to the edge just before she runs her finger over your clit, rubbing tight circles. It makes you cum instantly, you let out a loud moan of pleasure, “good fucking girl, just wait, I need to cum..” she’s overstimulating you, chasing her own release, and just as she cums, you feel a warm fluid filling your insides, you can feel it drip down your thighs, she pulls out in awe, seeing the cum drip out of your wet and puffy pussy. She is quick to take off the strap and grab you water. “Here, drink” she passes you the water and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before kissing your forehead. “Was I too rough? Are you ok? I’m sor-“ you cut her off with a kiss to shut her up “it was perfect my girl, I love you”

[morallygreyyn]

Can i pls get some clingy ass illumi x reader who hasn’t seen them in days because of his missions?

Have a nice day!! Make sure to drink water💓

miss me? (illumi zoldyck x reader)

description: illumi has been gone for a week and when he returns, he seems slightly off. it didn't take you long to realise that he wanted attention, namely yours...

authors note: another super old ask but i love this one with all my heart and soul. illumi? stunning. clingy illumi? immaculate. seriously there is nothing i love more than illumi so this is how i think he would be when he's clingy and wants attention! have a lovely day anon and i really hope you drink lots of water! (seriously i've just found out how important this is so pls everyone drink lots of water to flush out that bacteria) 💗

warnings: none

word count: 1.1k

requests are open! please read my rules!

You hadn’t seen Illumi Zoldyck for the better part of a week. While you were used to the assassin leaving often for work, usually you were in a position to follow him. This time, however, was one of the rare occasions where you had to stay home at your apartment, all for that blasted electrician who kept cancelling on you. If he called you one more time to cancel, while you stayed home when you could have followed your boyfriend to a sunny location that you would have treated like a holiday, you swore you would hire the Zoldyck yourself to track him down. 

As though he had heard your silent threat, the electrician came and went, and your kitchen appliances were once again fully operational. Happy that you could finally restock the fridge, you left to get groceries. You couldn’t admit this out loud, but your apartment often felt too empty without the assassin occupying it too. While he didn’t own the space where you lived, he stayed there often enough that he may as well share it with you. 

It had surprised you when you brought up the offer of living together and he didn’t reject the idea immediately. Illumi actually seemed contemplative, as though it was almost a pleasant thought. That was what you assumed anyway, you could never truly tell what he was thinking most of the time. 

By the time you returned home, you knew something was different immediately. For one, you were certain that you had locked the door. Cautiously stepping into the apartment, you coiled and prepared to strike whatever or whoever was lurking. Despite not being an assassin, you were still a qualified Hunter, and those licences did not come easy.

It turns out that you needn't have bothered as, when you approached the living area, Illumi was sitting calmly at your kitchen island watching you. 

“Oh, Illumi!” Setting down your bags, you ran to him, throwing your arms around your boyfriend as you held him tightly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?”

“No signal.” He said simply as he let you hug him, hands gingerly settling around you. You had to fight tooth and nail for him to learn how to hug properly, and even now he still hadn’t quite managed to perfect the act. Despite this, he still tried, and that was good enough for you. 

Pulling away, you looked at him with a smile. “How was it?”

He shrugged, a clear sign he was disinterested in the topic. “Simple.”

Nodding, you stepped back to put the groceries away, not wanting them to rot on the floor. Illumi sat back down, fathomless eyes locked on you while you completed the task you had set for yourself. You liked to think that you knew the Zoldyck rather well, and that included when something was bothering him.

Turning around, you raised an eyebrow as you met his gaze. “What?”

“What?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“Why are you pointing that out?”

“Because I’m wondering why.”

“I stare at you a lot.” He stated, tone very matter of factly.

“I know, but now it seems different.”

“It isn’t.”

“If you say so, darling.” You rolled your eyes and finished putting the food away. Once you had, you turned to face your boyfriend once more, looking for an explanation.

“You forgot something.” Illumi said, and while his voice was the usual light and expressionless one, his eyes still bore into yours.

Looking around, you couldn’t see anything out of place, and you had certainly left nothing on the counters. “What did I forget?”

Illumi didn’t answer, only continued to look at you expectedly. Now you were really confused, and slightly unnerved by his odd behaviour. Illumi rarely acted like this.

With no answer to give you clarity, you grinned in feigned annoyance, kissed his cheek and whispered you were happy to have him back before you left to head into the room you used as an at home office. 

Sitting down at your desk and opening your files, you stared blankly at the screen while you mentally observed Illumi’s behaviour. There was something amiss, and you couldn’t put your finger on what. He wasn’t usually the expressive one; well, he was never the expressive one. All physical, verbal, and emotional affection fell on your shoulders to deliver. While this may seem one sided to most, you didn’t mind as you knew Illumi was not able to express much by way of love. Despite this, you knew he loved you, in his own way. He had threatened to kill the electrician for you when you complained about the situation to him, and that spoke millions. Not only that, but he also allowed you to be as affectionate as you are with him, and he accepted it whereas anyone else wouldn’t have a chance in hell of even approaching him, let alone the things you did together.

What was bothering him?

Just then, you saw a shadow move in your peripheral vision, and your heart dropped to your ass. “Fucking hell, Illumi! At least knock!”

He ignored your outburst. “What are you doing?”

“Working.” You said as you willed your heart to calm down.

“Oh.” Illumi stayed standing behind you, hovering ominously. 

Then it clicked, Illumi was being clingy. This was how he acted when he wanted attention. Unable to control yourself, you laughed loudly at the realisation.

“What?” He asked, watching you stand from your seat to face him.

Your smile was incredibly smug as you approached, wrapping your hands around his waist. “Did somebody miss me?”

Naturally, he didn’t respond and it might’ve been your imagination, but he seemed to relax under your touch. 

“I think I know what I’ve forgotten.” You captured your lips with his own, smiling as you did so. It was moments like this that made you realise that Illumi did in fact love you, and that he was quite attached to you. Even if he didn’t show it much, his hands resting on you, the slide of his lips against your own, the way he seemed unwilling to let you go spoke for him.You pulled away for a moment, bringing a hand up to caress his cheek. You had the Illumi Zoldyck as your lover, and no matter what anyone said, he loved you. “Miss me?”

[bloodiedrogue]

BLEED YOU DRY (1)

SUMMARY: When you awake to find Astarion attempting to drink your blood, you find yourself making a interesting decision.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader (reads as Gender Neutral but future chapters will be femme focused, just a heads up!)

WORD COUNT: 3,273

WARNINGS: Bloodsucking, that's about it?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so I'm aware I'm way ahead of schedule for this Haunted Hoedown thing but I'm going to be gone for a few days in the middle of it so I figured I'd get a headstart now to make sure I get every day done but also to build the hype? Maybe?

Basically this is going to be a little twelve part miniseries based on prompts from this writing challenge. I'll make a masterpost either tonight or tomorrow with all the ones I chose, plus some other stuff, so you guys know what's going on!

The prompt for this particular day was "I want to watch you bleed."

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The squirming tadpole behind your eye is what wakes you up. Its constant movement, wriggling from edge to edge quickly prompts you to groan and palm your eye, attempting to suppress the feeling as you blink through the darkness. It takes a moment to adjust —to feel that twitch of the creature die down— and when it does there’s a sigh of satisfaction that leaves your lips.

Despite how long it’s been, you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the fact that you have a parasite living inside your mind. Even after experiencing the insertion firsthand, you often forget it’s there, looming behind your retinas, awaiting use every time you run into another. Normally it’s so still, barely inching out of place; sitting there, incubating within your thoughts. Tonight though, something’s urging its presence. Keeping it awake as you close your eyes again, scrunching up your face once it moves a second time.

Angrily, you sit up and turn your head, suddenly catching Astarion’s gaze, noticing the open-mouthed grin he offers in response. 

“Shit.”

You narrow your eyes, focusing on his teeth. How bared they are; ready to strike at a moment's notice despite the only food lying around being you. “Were you just about to bite me?” you ask and almost immediately he attempts to play it off as if it were nothing, scoffing and rolling his eyes. 

“I wasn’t going to hurt you if that’s what you’re insinuating. I was only going for a nibble.” 

You can feel your tadpole squirm. He’s telling the truth, albeit for reasons that are more selfish than he lets on. Despite seeming otherwise, he only wants to drink from you for strength —for energy. His desire to kill you is minuscule, lingering in the shadows of his mind for a potentially later day but surprisingly such notions don’t scare you. Astarion may be a bloodthirsty creature but for now, he’s an ally.

“And you didn’t think to just ask first?” You raise a brow at him, watching his expression twist into something bordering between confusion and interest. 

“I’m sorry, just ask?” he parrots, exploring your features and how they remain calm despite the context.  

He was expecting you to be angry. To throw some kind of fit and deny. It’s what any normal person would do, but considering the circumstances, offering up a little blood to build up the strength of someone on the same side is worth more than the annoyance that forms across your face. 

“Yes, like a normal person,” you chastise, taking in the scowl he offers in response. 

His brows furrow at the sound of your words, angling upwards to appear as sinister as possible, and you can’t help but snort. Something about his constant disapproval is almost humorous at this point.

“Normal? Darling, I’m a creature of the night. A blood sucking fiend. A—“

“Vampire, yes, we’re all well aware given the teeth.” You poke at your own canine, tapping the enamel with open lips just as he swallows hard and narrows his eyes. 

“Yes, well, obviously considering such details I thought it inappropriate to ask. People don’t typically agree to such perilous sounding terms,” he says, voice light and airy. Casual, you might say, despite the context. 

“So instead you were just going to go for it?” You raise your brow, a smirk playing across your lips as he rolls his eyes. 

“Seemed like the best possible option… at the time.” 

You offer him a quiet ah, nodding your head as the two of you remain still, watching each other. Trying to gauge how the other is feeling without the use of your tadpoles. 

Based on what you know about Astarion you assume he’s too stubborn to ask. Now that he’s caught, regardless of whether or not he needs the blood, he’ll never find himself in a position to be desperate enough to say those simple little words. Being a man of persuasion, he’ll most likely just talk his way into it —make it seem like the whole thing was your idea in the first place before diving right in. 

It’d be respectable if you weren’t the victim. If it were Wyll or Gale and you were to bear witness to his deceptions, you’d fully support it. Encourage it even if he were to ask your opinion.

Since it’s you though, you can’t help but feel a bit frustrated. Astarion and you have never been particularly friendly. Having only been around each other for a few weeks, all you’ve talked about is the Illithid and how you plan to get rid of it —what you’ll do after it’s gone. But even the latter conversations hardly spark specific details. Mostly they’re just brief mentions of wanting to run away. To become hidden after the war is over. 

You assume someone’s looking for him based on the way he speaks and carries himself. When you’re on the move he hides within the pack, using you all as a shield while he looks around. Always on high alert, his ears twitch at any foreign sound, his eyes dart to meet the faces of anyone you may come across. At night, he’s always the one to keep watch and over time you’ve come to realize it isn’t just because he doesn’t sleep. It’s because he’s looking for someone. 

Even now, as he stands above you, you can see his eyes looking past you to focus on the underbrush. The way they narrow with focus, pushing past your face. He can sense something that you can’t —feel the eyes of some foreign presence staring at the two of you. 

You’re tempted to use the tadpole to find out what exactly it is but quickly refrain once you hear the shuffling of branches behind you followed by Astarion’s breath of relief. 

“You alright?”

His eyes shut for a split second. His chest heaves a single breath and in that moment you’re struck with an odd sense of sympathy. The feeling of pity laces throughout your thoughts as you imagine Astarion’s life before all of this. You imagine it isn’t great. Considering he’s a vampire, there’s probably at least an inkling of trauma there after living, dying and coming back as something other than yourself. No sane person would be the same after that, especially when taking into account all the symptoms. Before his transition, he could do mundane things. Enjoy the pleasantries of life like the sun and sleeping and food. 

Nowadays, all it seems he craves is blood and power. Flesh of whatever he can get his greedy little hands on. The upper hand in any possible argument. Both make what Astarion is on the surface, but looking at him now, wondering what else lies behind that thick, defensive coat of first impressions, you know there are other things. Nicer ones he refuses to showcase. 

They’re the details of his life before everything. Traits reserved only for himself, and for some uncharacteristic reason, you’re tempted to find out what they are. 

“If you need to…” Trailing off, you feel your stomach twist at the realization of what you’re about to offer. The consequences are high, maybe even too high, but perhaps the benefits could be deemed higher. At this point, you’re certain no one else will give him what he needs. They’re all too noble or guarded to allow Astarion, regardless of his current allegiance, to drink. 

They don’t trust him. And even though you find yourself in the same boat, feeling the skepticism of your words start to echo in the back of your mind, you know it’s the most logical thing to do. Sure, it may not be the right one. By a long shot, it’s probably one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had, but you know deep down that it’s necessary for your survival. To ensure that, when all this blows over and the potential of you going your separate ways occurs, Astarion doesn’t view you as an enemy.

“If you need to drink, you can.” 

His eyes widen only a bit. Just enough for you to notice the slight shock that spreads across his features. “I can?” 

There’s a reluctance you feel begin to bubble up but instead of acting on it you merely shut it down, nodding your head. “Yes, but only a little. Don’t want you bleeding me dry before this whole thing is all over.” 

Somehow that makes him laugh. “Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.” 

You force yourself not to smirk as he lies through his teeth. Knowing him, he’d suck you dry if it weren’t for the fact that there’s safety in numbers. “Unfortunately for me this isn’t a dream.” 

“Fair point,” he replies, taking a short step forward. After that he slowly begins to crouch towards the ground, watching you closely —focusing on the rise and fall of your chest as his face falls mere inches from yours. “For now though, I promise to do no such thing.”

“And you’re certain you’ll keep it?”  

He hums, a grin pulling at his cheeks. “For now,” he muses. “In the future though…”

He’s so close you can feel his breath. Hot and heavy puffs pushed through a low, far too sultry tone of voice that has you pressing your lips together in a thin line. 

Out of everyone, Astarion’s always been the most intriguing. The one you’ve had this constant back and forth with, debating whether or not to approach or run. Aside from the obvious vampirism, it’s quite obvious that he isn’t like the others. From what you’ve been able to piece together, he doesn’t have a cause. A God or some sort of leader he’s willing to lay down the law for. He’s not noble like Wyll or faithful like Shadowheart. He’s just Astarion. A bloodied wolf all by his lonesome, following the rest of the pack. 

You’re sure he has desires like the rest of them. Wants and needs that’ll inevitably be gifted to him at the end of this —so long as you all survive. Like everyone else, he has a purpose in mind, but what that purpose is is unbeknownst to you thanks to the charm he offers in replacement of the truth. Because of this, he feels almost like a treasure chest. A trove of untold riches kneeling before you, tempting you to open. 

“I’m sure the future will have us far enough away from each other where that doesn’t happen, so I won’t worry.” 

Almost immediately, he can tell you’re fishing for information. The way his brow slightly upturns and the flirtatious grin across his face transitions into more of a smirk. It makes you internally curse, knowing that no matter how hard you try you’ll never beat him at his own game. His way with words is too precise. Too calculated, even for someone like you who grew up convincing people of your lies. 

“You never know. Perhaps after this is all over I’ll follow you. Linger amongst the shadows until the time is right.” 

You can’t tell if he’s kidding. His voice is too convincing to be completely certain, so you merely roll your eyes. “Yes, well, if you do decide to drink me to death, be sure to make it quick.” 

He clicks his tongue, leaning slightly further in. “What would be the fun in that though?”

There’s an unfamiliar ache inside your chest. A rupture of pain that wreaks havoc against your ribcage, pounding. Now that he’s close to you, you can assume it’s always been there but because he’s so good at posing a distraction you weren’t fully aware of it until now. 

“Fair point,” you repeat his words back to him, deeply inhaling just as the tadpole suddenly shifts in tandem with your chest. Ebbing and flowing across your inner eye in time with your shaky breath, you notice Astarion pick up on it, humming knowingly. 

“You fear me, don’t you?” 

Despite the answer being blatantly obvious, your lips remained sealed. Closed off, regardless of the truths the rest of your body spills. 

“It’s quite alright, darling. It’s normal. Creatures of the night are hardly meant to be trifled with.” 

He’s in your face now, a mere hair’s length away, once again baring his teeth. Against your lips, you can feel the movement of his words pushing through the air, coating you in further reluctance as the withheld breath inside you finally releases. As it hits his face, he blinks and pulls away. Ever so slightly giving you the space you need to recollect your thoughts and swallow back the fear. 

He’s terrifying. Even you have to admit that. Unlike Lae’zel he’s more calculated in his intimidation, opting to pull you in —to make you feel comfortable— before he ultimately strikes. Because of this, his threats feel more authentic. Less like simple tactics used to get you to back off. They aren’t words of warning —they’re promises. Declarations of a moment he’s more than willing to make a reality if given the chance.

“Do you want my blood or not, Astarion?”

Your patience is thin. Your chest is in pain and while the tadpole inside unwittingly reaches out to his, driving you both closer as he instructs you to lie back down and get comfortable, all you can feel is temptation. Desire. 

Upon resting your head, you feel the connection between you grow stronger. Inside, your head flashes with icy sensations that trickle down towards your neck. Small tremors of what’s to come as Astarion positions himself around you. 

When he leans down, there’s a moment where you think of retracting. This is all too sudden, you think. A mistake made in hopes of gaining the upper hand. Just moments ago you were made unaware of the full potential of Astarion’s charms, but now that you’re lying beneath him, awaiting the moment he sinks his teeth into your flesh, you can feel the regret begin to build.

“It won’t last.”

Pulling yourself from your thoughts, you look to see him staring over top of you. Both of his arms are planted on either side of your head, bending at the elbow so that he’s low and close. “I’m sorry?”

“The pain. It won’t last long, I promise.”

Strangely enough, he sounds sincere. Not that that means much when a good portion of the words that exit his lips are lies. Still though, instead of returning to that previous headspace you merely breathe and nod, waiting for the moment the tadpole’s connection vibrates with confirmation and Astarion begins to lean in. 

It’s a slow process. Above you, his shoulders shift, pushing his arm to cup the back of your head and expose your neck. Against your skull, Astarion tightens his grip to steady the endless thoughts that race through your mind as you share a glance. It’s small but important. A moment of recognition that tonight is not the night you die at his hand, but merely a preview of what might come if your paths wrongfully cross. 

At the last second, you give him a curt nod and feel him dip, running the tip of his tongue along your jugular before the presence of teeth poke holes through your flesh. At first, it's painful. The blood that’s sucked through your veins pulsates through the open wound in stinging waves as you feign a soft groan. Then Astarion’s grip around your head tightens at the sound, pushing you further into his mouth. Further into the euphoria he takes as the feeling transcends into something numbingly cold. 

Your eyes flutter shut at his continued feed. The feeling in your hands begins to fade even as you somehow find them moving to Astarion’s back, one of them pressing against his shoulder, the other finding purchase in his locks. At that point, you can feel Astarion moan against you, desperation filling his every cell as his teeth shift further into your neck, prompting your eyes to shoot open. 

He’s going to kill you at this rate. To drink you drier than an insect's husk, so, through half-conscious pushes, you tell him to stop. To let go and to keep his promise as you grip the roots of his hair and pull. 

As it happens you see his eyes shift to yours. They’re blown out completely, the whites of his eyes stained red to match his ruby pupils. For a moment, they remain locked to your half-lidded ones, honing in on the way they start to flutter again before you see them tightly close. Then he finds himself ripping away and gasping for air. Coughing through the thick blood that coats his tongue as he stares down at your neck.

The wound is only slightly gaping. Two well-defined puncture wounds sit side by side, but at the moment you can’t feel them. Instead, there’s still only numbness. A space of nothing that lingers between your head and chest, making you shift to sit up and place your hand there, finding more blood. 

“See? Over before you know it, right?” He laughs but all you do is glare. 

“You almost killed me.”

“Ah, yes, but notice the key word being almost.” 

If you weren’t so heavy-headed you’d punch him in the throat. Maybe strangle him if you could get the right angle. “Yes, fine, you’ve had your fun. Now, do you need anything else or am I fine to pass out now?” 

You expect him to say something else. To make some quip about the safety measures of post-bloodsucking, but he doesn’t. Instead, he merely inches closer, staring at you as he reaches for your bloodied hand and pulls it close. 

Once again, your tadpole wriggles against your will. Throughout your skull, it practically dances as Astarion glances down, taking two of your fingers into his mouth with careful precision. If anyone were to see they’d most likely faint at the mere lewdness of it. Frozen in time, your body refuses to move as he laps the blood off your skin, staring at you through hooded eyes that make you want to scream.

You’ve never been in this kind of position before. Sure, you’ve experienced many kinds of intimacy, both sexual and not, but somehow this feels different. Forbidden, in a sense. As if sharing this moment is not only wrong but also against some sort of ethical code. 

At first, you wonder if it’s because blood isn’t necessarily something that’s given. Always taken. In battle, it’s ripped from your skin through the means of injury. Punctured or sliced out of you at the hands of a sword. No bond goes along with it. No mutual agreement that any life will remain once the deed is over. 

But then you begin to think of Astarion. The elven vampire now infected with the Illithid. Like you, he’s been changed. Subtly shifted into something new. Overall, your transformation isn’t nearly as different as his. Before the infection, you could still enjoy the pleasantries of being human, but still, there’s this connection that draws you towards him. It makes its presence known within the tadpole. Throughout the movements that echo in your minds as Astarion cleans the last of the blood away, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I consider this a gift, you know,” he says, dropping your hand, and moving away to stand without so much as a thought. 

You blink back your confusion, trying your best to focus on the genuine-looking smile that appears as he takes a few steps backwards, never breaking eye contact until he telepathically adds I won’t forget it then stalks away. 

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode IV

Seed of Life

This is @zestys-stuff 's OC. All credits to this character goes to this beautiful, talented artist. Thank you again for allowing me to explore and create with him!

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, fluff, angst, early pregnancy smut (will be forewarned before it happens), daddy daughter drama, Ralak being little rough because reader won’t stop teasing him, Ralak literally has blue balls, ball play, blowjob, brief thigh fucking, likely incorrect na’vi, teacher/student dynamics/roleplay, p in v, quickie, squirting, masturbation, dirty talk, sexual tension, age gap 

Disclaimer: This chapter entails pregnancy and sexual intimacy during early pregnancy. I include a warning directly before the smut happens in the case that you want to indulge in this chapter but aren’t necessarily up for the pregnancy smut. 

