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januaryembrs · 5 months ago

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WHO'S AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME? | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [10]

description: the one with Cat Adams + the one where she tells him.

length: 13k

warnings: literally just watch 11x11, mention of vomit, blood, alcoholism. mention of pregnant wives??

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‘who’s afraid of little old me?

you should be,’

She remembered when she was little when she would wake up so early even the birds hadn’t uttered a morning chirp, her stomach grumbling because she usually hated the fancy stuff they had for dinner and ended up leaving it on her plate. She remembered thinking her mother would be no use, that Elizabeth would tell her to go straight back to bed, even if she whined and cried that she wanted breakfast, remembered thinking Louise, the au pair that usually took the morning shift, wouldn’t be in for another hour or so, and she certainly wasn’t tall enough to reach the cabinets yet.

Which left her with Emily.

Nineteen year old Emily, who was already in and out of the house with college, her hair a box dyed black, singed from all the crimping and hair spray. Emily, who liked to take her to the park even if she pretended she was too old, who played Barbies with her and helped her cut all their hair off probably because she figured that was better than her constant urge to do whacky things with her own locks. Emily, who had never wanted a little sister really until Elizabeth had brought home the carrier and suddenly she had never loved ten chubby fingers and toes so much.

She remembered waking Emily up, usually by pulling herself up onto her sister’s Mötley Crüe themed bedding and prodding at the girl’s shoulder until she stirred, how Emily would lead her down the long, ornate hallway into the kitchen, when the only sound in the house would be their bare feet padding along the cold tiles. How Emily would yank two bowls out of the cupboard, tipping a generous dose of coco pops in each of them, back when they were full of sugar and real chocolate, not the healthy crap they sold nowadays.

It would just be the two of them at the breakfast table, crunching on their spoons, five year old Bugsy no doubt dribbling the brown milk down her chin and pyjama top, but she was happy. Because she had her big sister.

She stared down at the dregs of cocoa that whirled into the white milk as the cereal sat there longer, because she was only picking at it really, and it had nothing to do with the fact she was almost certain they had changed the recipe since she was little.

“I was thinking,” She said after a moment or so, while Spencer pottered around the kitchen, fixing them both a pot of coffee that she usually was usually bouncing over to grab at this point in the morning. Except today she felt sluggish, lost in that maze of thoughts that only Spencer could really unpick, and the second she’d started speaking his head whipped over the counter to where she idly stirred her breakfast, “About what you said when Gideon… We could probably afford to start looking at buying a house soon, what with the mortgage rates dropping,”

She looked up at him hopefully, hoping he couldn’t sense the hesitation on her breath because he usually knew what she was thinking before she said anything, and for once she wished he didn’t have that crazy ability to read her mind, only to see him with a small if not saddened smile.

When Gideon had passed, Spencer had gotten in his head that they needed to leave the apartment, that if the Jason Gideon could have been caught unaware, then they weren’t safe either. Of course he hadn’t meant it, at least not entirely, but Gideon passing had spun the logic half of his brain that spouted the statistics that they were no more in danger now than they were before he’d gone, but still it was something he’d been thinking about. A house meant more space; more space meant they could stop tripping over each other's laundry, meant they could get the bigger shower they’d always talked about, maybe even a tub. A house meant the garden he knew he always wanted Niko and Sergio to have now they were grey around the whiskers and couldn’t run so fast.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Spencer said, picking up their mugs of steaming hot goodness and carefully stepping towards her, gently sliding the drink over to her as the liquid sloshed and threatened to dip over the edge, “Is there any place you want to look?”

He left his own mug in favour of circling his arms around her shoulders and pulling her in for a soft hug, her head falling beneath his chin where she sat on the barstool.

Kissing her hairline gently, she heard him inhale her shampoo scent, and she plonked her spoon back in the bowl to wrap her arms around his waist, squeezing herself into every crevice that they weren’t already touching.

“I don’t care,” She said, tilting her head to look up at him with love sick eyes, only to see him already besottedly gazing at her, and she guessed by the way his lips draw up at the corners that he didn’t realise he was still smiling, “Anywhere with you is good enough for me,”

He looked down at her in that way he usually did, expression soft and sweet and entranced, but she saw the traces of worry in his gaze, “You feeling okay? Today is going to be… hard,”

Bugsy’s expression faltered slightly, and she turned away to push her face into his stomach so he wouldn’t see the doubt lingering in her eyes. She nodded anyway, even though she knew he would catch her in the lie.

After Scratch, Hotch had ordered her to take three months off for a psych evaluation, had granted Spencer at least a month of holiday to watch over her because he knew Reid’s head would be all over the place with worry if he’d returned to work without her. It was like asking Garcia to leave her computers and fluffy pens at home; it just wouldn’t work.

By the time she was cleared to come back, despite the recurring nightmares of that day still eating away at her sleep, Hotch had set her up to work solely from the office, strictly no field work.

He liked to think it was for her own safety, for her own good since he saw the way she pounded coffee like it was juice while Spencer lingered around her with a worried stare. But if he had to be honest with himself, Hotch couldn’t get away from the things Scratch had made him see just as much as she couldn’t. He couldn’t escape seeing her throat slit like she was a lamb for slaughter, the life leaving her eyes as she faded away. And it was the thought of her carotid artery spraying over his boots that made him want to lock her up in bubble wrap and never let her go.

But that was feasible in their job, not really. So desk duty it was.

“You don’t have to go with us into the field, you can always stay with Hotch and Garcia,” He offered, stroking her hair behind her ear and tempting her to look back up at him with gentle fingertips under her chin, and when she saw the unease in the muddy hues, she squeezed him tighter, knowing the past five months had been just as hard on him.

“No, I want to,” She protested gently, her hands weaselling under his shirt and onto the warm, soft skin of his back, pawing at him like a cat trying to settle. “If you’re being made this woman’s number one target, I want to be there on stand by,”

And he couldn’t really argue. Because no matter what frame of mind he was in, even if it had been him captured and tortured, he would never let her go out as bait and not be there breathing down her neck.

He sighed, the urge to protest stuck in his throat and all he could think to do was bring his lips to hers gently in a soft kiss, because his resistance to her being put in the line of danger would only be futile.

She hummed into the kiss, his hands skirting over her back and she swore she would be content if the rest of her life was spent in Spencer’s arms, in the warm mornings at their kitchen table just the two of them, and the idea of that last part spun her stomach into turmoil all over again.

What if he freaked out? No, scratch that, he was definitely going to freak out. Spencer hated change, hated having things dropped on him, and Diana was already getting worse with the symptoms of Alzheimers she had begun presenting. He had more than enough on his plate as it was, and she knew she was the only thing that could keep his head from exploding with the worry, even if she was sometimes the cause of it. He’s always been a worrier, and part of her despised herself for the fact that he had shot out of bed every single night she’d been in the midst of a night terror, when the room spun and Peter Lewis seemed so real and so close and she woke up screaming. Because she’d brought him enough stress and trouble, and now she had an extra helping of it dished up and ready.

It wasn’t one of those things she could keep to herself, not even if she so desperately wanted to sit on it and mull it over for a few months. She needed to tell him soon.

Spencer looked down at her eyes, the way they’d glazed over slightly, and he wished he could crawl into the space where her thoughts bounced between one another if it meant he could figure out what had gotten her so twisted up the past few weeks. She hadn’t been herself entirely since Scratch, but she had been getting better. She’d started getting more sleep, seemed less jumpy when they were in the quiet of their apartment, and part of him thought maybe that was why she wanted to look at houses. A fresh start. And yet overnight, she’d had this guilty look in her eye like she was suddenly a million miles away, and he hated it. Bugsy had never been distant, which seemed odd to think considering she was burying her hands and face into him like she had no intention of letting him leave. But there was something in the depths of her brilliantly big mind that seemed to hold her tongue for her.

He kissed her again, hoping it was all in his head, hoping she wouldn’t keep things from him because it was them and they always told each other everything. Even if it was gross and weird and inappropriate, everything.

And he thought maybe it was because he was going on a date with another woman, using himself as live bait to flirt and charm and seduce an assassin in order to take her into custody without fuss. Yeah, that was probably it. He couldn’t say he would be all too pleased if it had been the other way around and he would be watching her ravish another man even if it was just for the job.

That was definitely it. There couldn’t be anything else.

“You know I love you,” He said as a statement, yet she nodded as though it was a question, and he kissed her again because he’d regretted not doing it a hundred times a day the second he’d seen her in that closet, regretted not seeing the fact she was more than likely uncomfortable with her boyfriend of two years wining and dining a murderer. “Whatever I say when I’m there with her, you know I love you, more than I could ever love anything else,”

He seemed so sincere, his eyes turning into that soft puppy like frown, and it only served to drive the knife in deeper as she nodded, her hands wrapping into his hair and pulling him down to kiss her again, this time just a little harder like his lips could wipe away the pit in her stomach. Because it was Spencer, and she was lying by omission, and god did she need him to know how much she loved him before things went wrong and they changed and-

“We have a little time right?” She said, his hands taking the hint as they pulled her to her feet gently, cereal long forgotten in a chocolate slush, and his hands reached down to cup her ass in the way he was more than used to doing now. Didn’t stop him from blushing however.

“Y-yeah we have time,” He said, and she barely let him finish his sentence before she’d claimed his mouth again, not that he was complaining. She looped her fingers through his belt buckle, stepping backwards with his guidance towards their bedroom, and he hummed through a moan when he felt her run the other hand through his already messy bedhead, tugging on the ends of his curls gently.

“Good,” She responded, with a drop of that natural Bugsy cheekiness he was used to, and the sound of it made him smile. Maybe it was just the job after all, “I think I need a demonstration on just how much you don’t mean whatever you need to say to her,”

He smirked, because she was more like herself than she had been in days, and god was she pretty when she smiled at him before they had sex, like she knew what was coming, like she knew what she did to him. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could hear his heart thumping in her ears just as clearly as he could.

“I think you’ll need multiple demonstrations,” He said, his fingers looping in between her buttons on her trousers and popping them apart softly because they’d done this before, rushed it so they weren’t late for work, and ended up ripping good jeans, “Gather multiple sets of data before you draw a conclusion,”

He kissed down her neck and her small laugh became a moan, “I think it’s pretty much the only way, Doctor Reid,”

He laughed, and she felt it against her pulse, the sound of it making her shiver as he shoved the door open with little remorse for the way it slammed into the wall. And she made a promise to herself that once they’d caught their UnSub, she would tell him, even if it meant all of this would change.

–

He arrived at the restaurant five minutes early, his suit steamed and neat, a single red rose in his hand. His skin was already crawling at the idea of flirting with another woman, but Spencer knew none of it was real, knew he was just doing his job. Still it didn’t diminish the desire to glance where Bugsy and Rossi were sat in a booth, because he’d seen her in that red dress a thousand times before, and yet it still made his jaw drop the second he saw her in it.

The brief had been black tie, something to fit in with the five star restaurant, and god had she delivered. He ought to have protested, told her that she was too distracting and maybe insisted she stayed in the office if she looked so striking, but then again she could have worn a bin bag for all he cared, he would still be fighting the urge to look over at her.

He chose the seat with Bugsy at his back as to eliminate his urge to stare at her, because Dave could keep her safe, the rest of his team could watch her, he had to trust that.

He lay the rose on the other side of the table, fiddling with the other parts of the cutlery to make sure everything looked perfect, even though in his mind he was thinking of all the things Bugsy would have been saying if she was his date tonight. She probably would have made a comment on his suit (she already had before they’d even stepped out the hotel, just as he’d given her arse a quick squeeze with cheeks even more crimson than her dress because she looked divine), probably would have offered to go to the in-and-out down the street instead because she never cared about splashing out on dates, just being with him was enough.

Adjusting his jacket a little, he waited, trying to keep his head far away from his girlfriend, although that was much easier said than done. He couldn’t remember what his brain was like before it was filled with thoughts of her.

The ring sat in his sock drawer, buried in one of his older pairs that he hoped she wouldn’t go after since he’d made the mistake of putting it in with his boxers and almost got caught within a day when she went to steal some ready for bed and he’d chided himself for the sloppy work. He knew he wanted to ask her, thought he might even bring her to a fancy place like this, maybe prepare a small speech that attempted to tell her how much she meant to him even though he knew there wasn’t enough words for such a thing. Would he hide it in the cake? No that would be cheesy, she found cheesy overdone. Would she even like it done in public? No, she would hate that, he would wait until they got home, maybe even try that thing she’d wanted to do in bed for a few weeks, and then when they were done-

“Spencer?” A woman appeared at the table, a woman who by all accounts was objectively pretty, yet he felt that small kick of victory when he recognised her from the FBI database.

Cat Adams. Assassin. Mastermind. UnSub.

“Cat?” He said with practised naivety, and this time he forced all thoughts of his loving girlfriend from his head like they were about to be tainted by the woman standing in front of him, “Hi,”

“Hi,” She replied, her grin too bright and sparkly for anyone to ever guess she was a killer though he supposed that was the point,

“Hello, it’s nice to finally-” He cut himself off when she leaned up to hug him, her face drawing closer to his suddenly and she looked like she was gearing up for a peck on the lips. Forward. Much more forward than he’d given her credit for, and his stomach flipped in discomfort as he leaned away, “Oh s-sorry, I have kind of a germ thing,” He excused, which wasn’t a total lie.

Also my girlfriend is sat ten feet away and I can already hear her clenching a fork ready to ball your eyes out like a melon, he wanted to say, though he kept his snark to himself.

“Oh, sorry,” Cat said, holding her hands up in surrender, and looking up at him with what he knew to be false innocence. But he played along, because the sooner they caught her, the sooner he could be done with the entire thing.

“I’m kinda weird with hugs,” He explained, his face boyish as he gestured her to take a seat, because at least then he could put some distance between them, “Please, sit down,”

She smiled dizzily, slipping her jacket off to reveal a blue dress that accentuated her pixie short hair, her collar bones that could cut glass, her small, sleek figure, and she adjusted her straps as an excuse to divert his attention to her breasts.

“That’s like the oldest trick in the book, get some new material, bitch,” Bugsy mumbled under her breath, drowning her venom in sparkling apple juice disguised as champagne from where they sat in a dark corner booth and Rossi chuckled, shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t worry about boy genius having a wandering eye, kid. Reid is more devout than my mother on Easter Sunday,” He said, picking at the starter they’d ordered as a way to seem busy. She hummed, diverting her attention into her chicken salad, making sure she wasn’t looking at the happy couple for too long as they talked awkwardly, “Do you think you could take her?”

“I know I could take her,” Bugsy responded in a clipped tone, and Rossi sniggered, and they heard Tara and Derek do the same down their earpieces.

“It was a joke,” Cat said, to something they hadn’t quite caught, though by the looks of it they were still just making small talk, “A bad joke,”

“No, no, it was funny,” Spencer said reassuringly, and he chuckled, though Bugsy knew off the bat it was fake because she loved making him laugh and it sounded nothing like that. They fell into an awkward silence and she could hear Spencer scrambling for things to talk about because if she walked away their lead to the other assassin went right with her.

“Can we start over? Hi, I’m Cat,” The woman said, fixing her skirt with a shy smile. She certainly didn’t seem like a killer, Bugsy thought, where she glanced at her in her peripheral. She certainly was pretty, spritely even. A little too eager to kiss a guy she just met.

“Hi, I’m Spencer,” He replied, in that nervous tone he usually got when she flustered him.

“Is it true you have three PHDs?” Cat asked with, well, cat-like eyes flicking between sly and seductive, and Bugsy could see how any man who wasn’t as smart as her boyfriend would fall for the act.

“Yes, that’s true. I do have three PHDs,”

“What’s your favourite book you read last year?” She pressed and Bugsy sipped her juice to stop herself from answering for him.

“I’ve honestly never read a book I haven’t loved,” He said, deflecting the subject, while his girlfriend smirked into her almost empty plate.

Demons by Fydor Dostoevsky, she corrected to herself because she knew he’d gone back to it more than a handful of times.

“Tell me about your wife,” Cat went in for the kill, her timid smile morphing into something wicked as she watched Spencer squirm.