Word Count: 10k sorry

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: thank you guys for always being so patient with me. i love yall too the moon and back <3 happy holidays and a happy new year! also, I’ve realised that I unintentionally decided that Kiri is not involved in this series (i dunno honestly, it’s just occuring to me that I’ve never really mentioned her before and it feels difficult to incorporate her at this point i suppose). It seems like we (reader) have taken her place in this au in regards to being jakes adopted ‘babygirl’ (nothing else though—no superpowers or anything loool).  

Synopsis: After telling Ralak that he's going to be a father, the reality dawns on you that you need to break the news to your own father.

<- Previous -> Next

This pregnancy shouldn’t be much of a surprise to you, honestly. How could you not be? After such a breeding it would be a miracle if you weren’t pregnant. Yet the news wasn’t quite sinking in, even when Tsireya looked at you with wide eyes and spelled it out for you. But now that you’re walking towards the tsahìk, you’re faced with reality and it begins to sink in as you count each step you take. 

Forty-two…  

The words that rolled off the tarsem’s tongue echo in your skull.  

Forty-three…  

Etching themselves into the bone, leaving you with no space to deny the truth. 

Forty-four… 

“You are with child.” 

The ringing in your ears stops as your vision refocuses on the stone cold expression of the Tsahìk. Her voice is unfaltering and clear as it delivers the news to your ears a second time. Bowing to the taller woman, you sweep three fingers away from your forehead and turn your heel to walk away. But before you can take two steps she announces something that makes your ears stand tall.  

“A boy.”  

Her two harshly spoken words strike through your chest, a sinking feeling now brewing in the pit of your stomach. You stop dead in your tracks and lift your head that was once tilted down to your feet. Things become even more real, having you force down a wad of your spit to keep your vision from splitting again. You’re barely able to use your voice—your mouth partially open and your tongue rolling from the churn of your tummy.  

“Thank you, Ronal.” You manage to squeak a decibel or two over a whisper, dropping your head again to lock your stare to your feet before fleeing the now-crowding scene. You overhear the people murmuring the news as you scurry away to your marui pod.  

‘The forest girl expects the firstborn of the village’s best warrior’;  

‘She won’t make it out alive!’; 

‘Did you hear? She will birth the first of a new kind. A kind with demon blood’.  

If your legs could go any quicker, they would.  

A child grows in your womb now. A child for the man you love—Ralak. The man who deserves it most. You’re scared and excited all at once. Proud to bear a son for such a notable and fearsome man. But afraid of how your family will take to the news.  

This was your first month of being a mated pair, and you’ve already succumbed to your most primordial instinct to mate. And with what everyone is already whispering, you’re scared of much more than that. Is what they say true? Is this a risky thing? Will he be teased for being different? Will he be rejected from the clan?  

Does Ralak… even want this?  

You both hadn’t even sat down and spoken about the possible consequences of such a cosmic event—your synced cycles. What if he hadn’t meant all the things he said? Or if he really just couldn’t prevent the things that he did during his rut? How would he react if that were the case?  

Your mind is running at a hundred clicks an hour and your nerves are wringing your stomach that it takes the hot sand spilling through the cracks of your toes to make you realise that you’re already home.  

And there he is, in all his glory.  

Doing nothing other than sharpening his damn spear. Sitting on his knees, leaned back with his flexed abs and gathered brows, concentrating on his task—blissfully unaware of the gossip spreading throughout the clan. The sight brings serenity to the white noise in your head, leaving nothing but the crash of the waves and the splash of the ilus off in the distance. I  

Ralak’s ears twitch as he senses your presence, but he remains focused on the stroke of his whetstone against the blade. He can feel your apprehension from where he sits, and he can already tell what you’re here for. Yet he chooses to keep his appearance no less than stoic, but not enough to be intimidating.  

“Tanhì.” He hums low enough that you strain to hear him.  

“I need to speak with you.” You utter, wetting your dry lips with a quick swipe of your tongue. You stand there fidgeting with your fingers as you await a reply from your husband. It’s almost mortifying how silent this man can actually be. You see the slight tilt of his head and his ear perk up to listen closely. Taking this as your cue to speak, you try to find the words to say.  

How do I say this?  

Ralak is a simple man, perhaps it’s better to give it to him straight. An easy, ‘I carry your unborn son’, would do, right? You begin to gnaw on the dry skin on your bottom lip as you think. But his silence is really getting to you today. How can he sit there so… unbothered? Not even a glance thrown your way or an eyelash batted. Maybe you should just spit it out — ‘you got me pregnant’.  

“Hm?” He lets out a muffled grunt, swiping the whetstone against the spearhead. It sounds innocent. Like he’s just immersed in a task and couldn’t quite bring himself to completely stop. 

“We no longer need to prepare for my heat.” You blurt out, not even knowing where the words came from. You witness his spine straighten and him quickly stilling his movements.  

Little did you know his heart gallops at the speed of a direhorse, thumping wildly between his ribs as he prepares himself to finally hear you utter the words. Oh, how he had been waiting for your sweet voice to sing the news. But he realises that you seem to need an extra push to say them.  

“And why is that?” Ralak husks, still unmoving.  

You wait for him to turn around. To look your way. Something.  

But… nothing.  

“I’m pregnant.” 

Ralaks heart skips a beat and his breath catches in his throat. A grin spreads from ear to ear, so strong and wide that if you were really paying attention you would have caught the way his ears stand at full height.  

But you were too busy fighting the bubble of the blood in your thumping heart, trying to keep your frustration to a minimum. You had expected more. For him to turn around, at the very least. All you could hear was the da-dump and the silence between you two. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

Perhaps it’s all the hushed chatter from earlier or maybe it’s just the new surge of hormones and out-of-whack pheromones but you can’t help the burn of your eyes as they fill with tears.  

“So w-what? Not even a glance my way? You knock me up and have nothing to s-say for it?”  You choke back your heated tears of frustration, Ralak now huffing a vehement sigh. “You’re not even surprised, or—” Your blubbering is cut short by your husband's quick movement.  

Ralak instantaneously brings himself to his feet and storms over to you, towering over your petite frame. Now he’s peering down at you, dark, smouldering eyes holding the most intimidating gaze with you as he closes the distance between your bodies. He’s still damp from seeing to the ilus this morning that when your chest touches his cold, bare stomach, it hardens your nipples into stiff peaks.   

“Surprised?” He rasps, his large hand flying to your lower stomach, gently pressing into it. Heaving shoulders slowing as he steadies his breathing, Ralak lowers his head to brush his lips against the shell of your ear— 

“Do you not think I had every intention of putting this baby inside of you?” 

Hearing this spoken in such an assertive tone sends shivers up your spine—Ralak knows exactly how to handle you and your… sensitivity. He always has. Your tail sways uncontrollably behind you, earning a well concealed smirk from the giant before you. It’s always been one of his favourite parts of you, but now—oh, now he has a new favourite part of you.  

Your soon-to-be swelling belly.  

“I have known.” He admits through a whisper, smoothing his entire palm over your budding womb, planting a quick kiss on your temple. “Your scent… it has changed, tanhì.”  

“What?” You whisper, almost pulling away from his tender touches to look at him. “And you didn’t say anything?”  

“I wanted to hear you say it. I have been waiting… to hear you say it.” He’s the one to pull away this time, looking you deeply in the eyes. His free hand raises, using his thumb to wipe away a tear seeping from the corner of your eye. “Please. Do not cry.”  

You don’t even know what to say. Yet again, Ralak leaves you speechless—with trembling lips and a swelling throat.  

“And you are actually eating the payoang niktsyey [fish wraps] I cook.”  

“What?” You snort, letting loose a sudden, nasally giggle. You drop your smile and try to fix a serious expression on your face. “What do you mean? I always eat your payoang niktsyey [fish wraps]”  

Ralak laughs, his three fingers tucking hair behind your ear, “I see you throw them to the ilus, tanhì. I am no fool.”  

You laugh again, snotty-nosed and teary-eyed, sniffling when the uncontrollable giggling fit ends. “It seems that our son enjoys your cooking, ‘lak.” You bubbler with a wobbly smile, blinking harshly to clear your vision.  

Ralaks eyes bulge as they frantically search yours—a beaming smile spreading across his lips, his pointed teeth on full display. “Son?” He exhales softly, his left brow bone jumping ever so slightly.  

All you can do is nod, letting your wobbly smile morph into a grin. The tears come back like they never left, twice as much and even hotter than before. You swear you see Ralaks eyes gloss over too, glistering in the sunlight.  

Ralak sinks to his knees, coming face to face with your soft tummy. 

“My prrnen [baby]. My ‘evengan [son; boy child]. It is your sempu [daddy].” He whispers, heated lips slightly pressed against your silken skin. Chin tucked to your chest, you watch in awe, straining to listen to his hushed whispers. “I have wanted you for so long.”  

Hearing that—oh, how hearing that makes you feel. You feel warm inside, your heart so full all your earlier fears melt away. Ralak looks up at you, azure blue eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration—gratitude and admiration.  

“My sweet tanhì. You have made me the man I have always wanted to be.” He croons at you, planting a long, soft kiss on your stomach—eyes still locked with yours. “And I thank you for that. Nìt’iluke [forever; never-endingly]”  

And just like that, the butterflies you felt when you first laid eyes on this man come rushing in, flapping their wings at full force.  

“I am your mate.” You sputter out a little, tiny sob. “It’s what I-I am supposed to do.”  

Ralak stands up, holding eye contact with you the entire way.  

“You owe me nothing. It is an honour that you carry my unborn, y/n.” His hand leaves your stomach to grasp your hand, intertwining his thickset fingers with yours. “You will be a nawm [great] mother.” 

“And you will be the best father.” You choke back your sobs, struggling to get your words out. A comfortable silence passes, where you both immerse yourselves into one another’s touch. Until Ralak witnesses your expression morph into something of worry.  

“What is it?” He asks in a hushed voice, keeping his tone calm and cool.  

“Speaking of… fathers.” The column of your throat undulates when you gulp hard, “How will I tell mine?” 

Ralak swallows, too. The thought had crossed his mind a few times over the past week. He saw the answer as simple – tell him. Ralak holds a lot of respect for your father, looking up at him as a superior given his status and skill as a warrior. And although he’s slightly intimidated by your father, Ralak sees this respect as mutual—therefore, it should be returned. Surely, this will go smoothly if you both remain polite.  

Right?  

“We tell him. Together.” Ralak grasps your hand once more, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, his heavy accent shining through now that he’s high on emotions, “I keep you safe. Both of you.”   

—— 

Both you and Ralak make your way down the shore towards the webbing of overlapping mangrove roots. Though you insisted on breaking the news to your family by yourself, he was adamant that he accompanies you. You couldn’t bear the thought of your father lashing out on Ralak, especially in front of the others. You tried to explain that to him, but he simply shook his head and tightened the clasp of his saya (knife sheath) on his hip.   

You make the trek by foot, wanting a little more time to think about what you were going to say, and he ensured to stay right behind you. Quite literally—looming behind you like some sort of bodyguard. Every na’vi you pass are quick to avert their gaze elsewhere when they see the giant you have as a shadow. They tried not to look to begin with, but it was a rare sight to see you two so close together among the clan.  

Their hushed whispers are kept to an absolute minimum but Ralak hears them nonetheless. It doesn’t bother him. Not anymore, at least. It used to bother him before he had met you—hearing the chatter of the gossip about his voluntary six year celibacy despite being the chief’s right hand man. And now that the murmurs entail nothing but his relationship with you, he could care less.  

But then he hears the indistinct mumble about the babe budding in your womb. It’s something along the lines of ‘it being some demon hybrid’. The comment alone has Ralak screeching to a halt, his head snapping in the direction of a stocky, young warrior in training. One that Tonowari had relentlessly urged Ralak to teach until he begrudgingly gave him a couple combat lessons.  

Ralak’s eyes narrow and sharpen, snapping down to shoot a threatening leer down at him. That's all it took for the stumpy na’vi to drop his head in shame and scurry away with his younger companions.  

Sensing that Ralak is no longer on your tail, you turn around, half-expecting him to be five steps behind. Instead, he’s right where you left him, with a reassuring smile and an extended hand gesturing you to ‘continue’. You return a light hearted smile and spin around, taking another step towards your family marui.  

—— 

“To what do we owe the visit?” Neteyam smiles as he greets you at the marui door, arms splayed out for a hug. You smile and slump into your brother, allowing him to envelope you in a warm embrace. “We haven’t seen you in what feels like weeks, sis.”  

“Because we haven’t.” Lo’ak adds, lurking behind his bigger brother, arms crossed over his chest with a grin on his face.  

“Hey Lo’.” You say in a low voice, smiling at him as you let go of your big brother. Ralak silently stands at the marui door, head awkwardly tilted in an attempt to fit himself in such a tight space. 

“Hey, sissy.” Lo’ak throws an arm around your neck, patting your shoulder a few times as he walks you further inside and away from Ralak. “What’s up with the shadow?” He doesn’t even try to quieten his voice as he nudges his chin in your husband's direction.  

You force a little laugh, unwrapping his arm from around your neck so you can inch away back to your ‘shadow’. You back up until you bump into his solid build, making a muffled thump when you collide. He steadies you by the shoulders, lidded eyes flicking down to check that you’re okay. He can sense your nervousness. 

“I–we… have something to tell you guys.” You begin, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Where’s everyone else?”  

Lo’ak’s eyes squint, brows furrowing as the gears in his brain grind twice as fast to figure out what you could possibly be calling a family meeting for. “No fucking way. Already?” He blurts out when he finally puts two and two together. Your eyes widen when they dart over to him, catching sight of the shit eating grin plastered to his face.   

Fuck, is this skxawng going to spoil it for me? You think to yourself, apparently loud enough for Ralak to hear. He squeezes your shoulders before sliding his hands down the full length of your arms and letting go. “Mawey [calm].” He breathes, his head still hanging low. You look behind you, tilting your head up to meet his comforting gaze.  

“Hey, babygirl.” Jake’s voice snaps your attention back down, having you look your father in the eye. His smile is as wide as his arms as he approaches you for a hug.  

“Dad. Hey.” You whisper, returning the hug and snuggling into his chest. You bask in the moment, lingering onto how things are now—before you drop the bomb on him.  

“I missed ya.” Jake chuckles, rubbing your back. He finally lifts his head and sees your ‘shadow’ hovering a little closer than needed. “Jeez, let her breathe, boy. She’s just huggin’ her old man.” Ralak keeps his head hung and takes a small but noticeable step back. Jake gives you a quick peck on the head as he begins to pull away. “What have ya’ been up—”  

Jake cuts himself short, leaning back in to smell your hair. His eyebrows gather when he recognizes the familiar scent. Neytiri has smelled similarly a few times before. Jake grinds his teeth, scrunched brows and narrow eyes giving away his current state of mind. His hands slide down your arms, gripping then as he looks you dead in the eye. “Y/n. You got somethin’ to tell me?” 

“Dad–” You swallow down the knot in your throat, already getting choked up.  

Jake's lips purse into a thin line as his death-stare immediately averts to Ralak. And for what feels like an eternity, nothing but silence fills the room. The tension in the air is almost suffocating. Jakes eyeing Ralak down whilst Ralaks stare is locked on the way he’s holding you.  

You glance over at your brothers. One’s obviously got it figured out, arms crossed, shaking his head with a smug look on his face. And one is completely clueless—poor thing. You look back at your father who is now seething, leer averted back to you as he exerts all his energy into being patient.  

“What’s going on? Guys?” Neteyam breaks the silence with a worried tone to his voice. His eyes bounce from person to person, until they land on his brother.  

“He knocked her up.” Lo’aks whispers harshly, not even trying to be discreet. Neteyams brows raise and now he is, too, staring at you. You feel all the blood drain from your face and suddenly you’re extremely light in the head.   

Mortified is an understatement.  

Everyone is clearly waiting for you to confirm it. But you’re having such a difficult time saying the two silly little words. The pressure is on now, you could even see Ralak straining to hold his tongue. You finally muster up a cowardly nod, and immediately your fathers grip intensifies, squeezing your arms firm and tight. He’s looking down at you with eyes of disbelief and somewhat disappointment, frantically searching yours to see if this is really the truth. You let loose a low hiss, wincing when you feel the pinch of his grip.  

Not even another second passes when you hear the slap of your husband’s large hands grabbing ahold of your father’s wrists.  

“She is pregnant.”  

A deep, but low growl rips from Ralaks chest. In other words, ‘never lay your hands on a pregnant woman’. Ralak dwarfs Jake as he inches in a little closer, grasping his wrists just firm enough to send this message.  

“Yeah. Got it, bud.” Jake returns a growl through his teeth and tightened lips. He shifts his position slightly, eyes flicking down to acknowledge what his son in law is trying to get across. Nonetheless, Jake stands his ground. “Get your hands off me.”  

Ralak tries to regain his composure, but his protective instincts have just about gone haywire. The urge to protect has never been so intense before. It’s like his soul knows that there’s just more to protect.  

More at stake. 

Ralak looks down at your fathers hands once more, silently making his point clear. He holds eye contact with Toruk makto whilst he remains unmoving.  

“Lak…” You squeak a warning to your husband, who only flutters his jaw as a response. Lo’ak and Neteyam are on edge, both concerned that their father has a grip on you, but even more so that Ralak has a grip on their father. They watch intently, trying to decipher if and when they need to intervene.  

To everyone’s surprise, Jake exhales harshly through his nose and gently pulls away from you, but wrenches his wrists away from Ralak’s grasp. “Sorry, kid.” Jake spits an apology, readjusting his position to be directly in front of Ralak. “Care to explain how this happened so damn quick?” 

“Dad!” You shout in disbelief, wedging yourself back in between the two.  

“You know what? Don’t even answer that.” Jake snaps.   

“You know you are really no one to talk! Where’s mom? Mom!” You go on the tips of your toes, leaning from side to side to look for her behind both the two male na’vi.  

“‘xcuse me?” Jake purposely blocks your view by bobbing his head wherever yours goes. “I am still your father and you will not speak to me that—” Jake steps to the left to avoid Ralak and walk towards you. Ralak quickly adjusts himself to be the wall between you and your father, not allowing Jake the chance to even finish his sentence. Ralak is now looking down at Jake with a stoic expression, trying his best not to come off intimidating or challenging in any way.  

All to no avail.  

“You got a problem with me, boy?” Jake grumbles through his clenched jaw, getting in Ralaks face now.  

“No. Only keeping my word, sir.” Ralak simply responds.  

Jakes brought back to the very moment he made Ralak give him his word. His word that he’d never let a thing happen to his baby girl. The night you completed your iknimaya. The night he granted Ralak the permission to mate with you.  

The night Ralak took your virginity. 

Jake stalls for a few seconds, taken aback by Ralaks behaviour but a little impressed at the same time. Jake's expression softens upon realizing that Ralak is just protecting his mate—just as he does Neytiri, especially during her pregnancies.  

But there’s no way in hell that Jake will be the first one to back down here.  

“Mom!” You call for her once more, hoping that she’ll swoop in and save the day.  

Neytiri rushes in, hand on her hip where she keeps her dagger sheathed—worry and concern etched into her features. She analyses the situation, taking in the scene of her own mate standing face to face with yours. She glances over at you, seeing the panic in your eyes and the hand on your stomach that you didn’t even know you had placed there. Slowly walking up to the two male na’vi, she places a firm hand on her mates chest, pushing him away from Ralak. “Ma’ Jake. What is happening here?”  

Jake’s pressing his lips firmly together, not wanting to say the words. He shakes his head a little, huffing through his nostrils before placing a hand on his hip. His other hand extends in your direction, as if he were pointing out the obvious. Yet he remains choked up and speechless, his hand falling to his thigh as he gives up.  

Finally, he mumbles, “Go on. Tell her.”  

Neytiri looks back at you, eyes trailing back down to your hand that’s mindlessly resting on your stomach as she awaits for your answer. You feel the burn of her eyes, yanking away your hand when it becomes too much. Being the daughter of Mo’at, a tsahik, Neytiri needed nothing more than a quick glance and sniff to know what’s going on. “Is this true?”  

“Yes, mom. It is true. I am.” You say in a defeated tone of voice. Ralak shifts himself, settling close beside you now rather than in front of you. He always had an even greater respect for your mother.  

Neytiri’s expression only grows softer, until there's no trace of concern left in her face. Her smile is downturned but her eyes are bright, glistening with joy as she pulls you in for a warm embrace.  

“It is a blessing from Eywa, my child.”  

She pulls away from you, now looking over to Ralak. Neytiri lays a gentle hand on Ralaks upper bicep, “Seykxel sì nitram [congratulations] .” Ralak signs ‘I see you’ to his mother in law, exchanging a light hearted smile with her.  

It was no secret that Neytiri longed to be a grandmother. Her days of children are over now, although she was expecting her eldest, Neteyam, to give her a grandchild first. But Ralak — Ralak is a remarkable, mighty warrior and hunter. The olo’eyktans right hand man, and undoubtedly the best fisherman in the village.  

In fact, Ralak was one of the first people Neytiri took a liking to after she adjusted to the way of water. She always felt that he was a good suitor for her daughter.  

“Are you kiddin’ me? It’s barely been two months!” Jake scoffs, shaking his head.  

“And a day for us, Jake.” Neytiri tries her best to keep a calm, but firm voice. “They are a mated pair, they are having a family now. It is Eywa’s will.”  

Jake quiets himself, reflecting on his harsh ways. He sighs, loudly. His eyes finally glance down to what everyone in the room has been looking at, now staring at your protective hand that mindlessly lay over your womb once again. He grits his teeth, averting his stare to the ground, eyeing the charred wood of the fire pit. His tongue clicks as he parts his lips, muttering— 

“I know… I know, alright? She’s just—” He looks up at Neytiri, then Ralak, and then you. “She’s my babygirl.”  

It’s his way of saying, ‘I just want to protect my family.’ 

“Dad. I am but—but I’m not your baby anymore. I’m not a kid.” You croak, finding it hard to hold eye contact with him. “Your grandson is the new baby of this family.”  

Jake tries to fight the way his eyebrows scrunch together, it was like hearing about the news of his firstborn son all over again. He exhales slowly, nodding his head and extending his arms to hold you. His warmth envelopes you completely, leaving no room for any cold or harsh thoughts and feelings to linger.  

“You keep ‘em safe.” Jake's chin presses into the crown of your head as he mutters the words to Ralak. Ralak had always had a hard time understanding Jake's native slang, but this he understood— loud and clear.  

“Always.” Ralak answers firmly.  

Your safety has been, is and will always be his number one priority.  

Jake nods once, squeezing you a little tighter before letting go fully. “Seykxel sì nitram [congratulations], you two.” 

“Thank you, dad.” You smile whilst Ralak bows his head. Neteyam and Lo’ak finally come over for their hugs, making a comment of their own as they release you from their grasps.  

“I’m gonna teach him everything I know.” Lo’aks grin is unnerving and a little sinister, giving away the trouble that he’s already trying to get your son into.  

“Please don’t.” You joke back with your brother, even though you’re being dead serious.  

Neteyam jabs an elbow into his brother's rib cage, disciplining him for his mischief. “Agh — do not worry, Uncle TeTe will keep him in check.”  

“Well, that’s a relief.” You say softly with a smile on your face, “‘Uncle TeTe’. I like that.”  

“Hey, don’t forget about ‘Uncle Lo’Lo’.” Lo’ak chimes in.  

“Eh. Doesn’t have the same ring to it, you know? What do you think, lak?” You jester, looking up at him to be met with a slight smirk.  

“Very… hiyìk [strange; funny].” Ralaks smirk pulls at his lips a little more. “But, at least it is not ‘ak’-ak’.”  

You swear you hear a little chuckle from everyone in the room. All except Lo’ak, who is staring at Ralak with a deadpan expression, arms crossed defensively over his chest. It feels like an eternity passes until Lo’ak finally booms with laughter, extending his arm out to Ralak, who gaily reciprocates and meets Lo’aks’ with a smack.  

“I like this bodyguard of yours, y/n. He actually has a sense of humour.”  

You let loose a scoff and roll your eyes, about ready to wrap this whole thing up and lie down in bed. It’s seemingly obvious, seeing that everyone is giving you space as they take note of your restless body language and bowed shoulders.  

“If you are tired, you should rest.” Neytiri advises, just as you feel Ralaks hand tuck under your arm to support your weight. “Your body is working hard right now.” 

“Yeah, mom. I think I need to lie down for a little.” You mumble, leaning into your mate a little more.  

Your family practically ushers you out, encouraging you to get some rest and to get off your feet. Ralak walks close to you on the way home, keeping with the pace you set to the tee — only intervening with a hand to your hip when necessary.  

And when you finally slump into bed, your eyelids flutter shut before Ralak can settle himself beside you.  

——smut warning—— 

You rouse to Ralak drawing the curtain of your marui, blocking out the orange hue of the last eclipse. It dawns on you that you’ve slept out most of the day. You didn’t even realise you were so tired to begin with.  

“You should have woken me earlier. I slept out the day.” You mumble, sitting up in bed and lightly kicking off the sheets.  

Ralak turns around, surprised that you’re awake. He curses himself under his breath; he was hoping to keep you sleeping by drawing the curtains but instead he did the opposite.  

“You needed to rest.” He says, making his way over to sit on the edge of the bed. “You have been more tired recently.”  

“Yeah?” You snort, “…and what else have I been, sir know-it-all?” 

Ralak chuckles, his eyes falling to your stomach. “…a little more hungry.”  

You smile a little, remembering his fish wrap comment from earlier.  

But then you witness his half-lidded eyes glaze over with something of… wanton. It takes a second to realise that they’re no longer staring at your belly. They’re staring at your tewng [loincloth]. More specifically, the mound imprinting it.  

It’s the way your pussy is being so tightly squeezed by the thin cloth covering it. It’s the one thing that Ralak can’t help himself from indulging in admiring. Then his eyes snap away,  unexpectedly meeting yours. The stare he’s giving you has your thighs rubbing together and your lower tummy tingling.  

“…a little more tempting.” His voice is thick like honey, laced with lust and arousal.  

In every way. From the way you fill out your top more, to your scent—you’re becoming more  

irresistible the farther along you progress. Your heart beats a little harder between your ribs as you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth. His lecherous gaze is fixed, blue eyes piercing into yours. It’s been too long since he’s been inside you that it aches.  

But he’s been patient.  

Especially since the day he figured out you were pregnant. With the way you smelt he found it hard to keep his distance at times but nonetheless, he did it. But the truth is that you haven’t had penetrative sex since your cycles synced.  

To be clear, he took care of you just fine.  

Tending to your needs whenever you initiated intimacy with him but he never took it further than his fingers and mouth. After seeing you so battered by his own hands he found it hard to put you in a position that could garner a similar result again.  

For a while, he lost trust within himself.  

That he no longer had the capacity for self control. Not only did he feel like he didn’t deserve it, but he never expected you to return the pleasure either. He had already taken you on his own terms. Repeatedly.  

Ruthlessly.  

So when you ate one to many of his payoang niktsyey [fish wraps] — when the new earthiness of your scent wafted past his nose — he knew. He knew it stuck. He knew your womb swelled with his child as each day passed. And the urge to protect only swelled with it.  

He became even more gentle with you. Handling you with care when your skin softened and your hips became a little fuller. Ensuring he had excess when he cooked. Weaving an extra thick blanket for you to sleep with when he was off on duty with Tonowari.  

It ached most when he’d come home just to see it kicked off onto the floor, with you on your stomach and your leg propped up just right. Your loincloth would always shift to the side, just enough to expose plump folds that innocently peek through the seam of the thin fabric. Fuck, it more than ached. It made him tender. Throbbing in his own tewng.  

Just like now.  

He dares not to break the steady, intent stare. Or else he may steal another glance at the softness between your thighs. But he can see in your eyes that you feel similarly. You always give him that look before doing something ‘troublesome’. You break eye contact first, your eyes now landing on his tewng.  

Fuck. 

Your eyes widen a little when you catch sight of the growing, thick bulge in his loincloth. Your gaze locks onto it, taking in every detail. From the thick stripes on his thighs to the way the twine of his loincloth is cutting into his v-lines. You can even see the outline of the crown of his cock.  

His stomach rises and falls from his uneven breathing, and his abs pop out one by one as he leans further back—supporting his torso with his arms behind his back. He was never shy about his body, and he certainly isn’t now.  

“Then, why do you resist me?” Though it's a question, it doesn’t sound like one when the words drip off your lips. Your voice is soft and feigned with innocence, yet you're shuffling to get on all fours to crawl over to him. You truthfully don’t care for the answer, you knew that it would be the same old song—‘he doesn’t want to hurt you’. 

“I hurt you.” He says coldly—simply, glancing at the fading scar on your shoulder as you settle yourself on your knees beside him. He watches as your hand finds purchase on his knee, and slides up his thigh. “And now that you are with child… I—haah”. He’s cut short with a shaky breath and slight jolt when you cup his bulge with a bit of force. He looks down at your hand, dainty and slender, barely grasping half of what’s under his tewng.  

“You worry about me too much.” You mumble, more focused on the speed at which his cock pulses at. “Yet still, never yourself.” You feel around, sliding your palm up and down its length, earning a rough exhale from Ralak in return. His lidded eyes dart back over to you, taking in the sight of you almost bent over his lap.  

“That so?” His voice is thick and gruff.  

“Mhm. ‘m always telling you that, aren’t I?” You hum softly, slowly moving your hand further down between his legs, firmly cupping his balls. They’re heavy in your hand, hot to the touch and— 

Eywa. 

“They’re swollen.” You whisper breathlessly, your glossy eyes meeting him with concern. They dart back to his crotch, your hand now fumbling with the twine of his tewng, hurriedly trying to unravel the knot to get the suffocating fabric off him. 

“‘tis fine.” He winces as he spits out the words, watching you pinch him a little while struggling with the taut material.  

Ignoring his words, you continue with your task, a bit more gently now. And when the knot comes undone, the twine falls off his hips and the tewng loosens with it. You tug it off him and see that they’re not only puffed up but also darker in colour. They’re firm and pulled close to his body, perfectly round and stripes well-defined.  

Shamefully, it turns you on to see his balls so full.  

Just the thought of them being so swollen with his seed that they’re aching and throbbing to empty themselves inside you—fuck, it’s making your teeth grit. You sit back into the dip of your feet and stare as your breathing becomes heavier. The more you look the more you realize that they’re pulling tighter and tighter towards his core. You look up at him, a little surprised. Your arousal is etched into your features and it’s more than obvious in your body language. You want to know how they’d feel in your mouth. How they’d taste.  

If they’d even fit.  

Without another passing second you bend over his lap, tail high in the air and legs spread—the overpowering scent of your arousal filling the air. You shove your face between his thighs, inhaling deeply his musky scent. You let out a breath of desire, one that sounds nothing short of pleasure and satisfaction. He smells too good. You can’t help yourself but give his firm balls a quick, kitten lick. The giant above you holds back his chuckle, finding your behaviour cute and honestly a little amusing. Feeling like the butt of a joke, you firmly grasp his length and tug it upwards, causing his balls to pull even tighter.  

“Y/n.” He hisses your name, adjusting his legs to rid himself of the strained feeling. You wet your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue, and press your cheek against them. They’re hot—heating up a degree higher the more you tease him. Just as you pull your cheek away and manage to fit one of them into your mouth, his hand flies to the back of your head, balling your hair into his fist.  

“You need not to—” your tail curls and the tip of it tickles against his chest, “—haah…do this.” Ralak huffs out a sigh of frustration it seems, looking down at you with somewhat of a predatory leer. You pop off with a pwah, catching your breath and turning your head.  

You both share an intent stare with one another, one that feels more challenging than anything. He’s insistent that he’s undeserving of this, and you’re insistent that he must be taken care of. His grip loosens on your hair, until he lets you go completely.  

“Shh…shh.” You shush him, eyes narrowing as they remain locked onto him. You slowly slide off the bed one leg at a time, sinking to your knees and settling yourself between his legs—now looking up at him with doe-eyes. The sight before you has your heart palpitating, just like the sight of your face so close to his cock has his jaw clenching.  

Ralak quiets himself by locking his jaw, waiting patiently to see how this unfolds. It’s the first he’s seen you in this position, on your knees, between his. His cock twitches in excitement as clear, thick beads of precum begin to roll down its length. You swallow thickly at the sight, wrapping your dainty fingers around its girth to pull it close to your flushed lips.  

Ralaks ears flutter and his eyelids grow heavy, his chest heaving as he shifts his weight to the palms of his hands—sitting up.  

You open your mouth, strings of your saliva connecting your lips together. They break when you lower your head, taking the mushroomy, glistening head of his cock into your mouth. It’s mostly sweet, and a little salty too. The corners of your mouth sting as you accommodate his thickness, and you struggle to open your jaw wide enough to take him further into your mouth.  

His head dips forward, eyes slamming shut when he feels your wet, warm tongue press against the underside of his cockhead. His hand flies to your head again, gently cupping the back of your skull as he lets out a strained breath.  

Muffled noises vibrate through your nose as you swipe your tongue side to side against his head. It throbs against your tongue each time it hits that sensitive spot right down the middle. You suckle and swipe at the same time, using your hands to pump the rest of his length until you're grunting and snorting for air. You come up, gasping to fill your lungs.  

His hand quickly slides from the back of your head to cup the swell of your cheek. His calloused thumb swipes at a bead of saliva rolling down your chin and pops it back into your mouth. “What are you doing, my tanhì?” He whispers the rhetorical question, ensuring his voice is calm and gentle. It sounds as if he’s given up—given in.  

Without answering, you take him back into your mouth, locking your jaw once you open it as wide as you possibly can. You stick your tongue out as far as it’ll go and look up at him with eyes that begin to water. He looks down at you with a concerned expression, which morphs into one of astonishment. Your head goes lower and lower, taking inch after inch of his cock down your throat.  

The tears in your eyes finally spill over, and your nose begins to burn. Half of his length is down your throat and you can barely breathe, but the more his face grimaces from how good you feel around him, the more of him you urge yourself to take. You hold onto his hips, using them as leverage to shove more of him down your throat.  

“Hnng. Easy.” He groans roughly, pushing back against your shoves. “You are pregnaaah—mmn, you will make yourself sick, tanhì.”  

Lifting your hand from his hip, you smack away his hand and take him full hilt, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making it bulge. You stop for a second, slowly inhaling through your nose to focus on not gagging. You try moving the back of your tongue, slowly stroking the rest of his length with your hand.  

“Ah, shit.” He exhales shakily, his eyes rolling back before squeezing shut. He looks focused, like he’s concentrating on not cumming down your throat right then and there. Lips parted slightly, each breath he takes becomes louder and more raggedy. His thigh muscles tense up and his legs spread a little more, his hand finding its own way to the base of your kuru.  

Chest swelling with pride, you begin to bob your head and coat his cock with your sticky spit. The more slippery it gets the harder he has to fight back his choked grunts. The grip he has on your kuru is tightening, as if he were preparing himself to pry you off his cock before he fills your throat.  

Suddenly, his head sinks back and his jaw clenches—hard. You could feel it. The way his cock twitches. The way it’s heating up. The way it’s swelling in your mouth. Gurgled noises are escaping past his lips, and he purses them tightly together in attempts to keep himself quiet. His core flexes, and his hips start to stutter. His whole body jolts from how sensitive he’s getting, and finally he thrusts into your mouth, the pointed tip of his cock slamming into the back of your throat. 

You silently gag as his hips stammer into you and he’s fucking your throat in frenzied little movements. He’s trying his hardest to be as gentle as he possibly can.m, but your throat is so soft and tight around him. You swallow around his cock as you try to take a breath and suddenly his erratic movements still. 

“Y/n.” He lets loose a dying groan as his head slumps forward and his inebriated eyes struggle to open.  

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

His voice is gravelly and thick with restraint. You love to see him like this—hear him like this. You can’t help the wandering hand that’s making its way down to your soaked tewng. You try to touch yourself through the fabric, but have a hard time finding your clit with it covered like this. Exasperated, you shove your hand under the band of your loincloth and use all four fingers to rub sloppy circles into your puffy clit.  

Ralak is too immersed into this to even take note of your desperation. He’s too desperate himself. And if you don’t stop now, he really won’t be able to help himself. He begins tugging you by your queue, trying to pry you away from him. With each hasty swipe of your fingers you suck a little harder, as if you were trying to match your pleasure with your mates’. He pulls at your kuru even harder but you’re unbudging, firmly holding the base of his cock as you relentlessly suckle on the most sensitive part of his tip.  

“Stop.” He growls out of breath, finally looking down just to be tipped close to the edge by the sight below him. You look dumb and fucked out with his cock stuffed in your mouth, broken moans vibrating against his length as you franticly touch yourself.  

Finally, he yanks you off him with one swift, hard tug, his cock slapping his stomach when it pops out of your mouth. You land on your behind, legs spreading wide open as your fingers work away at your now throbbing clit.  

“Why? Can’t handle it?” You taunt him between pants and breathy, hoarse moans. Rather than answering he looks down at you with a cocked brow, kuru still in hand. Both of you stare at one another, shoulders and chests violently heaving as you both pant for air.  He’s raw and pulsing, twitching from the heartbeat in the crown of his cock.  

It's suspended mid air, jumping from how insanely aroused he’s left himself. Sticky beads of precum constantly roll down his shaft, one after the next and his balls are throbbing too. You get back on your knees and lunge for his cock again, tongue darting out to have another taste. He pulls you back, his hand still having a firm grasp of your kuru.  

“Is this what you are like when you have been bred?” Ralak huffs, a little taken aback by your lewd behaviour. His gaze shifts to your pathetic attempt to make yourself cum, and a smirk spreads across his lips. “So desperate.” Your silence has his brows scrunching together and him yanking your head back so you’re looking up at him. A growl rumbles in his chest as he slowly rises to his feet, bringing you to your knees with him—his hung cock swaying directly in your face.  

A smug little smile pulls at your lips when you realise you’re riling him up. You witness his jawbone flutter, his ears laying flat against his skull. He just wants to stuff his cock back down your throat to teach you a lesson. Instead he shoves your face into his crotch, your nose burying itself into the space between his cock and balls. He holds you there for a few seconds, just long enough that when he finally pulls you away you suck in a tiny gasp of air.  

Ralak sighs a low, lengthy breath, forcing himself to regain his composure. He can’t understand how such a little thing can be so feisty. To act as if he couldn’t pin you down and take you without a scuffle. Truthfully it only makes him even harder. It only further proves that you are really the woman for him.  

Slowly bringing you to your feet, he keeps your face pressed to his body so that your bottom lip drags along his torso as you make your way up. Your hand is still stuffed inside your tewng, slick fingers working hard to find their way back to your clit. With his free hand he grabs a hold of your hip, and steadily backs you up against the wall.  

When your back hits the wall, a shaky breath is expelled from your lungs. He lets go of your kuru and rips your hand from your tewng. He then wedges his knee between your legs, putting pressure on your clit, making it flutter uncontrollably. His movements are quick but gentle, filled with purpose and desire. His eyes dart back and forth between yours as he searches them, his face just inches away from yours.  

“Answer me, little one.” He whispers into your mouth.  

“Yes.” Your answer is breathy and short.  

Ralak heaves a heavy sigh.  

“I am trying to be gentle…” He speaks the words through gritted teeth, using both hands on your hips to spin you around to face the wall. He lowers his head until his lips graze against the tip of your ear. “…but you make it so hard for me.” He growls, using the perfect amount of force to pin you against the wall with his body. His large hand swiftly moves to your lower stomach, cupping it to act as a protective barrier between the wall and your budding womb. 

“No need to be. I can handle you just fine.” Your lips are pressed tight to your teeth, face flush against the smooth surface, making it hard for you to speak clearly. “Pregnant or not.” 

Ralak chuckles.  

“Is that right?” He speaks in an almost condescending tone, hurriedly tugging down your loincloth just enough to get access to your cunt. Without warning, he bends his knees a little to align your pelvises and then shoves his cock between your slickened, warm folds. “Oh tanhì, you are soaked.” His voice quiets down into a hushed whisper, “All from sucking my cock?”   

A mewl splits your lips just as all the blood rushes to your face, staining it a bright pink. Your pussy clenches around nothingness only causing more of your slick to ooze on his cock. Your breath turns shaky, tail swishing wildly behind you. You can’t move even if you wanted to. He’s got you pinned down, quickly reminding you of his strength. And had it not been for his hand on your abdomen you would be completely plastered to the wall and taken on his terms.  

“Tsk-tsk…Have you no shame?” Ralak tuts, holding you still. “Or must I give you a lesson on self-restraint?”  

Despite his cockiness you can sense the urgency in his body language and in his voice. You can feel it in the way his hips stutter, as his cock slides back and forth between your pussy lips. His own desperation. The desire to be inside you. The need for release.  

“Go on then, karyu.” You moan softly, causing his grip on you to loosen for a millisecond. Hearing that name brings a feeling of nostalgia. Of lust. You push back into him, your slippery hole trying to suck him inside with a few quick movements of your pelvis. “But I know you’ve been desperate… desperate to fuck your numeyu.” 

“Oh, little one.” His chuckle is dark and depraved, his protective hand stiffening as if he were preparing it for what's to come. “Yet you are trying your hardest to take me inside you.” He licks your ear lobe to tip, whispering, “so cute.” 

“Fnawe’tu [coward].” You mutter under your breath, steadying your feet to ground yourself.  

Ralaks ears flicker and stand tall, then immediately lay flat to his head—his brow cocking in astonishment. His smirk grows wider, the heat in his chest spreading to his extremities. Now that pushes him over the edge.  

“Say that again, numeyu.” He challenges you in a growl, angling his hips so his weeping cockhead prods at your entrance. He ensures not to let the buck of his hips win, keeping you empty and yearning.  

“Haah… afraid to take what’s yours.” You purr, rising to the tips of your toes to try sink him inside you. “Fnawe’tu—” 

Smack. 

The sound of his swollen balls making contact with your puffy clit is almost as loud as your broken gasp. You smile open mouthed as he holds his position balls deep inside you, firmly pressing the tip of his cock into your cervix. He’s grinding his back teeth, digging his chin into your shoulder to quell the rumble of his chest from how tight you’re squeezing his cock.  

You whine from the fullness of him stuffed inside your cunt, his unmoving hips sending a clear message of dominance. He’s hunched over you, body weight pinning you mercilessly against the wall, hand over your womb to keep your unborn safe—as promised. Still being gentle enough.  

But you want him to lose it.  

To fuck into you like he were in rut again. To use your pussy like a fucktoy to satiate his own greed and self pleasure. He deserves that much, for being such a competent and loving man to you. Yet it seems the only way to bring that out of him is to play dirty.  

“Fnawe’tu [coward].” You repeat shakily. 

Smack. 

Another deep and hard thrust into your sloppy cunt. He lets loose the rumble in his chest this time, bearing his canines and putting most of his weight on you now. Lips pressed tightly together, your whimper is muffled and outright pathetic, pinched brows giving away the pleasure rippling through you. Still, he remains unmoving, undeniably making it clear who has the most leverage here. But that doesn’t really matter to you—you’re getting what you want, one way or another.  

Right?  

“Voìk si, little one [behave].” Ralak hisses, fighting the inner conflict within him.  

“Haa—” Your laugh that follows is a little sinister, open mouthed and smug. Hands pressing into the wall you push off its surface, sinking him deeper inside you. “No.”  

“Alright.” His voice is husky, thick with confidence and temperance.  

With a rough, quick tug, his cock slips out of you with a squelch, hanging freely between his legs. Your slick mixed with his precum slowly dribbling off his tip and onto the floor between your pointed feet. You fall to the flat of your feet, panting and whining from the sudden emptiness.  

“W-Wait.” You squeak, hastily getting back on the tips of your toes to stuff him inside you again. “Please.”  

“What was that?” Ralak asks, voiced feigned with innocence. “A little louder.” 

“Please.” You barely whisper, backing up on him.  

“Come now, tanhì.” His hand slips from your hip to grip his cock. Giving it a few strokes he teases your cunt with his cockhead and you instinctively shimmy down. Hips snapping back to prevent you from taking him inside, he dips his head so his mouth is next to your ear and husks, “You can do better than that.”  

“Please!” You moan loudly in desperation, reaching down to your knees to unfetter yourself from your tewng [loincloth].  

“Please, what?” Ralak spits the last word through pursed lips, ready to give you exactly what you want if you just ask for it nicely.  

“Please put it back inside.” You beg pathetically, finally getting the knot of your tewng undone. “Please, fuck me.” 

“Ahh, there’s my good girl.” Ralak praises you with a grin, sinking his cock into your warmth at a leisurely pace. His breathing stutters for every inch that penetrates you. “Was that so hard?”  

“Fuck.” You moan in relief, spreading your legs wider. He’s tamed you and he knows it. “No.” 

“No…?” Ralak says it like a question, hissing when he bottoms out in your cunt.  

“No, karyu.” You answer coyly, voice faltering from the pressure of his cockhead pushing into your cervix.  

“Agh—haah” Ralak lets out a gruff grunt in response, his hips now snapping back and forth out of his control. He’s huffing and puffing next to your ear, pumping his cock in and out of you in a frenzy of need. Swollen balls repeatedly slapping against your clit, it’s almost impossible to hold back the gurgled noises escaping your throat.  