And the second she’d said it something had reared its ugly head inside him. Because try as hard as he might, all he could think about was Bugsy’s face and that damn ring.

“If you don’t mind, I’d er…” He cleared his throat, wondering why it was so difficult to get through a single conversation when they’d ran through the plan a million times. He knew she would ask, and yet all he could do was get defensive thinking about Cat damn Adams setting her hands on the woman he wanted desperately to marry, “I’d rather not talk about her,”

“Might as well get it out in the open right? I mean, it’s why we’re here,” She said smugly, like that innocent bounce in her step had wiped right away, revealing the murderess underneath, “How long have you been married?”

“Four years,” He lied, though he thought back to JJ’s wedding that same amount of time ago and how beautiful she looked in her dress and her cast and how he’d wished it was theirs.

“When is she due to give birth?” Cat’s eyes narrowed at the man, pushing her hair behind her ear in a playful manner.

Bugsy stopped, licking her lips and hoping Rossi wasn’t watching her as she finished off the last of her sparkling juice, raising a hand to a passing waiter to order a second round.

“You having another one, Grandpa?” She said innocently, despite the stink eye he gave her and nodding to the non-alcoholic beer he’d ordered.

“Watch yourself,” He said as the waiter retreated, and she snickered into her meal, “Grandpa will knock you on your ass,”

“You would never, Hotch would hate that kind of paperwork,” She said setting her cutlery on the side of her plate to signal she was done, “HR would have a field day,”

“I wanna hear you say it,” The line crackled in their ear as Bugsy’s drink arrived at the table, and she couldn’t help but think the woman’s seductive voice could easily pass for a call girl. She chanced a quick look over at their table, her heart rate spiking when she saw the woman all but eye fucking Spencer with a bit of her lip, like the thrill of the chase was half the fun for her, and Bugsy felt the disgust settle in her stomach.

“To have her killed,” Spence replied, and she looked away then, the bitterness settling on her bottom lip in a sneer. She didn’t think for one second that Spencer would think the woman was alluring, it didn’t make him flirting any easier to watch.

The UnSub smiled wryly, looking down at his arm, “Let me see your ring,”

Spencer froze, holding his hand out hesitantly, the feeling of the gold band entirely alien on his finger even though he was trying to get used to it for the sake of the case. Cat’s hand shot out like a snake striking, holding his ring in between her perfectly manicured fingers, her eyes roving over the jewel.

“You know what that is?” She said with contempt, shaking her head, “A noose, only it doesn't kill you all at once it kills you slowly, day by day,”

And he couldn’t have disagreed more, in fact the only thing that was killing him was the fact he had been dumb enough to wait so long to propose to the woman he loved more than life itself.

Spencer Reid, dumb and in love.

“You ever feel that way?” She said, ripping him out of his thoughts, and he nodded wordlessly, sighing for effect.

“I feel that way all the time” Except his every day was spent wondering just how he ever got so lucky, how he managed to fall in love with the same woman who gave him apple cake when he couldn’t remember the last real meal he’d had because he was three months deep in an opioid addiction and having her look at him like he hung the damn cosmos.

“Take it off,” She ordered, and Spencer tried flashing her a surprised if not charmed smile, though his hackles were slightly raised, “As a sign of your commitment. To me,”

He bit his cheek, knowing better than to argue back if he was playing the part of the down beaten husband, and began twisting the gold ring off his wedding finger, handing it over to her expectant palm.

“If she sticks to the pattern, she’ll take him to a secondary location and then kill him.” JJ observed, sipping on her mocktail in her own fancy, ruffled dress, shooting Tara and Derek a look where they played the part of a sweet couple on a date.

“I’d like to see the bitch try,” Bugsy said through a wide fake smile, her face showing no symptoms of anger except the flash of teeth.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, we’re not letting it get that far,” Rossi added, and the two of them clinked their drinks together in a ringing chink, “Hotch, do you two have a visual?”

Penelope confirmed with a few taps of her keyboard, and Hotch nodded as Spencer confirmed with a small flick of his eyes he could hear the feed, ”Alright, all agents stand by. Dr Reid will give the green light, don’t move until we have it,”

“Twenty four carats?” Cat asked, twisting the ring in between her fingers with a smug grin like she already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” Spencer replied, looking down at the band and back up the soulless dark hues of the black widow woman.

“Twenty four k times… four years. Means this ring should be dinged and nicked, but,” She huffed, reaching into her purse under the table, and Bugsy damn near spat out her juice when she heard a gun load through the mic, “This sucker is brand new. You’re not married.”

“What was that, was that what I think it was?” Penelope’s stressed tone rushed through the ear piece, and the sound of it plus the smell of the chicken she’d just eaten made Bugsy’s stomach turn again.

Except this time she felt it coming up into her throat, the same way she’d found herself feeling queasy for a few days. Spencer had thought she had a stomach bug, had tried to get her to stay home with some mint tea, but this was more than the last few times. It was like her anxiety clenched her gut in a tight grip and twisted painfully, and she lurched forward, slapping a hand over her mouth.

“Kid?” Rossi said, his brows frowning at the expression on her face, and she immediately began untucking her napkin from her chest.

She needed to make it to the bathroom now, hoped on everything that the sudden movement didn’t distract where Cat held a gun to Spencer’s midriff beneath the table.

“What is she doing?” Morgan hissed into the mic, while Hotch and Penelope began barking protests.

“Oh, good lord, Bug, stay down, you don’t know what that psycho is going to do!” Penelope squealed, watching Bugsy rush out of the booth seat, a hand firmly over her lips, and Aaron brought a hand to his head, a splitting headache forming at the sight of the youngest agent rushing for the bathroom.

“Prentiss, what are you doing, you could blow your cover,” He snapped, though there was no anger there, and she could only switch her mic off for what was about to happen, knowing the team had much bigger things to worry about.

Bursting the doors open, she dived for the nearest stall and fell to her knees, head in the bowl before she could hock up her guts over the floor, and then came a horrid retching sound.

Spencer’s eyes widened at the table, hearing his team yelling out orders at the one person he couldn’t keep track of, and it took everything in him not to turn in his seat to investigate for himself what happened for her to flee the safety of the table, or go after her even. Because even if he wanted to, even if he needed nothing more than to make sure she was okay, he couldn’t move an inch. Not with the gun being pointed at all of his important organs by the experienced killer with a smile.

“Do you know why I’m so good at my job?” Cat asked in a sweet tone, her eyes cold and calculating as she cocked the gun beneath the seat.

“Because you kill without compunction or remorse,” Spencer bit, the flirty look in his expression long gone the second he’d heard the rest of his team calling for his girlfriend. He needed to keep his head, Bugsy was safe so long as she was far away from the woman pointing the gun at him. Having the weapon aiming for him he could deal with.

“That only gets a girl so far in life,” Cat agreed with a nod, her jaw setting in a hard clench, “No, it’s because I think through every possible outcome and then I plan accordingly,”

And Bugsy’s stomach seized hearing her voice so cold and viscous, and she would give anything to hear her partner flirting with that bitch of a woman if it meant she knew he was safe. She emptied her stomach again right as she heard their UnSub speak once more.

“You see, I didn’t walk into your trap. You walked into mine,”

And with that Bugsy gave another hurl.

–

“Spencer, why did you take time off from the FBI?” Cat insisted, her voice nails on a chalkboard, and he felt the apathy on his face flick into slight annoyance.

Bugsy. Because Bugsy had been ill, because she hadn’t been sleeping, because she hadn’t been herself for a few months, because his mom had gotten worse, because they needed him.

Spencer would take the bullet before he ever told her about Bugsy, because he knew for a woman who loved male attention, telling her about the girl he loved most in the world would only draw a big target on her back, and he would never dare to put her at risk. Never again.

Not a single hair on her head, he’d promised. Not even a scratch.

“You can ask me as many times as you want but I’m still not going to tell you,” He snipped, making sure to keep his face expressionless if he really wanted to sell the deal that she was a nobody to him.

Her mouth tightened in frustration, “Then you’re cheating, and I don’t like cheaters,”

“You don’t get everything you want just because you’re pointing a gun at me under the table.” He stated blankly, his team waiting on bated breath to see if they needed to send in their back up since JJ’s cover had already been blown. “You’re not the first killer to point a gun at me, you’re not even the first woman to point a gun at me. Sorry.”