“Fuck—so—fuckin’—deep—fuck.” The curses are punched out of you as he relentlessly smacks into you again and again.  

“Lì’fyaz [language.]” Ralak chides in a growl, hand slipping down to pull back the hood of your clit—taut.  

The continuous sting of your clit has your legs shaking and the way his cockhead is repeatedly stimulating your sweet spot has your eyes rolling back into your head. It’s almost too much all at once yet you yearn for more. Your cunt clamps down around him, especially when the tension becomes so tight you feel your stomach double-knot. Ralak hums when you tighten around him, only making him rut harder into you.  

Pulling back, he glances down at you sucking him in, your tail curled tight to your back and his cock plunging in and out of your pussy. He can see just how tight you are as your pussy walls grip his girth mercilessly. And with the protective hand on your abdomen, he can feel each thrust against the palm of his hand. It makes his chest swell with pride— 

You carry his child yet still take him so well.  

“Oeÿa tsantu [my good girl]” Ralak slips into his native tongue, panting in an accent as thick as tree sap. “Oeÿa numeyutsyìp [my little student]” 

Ralaks cock heats up inside you, heating your core along with it. It’s the same familiar sensation you feel before he provides you with your release. The feeling that keeps your eyes squeezed shut and breath shallow. He knows your close and slows his thrusts like he usually does, fucking you a little harder rather than faster, angling his pelvis so he’s right in your swelling g-spot.  

Your hands fly behind you, grasping at whatever’s available as your orgasm washes through you. You gush all over your thighs, cum dribbling down your legs to your feet, some spattering on Ralak as he fucks and holds you through your high. It’s sudden and uncontrollable, leaving you sputtering out nonsense and your legs shaking violently beneath you.  

“There it is. Good muntxate [wife].” Ralak huffs with a smirk, relishing in the quick, feverish flutter of your cunt on his cock. His voice is shaky from his uneven rhythm now that he can finally allow himself to finish too. “Love—hng—when you cum for me, you—ahh, haah—know that?” 

He begins grinding to you, shoving you further into the wall as he focuses on his own climax. He uses his feet to kick your legs closed, and pulls out of you, stuffing himself between your thighs. He’s groaning and growling, hunched over you with bent knees and flushed, flattened ears. Skin slapping against skin, he humps at your thighs, thick cock sliding back and forth over your still pulsing clit.  

His cockhead continuously pokes out between your folds, tip oozing and oozing with precum. Both his hands fly to your hips, gripping them with force as his thrusts become almost violent. You struggle to keep yourself standing as his hips smack into you repeatedly, your body jolting with each thrust. He gives you one last, harsh thrust, holding you still against him as you feel his cock throb wildly between your thighs. You look down to see his huge load shoot out in thick, white ropes. He’s grumbling behind you, giving your thighs an extra few uncontrollable thrusts as he peaks in his high.  

Finally you fall to the flat of your feet, his arms instantly snaking around your waist to support your weight entirely.  

“I told you no taunting, tanhì.” He’s referring to the time he opened up about his first rut, “Next time, you ask nicely. Tslam? [Understand?]” Ralak says breathlessly.  

“Sran, oeÿa karyu. tslolam. [Yes, my teacher. I understand].” You blubber, fucked out and jaded.  

—— 

[littlenightma]

Run, Rabbit, Run | Thomas Hewitt x Female!Reader (NSFW)

Author’s Note: *slams post button* Here you go, sluts *evil cackle*

Warning tags: Primal kink, chase kink, breeding kink, lots o’ smut.

The Texas sun kissed your sweat-soaked skin with a harsh pressure of a thousand blow torches. His heavy breathing and roaring of his chainsaw pushed you forward, to keep going no matter what stood before you, but the persistent throbbing between your legs teased the resilience of your rapidly depleting willpower.

Miles separated you from the farm house and separated you from the rest of civilization. Oceans upon oceans of rocky dirt, dying grass, and the occasional road kill were all that could be seen.

The radiating sun, which had been sitting proudly in the sky to the East, now sat lamely in the West beginning to hide beyond the horizon. The ivory moon would force away its suffocating heat, providing the barest of illumination, increasing your chances at escaping.

A small part of you wished the sun would stay out and light up the world just a little while longer.

“You’re so polite for someone your age. You remind me so much of my boy Thomas.”

“If he’s anything like you, ma’am, he has to be the sweetest boy around.”

He was a six foot tall mountain of muscle and power, running with the determination of a blood hound tracking the scent of a wounded animal. When you thought you had successfully outsmarted him by suddenly changing directions within the tall, golden thickets at the last second, he’d still be barreling after you, unphased, no further than he was before.

There were moments, fleeting as they were, but impressionable nonetheless, where he had been so close to getting a hold of you. So close, the slight breeze from his hand attempting to grab your hair raised your skin, sucking the breath from your chest as you narrowly dodge him.

And that made things even more thrilling.

His grunts of frustration were muffled by his mask and the tight curve of his bottom lip. The lip jutted out awkwardly and looked as if it had been stung by a bee the way it was swollen.

Deformed.

And this deformed man was coming after you.

To him you were an outsider. A pest that needed eradicating. Even though his Mama willingly invited you into their home, he made you feel as if you were trespassing anyway. He wanted to kill you then and you were sure as shit he wanted to now, probably more than ever seeing how you keep escaping him.

She’d had asked him to keep you alive so assuming that he’d follow through with her request, your life would be spared, but for what sick reason? Would death be more lenient than what they had planned for you?

Of all days for your tire to blow out…

“Here he comes now,” said the woman, smiling expectantly as the basement door opened and out from the darkened staircase came Thomas.

The boy, no man, stood protectively behind the older woman. He placed his hands on her shoulders, watching you with narrowed eyes that were partially covered by a curtain of black, curly hair. To you, they looked like snakes ready to strike, and so did he.

His nose and lower half of his face was covered by a worn, leather mask that wrapped around the base of his head with thick straps. It looked uncomfortable to wear as it was was to look at.

He was not pleased to see a stranger sitting in his living room and you wanted to sink deeper into the faded couch and disappear. Maybe if you pushed against the cushions hard enough.

A muffled scream came from the basement. Luda Mae glanced up at her son then back to you. Your back straightened.

“What was that?”

She smiled, yet it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Nothing, dear.”

Again, the basement door opened, and out came a man in a Sheriff’s uniform. Fresh blood splattered across his chest and arms, trickling down as he sauntered his way into the room.

“Who in the hell is this pretty thing?”

Time slowed down and so did your breathing. All three had you pinned with various stares ranging from curiosity, understanding, and searing contempt. You weren’t going to risk it. You jumped from the couch and hauled ass out the door, leaving a trail of dust behind.

“Son of a bitch,” said Hoyt. “Boy, go get her before she causes us any trouble.”

Luda Mae grabbed Thomas’ hand. “Keep this one alive, baby. She’ll be good one to have around.”

Thomas wanted to argue his Mama’s odd request, but the sweet smile she gave him and the gentle way she held his hand made him reconsider. He didn’t want her, that’s for damn sure, but whatever his Mama wanted, she’d get.

In the midst of your recollection you realized it was ominously quiet behind you. Peering back, he was no longer running after you. I’m fact, he wasn’t there at all.

You spun around, eyes frantically searching the desolate landscape. He didn’t just vanish into thin air, not a man of his size, yet he had. The weeds danced and suddenly parted, revealing him on all fours as he pushed himself off the ground, propelling into you with a gut-wrenching force, knocking you onto your back.

His full body weight had you pinned, flattening the dry brush beneath you. His barrel-chest heaved and his hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing. As frightened as you were, a strange sense of relief washed over and the instinct to raise your hips overtook you.

He tried moving away, but your legs locked him in. You awkwardly shimmied your shorts down and he watched you. His anger dissipated, replaced by hunger the more of your thighs he saw.

You captured his curious gaze, “Look how wet you made me.”

Your hand reached down and massaged your aching pussy through your sodden underwear. You were a mess, physically and mentally, and if you didn’t get fucked soon you were going to go rabid.

“Thomas, please. Don’t make me beg for it. You know what I want.”

Hearing his name revved him up like an engine. He could practically smell you through his mask. Your pussy glistened beneath the moonlight and he was more than willing to comply. With one hand still around your throat, he used the other to hastily unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants.

He roughly pushed your soaked panties aside and thrusted roughly inside you with a loud grunt. It was swift and had you not been as wet as you were you knew it would have hurt more than it did. You gasped and cried out, pounding your fist to the ground. He fucked you like an animal. It was exactly what you’d been yearning for and if felt so fucking good to finally get it.

His hips bucked with a mighty strength, sending you backwards every time. It made it hard for him to keep himself inside you without having to adjust his position. He scooped you up like a rag doll and pinned you against a tree, folding you between it and his body. The change in position was too much as the angle allowed him to reach new depths inside you, hitting spots you never knew you had, sending you over the edge.

Your climax arrived so suddenly that it left you silently shaking and clinging to Thomas. Your pussy clamped down like the jaws of a lion and he growled, spilling his seed inside you from the tightness.

He laid you both down on the ground with your back to him. You took the time to catch your breath and settle down, but Thomas had other plans. He raised your top leg in the air, spreading you wide and began pumping again.

“Slow, Thomas. I’m really sore.”

Not thinking he’d actually do as you asked, you were surprised at the gradual way he eased his thick cock back into your pussy, keeping a close eye on your face. Although you were too spent to cum again, you nestled back against his chest and idly enjoyed his thrusts.

“Just like that, Thomas. Oh…”

His head was right there and the temptation to kiss him was too good to pass up. Soft lips met his through the mask and he jerked back, stopping his movements altogether.

“God, don’t you stop, Thomas. Your cock is too good. Come back here.”

You wrapped an arm around his head and he let you bring him back down. This time he kissed back, licking and sucking your lips like they were made of chocolate. You were in absolute bliss, not thinking clearly, lost in a haze of euphoria.

With his mouth full of you and you full of him, he groaned a guttural sound that didn’t sound quite human. Your pussy took his second load with open arms, milking every last bit of him he had left to offer. You broke the sloppy kiss to watch his cock pulse and his balls twitch, finding it super erotic.

His cock left you open and wide. You clenched your walls and streams of his fresh cum gushed out. You swiped some and brought it to your lips with Thomas watching in clear fascination. You then offered your finger to him.

He titled his head and inspected the leftover fluid. After some time of pondering his tongue tentatively flicked out, considering the taste, then placed your entire finger in his mouth. He sucked until there was nothing left to suck except the saltiness of your skin.

Using the tree as a support, you carefully maneuvered up. Everything was sore, from your head down to your hips and the simple task of bending down seemed impossible. In an oddly sweet gesture, Thomas gathered your shorts and helped you put them back on.

“You know,” you began, eyes twinkling mischievously, “It’s a long way back to the house. Who knows what could happen on the way there.”

Thomas made a sound caught between a chuckle and a scuff. He watched you strut away, eyes glued to your bouncing ass.

His Mama was right. You were worth keeping around.

[qvrcll]

summary: with your subsequent marriages, you assumed that whatever friendship, and within it, desire and longing, you had with aemond in childhood had long since dissolved. but a dragon rarely ever yields.

warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT AHEAD, childhood friend, non-targ reader, young betrothals, forced marriage mentioned, targcest marriage (a/h), possessive themes, dark aemond, (kinda) exhibitionism, finger in p, p in v, breeding kink, infidelity, cursing, slight dub-con but not really, aegon is a sorta decent friend if not a present and worthy husband, no dance of dragons

wc: 6.2K

author’s note: just watched ep 5 and i still stand by my slightly psychotic, slightly convoluted, wholly ambitious princess, but he’s on thin ice – aegon has suffered enough! you’ve made your point as king regent. this lowkey came to me in a melatonin-induced dream so excuse the errors if there are any, i haven’t written for this man since 2022! also, i’m so sorry aegon lol but then again, there is nothing more than friendship between him and reader – it’s just the principle that stings. oops :,) / dividers by strangergraphics

Carriage rides were always a handful.

More-so now, that you were a mother, cupping the back of your child’s head and bouncing him eagerly on your lap to keep him from fright, whilst your husband sat beside you, sticking his finger between the ridge of the little boy’s top lip and nose in a manner of teasing.

Rhaekar was a name that both you and Aegon had agreed upon. A fine name for a fine baby boy.

Fresh out of the womb and nursed delicately against your breast, Aegon’s usually frivolous and disengaged habits had quelled at the low cries that left the tiny bundle of cloth at your breast. He had uncharacteristically poked his head up and down, trying to catch a glimpse of the little wrinkled flesh, slick with blood and fluid.

He is tinier than I expected, he had said in a hushed tone, his ringed finger delicately tracing the fat of the newborn’s cheek, as if afraid to hurt it.

Most babies are, if not smaller, you had smiled.

It really was no secret. Your marriage with Aegon was not bourne out of love, nor willingness. He had detested duty, and you had grown cold at the thought of a loveless marriage. Even as you stood at the Sept steps, clothed head to toe in white that mirrored the marble of fresh-tasting cream frosting, cloaked in the regal cream of the Targaryen colours, the two of you had been too young to absolve or deny such a proposition.

But the years passed to prove that friendship could sprout in the absence of love. Aegon did not love you in a way you had hoped to be loved by someone, anyone. But he loved his son, and the friendship you held with him was near enough.

“He’s going to drool all over you,” you fuss gently, watching as your son takes his father’s finger into his two hands and grasps it like rope. A laugh is pulled out of Aegon – adoration is clear in his light irises.

“Do not worry, my dear boy,” Aegon drawls, broad and toothy smile catching the lines on his face, “Your father doesn’t mind.”

“He has grown.”

The third voice is a surprise, if anything. Yet it strikes a deep cord within you, familiarity bubbling in your chest at the age-old smooth voice, curved syllables.

Aemond.

You had been mildly conscious of his presence, and with him, Helaena, sitting across from you in the carriage. It wasn’t customary to be lodged in a single carriage like so, but with the destination being the annual hunt and Rhaekar’s name day, the family would need to be close. Well-knit as they walked out of the carriage for appearances.

Yet, you cannot help but hold Aemond’s one-eyed gaze for one second too necessary, to notice how he watches the three of you like a hawk.

Aegon breathes in softly, clearly distracted by the little babbling boy as he hauls him out of your lap at the arms and takes to playing with him more efficiently. You’re left to answer his brother’s question with a simple smile.

“The Maesters say he is growing up strong and fast,” your hands come to lay across each other on your lap, the action not being missed by the younger Prince’s steely, unreadable gaze. You almost burn under it, but you chalk it up to the closed space.

He doesn’t respond, but simply tilts his head forward in a single nod. When you look back to Rhaekar upon Aegon’s lap, he rips his gaze from your face to the youngling’s.

In his mind, he is barely hanging on. Stuffed in a carriage with a brother he would rather wrangle than humour, a lady wife he is bound to duty alone and the sight of his childhood companion – love, friend, half of his heart, whatever that constitutes – wed and mothering a son with not only another man, but his own debauched brother. He would sooner die than stomach that.

But Aemond holds more restraint than most mortal men. At least, he thinks he does. His single eye traces over the soft of your son’s cheeks and the ovals of his eyes – all traces of Aegon. All traces of you. His hands clench against the thick leather of his pants, trying to seem indifferent, as his eye trains back to your face.

Your gaze floats back to his. Only the two of you understand that there is a tension floating between you, but you alone do not understand it. He is hard to read now, more than ever. The event at Drift-mark had shut you out from all his previous behaviours, his usual antics and juvenile tendencies. Now, a hardened and roughened man remained, whatever trace of friendship conjured in your childhood being a mere floating memory now.

At least, it seemed like it.

“Ah, here we are,” Aegon chimes blandly, pointing to the carriage window to ascertain which Lords were which, and which camps held best.

The moment breaks as the footman hurries to the door, and with it, you step outside beside Aegon and clutch Rhaekar at your chest with a smile. Beside you, Helaena and Aemond step awkwardly together. The sight of cheerful men and ardent cheers overwhelm you, and you push back the feeling arising in your chest with a lost sense of conviction.

The maids are gentle with your son, and it is all that you need to quell your thoughts and feeling heart.

You are able to catch a moment of reprieve amongst the tent that was erected for the likes of you and Aegon. Being the first born son, the tent served to reflect exactly that. It lay amongst the middle of the camp, green silks draped over wooden posts in different shades, like thick vines draping from the ceiling. Where there had been thick ground outside, had now been replaced by a verdant carpet, embroidered by gold all throughout. An extravagant faux-throne stood at a few steps to the right, and a swath of low cushions to your left – toys lay upon those cushions, with your son teething at a toy that a maid had gently placed at his feet.

Lords and Ladies flitted from here and there, passing like blurring bodies in your vision. A few stopped to greet you, and engage in conversation is pressing their advantage, though you were polite. There wasn’t much to look forward to – the small array of ladies gathered around chairs and carpets would surely do more to discomfort you than engage you in something meaningful.

At the back of the tent, a low serving table lay with refreshments. For all your knowledge, Aegon never really did reign in his inhibitions – there was already a pitcher half-full, and a goblet half-drunk on it. Aegon was somewhere, possibly entertaining some few of his many Lordly friends.

The ache of love could not be quelled by friendship.

You sip your wine slowly. In times like these, left alone to your own devices and given the option to drink, engage or settle with some ladies, your mind tended to wander instead. You tilt your cup to your lips, the sight of the fruitful wine giving way to a faint image in your mind.

It was his twelfth name day. You remember it so clearly – waking up before the maids and selecting your frilliest, prettiest gown for the occasion, frowning and whining when they insisted different colours and styles, fashioned with embroidery or gems.

You had wanted it to be special for Aemond.

Being one of his most beloved childhood companions, you wanted every intention to count. You knew it mattered when you stepped into the gardens, dressed in a delicate green gown, with red-dotted jewellery to dot your neck and fingers. He had been standing there, waiting anxiously, and nearly fell face front when he approached you.

You look… really pretty, he had stuttered.

Thank you, Aemond, you had giggled, enjoying the way his tongue had turned liquid in his mouth at the sight of you.

The plans had been made that day – whatever he wished for. When breaking fast, he couldn’t keep a hold of his tongue as he clutched your palm and led you hastily down the halls of the Red Keep. He knew that the day would entail later; extravagance and little time. Little time for you, and the thought soured his mind.

First, there was the clearing near the woods. He didn’t mind the presence of the knights trailing behind much, and neither did you. All he cared for was the feeling of perching his head nervously against your lap, fighting a smile as you braided flowers within his hair. It had been a sweet, long affair. Next, it had been the banquet dinner, and he had saved a space in the chair beside his own. His smiles never left you, his eyes always chasing your own, smiling bashfully when he did something worthy of impression to you.

And then, at the end of the day, past the pesky guards and the prying eyes of your parents – came the Dragon-pit escapade.

What if we get caught? Someone could see us, you voiced in worry, despite your eyes betraying the excitement broiling in your gut. Aemond had merely tugged at your wrist, boyish grip a little too tight for comfort, yet neither of you cared much.

No one will catch us, he smiled nervously, as though unsure of himself.

When the two of you tentatively descended the rocky steps of the massive crypt, you had held closer to him. Aemond tried to calm the jump in his pulse when your palm squeezed around his, or the way your shoulder bumped softly against the ridge of his back when the dark got too frightening.

Just stay close to me, he murmured. Though only a few centimetres taller than you, he was speaking with more confidence than what lay in him.

You had stayed close with a tight nod, your soft breath against his nape. He was scouring the darkness – the smell of Dragon-spit and smoke marred the air heavily, and the mechanical groans of a few of the pit’s creatures emboldened the darkness a little more. You clung to him even tighter, the silk of your dress pressing against his leathers. When the first dragon, however unrecognisable, had grown weary of your intrusion and lit its flame, you covered your eyes and ears. He had ducked you behind him, though he quivered just as much, and had covered you with both arms in an embrace.

Look, he had breathed.

And what a sight it had been.

Yellow climbed atop orange as dragon-fire spilled forth from a gargantuan throat of an unnamed dragon. It raised across the dark rock of the ceiling, lighting the space like a well-lit room, the heat bearing down against you like the summer season of the realm. Where there was fear, now there was also awe, as you and Aemond clung to one another. When the room dimmed, the two of you ran hand in hand above ground, falling atop each other in a hurry to rid of the pit’s darkness.

The added weight of you above him was barely registered, with your childish laughter filling the air in cacophonies, his hands a welcome weight against your hips. However that night ended, you do not remember. Did the two of you trek to the Red Keep in barely concealed laughter? Or did you peek at the stars when the guise of friendship had moved on to a tenderer feeling?

“My Lady?”

You blink like a fish out of water. Your wine is long gone, and you find yourself staring at the maid in front of you, who views you with the same sort of concentration, just a tinge of concern in her eyes.

It appears your thoughts might have drifted – Rhaekar had been fussing for you from the carpeted floor, barely able to sit still against the silk drapery and consoling maids.

“Forgive me—“ you begin, setting down your goblet and lifting yourself off the chair you had unknowingly seated yourself upon, approaching the child with a twinkling smile, “My sweet boy. Do you miss me?”

The boy babbles happily at your voice, recognising the soft tone of his mother’s voice. He clings to the collar of your blue silks, the embroidery against your collar being fisted in his little hands. You smile, entertaining the small boy as the maids watch with an affectionate smile.

From the corner of the room, Aemond watched. He always did – and he had been, especially now. His eye had lingered when you were day-dreaming. How twisted it was for an unreadable man of his station to desperately want to know the inner workings of another. He supposed he was this sort of man now – barred and unaffectionate, cruel by practice.

His duty to Helaena was just that. There wasn’t love, but a deep-seated admiration and bond with the quiet girl. He had been close with his sister, but he had never seen her as more – they had hardly sired heirs of their own. Targaryen customs had never repulsed him; he was no stranger to the much exercised practices of his house. But there was no deeper reason to feel more for her and the act of intimacy was hidden deep in his chest, unwilling to be made known to anyone but you. And she felt the very same with her own duty, seated in the far corner of the room, taken to her maid, who watches as she palms a spider carefully.

But you – God’s, you were different.

His childhood companion of when he was much too young to know of the atrocities of loss and shame, the one he chased with his eye alone and caught in a full room. He could abandon all feeling and you would still be in his chest, thudding place of his heart.

He could hardly tear his one, assessing eye off of you. Those silks, that draped off your form, curving against you in the places he wished he could memorise. Your hair wasn’t the silver of his Targaryen own, but a colour of your own – he had always admired it closely in childhood, perhaps another outlet of his devotion of you.

But now, watching you tend to your child, a child that he could easily confuse as his own, he felt something… in his gut.

He was that sort of man now – the sort of man who knew long ago of what he truly wanted.

“Trouble?” he asks smoothly, without much hesitation or emotion, as he crosses the room to stand beside you. His arms are folded behind his back, a habit he had developed with his roguishness, as he looks down at you.

You’re hardly surprised. You knew he would seek you out somehow – perhaps for conversation. It felt nice, for a moment, regarding him without looking into his eye and seeing the tension that lay within it, raw and confusing. You were forced to bury whatever you felt beneath lines of formality.

“He always is,” you smile at Aemond, dusting the front of your gown as you straighten to your full height, “Are you having a good time?”

“I suppose,” he hums. Brisk and short – you do not mind. You have grown used to that. But what makes your hair stand on edge is the look he gives you. Like he is studying you, trying to figure you out. His eye blinks towards the room, uncharacteristically relieved to find Aegon nowhere near, before he offers his arm.

“Walk with me.”

More demand than request, but his tone is not at all harsh and soft in his own way. Watered down and guarded but not forced, like it was nature to be with you so. Your heart flutters in your chest. There is no reason to deny.

“Lead the way,” you answer with a familiar smirk, which leaves a ghost of a smirk on his own lips. You leave the tent, arm warmly wrapped against Aemond’s own, after ensuring Rhaekar was satisfied with the stuffed renditions of dragons and the maids that coo at him when the drapery slides into place with your exit.

If the men assembled around the camp were surprised by your company, they made no show of it.

No protest rang as you and Aemond made for a thin path in the woods, mind anywhere but within the moment. The heat of your skin was warming his rib and arm, and the presence of him was making a familiarity dawn upon you.

Where there had been easy conversation in the past, there were silences and the light crunch of boot upon leaf. You didn’t blame him much – the change does not repulse you. He had always been a thoughtful boy in the past, and the silence had only grown. He tended to think more now, second guessing his words and choosing which words to best fit with you. He didn’t know where the two of you stood – was it fit to feel greedy even now?

The sounds of the creaking woods and crackling leaves are finally broken by his speech, “How are you?”

You look at him with mild surprise, a soft smile on your face as you regard him. His one eye is genuine as it looks upon you.

“Do you want the truth or something soft-sounding?” you jest, but he merely breathes softly.

“You know what I want,” he states with not so much as a smile, but his tone is light. Did you know what he truly wanted? Perhaps not. It would frighten you, surely.

“I am well. Rhaekar left me a little exhausted and sore, but the recovery has come along well,” you answer, “Truly, I am well.”

He pushes his luck, “And your marriage?”

It should surprise you, but it doesn’t. He’s always been eager at his hand, no matter how much restraint he had learnt over the years.

You sigh through your nose, “My duty, you mean. It is… not as horrible as it ought to be. Aegon is… well, Aegon. We perform what we must. He is a friend to me, in a way. No lover. But… it is good, I suppose.”

Something about the mention of a satisfactory marriage with his leech of a brother had his mind boiling with anger. He didn’t expect – much less hope – for you to be miserable. No, he was never that cruel to you. Perhaps to others, but not you. But the smell of friendship unnerved him. It was how he was taken to you – would Aegon follow that same path, find himself infatuated and easily claim your heart as it was already done legally through marriage? Would he standing by the sides when time would run out?

“Hm,” he repeats, monotone. He was clenching his fists, you notice, and visibly stiff against you. Something had angered him, and you wouldn’t just sit around to find out.

“What is it?” you ask, a frown on your face.

He takes note of it, almost wanting to press his index finger against the middle of your brows, to see the frown dissipate. But he held his hands back – that greed would get the better of him.

He steels himself, stopping by a large tree. It looms above the two of you, like a sledge-hammer, the roots taking place underneath your feet in bumps and ridges. The leaves are speckled across the vast amounts of branches, green and white in the cold sunlight. But the gaze he gives you is enough to warm your insides for good.

“It irks me,” he speaks truthfully for the first time in years, and for once, it feels freeing. His conscience is still heavy, “Your marriage with the… likes of him.”

You pause. This was traversing some grounds, this stupefying discovery and suspicion. Your vows and your duty flit through your head like the numerous scrolls in the Sept, the weight of the realm atop your shoulders. You had seen him in similar lights, but the truth almost made him vulnerable, angry. Fear griped at your chest, as you look at him like he was strange for saying such a thing.

“Well, it shouldn’t,” your voice is wary, a swallow diminishing the flurry in your belly, “We have a duty to uphold. Me, to Aegon. You to Helaena.”

He comes to a halt beneath one of the branches, disgruntled in a way that you cannot see. Aemond feels his tongue slacken in his mouth, the weight of another man’s anger resting in his body – or was it his? Hidden and barely known, even to himself? Was it the anger, the bitterness, that he held as young child, now refusing to be shown?

You notice his stiffness, but make no move to coax him out of him. He had to snap out of it.

“You have Helaena,” you repeat, softer if only it would soothe whatever line he was transgressing, “She is your lady wife.”

He scoffs. It is a sound that catches you off guard. In the past, he would have conceded and offered a hasty apology. Or perhaps in reluctance. But he was brash now, bolder. His shoulders squared, as his head moved an inch to look back at you, silver tresses spilling over the jerkin he wore.

“Helaena. She is my dear sister,” his voice is blank, “There was never any sort of love there. You know that.”

Your eyes widen. He was being truthful, more than usual. He was unravelling, surely, and the coldness of the forest sears away to be replaced with a warmth that nips at your heel. His eye only holds some light of anger and truth, never fear – but that is within him, refusing to be shown.

You look at your feet, distractedly picking your gown up from an edge of a root, “She is your wife, nonetheless.”

The words work more to anger him – you know this because a piece of his jaw sets in place, and he fully turns to face you. He had always been a head taller, but now, he was towering above you. Looming. The tree barely intimidated you as such – regal beauty closing in on you like Valyrian smoke.

“She is my wife,” he begins again, voice low. He approaches you, and you move backwards on cue. He stops upon notice, a sharp breath breaking the silence, “But you—“

“But me?” your voice is incredulous, “What about me? What am I to you but a friend from childhood—”

He moved closer, and you lose some semblance of control as he crowds your space. Your back presses against the bark of the large tree, uncomfortable and poking against the soft length of your gown. But you do not care, and neither does he. His fingers almost reach up to touch your arm, but he doesn’t dare. Not yet.

“Do not fool yourself,” he sneers, one eye looking down at you in a way that burns your skin once again, “You are more. You might have not known, but I did – you’ve always been more.”

His fingers finally concede, tracing the gooseflesh on your elbow as you twitch under him. Your eyes are wide and shocked, but you do not make a move to stop him, nor his words. He knows you are a proud lady by nature – you could easily make quick of this conversation and never return to him. But your eyes hold the truth. You’re half curious, as you are fearful and just as selfish as him, though you think of yourself better at hiding it. He smirks slightly.

“You should have been mine,” his eye searches your face, his finger trailing up to touch the side of your chin, a touch too soft.

If the bottom of your stomach hadn’t dropped before, it definitely had in this very moment. The leaves rustle softly as you feel your back scratch against the bark, your face warming where he touches you. The two of you are crossing a line, the both of you, because you make no move to leave. You lean into his touch ever so slightly, seeking for the warmth that lies there. Targaryens and their heat.

“We mustn’t,” your voice is weak, barely a deterrence, but you try anyhow. You know better than to give into the urges, the fears and hopes that belonged to a whole different time. A time where the two of you were much younger, and ignorant in a sweet sense, making light of the weight on your heart. But now, festering all throughout your adolescence, it had begun to take root, “We belong to others—“

Aemond makes a sound between a grunt and a scoff, as he traps you against the bark. His hands loop around your waist, the touch dangerous and a tell-tale warning of yourself and him, too, in a sense. But he doesn’t losen his hold, and you sigh shakily as he hauls you closer, chest to chest.

“We belonged to each other long before we belonged to others,” he manages in a ragged tone. In a tone that suggests that you knew better, just like he did, and that it was no better playing the fool. You supposed he was right – it was out in the open, and the two of you were chest to chest, like he’d tear your gown open and make love to you in the solace of the forest alone. Not much to hide now. Not much to disguise.

But still, you try. You pretended to not know better.

“That was in childhood—“ you struggle against his arms, heavy breaths stifling your lungs like sea-smoke as he comes so close, too close. His lips are at the corners of your own, his one eye so close as to depict the many different etches in his eyepatch, “I am your brother’s lady wife now.”

He tightens his hold around the small of your back, and you fail to ignore the warmth that builds all over. You are beginning to feel fuzzy, to let go of all your inhibitions, your restraint. And he was too.

“The laws of matrimony were forged by men,” he speaks smoothly against your lips, “They mean nothing to me—not when it comes to you.”

Your last ditch effort to deny crossing the line is futile – you sharply move your face away from him, the sight of his face ripping away from your line of vision. It proves to be a poor effort, because he merely grunts, grabbing your cheeks with his calloused digits and shifting it back to where it was before. It is almost violent in a way, if it weren’t for the tenderness in which he looked at you.

Every breath feels heavy, and your hands come to rest against his chest, not knowing whether to push or pull. Your restraint was slipping, and there was little to stop you now. You could barely deny yourself, let alone him.

“Look at me.”

The order is so simple and you curse at how your eyes float to his. It was such an easy thing – finding his eyes in the harrowing darkness of the Dragon-pit, peering into his good eye and trying to ignore the blood and gore that marred his other, trying to discern his thoughts with a look alone. You had looked so easily.

And he knew. God’s, Aemond knew it.

The truth lay in them, as they had all along. Even with one eye, he was left blinded. How could he have let the pretence of your duties hold him back, when you were there for the taking?

You knew it too – the lack of such a burn was abysmal in your own marriage. The presence of it now left you cloudy brained, hazy, and you couldn’t navigate the barest of thoughts. Before, caution would have been exercised. Now, there was an utter lack of it. A lack of patience, a lack of restraint, and a lack of all of which made you and Aemond.

With a slow pace, you let slide your hand against the nape of his neck, slowly trailing up and feeling the long strands that lay there, pale and silver against your fingers. You had once told him that it reminded you of star light. The truth stood now, even in the barely concealed brevity of your fingers. Not that you cared.

All restraint that the Prince had once retained in childhood snaps like a string and he surges forward. His lips are rough and a clatter of teeth, gum and tongue. He is not a patient man – so when he angles your head and licks against your lips, you keep your lips sealed for the thrill of it. Nevertheless, he wrenches your mouth open with his tongue alone, wrapping around your own like a muscle well-trained, noting every sigh and moan that escapes you.

His hands are all over you. There is surprise in the way it trails from your neck to your nape, to the back of your head and down your hip, his fingers thumbing your breast in the decline. You shudder against him, and he swallows your groan in earnest.

“So eager,” he drawls, though the need is thick in his voice, “I thought your vows meant more to you than this?”

“Fuck you,” you bite back, a strangled moan leaving you seconds later, as his fingers dive beneath your skirts and thumb your slit in a slow swipe. The words of retort die in your throat as you clutch fiercely to his shoulders, his pressing weight being the only source of support.

He smiled, tracing your bottom lip with his tongue, “You’ve always had a filthy mouth on you. A lady no less.”

No amount of breath could have braced you for the way in which his fingers dipped beneath the smooth fabric of your underwear, slipping past the pubic hair that lay there and catching your pearl in a tight-rounded flick. You moan in a way he hadn’t yet heard before, and his heart clenches uncomfortably. He had only ever felt such exhilaration when atop Vhagar, mapping the expanse of King’s Landing below. But he is greedy now – he knows that he can be.

He mouths a quiet ‘fuck’, as he positions his fingers in a way that breeches you so barely, before burying a long, lithe finger within you. He is not prepared for the way you buck against him, the broken syllables of his name leaving your lips – almost desperate. Did Aegon know that he was claiming his own wife so, with his fingers alone?

When his fingers ease you open enough, one too many to wrench just sighs out of you, he retreats his hand from your small-clothes. You whine at the loss of his warmth, the absence of the ball of his palm against your clit that warmed the wet flesh just right. He simply smiles, taking your earlobe into his mouth.

“Patience, ñuha jorrāeliarzy,” he purrs against the expanse of your throat. The odd, old language blends into his usual use of the common tongue, and you do not know how it excites you so. Perhaps the premise itself is so debauched – your childhood companion and the brother of your own husband dragging your own slick back and forth across your cunny, in the solace of a forest.

It only clicks after that he called you his love.

You can barely digest that thought when he barely steps back. His fingers hook against your small-clothes and yanks them down harshly, the fabric lying wet and soaked slightly between your legs. You feel no shame – you wish you did, because some clarity would do you some good. Instead, you hurriedly help him unlace the buckles of his leather, laces of his breeches. They lower enough to let his cock to spring free, sinful and dangerous as he presses the weight of him against you, dragging it across like a damn tease.

“Please,” you plead, breaths ragged and poor. He smirks, arms hooking under your shoulders to pull you closer against his chest.

“Your words, sweet girl,” he coos. The smirk that tears his face is devilish – you almost cower, if not for the lust clouding your system, the decade long affair boiling between you both.

“I need you to—“ you struggle at a swipe of his cock-head against your slick entrance, “I need you to—to fuck me.”

“Is that so?” he asks, amused, as he begins to press into you. So, so close, yet not enough.

You nod tearfully, “I need you—I’ve always needed you, and you’ve always known. I wish it was you. I wish we would have wed—“

The moan that rips through you is entirely his fault. The sharp way he breeches you, in one harsh moment – his fault. But who could blame him? The thought of you so desperate to change the course of fate, to be bound to him by matrimonial vows, makes his stomach burn. He knew he was a hypocrite – he had just sullied and mocked them, but if you were his by law, he would have made it count.

“Wanted you forever,” he grunts against your ear, cock spearing through you and splitting you in half against the bark of the tree. The bark bites into your back, and your hips begin to burn. He smells of Dragon-scale and fire. He must have ridden Vhagar sometime this week – it makes you clench tightly around him, as he stutters, pushing in deeper, “I would’ve wed you in a heartbeat, if not for those fucking duties.”

You aren’t faring any better than him, moaning and whining as he ploughs into you, holding you up with his strength alone as he batters you endlessly. He speaks again, pleasured at the sight of you so wordless, “Don’t care much for that. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. My insolent brother would do good to remember that—fuck.”

You clench against him again, “Aemond—“

“Could spill my come in you now,” he pants, angling your hips to reach further into you, like he was taking the good parts of you and sullying them, just so he could lay his claim on you, “That fool would never know—you’d be round and swollen with my babe and he’d never fucking know—”

Excitement and fear gripes at your heart, as you look up at him in slight alarm. But you cannot help but entertain the thought – the mere thought of him laying claim on you so viciously, a formidable dragon in his own right, not caring for whatever that kept you apart. Gone was the boy that feared overstepping, that feared distance. Here was a man that would make space if he wished for it, lay claim on you because he craved you so.

With a strangled call of his name, you bite his shoulder firmly – not enough to cause hurt, but enough to have him grunt – as you near your release. A creamy ring forms around the base of his cock when he looks below, and he knows the sight is his undoing. He is close – so close.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” he taunts, yet spears in harder, “You’d like that so much.”

You can only nod helplessly, lost to the sensations swimming in your veins. He grunts through a wrangled moan, aroused by the way you let him.

It isn’t a surprise when you come first. It is a goal of his – as a man, to bring you ecstasy, before his own. But when he does come, it is deep within, a warmth that fills your body as he spills his seed deep inside your cunny. The two of you struggle against each other with ragged breaths, and his hand settles against the small of your back again, the touch leaving an impression.

“You’re insatiable,” you groan, though playfully, as you watch the product of his come drip from beneath you. He barely gives you any words, as his fingers collect the slick and quickly stuff the escaping wetness back in, ignoring the way your hips twitch away from him. Sensitivity. It makes him smile cruelly.

“Don’t you waste a bit of it,” he speaks, voice a drawl, thick with want. The weight of the truth lay between you two, but there was no need to navigate such a thing. You had known long, long before, even buried it underneath lays of flesh and bone.

He helps you dress again, and then himself, quick and expertly, your small-clothes containing the eager spill of his seed between your thighs. You do not miss the way his one eye glitters with some dangerous sense of pride, how he kisses your neck only so slightly. You smile, laughing softly, as he curls into the side of you, claiming a part of you and aiming for more – until you smell of nothing but Dragon-smoke and sweat.

“Let’s head back, before the others grow suspicious. For good reason,” you tug at his arm, your smile a balm against the ruined convictions of his past.

He offers a rare smile, letting himself be led away by you, just like in childhood, “Let’s.”

There was no need to fret the words – the two of you have always known, in some sense. Perhaps you’ll figure the future out sooner than you had before, with the added weight of him against your body.

© 2024 qvrcll. Do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[januaryembrs]

WAS I FOOLIN MYSELF | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [5]

Description: The THREE times you can't have him no matter how much you want to

Length. 15.2k

warnings: angst, spencer's addiction mentioned, gory cm cases (medical trauma, removing limbs, human marionettes etc) explosion, broken arm and surgery, slight lemon at end but not actually written just described aftermath, Maeve arc (I'm so sorry), guns, almost dying, blood, general cm warnings, anything else let me know!

previous chpt | next chpt

Authors note; I will edit in the morning I just really wanted you all to have the next chapter as promised!!

'I'ma strike these matches, never had control,

I'm ready to let go, no, was I fooling myself?'

The one with the wedding

JJ’s ears were ringing, a high pitched whine like a radio skipping between stations searching for a signal, and she felt the hard concrete against her milky skin before the throbbing in her forehead hit. 

“JJ, are you alright?” There were hands at her shoulders, patting her down for fractures, not wanting to move her if her spine had been hit, and it wasn’t until she rolled herself over, eyes frantic and in shock that she saw Morgan.

“Where’s Will? Where’s Bugsy?” She asked, the words blurring into one word. Her legs were struggling to a stand before she could think too much about the concussion she almost definitely had, giving Morgan a quick once over, “Did they get out of there?” 

But she hadn’t seen any movement before the blast had shot them back ten feet to the floor. Had only seen the back of the youngest Prentiss woman’s head as she rushed into the building to get emergency medical care to her partner. 

“Where’s Emily?” Morgan added, and the two of them realised they were missing perhaps three of the most important people to them with no sign of life from any of them. 

It didn’t take much for JJ to take off bolting into where the bank’s entrance had crumbled to the floor, where the dust hadn’t even settled and they didn’t know whether there was a second set of bombs waiting for them. They didn’t know anything. 

And it was for that reason JJ dipped straight into the wall of smoke, hand tight on her gun as she went to look for survivors.

Morgan and Hotch were hot on her heels, a dozen firefighters and medical in tow, a similar face of dread in their expressions. 

Aaron’s heart was in his throat when they entered the building, the west facing wall almost entirely in smithereens on the floor. The dust choked him the second they ran in, and he coughed before he could even get a word out, hand flying over his mouth to try give himself some kind of filter to the air. 

“Bugsy!” He yelled as loud as his dry vocal chords would allow, “Bugsy, give us a signal,” 

Nothing. Nothing but the sound of JJ and Morgan screaming for Will and Emily just as loud. And even to that they received no answer. 

It wasn’t until they got close enough to the rubble and began seeing the bodies did Aaron start to fear the worst. He called her name again, her real name, splitting up from the rest of his team because it was no longer a mission for the UnSubs, it was now a search and rescue. 

He crouched to press his fingers against a woman’s throat, stomach flipping when he felt no pulse beneath them, before he moved onto another one, his eyes darting between the chunks of brick and ceiling to see if he could spot anything that looked like an FBI jacket. 

It wasn’t until he found one of the men donned in a SWAT uniform, his gun long since dropped to the tiles that he knew he must be close. It was one of the guys who had gone into the buildings seconds before her.

He felt for a familiar thrum of a heartbeat, his breath thick in his throat when he managed to get a slow and steady thump, and he immediately began signalling for medical attention.

Paramedics came running over with a stretcher between them, but Aaron wasn’t finished, Not until he saw her. 

He dodged around the large chunk of stone that piled in the centre of the room, cringing when he saw a splatter of blood on the tiles in front of him, and it was only when he saw a hand splayed out on the floor did his heart truly stop. 

His cold eyes were wet with fear as he traced the hand up its arm, the familiar blue he wore himself ripped to shreds, the skin beneath it broken and the bone snapped clean in two. He could barely make out the three letters, F. B. I. that were so covered in blood and dirt it almost matched the navy, before he got the pillow of familiar hair matted against a head that faced away from him. 

But it was her. There was no doubt about it. 

He thinks he said her name, but it might just have been a sob, because he fell to his knees quickly, scrambling to get to her face to see if she would respond to him at all. 

“Bugsy, I need you to wake up,” He ordered, though it sounded like a hiss of pain, his rough hands finding her young face, desperate for any movement behind her eyelids, “Come on, sweetheart, just tell me what day it is,”

Years of training on what to do in a crisis and the correct first aid to give to someone unresponsive flew out of his brain, leaving behind bits and pieces like getting her to talk to see whether she had severed anything in that big, amazing brain of hers that had so much promise. 

He leaned his ear down next to her nose, looking down the front of her chest to check for any signs of breath.

This was too similar to what Foyet had done with Haley, like a horrid deja-vu he wouldn’t wish even on their worst UnSub. He had been too slow, too stubborn, too stupid to stop her from getting hurt. He didn’t know what her blood on his hands would feel like, didn’t know if he would ever sleep again knowing he had gotten her killed. 

Aaron’s stomach flipped when he saw her ribs rising slowly beneath her vest, her breaths cold against his earlobe. 

“Guess it’s my turn to come back from the dead, huh?” A croaking whisper came softly, and he flicked his head around so fast he thought he might have whiplash. 

But her eyes were open, squinting and tired, and he cursed the fact he had only then noticed the cut on her forehead, red ichor pumping fast and restlessly down the side of her face. 

He gave a breathless laugh, though it pained his own ringing ear to do so, stroking gently down her face with the same care he would put Jack to bed with. 

“Gotcha,” She smiled up at him sheepishly, her brows furrowing when she seemed then to notice the tears rolling down the tip of his nose, “Aaron Hotchner crying over me, are pigs flying today?” 

He chuckled wetly, and his eyes were the warmest brown she’d ever seen them when he looked down at her. He turned his attention away for a second to call over medical, his eyes landing on Emily who was also frantically scanning the wreckage for her sister and giving her a sign too. 

“You gave us quite a scare there,” Aaron said softly, because judging by the bump on her head, and the way blood was pooling in her ears, he guessed her eardrums had been damaged in the blast. Emily was over to them in seconds, looking dishevelled herself, and she gasped into her hands when she saw her sister’s fragile form. 