Cat’s smile shifted into something akin to a snarl, and she leaned forward on her elbows, and Spencer matched her challenge with cool ease. “You’re really gonna take this all the way, aren’t you?”

And Spencer smiled wryly, because her composure was collapsing beneath her, “Yeah,”

“So am I,”

“Dave, go,” Hotch ordered, and Rossi drew his gun beneath a napkin, shuffling to his feet, “Prentiss, where the hell are you?”

And she knew she was wasting time, but her stomach had picked the worst time to flip. Perhaps it was the anxiety, or the pressure of a gun being pointed at her love, or maybe it was bad chicken. Either way her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, her legs weak where she’d crouched on the floor, and she chided herself for not being able to pull it together when Spencer needed her.

And as if her nerves weren’t rattled enough, she heard Spencer’s mic mute out, and she knew then that the time for sticking her head in the bowl and screaming at herself to get up was over. Spencer was in trouble. Two of their agents' cover was blown. With Tara and Derek sitting the opposite end of the restaurant, he was alone if Cat Adams decided to pull that trigger.

Spitting the rancid taste from her mouth into the toilet, she reached up for the flush, wiping her mouth with a handful of toilet paper.

“Hotch,” She tuned in, and she heard the sighs of relief as he and Penelope seemed to both ease slightly at hearing her voice, “I’m back, how’s Rossi?”

“His cover’s blown, he’s heading out to find JJ,” Hotch responded, his heart rate in his throat the second he’d heard her sound through. He knew it would be unfair if he pulled her from field work for another three months, but the second she’d disappeared from their screens, he’d already began thinking of the excuse he could give if it meant he knew she was kept out of harm’s way, “Where are you, are you hurt?”

“No, no, just,” She cleared her throat, leaving the stall and heading for the sinks, “Bad chicken I guess,”

Taking a handful of cold water up to her mouth, she swilled the liquid around to try freshen herself up, sputtering it back into the sink and running the back of her hand over her lips.

“Do you need to get out of there?” Hotch asked, the concern thick in his tone, almost as clear as it was on his brow as he leaned in to Penelope’s monitor, “Lewis and Morgan have got eyes-”

“No, I’m not leaving him out there,” She protested, leaning over the sink with an exhausted huff, “I can’t head back to the table, she’ll know I was with Rossi,”

And as if she had spoken a plea to the universe, one of the waitresses waltzed through the bathroom door carrying glass cleaner and a bunch of fresh toilet paper under her arm, smiling sweetly at Bugsy who seemed like any other patron of their restaurant.

Her eyes snapped over the girl’s body, figuring she was about the same size, perhaps a tiny bit bigger than herself, she almost audibly heard the click of the idea and before she knew it she had reached out to grab the girl’s attention.

She just hoped it worked, because otherwise the scolding she was going to receive from Hotch wouldn’t be worth it in the slightest.

“Here’s what I’m gonna do, I’m gonna penalise you by adding ten minutes because I actually did learn something important.” Cat said with a smirk, her finger flicking over the clock on his phone as she prolonged the countdown, and Spencer squirmed where she shuffled closer to him, close enough that their knees were touching and he could feel where the toe of her heels were teasingly stroking up his calf, like threatening him and his team for information was getting her off. He felt filthy, like he’d need a dozen showers before he fell into his girlfriend’s arms, and part of him considered skipping the whole dinner and speech, asking her the second he saw her again if she would be his wife.

Because this, having another woman so close, was making him sick.

“Oh really? What’s that?” He snapped, his patience wearing thin as his lips pressed in a straight line.

“Your back up, I flushed them out,” She replied with a smirk, looking around the room with an arrogance Spencer wished he could wipe right off of her face, “It’s just me and you now,”

“Hi, how are we all doing this wonderful evening?” A chirpy voice came from the end of the table, slamming two menus down between them hard enough that their attention snapped to her immediately. Spencer felt his eyes morph into horror, though he fought hard to hide it, as he saw a familiar face, the same one that had been running through his mind since, well, forever. Her red dress was gone, replaced with a maroon shirt and a black pencil skirt, her hair tied back in a neat bun and she had a pen pushed behind her ear for good measure as she smiled at them tightly.

Bugsy had really done it this time.

“My name is Emily and I’ll be your waitress. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

–

“Prentiss, what in god’s name have you done?” Hotch barked, as she waltzed behind the bar, ignoring the looks from the barman that clearly had never seen her working there before.

“I’m making sure Spencer has back up if she decides to get trigger happy,” She bit back, snagging a pitcher of water from the fridge and two crystalline glasses, placing them on an upturned tray.

“And what happens if she gets trigger happy towards the waitress that won’t leave them alone?” Morgan snipped, shooting her a look where their table faced the long, walnut coloured bar that wrapped around the back of the establishment.

“Well then, I guess we pray there’s a doctor in the house that isn't Spencer,” She huffed, plastering a fake smile on her lips, and carefully shuffling the tray onto her palm, “You’re going to have to take me out yourselves if you think I’m leaving him there alone,”

And they huffed, Hotch running a hand through his hair. Because they knew she wasn’t kidding. God help the man who tried to stop Bugsy when she had her mind to something.

And with that resounding silence, she listened to Spencer’s mic, hoping to catch a foot in to the conversation.

“You should have seen right through me the moment you walked in, but you didn’t,” He said, and she didn’t need to take a glance at Cat’s face to know she was getting more than riled up. Why was she here? What happened to staying with Rossi where it was safe? It was her first day back in the field, what was she doing? He didn’t think he’d ever been so angry, though he knew if he scratched the surface of the feeling he’d find it was fear. And unfortunately for the woman sat opposite him, he’d stopped pulling his punches because of it. “You couldn’t. Because you can’t get to the man you really want to hurt, so you need to hurt every man who reminds you of him,”

Cat’s face flashed with what he could have sworn was hurt, before her eyes steeled back over and she shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t hit straight home, “That’s kind of boiler plate psychology, isn’t it? I’m just another girl with daddy issues,”

“You’d be surprised how many killers do what they do because of their parents,” He snapped back, because he couldn’t dare take his eyes from their UnSub, no matter how desperately his gut told him to check on Bugsy. “If it’s so boilerplate, let's test that theory. How hard did you look for him?”

Her mouth screwed up in bitterness, “Very hard,”

“And how disappointed were you when you realised you will never find him?” Spencer drove the knife in deeper, watching Cat’s resolve fade under his hateful stare, “You needed some other outlet for your rage and for a while this worked, but it also tripped you up,”

And Bugsy stopped, because Spencer always had a way of saying the exact right thing that made her brain tick into genius, like everything about him made her the best version of herself even if he didn’t mean to. That was what tripped her up. Her father.

“Hotch, it’s her dad,” She murmured, flashing a couple of customers an easy smile as she took the plates off their table, because Cat would catch on way too fast if she seemed to be the only person not be doing a job, “That’s what she wants, that’s her endgame,”

And there was only a single second between them, before Hotch caught up to that wonderfully big brain of hers, “Serial killers with an endgame will do anything to get to them, even if it means taking themselves down with it,”

“Why would I make you sit here for thirty minutes?” Cat’s voice crawled down her ear piece as she burst through the kitchen doors, dumping the plates at the pot wash and looking to where JJ and Rossi were talking with the manager.

“Because you’re stalling,” Spencer said, though he didn’t have that usual tone that told her he was sure of himself, and she knew from the direction it was going that something was missing. They’d missed something, otherwise they’d have Cat in cuffs by now.

“Then you don’t know me at all,” She hissed back, and Bugsy shook her nerves out through her fingers, peeking at where they were sat through the thin glass pane on the door, “Do you think I would show up here without an escape plan. Or is that just what another girl with daddy issues would do? Maybe if you hadn’t fallen victim to your own gender bias, and yes all men have gender bias, even you Dr Reid, you would have recognized that your entire strategy was based on one faulty detail. Can you see it?”

Spencer paused, his frown shifting on his face, “You’re not here alone,”

“And my partner? Less paranoid than you think,” She said, and by the sounds of it the smirk was back on her face, and Bugsy fought the sneer twitching at her lips.