“Bugsy- oh my god your arm,” 

The girl’s face dropped, eyes widening as she tried turning to see the damage but Aaron was faster, quickly blocking her view of the mangled mess of skin with hand over the side of her head. 

“What’s wrong with my arm?” She asked, and he saw nothing but his son with a scraped knee in her eyes when she looked up at him vulnerably. Emily fell to her knees next to her, taking over from Aaron by stroking her sister’s cheek, because if her adrenaline rose too much, then the numbness of the shock would wear off and she would feel it all. 

“I think it’s broken, but the paramedics are going to fix you right up, I promise,” Emily cooed, though she felt herself go a little white at the sight of her sister’s bones so mangled and in pieces. 

Aaron looked up when he heard Morgan calling his name, spotting the paramedic team navigating their way back to where the three of them sat, and he waved his hand up to let them know where they were. 

He bit his tongue, looking down at where Bugsy was clearly starting to wake up more to just how bad of a state she was in, and she watched him woefully be torn between helping the rest of his team or staying with her. 

“You guys can go, I’m no use on the case anymore,” She said, despite the fact she was terrified of what might happen if they left her alone. 

“Are you crazy, absolutely not-,” Emily was cut off when two EMT’s rounded the block of concrete and brick that had missed her by a few inches when it had fallen, a stretcher and med packs at their side. 

“Good to see you’re responsive, Agent Prentiss,” One of the EMT’s commented, opening his case up to retrieve a neck brace and a splint for her arm before they could move her to the stretcher. Bugsy smiled up at them, though she knew it looked like a wince, taking one more look at her sister and then at Hotch, both of whom looked stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

“Go, I’m serious. Will needs you,” She said, feeling Emily squeeze her hand gently, pressing a kiss to her hairline, looking down at her in worry, “Go, Emily. Just bring me pudding when you get to the hospital- no Jello-”

She hissed when the paramedics slipped the brace over her shoulders, strapping her head into place to stop her doing any more damage to her spine. 

Emily nodded, and her and Hotch took off round the corner to where Morgan was calling them, and Bugsy let the paramedics fuss over her some more, taking the pain killers without a second glance once she realised just how broken Emily had meant when she saw her arm. 

It got hazy from there, until she felt the sun on her face and she felt a hand grab her good side. Her eyes were rolling with the fact she was fighting off sleep, or maybe she really had lost more blood than she thought. Either way she managed to flick her eyes open enough to meet hazel hues, distraught and worried, heard a familiar voice calling her name sadly, but she was too far gone by then. Her eyes shut despite her fighting them, and she was wheeled into the back of an ambulance by the friendly EMT’s, and the doors shut before her medicated brain could even recognise the voice as Spencer. 

She was asleep before she could protest to it. 

–

The air smelled like bleach- no, like floor cleaner had been drenched all around her, like she had been dropped into a janitor's closet and spilled every bottle over on her way in. 

Her body felt stiff, and she frowned when she felt cramp in her fingertips, pain shooting up her wrist the second she tried to move them. Her eyes opened blearily, and she groaned in protest at the overhead white lights, burying her face into the scratchy sheet that covered her body. Only then did it click that she was in a hospital.

She moaned again when she tried moving her legs and her whole body protested, her bare legs rubbing against the paper like material in a way that made her cringe, and she felt only the hospital gown and underwear on her body.

“You’re awake,” The voice startled her, and she realised she hadn’t even heard the door open in her haze. Spencer stood in the doorway, three big bunches of flowers and two teddies in his arms, one of them holding a sign saying ‘You’re bear-y brave!’

What got her was the look of worry in his eyes when he took her in head to toe, his eyes lingering on the bright pink cast on her lower arm up past her elbow. 

She grimaced, following his eyes to the horror, “Sexy,”

He rushed over to her bedside, all but throwing the flowers and cuddly toys on the space where her legs weren’t curled up under the sheets, pausing for a second to assess the situation. 

“Spencer, you didn’t need to get me all of this,” Bugsy said, her cheeks warming when she saw her favourite flowers right at the end of the bed, blooming right in her direction, “Is everyone okay? Is Will okay?” 

He nodded, but had yet to say anything, and he fiddled with his fingertips the way he did when he was struggling to get his point across properly. She reached out with her functioning hand to take them in hers, because she hated when he wouldn’t talk to her. 

“Spencer, I’m fine, it’s just a broken arm, right?” The woman asked, trying to shuffle herself into a sitting position only to yelp when her side burst into pain. He rushed to put his arm behind her back, to get her to lay back down without putting too much pressure on her sternum, “What the fuck is that? I feel like I got hit by a baseball bat,” 

“That’s what happens when you run blindly into a building without waiting for backup,” Spencer said, an undertone to his words she had never heard from him before, “Two cracked ribs; you’re lucky your lungs are still intact,”

Shit. 

“Anything else?” She asked, a grim look on her face as his expression soured. 

“Almost tore one of your eardrums, moderate concussion. They had to put pins in your arm to fix the fracture, it was transverse before you ask, lacerations to your legs from the glass, and some shrapnel they pulled out while you were in surgery.” Spencer listed, propping a pillow behind her head for her to rest against more comfortably though he still seemed annoyed, “No biggy,”

She paused for a second, watching him like a scolded child, her lips pulling down slightly, “Are you upset with me?” 

He sighed, running a gentle hand over her leg that was covered by the thin sheet, and she felt the sting of cuts on her skin just like he’d said. 

“I’m not annoyed, I could never be annoyed with you; you just-” He huffed, looking up at her sad eyes and feeling his resolve crumbling immediately, “You can’t just throw yourself in the way of danger, you have people who care about you, people who love you,” 

She bristled for a second, looking into her lap and chewing the inside of her lip worriedly, “I just wanted to help Will, I just didn’t want JJ and Henry to lose him the way I thought I lost Emily,”

Spencer’s heart sank, and any telling off he was going to give her for worrying him left him in seconds, and he forgave her embarrassingly fast.

Taking her hand back in his gently and scooching a chair closer to the bed so he could sit with her, he looked up at her with the sweet, puppy eyes she had always loved on him. 

“I know, I know you just wanted to help,” He hushed her, using his other hand to stroke her hair behind her ear, “Next time just… wait for your lucky charm, remember?” 

She smiled brilliantly, and he almost could ignore the butterfly stitching on her forehead or the bright pink cast on her arm, or the fact her clothes had looked like a crime scene when they’d shoved them in a biohazard bag with how soaked in blood they were.

Her pretty tweed pants and white shirt she’d bought especially for his Dr Who convention to make him happy, wasted. 

“Where’s all my clothes?” She asked, like she’d read his mind, but then again she had been known to do that. 

He pouted, because he knew she’d hate the answer, “Emily said they had to cut it off to get you into the brace properly; they ran some scans first to make sure your spine was intact.”

“All of my clothes?” She baulked, and he knew she was upset before she could even say so he stroked his thumb over her hand for good measure, “But my lovely shirt- and the pants they were so cute, weren’t they?”

“They were so cute,” He agreed, even though he thought she looked good in everything.

“And- oh my god they got my bra too?” She asked, wide eyed and horrified like she hadn’t had a building dropped on her, like this was the worst part of her day. Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but he thought better than to tell her it wasn’t a big deal and he was sure Pen could take her shopping for new ones even if the thought of it made his cheeks flush red, “They got the best one, Spencer, that was my best one with the little bows and the lace at the back- fuck,” 

She huffed, rubbing her temple in annoyance seemingly completely unaware of the situation she’d put him in, when JJ slowly entered the room, looking more tired and stressed than she had in months, but there was a little glow in her face that washed it all away. 

“JJ, they cut off my favourite bra,” Bugsy huffed, holding an arm out for the woman who came to stand at the opposite side of the bed to Spencer, and JJ quickly leaned in to hug her close, Bugsy’s head pressing against her stomach, “It was the only one that fit perfectly, now look at me. Wasted.”

“I can get you another one on Monday after Will and I have stopped by the courthouse,” JJ said, her eyes alight with mischief like she had a secret, and Bugsy frowned, looking up at the woman. 

“Why on Earth would Will be buying me- Wait,” The girl stopped, her breath catching in her throat as she took in JJ’s sheepish blush and girlish grin, “Courthouse? You’re getting married!” 

JJ’s smile was beaming, and Bugsy yanked her with her one good arm into a side hug, just about as much as her ribcage would allow, and Spencer’s face lit up equally, though he was quick to usher Bugsy back into a resting position so as not to jostle her stitches. 

Spencer drove her home that night after she got discharged, and he helped her get settled back into her own bed, her face still a little bitter at the fact her favourite underwear set was “totally mismatched now”; her words, not his. He put a documentary on for the two of them until it was time for some more of the painkillers the doctors had sent her packing with, and she fell asleep pretty quickly after that. 

He watched her breaths rising and falling slowly, the sight of her on that stretcher being wheeled into the back of the ambulance flashing in his head like a horror motion picture. Her face had been soaked in blood, her neck in a brace that looked tight enough to crush her, her eyes were weary and dim from what he knew now was the sedative effects of the painkillers. 

He’d almost brought up the fact he’d found a geneticist willing to take a look at his MRI scans to help his migraines; almost brought up that she had finally got back to him with results and a plan of vitamins and dietary changes he could make to help ease his flare ups. 

Spencer almost mentioned it, but he fell asleep listening to Bugsy’s breaths, checking for irregularities, before he had the chance to. 

–

Hot pink did not match ditsy blue whatsoever, she had quickly decided, but the bluebell, floral dress was the only thing she owned long enough to cover the scratches on her legs and arms, and hid the majority of the hideous cast that weighed down her arm. 

Spencer had encouraged her not to come to JJ’s ‘engagement party’, had encouraged her to stay at home and sleep; promised her he would rustle up the best chicken soup she’d ever tasted if it meant she would stay on the couch and rest her marred body. 

But then Rossi had said he just simply couldn’t let a nice occasion go to waste. A few phone calls later, a drop in the ocean of his wealth and within two days the yard to his stately manor had been turned into a ceremony, the whole arch, pews and altar style. 

“You should worry so much, you look lovely,” Spencer softly chided her when he saw her yanking her sleeve further down her arm, trying to cover the hard shell that protected her radius while it healed. She did, despite the fact he had to help her do her eyeliner because she could only do it with her right hand, or that there was still a nasty cut on her forehead that was scabbing up. 

She was still beautiful as ever to him. And it made Spencer’s chest sore. 

It felt like something had cracked between them since that night she had been dropped to his, her pupils wide as dinner plates, her inhibitions lowered to zero, and had pecked his lips like it wouldn’t tear him up inside to have her so close to him knowing it was everything he had ever wanted. 

He knew if she ever kissed him again he couldn’t keep it in anymore, couldn’t stay in this limbo they had found themselves in where all he could think about was how she smelled when she wore his clothes, a mix of his laundry and her skin together, something he’d found himself purely saturated in since she first lived with him after Emily’s funeral. He loved the way her eyes seemed soft and mellow when she looked at him, loved the way his stomach seemed warm and fuzzy when she held his hand, and he knew it wasn’t in the same way it normally was with other people, when he was worried about how many germs they were spreading to him or if they’d had all their shots or if he’d remembered to pack hand sanitizer. His stomach felt funny, and his skin felt sweaty, and his head got scrambled, and it was somehow good. 

He would do anything for her, anything she ever wanted from him and it was hers. 

He knew it way surpassed friendship. It felt like she was his girlfriend, which was absurd because he had never asked her to be. Or maybe it was just him trying to wish it into existence, because he knew he would never ask her. She was too good for him, too good for this world let alone a scrawny, know-it-all like him. 

She simpered under his words, looking at him with tired eyes, though he could tell she still yearned to fluff up her hair or fix her dress because she felt like a polished turd right now. 

“Thankyou,” She said quietly, immediately spotting a waiter carrying a tray of champagne passing by and reaching for a little flute, “Want one? Thank you,”

Spencer shook his head politely, quickly spotting Emily and Morgan moving into the garden with Hotch and Beth not far behind them.

“I’ll be right back, just wait here a second,” He said, gently stroking over her spine with his warm hands, before he darted towards the group. Jack took off running towards Bugsy the second he saw her, and Spencer heard the small ‘ooft’ leave the woman as he collided with her stomach and nearly winded her. He was getting bigger by the minute, Spencer swore. 

“Don’t you look dashing, boy wonder,” Morgan teased, flicking his finger under the lapel of Spencer’s two piece suit that Bugsy had told him more than once fit him like a glove, “Someone to impress?” 

Spencer blanched, his eyes shooting to Emily who seemed to hide a smile, because his feelings for her sister were about as plain to see as the moon that coated their evening in a blue glow. Hotch looked over the younger agent’s shoulder, to where his son was throwing cents into Rossi’s fountain with Bugsy and making wishes, his eyes quickly falling to the pink cast around her wrist, and his face hardened. 

“How is she?” He asked, lips pursed. 

They had seen her in turns at the hospital, but most of the time she had been extremely out of it, Hotch had managed to catch her right before they took her into surgery for her arm, and even then he’d been ushered right back out of the room because they were getting her prepped to be scrubbed down. 

Spencer bit his lip for a second, glancing over his shoulder at Bugsy fishing through her purse with her one good hand for more nickels, before he looked back at them, “She doesn’t want anyone to make a big deal about it, and don’t bring up her arm or her forehead, she’s a little delicate-”

He was cut off by Penelope squealing behind them, and they turned in unison to see the blonde woman cupping Bugsy’s face, checking herself for more abrasions, stroking over the younger girl’s shoulders as she simply allowed herself to be ragged like a doll. 

Because it was Penny. And Penny always meant well. 

Spencer flustered worriedly, and Morgan chuckled behind him, wrapping an arm over the kid’s shoulder. 

“Can’t protect her forever, lover boy,” Derek said, patting him before he let go, taking Emily’s elbow and walking over to where they were serving hors d'oeuvres. 

Spencer knew that, knew she could handle herself just fine without him. That was what worried him the most. 

–

JJ looked beautiful in her mother’s wedding dress. Bugsy welled up with happiness, true happiness when she saw her friend walking down the aisle with her son, a spitting image of her, in one hand, her father’s arm in the other. 

Will looked besotted, but then again he always did when he looked at JJ. 

Bugsy felt the love in the entire yard as they said their vows, kissing each other without restraint under the floral arch as Henry covered his eyes with a little giggle and an ‘eww!’ which made everyone chuckle. 

The violinists began playing soft hymns as the couple had their first dance, and Henry migrated towards the woman with the pink hand and the sapphire dress. 

“Buggy,” He tugged on the bottom of her skirts, huge, sky-blue eyes blinking up at her behind a mop of blonde furls. “Buggy, your hand!” 

She knelt down to hear the three year old a little better, and immediately tiny fingers trailed over her wrist worriedly. 

“Your hand, it’s hurt,” He said, and Spencer crouched to comfort the boy who he still remembered holding hours after he was born.

“I know, I hurt myself at work,” She said, letting him run his fingers over the pink shelling, his eyes wide and confused about the new material, “But Mommy saved me, and she saved your Daddy, and she saved you, didn’t she? Isn’t she so brave,” 

Henry smiled, like all his thoughts of his mommy being Wonder Woman were true, and he nodded, stepped towards Bugsy while making grabby hands for her neck, “Up,”  

Spencer was about to protest, because he didn’t want her to push herself, but he knew she could never say no to kids, especially ones as cute as the boys. 

“Alright, big man, up we go,” She put her good arm under his bottom, Spencer holding under her shoulder to help her into a stand with a repressed grunt, “Jesus, what did you eat for breakfast today. You really are a big boy, Henry,” 

She put him on her hip, shoving off the way it stung her superficial cuts because Henry seemed happy, grabbing a section of her hair in his tiny hands, and stroking her head gently in what Bugsy guessed was the way JJ stroked his when he was unwell. 

“Mommy says you have to have a magic kiss when you get hurt,” Henry babbled, and she smiled, her cheeks hurting because the kid was just sweet enough to eat. 

“Oh, yeah? Is mommy magic then?” She entertained, feeling Spencer still a ghost over her shoulder in case she started struggling to hold the pre-schooler. His godson laughed like she told a joke, shaking his golden locks as he answered. 

“No, Buggy,” He giggled, patting her cheek as she scrunched eyes shut with a smile, “You get a magic kiss when you get fixed. Like this,” He leaned in, leaving a big wet smooch on her cheek that made her giggle, tightening her hold on him with a shiny jaw. Henry turned to where Spencer watched them with a dazzling smile, pointing up at him, little fingernails waving in his face, “Spencer’s turn,”

His godfather faltered, his cheeks turning red and Bugsy looked between the two of them, amused. 

“I can’t, I’m afraid Henry. I’m not magic like you and mommy,” Spencer replied, trying to brush the boy off as kindly as possible. Henry’s face frowned, because he had watched Uncle Spencer pull a coin out of his ear not even half an hour ago and so that statement seemed ridiculous. 

“You have to! You have to give her magic kisses or she won't get better!” Henry ordered, trying to grab Spencer’s bow tie with vigour, “You have to!” 

“Alright, alright,” Spencer agreed, his hands shooting up in surrender, “I’ll give her magic kisses,”

Bugsy looked at him with a heart stopping smile. She looked soft like butter, syrupy and warm as pudding. The moonlight washed her pupils with something like a cartoonish twinkle, and he hoped his forest eyes didn’t turn to two love hearts the way he felt like it did. 

He raised one of his hands to her cheek, the same one Henry just kissed, holding her still. She was cool in the night air, or maybe his hand was just too warm because he was so nervous. He hoped he wasn’t shaking, but her jaw fit into the palm of his hand like it was always meant to be there. 

He dipped his head in to give her a long, delicate kiss to her cheek, running a thumb down the apple of her cheek. 

He pulled away from her, and they exchanged a look, something in her eyes he had rarely seen before. Figuring it was discomfort, or maybe just the light playing tricks on him, he stepped away, and Henry was quickly distracted by a frog hopping through the mildewed grass, and he set Bugsy on the task to help him catch it. 

Spencer busied himself talking to Will and Derek in the hopes his heart would calm down any minute soon, but he had quickly felt himself becoming somewhat addicted to the feel of her skin beneath his lips. He wondered lewdly if the rest of her would feel so soft as her cheek had, and immediately scolded himself for it. 

The thought haunted him for the rest of the night.

-

Penny twirled her around by her good arm, and the two of them giggled like school girls under the fairy-light woven pergola, the string quartet finishing off the fast paced song they had switched up the mood with. The blonde was careful about not jostling the woman too much, she could already feel Spencer and Emily’s worried looks from where they sat together at a table, nursing their drinks mid chat. 

But whether it was the fact she had been cooped up for days on bed rest orders (Spencer’s, not the Doctor’s, though he’d argued that was the same thing,) or that last morphine patch had really given her a kick up the behind, but she seemed to be hiding the pain well. 

JJ would only have one wedding, she’d argued with Spencer, she could have a hundred days in bed, but there would only be one night like this one; when they were all together, safe and happy, when there was enough palpable love in the air that fell over everyone's shoulders like a warm hug. He’d grumbled that he was usually the optimistic one and zipped up her dress for her with shaky fingers anyway. 

Before Penny could spin her round even one more time, a figure appeared two tower over the blonde, and a voice cut in between them politely.

“I don’t suppose you’d let me lead the next dance, I think Reid and Prentiss might just tackle you if you shake her up anymore,” Aaron’s voice was soft, inviting with the one and a half beers he’d had edging at his tone, almost teasing in a way so rare for a man so stern. 

Penelope looked over Bugsy’s shoulder to indeed see the woman’s two guard dogs watching her like a hawk, Bug’s already opened purse on Spencer lap where her emergency painkillers were. 

“Oh god, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Spencer frown like that, it’s like watching a puppy resource guarding,” Penelope faltered, looking the woman head to toe as if she was being held against her will to dance by the blonde, “You’re not hurt or anything- you’d tell me if you were hurt, wouldn’t you?”

Bugsy chuckled, throwing her good arm over the woman’s shoulder, “Relax, they’re both worry warts. I’m having fun, Pen. I think Hotch just wanted a turn with the ugly barbie,”

Against Penelope’s better judgement, she gave the woman a kiss on the cheek with a sigh of defeat, though she had been so careful not to push her in fear of her cracking another rib, but she had loved seeing Bugsy smile like that again. 

Derek was quick to swoop in to save her, swooping in to steal her for a dance as Aaron gently took Bugsy’s waist and good hand, entirely respectable and gentle in his touch. 

“I’m glad you’re okay, your bell got a little rung in that bank,” Aaron murmured, trying not to fret over the gash on her forehead that had a few butterfly stitches pulling it together. He remembered how frail she’d felt in his arms the last time he’d properly seen her, like a baby bird with its wings snapped in his hands. He was worried he was going to be burying her too, just like he had Emily, just like he had Haley, except he knew for her there wasn’t a catch, an escape route to Paris. There wouldn’t have been a do over.

But she was okay. Broken bones and all. 

She smiled at him, as if to remind him just how alive she was, and he saw how her eyes were bloodshot and tired, as if it was taking all of her energy to keep her head upright. 

“If you knew how many morphine patches are on my butt right now, you’d freak,” She said, and he laughed, because she was always good at getting those from him. Bugsy relaxed in his arms, and he rocked her side to side sweetly, not quite dancing but moving passively to the soft melody the band was playing. 

Maybe it was the fact he wasn’t in work mode, or maybe it was because the night air was cosy and light, or maybe she just weaselled out the guilt that had been stored in his chest for nearly a year, but he let himself look at her with a sad, sepia gaze, and it was like she knew what he was going to say before he said it. 

“I’m-”

“Don’t apologise,” She cut in quickly, her own expression falling into something forlorn, “You have nothing to apologise for, Aaron,”

He took a deep breath through his nose, “I do. That wasn’t right how I treated you. You’re not spoiled.” 

“I can be, sometimes,” She argued defeatedly, but he shook his head before she could add to it, “You were doing what was best to keep Emily safe, it was her I was more mad at than anything. She’s my sister, she should have trusted me, you and JJ didn’t owe me anything.”

“We owed you a better explanation than we gave,” He said, watching her sigh and rest her cheek on his shoulder. He cursed Spencer for allowing her to wear heels in her condition, though he didn’t doubt that the pretty boy had put up just as much fight as he would have seeing her grab the shoes on her way out, “I never meant to hurt you so much. And we do owe you better, we’re a family. Families fight, and they say mean things and they tell white lies sometimes but we love each other, and I only ever wanted to keep everyone safe. Okay?”