“You planted a bomb in the building,” Came Spencer's response, the grave realisation setting all three agents into motion. JJ’s head whirled to where their youngest stood by the door, her eyes widening at her partner’s words.

And for a second she wanted to beg Bugsy to take cover outside, to get out while she still could, because it had been a miracle the last time a building had exploded around her and she’d only broken a few bones. JJ didn’t think she could stand to grieve her for good, not the girl who had already gone through so much for them. All because they had missed it.

But she knew better, knew Bugsy would fight tooth and nail to stay if Spencer was still in the building. Knew that that argument would only be futile, a waste of time, because the Prentiss girl was not leaving.

“We’ll go check it out, you stay put,” JJ ordered, drawing her gun to her side as Rossi did the same and Bugsy nodded, “Don’t do anything stupid, don’t draw attention to yourself, Spencer knows what he’s doing,”

And Bugsy paused before she answered, choosing to give them a slow nod because she already had a good idea of what her next move would be, and it absolutely did not involve staying put.

Like hell she would stay put while he was there.

With that, JJ and Rossi turned on their heel to head for the stairs leading underneath the building, and Bugsy picked the tray back up, right as Lewis burst through the revolving doors, a serious look on her primped face.

“We need to evacuate,” Tara said, and Bugsy nodded, flicking a look behind her to where the rest of the kitchen seemed to be waiting on their order, because the second JJ had flashed the FBI badge, they had frozen.

“You get the customers out safely, I’m going to buy us some time,” Bugsy said, and Tara watched her slip through into the restaurant, the tray pressed against her stomach.

This was stupid. Stupider than she’d ever been, but her thoughts struggled to make sense whenever Spencer was in trouble. And it was like she saw the splash of his brains against the table, the same way she’d seen it in Lewis’s house all on the ceiling, like she could see now just what his organs would look like when Adams shot him however many time in the abdomen.

She couldn’t think like that. They would be okay, they would figure it out together, they always did. They always managed to put their heads together when they were in trouble.

Being in danger together seemed like a much better bet than having to watch the love of her life killed in the middle of this damn restaurant because she hadn’t done anything. She wanted to do everything with him for the rest of her sorry life, and if that meant sitting at the nozzle end of a pistol with him, then so be it.

She just hoped he would forgive her quickly.

“All we want to do is-” She heard Spencer begin, the other waiters filtering out of the kitchen with shaken looks on their faces, as they carefully slipped their patrons the bill that had already paid off, asking them to leave calmly and quietly.

“Minimise collateral damage, I get it, I’m not mad,” Cat snapped back, rolling her eyes, “It’ll give me the cover I need to slip out. I just need to know it’s clear, so do me a favour and tell your boss that nobody leaves until its safe for me to do so,”

Spencer chewed his tongue. He couldn’t let her leave, not when they had her so close, not when they were pursuing Penelope, not when they were so close to catching the woman responsible for so many kills.

Spencer hated losing, he hated knowing that she was about to get away because he had been too wrapped up in his overwhelming thoughts to figure out her plan, too busy fretting over the two women who meant the most to him to think ten steps ahead like he usually did.

He’d been sloppy, even though he knew he should cut himself some slack. His fiancee, girlfriend, had been tortured, his mother facing a different kind of terror in her mind altogether. He hadn’t been thinking about work, he’d been thinking of the house they were going to buy with the picket fence and the porch swing and the mortgage, and the damn ring-

“Well?” Cat’s goading voice ripped him out of his reverie, and he huffed in defeat, “Spencer?”

“You can leave,” He murmured, the agitation scratching at his skin because he was struggling to think of a final card to play. He was usually so good at games, usually won every single one of them. But his head couldn’t settle when Bugsy wasn’t near, when he couldn’t make sure she was safe.

Cat shuffled out of the side of the booth, her eyes flicking across the restaurant for her contact, and Spencer had barely opened his mouth in protest before he watched the UnSub walk straight into a waitress, a false smile slipping on her face as to not raise alarm.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was-” And yet his breath hitched when he spotted the hair he’d ran his fingers through just that morning yanked into a bun, the lips he could kiss for an entire lifetime curled in disdain, the body he worshipped refusing to move out of the way for the woman in a hurry.

And it seemed Cat only realised that the woman who had brought them water wasn’t a waitress at all, despite her plain face that had faded into the background, despite the fact Spencer hadn’t given her a second glance; Only when she heard a gun cocking behind the serving tray at her stomach did the fake smile drop from Cat Adams face.

Because she hadn’t flushed out Spencer’s back up. Not while Bugsy was still alive and breathing.

“Sit back down,” Bugsy growled, keeping her tone low but with enough bite that Cat’s eyes narrowed to hide the surprise.

“Well, well, seems I hadn’t planned for everything, I thought a pretty face like you would know better than to pull a gun on a woman with her finger on the big red button,” Cat said wryly, though Bugsy caught her eyeing up her chest as if to be checking for a bullet vest, “Move out the way, sweetheart. You don’t want this to get ugly,”

Spencer’s jaw flexed as he ground his teeth, though he kept his breathing even. What was she doing?

He didn’t care that he had no more power over her than anyone else on the team, he wanted to drag her out of the room himself if it meant she would stop throwing herself in the way of danger.

“Unfortunately, sweetheart, that’s not happening.” Bugsy snapped back, her expression melting into something rogue, something teasing as she leaned towards Cat with a challenge in her eyes. “You’re going to sit back down, and I’m going to show you exactly why you should have accounted for a pretty face like me,”

“You’re stalling,” Cat snickered, trying to push past the waitress, who wasn’t a waitress at all but an FBI agent, only for her hand to shoot out and grab her wrist, tossing the tray on the table.

Spencer felt his heart lurch into his throat as he saw both of them pull their guns to waist height, a blink and you’d miss it kind of movement, and it was like he’d seen the game set and matched then and there.

Bugsy wasn’t backing down. And neither was Cat.

“I make it a habit of knowing what kind of women are going on dates with my boyfriend,” Bugsy’s hand tightened around her wrist, watching the surprise flicker in the woman’s eyes, and she scoffed, “What? You really thought all that flirting and nervous glances were real?”

And the woman said nothing, her ego clearly a little hurt, though Bugsy was just sticking to the profile, and the profile said she revelled in male attention.

“Cat got your tongue?” Bugsy snipped through a grin, even if her chest was pounding at the feeling of the gun pointing at her abdomen, “Well, lucky for you I have a present for you. On the condition you sit back down and play my game,”

“You think I’m going to fall for that shit?” Cat seethed. It was one thing to outsmart a man, that was fair game, that was easy pickings for a woman like her. But a woman, a woman who seemed to love playing with her food as much as she did. That was different, “What is it, a reduced sentence? The good TV in my two by four cell? You can keep dreaming, I don’t want your worthless promises,”

“I’d hardly call your daddy dearest worthless,” Bugsy mused, and she watched Cat’s expression falter, “A dead beat drunk maybe, but worthless? A little harsh considering you waited so long to meet him,”

Cat paused, eyes flicking over the woman’s face for any signs of a lie, “You have my father?”

And Bugsy smirked, “Do I look like I’m bluffing?” But her face was set in stone, and Cat hated to admit she seemed too confident to be lying, “Why don’t you make this a little easier for everyone and sit back down. I’m not done with you yet,”

The murderess scowled, her shoulders straightening as she ripped her wrist out of Bugsy’s grip and retreated back to the booth.

And it was only then that Bugsy looked at Spencer, his eyes wide in a horrid mix of terror and rage, and it was a sight she swore she never wanted directed at her again. But she couldn’t leave him, he had to understand that. Because if all the bets were off, if all the cards were dealt, she knew he would need to be dragged screaming from the building before he left her to deal with a hostile UnSub alone.

And Spencer knew that too, of course he knew that. Yet it didn’t diminish the sickening worry bubbling up in his chest as the women sat down at the table, and their game had a playing field.

“So, I take it this is the darling wife you wanted killed,” Cat sneered, and Spencer didn’t dare take his eyes off the woman with the gun, even if Bugsy did have one pointed right back at her, “I don’t blame you, I’d want to be rid of her too,”

And they both knew it was a dig, a stab in the interest of getting them both riled up. But it wouldn’t go far. Because despite the anger Spencer felt dwindling in his chest, he always worked better with her. Like a puzzle piece in the tangle of his mind had clicked into place, and suddenly they were a team again, and she seemed more like herself than she had in months, an ease about the way she leaned back in the plush seat despite the fact her finger was resting on the trigger.

“Have you ever played Cat’s cradle?” Bugsy asked her, knocking her knee against his as if she’d heard his thoughts. They were together in this. Together. Even if the building went up in flames and bullets and the plan went to shit. Just the two of them, the way they’d always been.

And he felt himself ease back too, something akin to security shifting over him. They always were safer together.

Cat’s eyebrows raised as Bugsy dodged her comment, “What, do you want to braid my hair like sixth graders, too? What about it?”

Bugsy shrugged, reaching over with her free hand to the glass of water she’d set down for the two of them, “The way I see it, Cat, you have got those little paws caught in yarn and are scrambling to get out of it,” She chuckled, taking a quick sip, “Now, if we were to let you go, you’d end up walking out of here scot free, and who knows, might even blow up the whole building anyway. But, if we help you out of this little tangle you’ve got us all in, then maybe we cut a deal that doesn’t involve all of us going out in a ball of flames and champagne. Sounds good right?”

The woman’s lips pursed tightly, her head tilting in annoyance, “Alright. Get on with it, no one likes a show off. How did you find my father?”

Bugsy smirked, “Well that was pretty easy once you have access to the files we have. We traced your birth record to a Daniel Adams, who did in fact leave the country in 1987 but returned in 2012. Based on confidential records in rehabs and sober living houses, which in turn pointed us to flophouses and soup kitchens.”

The brunette’s eye twitched, like the girl had just spat in her face, which was what it felt like, and she felt the taste of her own medicine was just as sour as she’d always presumed.

“He couldn’t put twenty four hours together sober, sweetheart,” Bugsy summarised, shrugging her shoulders as if it was no big deal to her, just another bum on the street, “You can probably imagine our surprise to find that he lives here in DC,”

“Where?” Cat hissed, and Bugsy snickered, shaking her head and taking another sip of her water.

“I’m an agent, not a miracle worker. It wasn’t that simple,” She replied, boredly tracing her finger over the restaurants emblem they had printed on the napkin, “I found him on the street, showed him your picture and said I’d like to ask him some questions about his darling daughter,”

Cat’s lip pulled down in annoyance, her matt red lipstick smudging with her pout, “And?”

And perhaps Bugsy was being cruel. Perhaps she was playing into the profile that indicated Cat needed someone to match her wit and zeal if she was going to listen. Men, she could squash like bugs. Bugsy, ironically, not so much.

Perhaps she was thinking about how she’d reached into Spencer's pants to retrieve his gun, and wanted some of what she was saying to hurt.

“He didn’t even know he had a daughter,” Bugsy said simply, with a small shrug of her shoulders, and she watched the woman’s onyx brown eyes glisten with unshed tears as the realisation crashed on her, "Didn't really seem to care,"

“He-he didn’t remember me?” Cat asked, the tease that had been there half an hour ago wiped clear from her tone, and Bugsy shook her head.

“Nope,” She said, popping the last syllable, “Alcoholism really rocks your brain. Sorry, honey,”

Adams scoffed, shaking her head with venom, “You’re not sorry. Sorry is what people say when they don’t understand,”

And Bugsy’s brows raised, a bitter empathy flicking in her gaze. Quick, but not so quick that Cat didn’t catch it, and she shuffled in her seat.

“Oh,” Their UnSub paused, the trodden down look on her face rekindling with interest, “But you understand, don’t you? What, does your father like a good beer or ten, princess?”

Bugsy snickered emptily, “Ofcourse I understand,” She said, leaning over the table to hold the woman’s glare, because like hell would she back down just because Cat was treading on home ground, “I haven’t spoken to my father in five years. He picked the hot wife and holidays to Aruba over his little girl and he thought a new pony or two would make up for all the times he forgot Christmas. I can’t even remember the last time he sent me a birthday card on time, and yeah he was a bit of a mean bastard once he'd had a whiskey,” She shook her head with contempt, and she felt Spencer knock his knee against hers gently, but she only watched the viper woman with careful eyes. And to her shock, Cat seemed like she understood her, like she had some kind of respect for her telling the truth. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m very good at making sure old guys like that get what’s coming to them. Or is that just what another girl with daddy issues would do?”

Cat’s face seemed to shrivel in frustration when she heard her words repeated back to her, “Is that really why you came here today? To help me?” And Bugsy tilted her head, knowing their UnSub was running out of time, that her window of opportunity was closing with the patrons of the restaurant getting antsy to leave. “Do you know how many men have told me they want to help me?”

Letting her expression smooth into empathy, she leaned forward, her tone dropping into a hushed murmur, “That may well be true, sweetheart, but from where I’m sitting, I’m not a man,”

And Cat paused, something like regret drifting over her face, before she spoke again, “Do you want to know how that worked out for them?”

And with that, JJ and Rossi watched the C4 charge’s switch to green, indicating their line was live and ready to blow.

“Hotch, she just armed the bomb,”

Bugsy’s expression dropped an inch, the sight of it making Cat’s lips curl into a cheshire smile.

“You’re not the only one with a loyal partner, honey,”

But the Prentiss woman was quick on her heels, watching Morgan and Tara rise from their place at another booth, heading towards a woman sitting at the bar on her phone, and she forced her lips together to stop herself from looking too smug to cause suspicion.

“It seems so,” Bugsy agreed with a nod, handing her gun off to Spencer beneath the table.

If he was confused, he didn’t show it, probably because he trusted that big brain of hers with everything in him, even if he was mad enough he could feel the annoyance oozing from his hot cheekbones. Yet to the rest of the restaurant, Cat Adams, included she hadn’t moved an inch.

“But, there is one thing I can guarantee about this partner of yours,” She said, leaning over to pour herself another glass of water casually.

Cat hummed in content, “Oh, right? What’s that?”

And Bugsy smirked, barely raising the glass to her lips as Morgan pounced on the Bomber, ripping the phone out of her hands and causing the patrons around her to yelp, “She’s sure as shit not as clever as me and my husband,”

Cat’s head whirlled around to see her partner’s face slamming into the hard wood of the bar, Tara yanking the cuffs from her belt, and she barely had time to flick back to the two agents facing her before a pitcher of ice cold water was thrown in her eyes, her thick mascara running down her cheeks and blurring her vision. Spencer dove over the table and grabbed her gun from her grasp as Bugsy ripped her out of the booth with rough hands.

She threw her to the ground in the few seconds she was disorientated, her hands tightening around her wrists as make shift cuffs, and she saw Spencer hurrying to grab the real things from his pockets.

“That was a cheap shot, you’re a cheater, you said you’d play fair,” Cat barked, her cheeks pressing against the rough carpet as the agents cuffed her, ignoring her protests and shoves.

“Honey, this is me playing fair,” Bugsy snapped with a cruel smirk, “You threatened my friends, you stuck your hand in my boyfriend’s pants, and pointed a gun at him. Believe me I could have done so much worse,”

And with that Cat Adams was hauled off the ground by the two of them, as they led her out to the police van waiting outside the restaurant.

–

The doors pulled open, empty, and Cat’s face dropped, because her only silver lining on the entire outcome had been that she’d be able to meet the dead beat dad that ran out on her.

That agent’s face had been so genuine as she’d said it. It had seemed so real, and yet…

“You lied to me,” She said as Bugsy set her down on the bench, Spencer pulling another set of handcuffs from his belt and the two of them looked up at her, her lashes lining with disappointment.

“If it helps, we really did try to look for him.” Spencer said, his tone blunt because she had a crazed look in her eye he didn’t like one bit the second she stared at his girlfriend.

And even though she was the one in chains, heading for prison for a twenty year sentence at the minimum, she laughed. Cackled.

“It doesn't matter anyway, I still won,” She said, that venomous gaze turning to Spencer because she had learned atleast two thing in the time she’d been sat with the two agents that ruined her life.

One. Spencer’s mother had Alzheimers, that he hadn’t been lying about. That she was sure was too real to be a story he’d pulled out his ass.