She nodded against his blazer material, dropping his hand in the interest of wrapping both her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug, ignoring the dulled ache of her ribcage.

“I love you too,” She murmured, and he gave her a feather-light squeeze back, all too aware of her bones creaking under her skin, “I’m sorry I hit you,”

She let go of him, and he held her hand, the tips of her fingers poking out from beneath her cast that already had Jack’s name scrawled over in black sharpie. 

“I deserved it, I was being cruel,” He said honestly. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but the emptiness in her laugh, in the way she’d stormed out, had scared him. He thought even if she lashed out, if she screamed at him or cried that would be better than the silent treatment because at least then he would know where she stood with him. But instead he had driven the knife in deeper, and for that he couldn’t say he blamed her for it, “I’ve had worse, much worse. Maybe you’re not as tough as you think,”

She baulked, and realised he was teasing her, “Maybe we could go round two Monday morning, I bet it would hurt a lot having a hard plaster cast swung at your face,” 

“For me or for you?” She smacked his arm with her good hand, and it made him chuckle again, and soon she was laughing too, resting her head back onto his shoulder comfortably, “I’m glad you’re okay, Bug,”

“Did you not hear where I put those morphine patches? I could paper mache with those bastards,” 

And they danced between chuckles for another half an hour. 

–

“Wait, wait, you’re going to compress her spine,” Derek stopped, Bugsy dipped at his waist where he was supporting her full weight because she’d complained she missed dancing with Penelope. She hated people walking on eggshells around her, and if anyone was going to have fun with her who could still make sure she was safe, it was Derek. 

The woman grinned up at him, Derek’s hands safely around her waist and not pressing on her ribs whatsoever, though she had to admit she was ready for another dose of painkillers after a few hours of dancing between Hotch, then to JJ who had swiftly been taken over by Henry who wanted to be lifted high enough he could hold Bugsy’s hands like he had seen the others doing. David had even entertained her with a very slow three step waltz, until Derek had been her next target because he seemed to be having the most fun whirling Emily around the dance floor. 

“Spencer!” She said and Morgan returned her to full height once he saw Reid’s fretful expression. She pouted, “Spencer, I was having fun,”

“You know what’s fun? Eating cake is fun, drinking water is fun, resting on the couch is fun,” He said, and Morgan was quick to hand the baby Prentiss over to Reid who rifled around his pocket to produce the tablet version of her buprenorphine, “You need more medicine or it’s going to hurt worse in the morning, remember? Getting ahead of the pain?”

She sighed, nodding, and before he could pop two out of the shiny, metal coated tray, she stopped him, “Wait, dance with me first,”

He looked at her incredulously, eyes softening when she stepped closer to him, her hand coming over the top of his to push the pain killers away, “It’s going to hurt more if you don’t get ahead of it now,”

“I know, I know,” She muttered, nodding docilely, “Look, I promise if you just dance with me a little now, I’ll have my meds and take it easy for the rest of the night, no questions asked,”

He looked unconvinced, because she was known to put up a fight when it came to doing something she didn’t want to. 

She sighed, “If I sit down now, I know I won’t be getting back up again for the rest of the night, and I wanted to enjoy myself until I couldn’t anymore,”

Spencer looked at her pleading puppy dog eyes, and broke almost embarrassingly fast, letting her follow his hand into his pocket, putting the drugs away and letting her take his now free hand in his own. 

“I’ll have it known I tried to stop this when this catches up to you and you have to go lay down on Rossi’s spare bed,” He argued back, but felt his stomach flip when she laced her fingers with his, pushing herself closer to him as a means of drawing him out of his grumpy mood. 

“He has more than enough, just dance with me,” She brushed his attitude off, wrapping her plaster-cast over his shoulder. 

He took her waist gently, feeling the plush, softness of her hips and wishing the heat away from his cheeks. She looked divine under the fairy lights, ready to be whisked away by sleep yes, but the sleepy blinks added to her charm, and she was soft and pliant under his touch like a tame cat ready to curl up on his chest.

“I had so much fun,” She said, meeting his adoring gaze, probably because he couldn’t drag his eyes away from her. He nodded, worrying then if his hair was sitting right or if hid bowtie needed straightening. She was a goddess in his arms, the colour of her dress matching her skin beautifully, a few wisps of hair falling over her eyes from where Penny had damn near done the quick step with her. 

She looked like a dream.

“I never thanked you for everything you did for me when Emily was-” She gulped, her eyes suddenly down turned, like she couldn’t admit anything to the hazel of his eyes, not when they looked at her like that. “You were the only thing I had for a very long time, and I never really said how much it all meant to me,”

“You’re my best friend, I’m always going to be there for you,” He said, lovingly stroking a thumb over her skin, his voice tender as this touch, “That’s what friends are for,”

Even though he was sure he’d never felt this way about any of his friends before, even the tiny crush he’d had on JJ for all of two weeks when he’d first started at the BAU didn’t even make a mark on how she got his chest hammering like a jackrabbit. 

Her face flickered with something he couldn’t read, and she nodded, “Right. Friends.” She swallowed heavily. 

She slumped against him, like the wind had been taken out of her, her head on his shoulder, but it felt nothing like when she had danced with Hotch. 

It felt like everything she’d ever wanted was right in her grasp, like the one person who made her feel whole again was pressed against her, stroking down her spine with an affection she could swear blind was nothing like she’d ever felt before. Like the only air she knew how to breathe was filling her lungs, every note of fresh linen, the hair gel he sometimes used to tame his curls, down to the faint smell of his apartment, so filled with books the smell of worn leather and thin paper seeped into his clothes. 

She couldn’t remember who she was before she knew Spencer. She felt like she’d always known him. 

He wasn’t just her friend, he was every bit of her that she wasn’t. Every ugly part of her that had always felt so alone, like loneliness was just ingrained into her since birth that seemed to jump up in a strange feeling of longing and home whenever he was near. 

She let herself revel in his arms as long as she could, because she knew it was so illicit to be feeling so hungry for something she couldn’t have. She knew he was too good for her; she had never deserved any scrap of kindness he gave her. She could be mean, and rude, and loud, and ugly, and spiteful and he was everything she wasn’t. He was kind, and sweet, and gentle, and loving, and he didn’t deserve someone like her; he deserved so much better. 

Bugsy let herself stay against his chest for a while longer, slowly swaying with him under the moonlight as JJ and Will took each other in their arms; a couple that fit together, Bugsy thought, two people who were so right for one another. Who deserved their happiness. 

And so she selfishly let herself pretend she could have him as long as she could, silently dancing together under the pergola, until she agreed to go sit down because she would never admit that the ache in her side had started to seep back in, and he fussed over her some more and she told him he was being silly, but she preened under his affections anyway. 

They’d reached a stalemate, Spencer would have probably called it.

Bugsy knew she shouldn’t want him, but she did. She shouldn’t want him because he was the pretty boy, the sweetheart that sat untainted by everything he’d seen and endured, the one who had jumped and cleared every hurdle life had thrown at him where she had fallen flat. He had gotten better on his own after Hankel; she had crashed and burned and taken nearly everyone with her. He was strong, and she was weak. She shouldn’t want him, it was selfish, but she did. 

Spencer knew he couldn’t have her, because she was beyond anything he had ever dreamed of, beyond his best friend, beyond the girl who kissed him and didn’t ever want to talk about it again. He couldn’t have her because she was still healing, still wounded and vulnerable and rattled from barely recovering her relationship with her sister before she’d had a bank dropped on top of her. It would be wrong, it would be selfish, she would never want some scrawny kid from a shitty home where he was beaten up by girls even smaller than him and wedgied so hard he had to follow the librarian to class. He was a nobody. He couldn’t have her because she deserved so much better, but he wanted her. 

They sat at a stalemate for a few weeks longer, until Emily got a job offer in London, and she asked Bugsy to take an internship at Interpol one of her old associates had sent to her. Twelve weeks learning how international databases worked, even some forensic work for Scotland Yard if she played her cards right. 

And she took it; without much warning she took it, even if not to give herself some breathing space from how much her chest pined to be back in Spencer’s arms she had that night. 

Bugsy headed to London, and didn’t look back. 

2. The one with Maeve

Four Months. Bugsy had been in England for four months. 

At first, they had called regularly, almost every other day, except the days she was just too tired to stay up until two am to call him when he got home. They had spent an hour on the phone at least; she had asked about the team, the cases, if he missed her yet which he always told her to knock it off because of course he missed her, and he had asked about London, and what England was like, and how Emily was doing. 

Until around two months in when her schedule had changed to night shifts, and they could only ever communicate by texts, at which point he had been the one struggling to talk because he had no clue how to work his phone. She had called the odd time on her half an hour lunch break, but it was always rushed, never consistent, usually ending up with her excusing herself and hanging up on him fast because she was needed urgently somewhere else. 

Cynically enough, the only time she could ever call was Sundays. Sundays when he was already busy, Sundays when he was admittedly on the phone, only he wasn’t talking to her. 

He was talking to Maeve. 

The geneticist he had been ready to tell her all about before JJ’s wedding, who had all but cleared up his migraines within a few sessions, who had asked him three days after Bugsy had flown out what had made his head flare up again and so he’d told her. Told her his best friend moved to another country temporarily, that he missed her and had been looking after her cats for her while she was gone because her new landlord wouldn’t let them have pets. And it had spiralled from there, she had asked more about the rest of his life, and he had asked about hers, and suddenly they weren’t just talking about his migraines anymore, they were flirting. 

He hadn’t told Maeve that he was in love with said friend who had taken a great opportunity with both hands and fled the second she could. He couldn’t hold it against her, not when he was choosing his calls with Maeve over the only chance he had to speak to Bugsy, and four months really wasn’t that long in the scheme of things. 

That was what he’d tried telling himself at least. He missed her more than anything, and the only thing that he’d found combatted the sting of her being gone was Maeve. 

Maeve; who he had never seen, whose voice was sweet and alluring, who got his humour the way girls rarely ever did (besides Bug ofcourse). Who liked what he liked, and could talk his ear off about what she’d been reading, and about her day in the lab. 

She was Bugsy in every other font, every other manner, and best of all she liked him. She told him weeks ago she liked him, that she wanted to date him, that he was her dream guy. 

Call him a cynic for enjoying having a chance with someone, then that’s what he was. 

Life since he had tried pushing away his unrequited feelings for one Prentiss girl had been going swimmingly. He liked their new team mate, Alex Blake, the brilliant linguist who warmed to him quite quickly; he had a girl at his heels who returned his feelings, who was everything he always said he looked for in a partner, even without having ever seen her face, and he was rather enjoying having Nico and Sergio around to keep him company. 

But as it always did, the contented limbo he’d found himself in where he might actually be able to get a girlfriend came to a screeching halt on Sunday afternoon when he was stepping outside at three forty-five, readying himself for the ten minute walk to the nearest phone booth for their call at four pm on the dot. He had just about locked his front door, turning on his heel with his scarf draped over his shoulders when he had collided with someone’s chest. 

“Oh I’m so- Bugsy?” 

“Spencer!” She smiled at him wider than she ever had before, and she threw her arms over his shoulders because he had never protested to her affection before, “It’s so good to see you- I missed you so much, there’s so much I have to tell you-”

“What are you doing here?” It sounded like a confrontation, though he hadn’t meant it that way, just that he hadn’t been expecting her back for another two weeks at least and he certainly hadn’t expected to see her today, right before he was about to go call the girl he was sort of seeing, sort of not. 

She bristled at his tone, because he didn’t sound nearly as happy to see her as she had expected. Pulling away, she realised he hadn’t even bothered to hug her back, and she tried to shove away the embarrassment that she’d never ever felt in front of him before. 

“I- just- I wanted to surprise you. Interpol said I could finish early since I’d finished all my paperwork and could take the exams online in a few weeks,” She stammered, feeling uncharacteristically stuck for what to say. He flicked a look down to his wrist, his brows furrowed like she was taking up too much time, “Is something wrong, did I do something wrong?”

“No, you just-” He breathed heavily out of his nose, running a hand through his hair, “I’m late for something,”

“I’ll drive you!” She jumped at the chance, fishing for her keys in her pocket, “Car’s right out front, I sort of just threw it there because I wanted to see you,”

“I’m walking,” He said, in that frustrated tone again and she stopped looking at her jacket, her eyes snapping to his as he looked past her like she was in his way. 

“O-okay, well then do you want company?” She said, her bag heavy with the souvenir she got him, though now it seemed to be weighing her down. 

“It’s sort of personal,” He replied shortly, like she was a stranger selling him something on his doorstep, when really he was just cursing his luck that the girl he’d spent months trying to get over was here in front of him like someone was waving a bone in his face and he was a pup being told to sit. He was cursing the fact that he had spent hours and hours dreaming of the minute he’d see her again and she had showed up out of the blue after weeks of little to no communication like a damn hallucination of the senses. 

She stopped then, her face contorting into a frown, “Is everything okay, are you sure I didn’t do anything-”

“You could have called, I’m kind of busy, Bugsy,” Spencer replied, even though he knew he was being unreasonable. It wasn’t her fault she was unravelling all of his progress just by being there. He thought he was finally getting over her, and with one whiff of her perfume, of her shampoo mixed with her natural scent, he was remembering just how in love with her he had been just a few months ago, like Pavlov’s fucking dog. 

Her face fell then, into something kicked and hurt, “Sorry- my phone died on the plane, I didn’t even think, I just- I just wanted to see you,” 

He faltered, the frustration leaking out of him, but before he could really say much else, she’d taken a step away, swung around to head for the stairs, “Sorry, I’ll call next time, sorry I got in your way, Spence,” 

And she sounded genuine, not annoyed like he would expect for someone who’d been spoken to like trash. The guilt seeped in almost immediately, but then his mind ticked over the minutes he had left until Maeve would be expecting a call. Nine minutes now, he would need to speed walk. 

He could make it up to Bugsy as soon as he was done with the girl who was almost her but not. 

–

Spencer felt like an idiot. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the look on her face when she had left his apartment, nor had he not stopped chiding himself for not heading straight out after her. 

His phone call with Maeve hadn’t gone how he’d expected, which would have been the only thing soothing the burn of his scathing tone, except she had hung up rather abruptly after he had suggested they meet up, something that had played on his mind for weeks now. 

“Are you being safe?” He asked, the payphone hard and cold in his hand as he pressed it to his ear. 

She chuckled softly down the phone, a sound that would have made his heart flutter if he hadn’t been feeling so wound up about seeing Bugsy, “Yes, I’m being safe,” 

“Do you think he knows about us?” Spencer dared to ask after a moment of silence, because he could tell it was worrying her too. He wondered if the two of them would be dating by now if it wasn’t for the fact she had a stalker who may or may not turn his attention to Spencer if he realised they were seeing one another. 

“No, as far as I can tell he doesn’t,” She said, her voice slightly more rigid than what he was used to. Her voice was always honey smooth when they spoke, and Spencer had more than enough time to wonder if it ever matched what she looked like. “And we need to keep it that way,” 

The line went dead, and with it the only thing that he’d been telling himself was worth hurting his best friend even the tiniest bit went with it. 

Spencer felt like an asshole. He’d tried calling Bugsy’s phone, then when she hadn’t answered he’d tried asking Penelope, who said she’d gone to visit JJ, Will and Henry since he was too busy. 

At least that would have lightened her mood, he hoped, as he walked into the office Monday morning, and saw her at her desk, already chatting to Penelope with Derek’s arm around her shoulder. 

She was all smiles today, pretty much how she had looked yesterday before he had all but kicked her out, and the sinking feeling in his chest tripled when she looked past Penelope’s shoulder and saw him. Her eyes wavered for a second, head turning downwards as if she hadn’t properly spotted him, 

“Pretty boy! Look who it is,” Derek called him over, even though he was already speed walking and he stopped in front of her, looking her head to toe for the first time fully. 

He realised then her hair was slightly different, that she’d had it cut shorter since the last time he’d seen her, that she’d gotten a new ear piercing. It made her look older, more mature than when he’d last seen her, or maybe he had just not seen her in so long. Maybe he just hadn’t bothered, he thought painfully.

“I saw him yesterday,” Bugsy said, and he felt caught immediately, Penelope’s head whipping to him, “He was kinda busy though, weren’t you, Spence? More of a passing visit.” 

She sounded indifferent to yesterday’s rudeness, like it hadn’t really phased her despite the fact he’d seen for his own eyes the way her expression dropped. 

“I was- I had an appointment,” He said, because he felt the need to explain himself even if he couldn’t.

She smiled at him, something dampened and fake, “I leave for a few months and suddenly boy wonder is too busy to talk to me, what is the world coming to,” She joked, and Spencer felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, though Penny and Derek laughed. 

“No, really, I had an appointment-” He tried to reason, but Penelope stopped him before he could fret too much, his hands wringing and he tried to lie on the spot without getting caught. 

“She’s just kidding, Spence, don’t worry,” Pen shook him off warmly, quickly grabbing Bugsy’s arm tightly, the faint scar where she’d had her surgery trailing up her skin, “Now, to my bat cave, where we can talk all about just how good British guys are in bed without the boy germs getting all over our gossip,” 

Bugsy laughed, allowing herself to be pulled along, right past Spencer without a second glance, despite the fact he looked like he was about to throw up. 

Why hadn’t he thought about that? Why hadn’t he considered for a second that she would meet anyone, if not seriously, then for a one night stand? What if all those nights she was too busy to talk she had been with someone, someone much cooler and hotter and overall more experienced than he was. He was thirty years old and he had only ever slept with two women, one being Austin the bartender she’d told him to go after despite him lingering around her the whole night, the other being a girl he’d met in O’Keeffes after a hard case when he had been a few months sober, wanting anything, anyone, to take his mind away from going back to the little vial of trouble. 

How could he be so stupid? Of course she’d be hooking up with other people. She was young and gorgeous and smart as a whip and single. She’d be any guy's dream. 

He knew he was being so, so disgustingly hypocritical. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Maeve for months, and yet here he was seething with jealousy at the very thought of Bugsy being with someone who could love her without feeling guilty for loving her. 

Spencer swallowed his pride and set his stuff down on his desk, watching Penelope grab Alex and drag her to her bat cave on her way, the older woman lighting up at the fact she was meeting the Bugsy Prentiss. 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and felt a migraine start to ache behind his eyes. 

–

“Alex- Blake, where are you going?” Spencer called, shoving his cell in his back pocket as he jogged toward the woman about to climb into the SUV.

Sure enough, Bugsy had been back in the office for one hour before they were getting pulled into another case, and she was more than happy to jump in to help with her new found skills in Interpol. 

It was a gruesome case, which was saying something for all the shit they’d seen. The UnSub was amputating legs off one victim to then put onto his next one. There had been one guy waking up in his hotel room with both legs missing below the knee, then another gentleman had walked into an ER room with legs that weren’t his own attached to his sockets. 

It made Bugsy’s skin crawl, but that was simply a day's work for them. They were at the most recent victim’s body; a woman who seemed to have been too weak to survive the surgery had been dumped on the street with her limbs switched to someone else’s. They had at least one other victim they hadn’t found yet, the girl thought darkly. 

“Hotch called, he wants us back at the station ASAP,” The woman replied, Bugsy at her side.

“Can you give me a ride to 5th and Main, it’s on the way?” Spencer asked, trying his hardest to ignore the frown the youngest Prentiss gave him, confusion written across her face. 

“Uh, yeah sure. What’s at 5th and Main?” Alex asked, also confused as to what was so pressing he needed to side track their case. 

“I need to talk to somebody,” He replied shortly, the same cut off tone he’d used with Bugsy just the day before, and Alex faltered. 

“Yeah, uh, okay. Sure.” She agreed, not wanting to rock the boat considering she was still so new to the BAU. She looked over at Bugsy, who seemed disgruntled as she headed for the passenger side, Spencer climbing into the back of the SUV with a troubled look on his face when their eyes met in the rear-view mirror. 

“You’re coming with us?” He asked, looking on edge when he saw she’d gotten into their car and not into JJ’s like she had on their way over there.

“Yeah, is that a problem?” Bugsy asked, and he shrugged, playing with his fingertips in his lap. 

“No, that’s fine, I just didn’t know you were coming with us,” He replied shortly, his face starting to warm when he realised how rude he’d sounded. He heard her sigh, and look out the window with no more protest in her. 

Alex didn’t ask questions as she put the handbrake down, perhaps sensing the tension in the car between the two agents, and she didn’t need to be a profiler to tell there was either a lot unsaid between them or maybe even words that no one could take back. 

Either way she did as he’d asked, because Bugsy hadn’t actually protested, just bit at her fingernails that said she was thinking too hard, and stepped on the gas.

–

The car pulled around to where a dimly lit payphone sat, empty and looking like it hadn’t been used in years. Which it probably hadn’t, besides as a dog urinal. 

Alex stopped the car, and Spencer was already opening the door before she could even put it into neutral, “Do you want us to wait?” 

“Uh, you know what, it might take a while, so I’ll just get a cab back,” He said, his tone clipped and leaving little room for questions. He felt Bugsy staring at him in confusion from the front seat, and he avoided her gaze like the plague, even if there was something sad in them that he was being so distant. “Thanks anyway,” He hopped out the car slamming the door shut, and digging through his pocket for change as he headed for the payphone. 

Alex drove off, and he felt his chest get lighter for it, because he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the act. 

He hated lying, especially to her. Every morsel of his being writhed in discontent whenever he would lie, like the truth was just begging to slip out one way or another, and he knew he would only feel all the more guilty for it as soon as the case was over and he couldn’t avoid her eyes that haunted him like a wraith or her touch that seemed to have been kept to herself since he had snubbed her hug at his doorway. 

He knew he was pulling away, knew she was doing the same thing, and he hated it. 

Bugsy sat in the car, her face moody as anything as she glared out the window and Alex took the corner around the block. 

“So is it usually like this between you two?” Alex dared to ask, her food steady on the pedal, “The lingering looks, the awkward silences? From what Penelope told me, the two of you are as close as can be,”

“Yeah, usually we are,” Bugsy replied coldly, and within a second she was unplugging her seatbelt, “In fact, pull back around the block. I’m done with him being an asshole without an explanation.”

Alex felt like she had just pulled a pin from her grenade with her delicate question, though she had meant entirely well, and did as the girl told her to, worried just what might blow up in her face if she didn’t.

Spencer had already dialled the number he knew off by heart, with or without his eidetic memory, by the time they pulled around. 

His face dropped, knowing the returning call would be coming any minute now and he just hoped Maeve wasn’t too worried about him. But he had no time to think about her, because the second he saw Bugsy getting out of the car he could tell she was pissed. 

Pissed in a way she had never been with him, but then he supposed, he had never treated her like that either. 