Two. The girl wasn’t phased by insults or bites or cruel words directed towards her. Yet when it was at Spencer…

“How do you figure that one?” Bugsy said, her brow furrowing as she shook her head at the woman.

“In ten years, Mommy dearest won’t remember anyone’s name,” Bugsy’s head shot up at that, her lips curling into a snarl, and she forced her fingertips into her palm to stop herself from throwing a slap at the woman’s face, “But I’ll remember yours,”

Bugsy daren’t react, no matter if her chest boiled in anger at the woman’s callous words. Spencer had to give that information up, give a small bit of his soft underbelly to get the woman to trust him enough not to shoot.

And she couldn’t exactly blame him when he rose to his feet, darting out of the van with a clenched jaw, because the day had been an entire shit show, and she knew by the growl of annoyance he let out that their was a big conversation looming over her head, one she could only see ending in a fight.

It was just the two of them in the van, Cat entirely bound to her seat, and her painted lips had pulled into a grin the second he’d stormed off, her sleek eyes snapping to Bugsy who looked ready to slit her throat.

“Oh, come on Princess, it was tit for tat,” Cat shrugged as if she didn’t seem destroyed, “You took my dad from me, I guess I had to do the same for that hubby of yours,”

Bugsy looked down at her, swallowing her rage with a purse of her lips, feeling her breath rattle with unfiltered animosity.

“You’d make a shit profiler, for what it’s worth. What you profiled about him was all off,” She snarled, stepping away from the woman and looking down at her as if she was shit on the bottom of her shoe, “At least he’s going to make a better father than the bum who would rather sleep on concrete than know you,”

And with that she slammed the doors closed behind her, darting off on Spencer’s heel.

+1. The one where she tells him.

She saw his stress lines, the way the day’s events had weighed heavy on him. He sat on the sofa, his shoes thrown by the door after a tense drive home, and she'd found a space on the coffee table in front of him.

He was quiet, he had never been quiet with her, not in the years since they’d kissed that first time in her room. He wasn’t one for the silent treatment, she knew that much. Yet he was just that. Silent.

“Are you mad at me?” She asked, her voice that of a child as her brows scrunched together in worry. She felt the words bubbling in her throat, the thing she’d needed to tell him for a week gnawing at her tongue, crawling it’s way out, only she worried that after what she had done, he might just be ten times more annoyed at her throwing herself in the line of danger.

He stayed quiet for a moment, and she thought this might turn into their first real fight in the two and bit years they’d been together. Her skin went cold at the words that loomed over them, and she knew by the way he sighed alone he was pissed.

“You can’t do that,” He said, his voice a restrained bite, and he shook his head for good measure, “You can’t put yourself in the way of danger again, I can’t do that again, not after Scratch.”

Her throat closed up with tears, and she glanced at him, her fingers itching to take his warm hands in her own, her body begging to preen into him, have him kiss her and tell her he wasn’t mad, that he still loved her, that everything was okay. But he wouldn’t. Not because he didn’t feel any of that, of course he still loved her, but the wet that lined his lashes told her all she needed to know. That seeing what Scratch had done to her had scared him enough that even the idea of her coming close to a hostile UnSub with a loaded gun, that straying from the plan that was designed to keep everyone safe, had tipped him into a grey area that had him both wanting to hold her close and never let her go whilst yelling at her in that broken cadence to show her just how hurt he was.

“I’m sorry, I just-” She choked, her eyes becoming watery and pathetic and she hated crying during arguments, not wanting to look weak but that was exactly how she felt. Weak. Like she had no backbone to lean on because she knew she shouldn’t have intervened, but the snake-like woman undressing her boyfriend with her eyes while cocking a weapon at him had pushed her over the edge.

“Oh, you’re sorry, that makes it much better,” Spencer shook his head, furrowing his brows and it was only when he leaned forward that the salty hot tears dribbled down his cheek. “You- you can’t just do that, Bugsy, you know that right?”

She nodded, the words building in her trachea like word vomit, like she wanted to scream the confession at him that she should have given him the second she’d found out. “I know, I’m sorry,” She said again, her words entirely warbled with guilt because she’d never seen him so distraught, and she thought back to the horror that had spread on his face when she’d sat down.

“You can’t do that to me, sweetheart, do you understand?” His tone had shifted, something a little softer and he grabbed her hands tightly when her shoulders hunched together, and she leaned forward to try to hide her cries in her lap, sitting silently like a scolded child, “What were you thinking? You just got back into the field today, you could have been hurt, you could have gotten someone else hurt-”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” She sniffled, her expression truly guilty, because everything he was saying was exactly true, she could have gotten him shot. “I didn’t think, I wasn’t thinking, I just was worried that…” She trailed off, her heart rate spiking when the words almost slipped from her tongue. She couldn’t tell him, not like this.

“What?” Spencer pressed, because he didn’t like the look of whatever had just passed over her face, and she shook her head in denial, “Bug, tell me,”

“No, I can’t,” Her breath clogged in her chest, coming out in a shaky rattle, and it was then that he leaned forward even more, trying to dip his head down to catch her eye, "Not like this,"

“Please tell me,” He begged, his eyes still stinging where another wave of tears threatened to burst at the seam when she shook her head again, her chin pressing down into her chest because he hated this. He hated arguing with her. “I’m sorry I yelled, I didn’t mean to, honey, I just got- worried.”

“I know,” She said quietly through another sniffle, rubbing her cheek on her shoulder to dry it, “I know, I’m sorry I didn’t think it through I just,” She took a deep breath, because she knew she needed to tell him, knew there was no more running from it.

He lifted a palm to her cheek, his thumb skirting under her eyelashes, and he forced himself together because he could never stand to see her cry, not when it was partially his fault, “What?”

“I just can’t do this without you,” She murmured, her heart in her throat, and it only made it difficult to swallow. She chanced a look at Spencer, his eyes wet and red and worried as she continued, “I can’t be the one to tell this kid their dad died because I didn’t do anything,”

“What..” He started, his brows immediately falling into a frown as he looked at her. She swore she could hear every single contraction of her heart muscles in her ears, the blood rushing through her veins making it sound like waves crashing on a shore right in her eardrum.

“It’s still fixable,” She jumped in, before he could say anything, like she needed to justify immediately what she’d said, or even just talk to fill the silence because she hated not knowing what he was thinking, “It’s only five weeks along, I still have time to… fix it-”

“Five weeks- you-you’re pregnant?” Spencer’s eyes were wide, with horror or shock she had no idea, nor did she want to find out judging by the way he had turned pale, reading between the lines, “W-What- fix it? Is that what you want to do?”

She stopped, because he seemed to be keeping a lid on his emotions, trying his hardest to sound calm and somehow that made it all the more worse. Because she would rather him get angry, or get frustrated and tell her this was too soon, or tell her there was no way he was ready to be a father, because at least then the pressure of it wasn’t on her back to decide for both of them.

But he would never, and she didn’t know why she’d ever second guessed him. He wasn’t yelling, or turning away, or leaving her the second things got tough, because it was Spencer. And Spencer would never. Spencer gave her the choice of what she wanted to do.

She stopped, her lungs suddenly feeling just that bit tighter, as she shrugged pitifully, and she thought this was perhaps not the most ideal way to tell someone you’re pregnant, “I-I don’t know, I think…” She stopped, because what did she think? She’d been so wrapped up in worrying about what Spencer would think, worrying about his mom and her nightmares and Cat God Damn Adams that she hadn’t even let herself entertain the thought of a little them.

But if she said she didn’t like the idea of a little boy with Spencer’s hair and glasses and smile, if she said she couldn’t see the photo album his mom had handed her full of pictures of their kids butt naked and watering the flower beds, she would be a liar.

“I think… it would take a lot of work, I mean it’s a baby for christ sakes, Bugsy, of course it’ll take work,” He nodded slowly as she chided herself, but she felt his hands tighten on hers, and the tiny gesture gave her the encouragement she needed. She took another breath, that boy with brown curls and her eyes in a jedi costume flashing through her head, “But.. I think having a mini you is everything I could have ever wished for,”

His lip quivered for a minute, and she worried she’d said the wrong thing. And then…

He smiled, wider than she’d ever seen him, like she could count every single one of his teeth, and she copied him despite the way a frog leapt into her throat, and she saw his eyes line with a fresh set of tears.