“I’m going to give you one chance to tell me the truth, Spencer, because I’m tired of the clipped responses and the pushing me away,” She said, walking over to him like he owed her money. Which he didn’t. But he did owe her a good explanation as to what the hell was going on with them, “Did I do something? You can tell me if I’m an asshole, I know I can be an asshole, but you have to tell me so I can fix it-”

“You haven’t done anything, Bug, just please get back in the car,” Spencer cut her off, which was clearly the wrong move as he saw her brow raise at him. 

“Something’s not right, Spencer,” Alex agreed, though she held back because hurricane Bugsy seemed to be more than enough intimidation for the guy, “What’s the deal?”

“What do you mean? Why did you guys come back?” He rushed, because he could feel his face warming, and he played with his fingertips like he did when he was struggling. 

“Don’t answer a question with a question,” Bugsy chided, and he rubbed his palm with his thumb self-soothingly, and that was what tripped him up. Her eyes zeroed on his hands, looking back up at him and he almost went white at the predicament he’d found himself in, “You’re lying about something,”

“No, I’m not, I would never lie to you-” She pulled his hands apart, looking at him with hurt written across her soft features. 

“Bullshit, I know when you’re lying, Spencer, or did you just forget that we’re best friends. That seems to mean nothing to you nowadays,” She snapped, and he could only look back at the phone booth, knowing that she would be calling any second now, “Are you even listening to me?” 

Her tone was hurt, wounded, because he had to admit he was being inconsiderate. 

“A while back, I found a geneticist that helped clear up my migraines, and we stayed in touch while you were in London,” He said, because that was all true, and she couldn’t call him a liar again if he was telling the truth.

“So? What does that have to do with the case,” Alex prompted, her own face scrunched in ire as he hopped around the subject. 

“I think maybe my friend may be able to see something we’ve missed.” Spencer rushed out, his eyes puppy like as he willed Bugsy to stop looking so damn betrayed. 

“You have four of the best minds I know back at the station, you have a woman with a biochemistry master's standing in front of you who dabbled in medicine for fun, but you need your friend for help?” Alex responded, because there was no way he was getting out of the hole he’d dug himself if she had anything to say about it. She too, as new to the team as she was, had no time for secrets on a job where trust meant everything. 

“I know, but sometimes a different perspective helps me think better, okay?” He replied, his hand itching to take his palm back because he knew it still wasn’t the full truth. 

Bugsy scoffed, crossing her arms over one another, and shifting her weight to one foot. 

“You’re being ambiguous, you always do that when you’re lying,” She muttered, loud enough for him to hear and he gulped, turning his head to the ground. 

“All of this begs a bigger question, why did you ask me to bring you?” Alex asked, because she was thinking the same thing. 

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Spencer said, but his spine straightened impossibly when the payphone began ringing, and he seemed skittish like a naughty school child.

“You could have asked JJ or Morgan to drive you, but you asked me. You had a problem with Bugsy coming, because you didn’t think she’d be with us, so what’s the deal? Why me?” Alex pushed, and Spencer flustered, his head whipping around to where the high pitched chime continued, and he knew she didn’t have much time before the line went dead. 

“Alex, please,” Spencer begged, feeling Bugsy’s eyes boring into the side of his head as he avoided her gaze like the plague. 

“Just answer the question,” Bugsy bit out, because she was sick of being ignored all day, of being treated like she was contaminated or like he had never known her a day in his life. Not when she had flown on the first plane back to see him because she missed him more than she could ever tell him. 

Not when she had been racing up the stairs to his apartment, her souvenir in her bag, the words on the foreword written in her own hand ready to tell him how she felt. 

Because she knew it, after weeks of not seeing him, hours of just missing him and the few texts back and forth, she knew it. She knew she had to tell him, even if they had to brush it under the rug to be friends again, even if it was a shot in the dark she had to tell him. 

She couldn’t choke it down anymore.  

Only when she’d gotten there, thrown her arms around him, he almost felt like a stranger beneath her hand, almost felt like he never even knew her.

Spencer sighed heavily, looking at Alex because he thought he might just crack if he looked at Bugsy when he said it. 

“Because I didn’t want them to know about her, alright?” 

And she knew it then, knew it by the way he’d softened entirely when he said her, the way he seemed to melt just by thinking of her, the way he cowered into taking a step back towards the phone booth. It wasn’t just his geneticist, it was someone else entirely. Someone so much more to him.  

Bugsy felt a lump in her throat, and she forced with all her might to not let her eyes well with tears. Because friends didn’t feel like they’d been sucker punched in the gut at hearing they were seeing someone else. Friends didn’t feel an all consuming jealousy writhe under their skin at the idea of them being with someone who wasn’t them, feeling something for someone who wasn’t them. 

That wasn’t what just friends did. 

And Bugsy thought with horror, as he picked up the phone and spoke in hushed, gentle tones that he once did with her, that they might never be friends again. 

3. The one with their first date

Things were weird. Really weird. And painful. Really, really fucking painful.

Bugsy and Spencer had never been like this, never been so cold besides the first time they’d ever met, and even then she had warmed him from the inside out. She was sharing her sharlotka within hours of even knowing him, never even knowing he was knee deep in an addiction he was struggling to face alone, and that she had made him feel better than he had in weeks with her smile and her kindness and her quick witted brain. 

Things were strange between them, and it was becoming noticeable too. 

She boarded the jet behind Alex, the woman taking a seat next to Hotch at the table, the only other seat left being next to Reid, who stopped midway through what he was saying.

“It’s difficult to lure most people from the security of their own homes, eighty four percent of stalking victims have some sort of original connection with their stalkers, meaning-” He paused, and so did she for a fraction of a second, debating whether to sit beside him. She straightened quickly, dipping her head down and looking to the floor, and bristling past the empty seat to sit herself next to JJ on the couch. 

He cleared his throat, trying to look like his face hadn’t dropped in hurt, and continued.

Hotch and JJ exchanged a look, the same silent message reading clear in their eyes. 

The blonde looked up from her file as the others chatted, Penelope piping up from their computer, and glanced at the younger woman who was unpacking her things on her lap, despite there being a perfectly good table next to them. 

“You alright, Bug?” JJ asked, trying not to seem too worried, yet she knew she was coming off troubled by the tense behaviour from the pair of them.  

It had been three weeks of this, the silences, the uncomfortable pauses, the avoiding each other at all costs. The only time they ever really spoke was on a case, when they were closing in on an UnSub and their feelings had to be put to one side for the moment. Well, her feelings. Because all of his feelings were occupied as of the moment. With Maeve. 

She couldn’t stomach talking about the woman anymore, couldn’t stand Derek’s teasing remarks about how lover boy was getting lucky, or Penelope’s thousands and one questions about the geneticist that she knew had come from a place of care, or Alex’s motherly guidance on his love life. The entire thing made her feel queasy, and she stayed quiet most days in the way he’d always hated, the way he’d always tried to pry her out of. 

But nowadays he didn’t bother. Didn’t bother much with her at all, really. 

“Yep,” Bugsy said, her lips tight, “Peachy,” 

JJ knew not to ask any more than that. 

–

Human marionettes were a first for her, she had to admit. They had already found two victims stuffed into boxes with craft paper surrounding them, their limbs almost entirely broken out of their sockets ante-mortem. It was a time sensitive case, with two deaths in three days and no sign of slowing down, and so that meant that of course the two brains of the team were assigned together, even if Hotch saw the way her face dropped when he’d said it. 

She was drawing the geographical profile on the board, the squeaking of the marker against the screen the only sound in the room aside from Spencer’s flicking of pages. 

“Did you get the first dump site?” He asked, even though he knew she more than likely would have done. 

“Mhm,” She said, not bothering to actually say anything, because it was a stupid question she knew he was only asking to fill the awkward silence between them. 

“What about the store that sold the outfits, did you get-” He started, only for her to cut him off with a clipped tone. 

“Got it, and I got the radius around the store, and I got the second dumpsite.” Bugsy replied, capping the lid to the marker pen and setting it down on the desk beside him, “I’m going to get coffee. Want one?” 

Though she didn’t stick around long enough to really hear his response. She simply waltzed out of the room to the tiny kitchenette the police station had to offer, in search of anything that would keep her occupied and away from snapping at him. 

What had she really got to be mad at him for? For getting a girlfriend? For rubbing it in everyone's face how happy she made him, how perfectly suited she was for him? Except she didn’t think that last one was necessarily true, it just felt that way because it cut her so deep to hear about the girl who was everything she wanted to be. She had no right to be mad at him for anything except being distant with her since she got back from London. 

She still made him a coffee half heartedly, swirling in a tonne of sugar the way she knew he would like, because he never changed being so perfectly him in the time she was away. 

She used to tell him he didn’t need all that sugar because he was sweet enough as he was, because it was true. He used to be entirely honeyed and saccharine when he spoke to her, now she was lucky if she got a full good morning. 

Bugsy bit her lip to stop it from quivering, and took the mugs back to the tiny office they were stationed in, seeing Alex at the door and hearing half their conversation.

“Is this about, uh, phone booth girl?” Blake asked, and Bugsy wanted to snap because what else would they be talking about. Her name was Maeve, she wanted to snarl, Maeve, Maeve, Maeve, Queen of the Fairies and of Spencer’s heart, Maeve, Maeve, Maeve. 

She never hated a name so viscerally, though she knew in deep down it wasn’t her fault. Maeve didn’t do anything wrong, she just fell in love with Dr Spencer Reid and his charms. She couldn’t blame her, really. It wasn’t difficult to do so. 

“She wants to meet,” Spencer’s voice was soft and nervous, and it was the most she’d heard him talk all day. 

Bugsy froze, and Alex’s jaw dropped, “Wait, you guys have never met?” She saw Spencer shake his head just before she rounded the corner back into the office, feeling like she was intruding immediately, “Aren’t you curious what she looks like?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter what she looks like, she’s already the most beautiful girl in the world to me,” She stopped at the doorway, feeling like she’d had the entire cup of hot coffee dumped over her chest in a scalding pain the minute she’d heard it. 

Spencer called her beautiful many, many times before, both when she’d been done up to the nines and even when she was running away from a damn wedding in the middle of a storm and she looked like a sewer rat. 

But that didn’t matter, because everything about Maeve was beautiful to him, and that was where she seemed to draw the short straw. Because who would find her selfishness beautiful? Or her spoiled nature, or how she could be so crass and rude she had been in more fights before she started the BAU than she’d care to admit. But Maeve was nothing like that. She was sweet and gentle and beautiful on the inside. 

Bugsy plonked his coffee down harder than she’d wanted to, and he thanked her, pausing for a second as he looked between Alex and Bugsy, the second woman now sipping her steaming coffee freely and pinning maps to an adjacent board as if she couldn’t hear a word they were saying.

“What if she doesn’t like me?” He said, fiddling with his sleeves, “I mean; I slouch, my hair’s too long, my tie is perpetually crooked,” 

“Your hair’s fine,” Alex combats back, watching the girl down her drink in a few sips, “Jesus, do you have asbestos in your throat?” 

Bugsy turned to her and shrugged silently, “I’m tired, I needed the caffeine,” 

Alex watched her with a hesitant eye, as if she was keeping just as close an eye on her as Jennifer but didn’t want to say, before she stepped away from the doorway, “Alright, I gotta run. You kids update us if you find something out.” 

And with that Blake took her leave, leaving the room in silence for a moment, and Bugsy heard Spencer thinking too loud with that big brain of his. 

She sighed, tacking a map of the city up next to the other one with points of interest noted on, “You’ll be fine,” She said after a minute, and he froze. 

“I’m sorry?” He asked, formally like she asked to sit next to him on the bus or to squeeze past him in a store. 

“I said you’ll be just fine on your date with Maeve,” She reiterated, using a purple sharpie to start drawing the routes the victims took to work. 

Spencer sighed, shuffling papers around his desk, “How can you be so sure?” 

She looked at him then, properly looked at him and he felt his breath almost catch. He’d been telling another one of his half truth’s earlier, because he couldn’t very well say just how many night’s he’d thought about Bugsy being all over him, about kissing her and sweeping her off her feet, about squeezing her close to him in a passionate embrace and never letting her slip away again. He thought about all the times she professed how much she loved him and how good a friend he was to her, and how happy she made him, and how he had spent the first year of knowing her getting to know her for that big brain of hers that rivalled his own. 

He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, but he couldn’t have her. He could have Maeve though. He could meet her and fall in love with her and marry her. He could do it. But she still wouldn’t be her. 

She smiled at him like she had a secret, one she was willing to share with him, one that came at a cost but she would give it to him anyway because it was him and she was so good to him and deserved so much better. 

“What’s not to like about you, Spencer?” She said softly, her expression that of a street dog looking for scraps.

He swore he shuddered when she said his name like that, but he tried a smile back at her anyway. But it was too late, she’d already turned away to continue plotting the points on the map. 

Spencer felt his chest swell in a way Maeve had never gotten it to do.

–

He felt stupid. Half an hour of primping himself in the BAU bathroom, worrying and fussing over what he was wearing and if his hair sat right and if his face looked too skinny, he had made it to the restaurant only to baulk at the last minute when he’d seen a guy in a booth flicking his head to look back at where he was sat in a window seat, a red rose potted in the middle of the table and an empty chair across from him. 

He had panicked and called Maeve, told her to go home because her stalker was there at the restaurant, and she had done just that with little to no question. Only for him to see, minutes later, the guy he thought was her stalker being approached by another guy and he realised he had likely been looking out the window to check for taxi’s parking outside the restaurant. 

Spencer had blown it, the one chance he had at meeting her in person, and he felt more like an idiot than ever. 

He didn’t care about the weird rift between them at that moment, he just wanted to see Bugsy, because she always seemed to know what to say to make him feel better. Like she had a talent for it, even when he had not been the best friend himself. 

He knew he had to fix it, knew it didn’t matter if it was a little unethical to be on the cusp of having a girlfriend whilst also pining after his best friend, he didn’t care. He wanted to set things right with her just to have his best friend back. 

He walked up to her apartment complex, the excuse already brewing in his head that he missed Nico and Sergio, that he maybe missed her a whole lot too but he knew the cats were a sweetened deal way of getting him through the door. Because she would never say no to him seeing the boys. 

And then he would tell her, that he’d been an asshole the past few weeks, that he’d been struggling to understand how to balance time between her and his almost girlfriend, because that was a much better half truth than the fact he was trying to bury his feelings for her so deep they couldn’t see the light of day or else his life would be entirely ruined. 

That’s exactly what he would say.

Spencer felt a little better than he had leaving the restaurant knowing he’d messed up his chance. In all honesty, he was excited to have Bugsy back, even if his night wasn’t exactly going to plan. 

He waltzed up the stairs he’d been on a million times. She loved his apartment, she always said so, but he insisted her TV was bigger and so they usually stayed at hers to watch Dr Who when the newest episodes came out. 

Spencer hesitated for a second, hoping his plan worked before he rapped on the door with boney knuckles, his hand fingering the strap of his bag nervously as he heard her moving behind the door. 

“One second!” She called, and he chuckled, she had probably fallen asleep on the sofa without pants on, or maybe even just gotten out the shower, either way he heard her scrambling to get clothes on and then-

She swung the door open, and his eyes quickly dropped to her neck that had a long row of hickeys trailing down to her collar bone. His small smile at seeing her vanished like one of those magic tricks he liked to do, and he realised her lip gloss was smudged over her chin, her shirt definitely wasn’t her own and he didn’t actually think she had even bothered to put on underwear beneath the large band tee she’d clearly thrown on in the middle of passion. 

Bugsy looked like she’d seen a ghost. 

“Spencer!” She said, her voice choked up like she was exhausted, and he felt his stomach turn. He looked away from her, like he couldn’t stand to even look at her, “I thought you were with Maeve- yo-your date,”

“I had to cancel, it wasn’t safe,” He murmured, tugging the strap of the bag tighter around his shoulder. 

He felt like a complete loser. More than he ever had being shoved into lockers, being dipped into toilet water, being led around by the librarian and her damn butterscotch. 

Spencer felt like his chest was caving in, which he knew was fair on no one to admit, but it was true. 

“Are you okay?” She asked immediately, scanning him over for wounds, “Are you hurt- Is Maeve okay?”

He opened his mouth to reply when he heard foot steps and a hand appeared around her waist, tugging her into a muscled body as the door opened wider. 

“Who is it, babe?” A deep voice spoke, and Spencer felt his face go green when he saw the adonis of a man who stood behind her, his chest littered with smudged lip gloss and bruises resembling her own neck trailing down to his crotch. 

Her face was on fire when Spencer looked back at her, something betrayed in the hazel of his eyes which he knew was entirely illicit to feel in the circumstances, but it was true. 

“Fuck off, Renly,” She shoved him back behind the door, looking at Spencer like the friendship between them they were scrambling to salvage hung in the balance with whatever she said next. “You remember Renly, my lab partner at Johns,” 

Spencer nodded, the image of her lips on his pubic bone wouldn’t leave his mind, and he wondered what came after that, “I remember him,” 

She nodded back, and they went silent. 

They’d found themselves back at that stalemate. 

--

TAGLIST:

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[uchu-no-bashira]

Murmurs of Obedience - Gyomei x Fem!Reader

Authors Note: This is something that I wrote a while back. Just reposting because I've always been a Gyomei stan and you guys are kinda inspiring me to write for him again lmfao. Hope you guys enjoy, if not, oh well lmfao.

TW: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, Anal Beads, Explicit Sexual Content, Vaginal sex, Breeding, Dominance, Power play, Bodily Fluids, Size Kink, Restraints, Teasing, Black Reader Because I said so. Word Count📃: 1127

The sound of pleasure permeates the room, the murmurs of obedience cascading from your lips unabashedly as you’re fucked into your mattress. All that’s allowed now is incoherence as Gyomei drives deep into your greedy pussy, it sucks him in and covers him in slick, a feeble attempt to take him in his entirety, so needy, so full.

Saliva pools in your mouth, dribbling down the side of your cheek the harder his hips thrust. Wet slaps reverberate the room as your essence thickens into a viscous white ring and the hums of his delight augment with the tantalizing sensation of pressure around your waist.

The frigid feeling of plush caresses your skin as you lay face down, ass up, both your hands pinned to your lower back by a much larger one as your body is drawn into his pelvis. He’s a mess in more ways than one, relishing in the sound of your wanton moans and pleasured cries. A grunt escaping him, filling your ears as the squeeze of your slick walls cradles his thick cock.

“There’s my good girl.” He tones lustfully, his head falling back as he admires the feeling of the mess you’ve made on him. His thumb trails along your precious ring, he smiles at its fullness as he pushes the silicone, beaded object deeper inside you. As you whimper, his hand pulls back and strikes your thigh with an exultant slap. “Mhmm~” He hums knowingly, picking up his pace to hear the needy tone of your voice and the squelch of your perfect pussy in his ears. He wants you undone completely, wants to feel all that you have to offer and he won’t stop until you’ve unraveled at the seams before him.

He figures it won’t be long now, the tremor of absolute pleasure in your voice says it all, and your eyes disappear into the back of your skull when you feel yourself on the edge of orgasm. Nothing is left of your mind except for the ability to generate profane language, and he listens for his favorite sound that you make; a guttural moan that lets him know he’s right where he needs to be.

As soon as he hears you he grins like a Cheshire Cat. He’s found it; that spot you love so fucking much. The spot that makes your knees weak as you beg for more than you can handle. He loves the feel of your body trembling on the tips of his fingers, it’s so tantalizing, so unforgettable. His teeth find his bottom lip and his brows knit together when he feels a gush of fluid cover his pelvis l, his chest vibrating as he praises you over and over again. “Such a messy, messy girl… I love when you keep it open just like that.” He whispers sternly while pressing into your sweet spot, untying the knot of your orgasm while he works his hips sloppily into your creamy pussy.

Your breath hitches as bliss traverses your body, your skin warm like the sun as your climax lingers right on the edge. The sound only lasts a moment, but Gyomei certainly doesn’t miss it. He pushes himself deep, bullying his thick cock through your suffocating pussy to rest his tip at your cervix, a smug smile on his face as he leans down to show you a remote control. He offers no words as his thumb traces the ‘plus’ sign, then he waits until there’s a soft silence, save for your whimpering, before a small ‘click’ is heard by both of you.

Sporadic pulsating vibrations cause your body to writhe in ecstasy. The sound of your pleasured screams fill the air as you wriggle and pull your back into a deep arch, clenching your teeth and panting heavily as your voice quivers. Gyomei hums in delight at the feeling of your insides vibrating, losing himself in the constant opening and clenching of your pussy as you reach your orgasm. You could hear him behind you beginning to moan loudly as your body rocks back and forth into him rhythmically.

“Ah!~ Agh fuck~ Too m-much!~”

“Don’t give out on me now.” He husks, his breath full of desire as he traces his top lip with his tongue, burying himself deep into your tightening walls.

“s’good~ m’gona~...”

“I can’t hear you my love, speak up.” He teases while pulling out and pushing himself to the hilt, his cock rubbing heavy against your sweet spot.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum! It feels so good! Ahh!~” The over-stimulation was too much and you couldn’t stop your body from jerking. The involuntary trembling of your knees and gasping of breaths had Gyomei enthralled as he listened to the submission to your orgasm, relishing the way that you squirm under him. A deep growl fills the room as he fills your pussy to the brim with his cum, pulling out and using his cock to gather the spatter that oozed out just to push it back into you. His over sensitivity causes him to paint your walls again with his seed, his massive cock pressed fully against your cervix, lifting your hips to keep his load inside as he holds his sweltering palm against your back, keeping you in place as you moan his praise into your pillow.

After a moment, his lips trail up the middle of your back, then rested at the base of your ear. “Good girl.” He coos softly, sticking his thick finger into the loop of the toy buried deep in your second hole before tugging on it slowly. Your insides are rubbed as they pop out gently, one by one.

17 inches and 6 spiked, ribbed and sleek anal beads later, you found yourself sprawled out on the bed, a fucked out expression in your face and shaking before feeling the space around your waist tighten. Open mouthed kisses caress your cheek and neck, an attentive lover as always and aftercare was his specialty. He had no problem babying you for comfort, or running you a hot shower. After cleaning your body and his own, he runs a bath just for you, just so you can come down from your high.

After a quick change of sheets, Gyomei helps you out, carrying you back to bed. The feeling of sleep coast along your eyelids after your rush of dopamine, endorphins and oxytocin wear off. Two thick arms around your waist seals a deal with the sandman. The last thing you hear and feel before drifting off into sleep, is the sound of your husband’s low and honeyed voice.

“I love you so much, my love. I’ll take care of you in the morning as well… Just in case your body is sore."