“Really, we’re really doing this?” Spencer asked, quietly, like someone could hear them, or perhaps he couldn’t believe himself even as he said it. He thought his chest was about to explode, thought his heart could never love someone so much as he loved her, thought it would never beat the same way again as it had before he’d been told he was going to have a baby with the woman he’d been in love with for nearly nine years. She nodded, her shy smile turning into something happy, maybe even excited as he pulled her in for an achingly sweet kiss, his hands cupping her cheeks as he kissed her lips over and over and over again, ignoring the salt that trapped in her skin, and he realised then he had started crying just as much as she had. Two wailing saps sitting in their living room, happier than they’d ever dreamed they were allowed to be. “I love you, I love you, I love you more than anything, I was so stupid, I’m so sorry I shouted-”

She chuckled, shaking her head, and drawing him back in for a long, silencing kiss, “I was stupid, very stupid.” Bugsy said, the weight lifting off her chest like a dumbbell had been moved, and she could breath again. Because Spencer kissed her like he wanted to merge their bodies into one, like he didn’t care for breath anymore as long as he had her lips on his, and she couldn’t help think if that was what he thought of her too, “No more being stupid from either of us. Kid’s got to have at least one smart parent,“

He smiled, enough joy in his eyes to make her think she was handing him the universe. And yet that was exactly how he felt. Like everything he dreamt of as a kid, when he was in his room wishing his dad had stayed because sometimes looking after his mom was tough on a twelve year old, or when he’d held Henry for the first time and thought maybe he wouldn’t be terrible at it by the time it was his turn.

He looked at Bugsy, the idea of their kid growing inside her, about the size of a petit pois pea at five weeks, and Spencer damn near felt like he’d won the lottery.

And all thoughts of Cat Adams were gone from both of their minds, the viper woman she wished she had gotten a good right hook to when she’d had the chance entirely unimportant now.

Because they were going to be a family, more so than they already were. And Bugsy felt as though she couldn’t love Spencer any more than she already did, but she could love his baby more than she’d ever thought possible.

taglists:

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler x reader #i love bugsy & spence #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #matthew grey gubler x reader

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iamgonnagetyouback · 4 months ago

Text

𝟷.𝟿𝚔 || 𝐎𝐔𝐓-𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐃

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You ask Sirius if he’d still love you if you were a worm.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Sirius Black x fem!reader

The Gryffindor common room was alive with its usual evening buzz. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the scattered armchairs and sofas where students unwound after a long day. Yet, something was distinctly different about this particular evening, and it wasn’t just the sight of Remus Lupin trying to hide a smile behind his book.

Sirius Black—usually the life of the party, the source of everyone's laughter—was pacing the room with the expression of a man who had just been told he was being disowned (again).

The reason? You, his usually forgiving and smitten girlfriend, were sitting on the opposite end of the sofa, glaring at him with the intensity of a thousand howlers. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife—or at least thick enough for Lily Evans to finally take notice.

“What’s going on with you two?” she asked, setting down her Muggle novel and looking between you and Sirius with a raised eyebrow.

James perked up immediately. “Yeah, Pads, why do you look like a puppy that’s been kicked? Did you finally tell her that awful joke about the werewolf and the moon?”

Remus shot him a look. “Don’t even think about it, James.”

But Sirius was too busy grovelling to engage in their usual banter. “It wasn’t a joke! I was just being honest!” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with the kind of desperation that made Peter look up from his sweets.

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest and shooting him a look that could have curdled milk. “Honest? You call that honesty? You could have at least pretended to be romantic!”

Peter, munching on a chocolate frog, looked between the two of you in confusion. “What did you do, Pads?”

Lily leaned in closer. “Yeah, what did you say that was so terrible?”

You finally looked up from your magazine, fixing Sirius with a glare that could melt the snow on the highest peak of the Forbidden Forest. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?”

Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—like a fish out of water. “It’s not that bad…”

“Not that bad?” you scoffed, slamming the magazine shut. “I asked him a simple, hypothetical question—”

“A trap,” Sirius interjected quickly, holding up a finger. “A trap disguised as a question.”

You ignored him, continuing as if he hadn’t spoken. “I asked if he would still love me if I were a worm.”

A beat of silence.

Then, James erupted into laughter, nearly toppling out of his chair. “A worm? You asked him if he’d still love you if you were a worm?”

Remus was struggling to keep a straight face, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked between you and Sirius. “And… what did you say, Sirius?”

Sirius looked pained. “I… I said no.”

James fell out of his chair for real this time, clutching his sides as he howled with laughter.

Lily, however, looked scandalized. “You said no?”

Sirius nodded helplessly. “But—”

Lily cut him off with a look of pure betrayal. “Why would you say no? She asked you if you would still love her as a worm, Sirius! The correct answer is always yes!”

“I know that now!” Sirius exclaimed, looking around the room as if begging for backup. “But at the time, I wasn’t thinking about the emotional implications! I was thinking about the logistics!”

James was gasping for air, tears streaming down his face as he tried to compose himself. “Oh Merlin, this is too good. Padfoot, mate, you’ve really done it this time.”

“What logistics?” you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s not that complicated! Would you still love me or not?”

Sirius threw his hands up in the air. “But you’d be a worm! How am I supposed to know it’s you? What if I accidentally step on you, or you get eaten by a bird? And what would we even do together? It’s not like we could… I don’t know, go on dates or—”

You rolled your eyes so hard you could’ve seen the back of your skull. “That’s not the point, Sirius! The point is that you didn’t even hesitate to say no. I could’ve been anything—a cat, a dog, a bloody flobberworm—and you just shot me down!”

Sirius threw his hands up in the air. “Well, yeah! I mean, how am I supposed to love a worm? It doesn’t even have a face! Or a personality! It’s just… squirmy and gross!”

You shot him a withering look. “So that’s it, then? You’re only with me because I have a face?”

“Wha—no!” Sirius spluttered, eyes wide. “That’s not what I meant at all!”

Remus, barely containing his amusement, decided to chime in. “Pads, I think what she’s trying to say is that you should’ve said yes, no matter how ridiculous the question was.”

Sirius looked like he was having an existential crisis. “But it’s a worm! How am I supposed to kiss a worm? Or hold hands? Or—”

You cut him off, your voice icy. “Oh, so that’s all I am to you? Someone to kiss and hold hands with?”

Sirius’s eyes widened in alarm. “No! That’s not it at all!”

James was now thoroughly enjoying the show. “Sounds like it to me, Pads. You’re only in it for the snogging.”

Peter, ever the peacemaker, tried to step in. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that…”

But you were on a roll now, standing up from the sofa and glaring down at Sirius, who was still kneeling in front of you. “If I were a worm, Sirius, I’d have a heart, even if it’s small and squishy! But apparently, that’s not enough for you!”

Sirius, now in full panic mode, reached for your hands, trying to make you sit back down. “But I don’t want you to be a worm! I love you as you are—human, beautiful, with a proper face!”

You yanked your hands back, crossing your arms again. “So you only love me because I’m not a worm. Not because of who I am.”

Remus snickered behind his book. “You’re in deep now, mate.”

Sirius shot him a desperate look. “Not helping, Moony.”

Remus decided to step in. “Sirius, you have to understand—these questions aren’t about the actual scenario. It’s about the sentiment behind them. She was looking for reassurance that your love is unconditional.”

Sirius threw his hands up. "But it was a worm! I thought honesty was important!"

You finally looked up, narrowing your eyes at him. "Honesty? You just admitted you wouldn’t love me if I was a worm, Sirius. That’s not honesty, that’s cruelty!"

Peter piped up, "But… how would he know if the worm was you?"

Everyone turned to Peter, who shrinked slightly under the attention. "I mean… if you were a worm, how would Sirius know? And… does a worm even have feelings?"

Lily shakes her head, still laughing. "You boys are impossible. The worm is a metaphor, you idiot!”

Sirius rubbed the back of his head, still looking confused. “A metaphor for what?”

You sighed, leaning back against the sofa cushions. “For love, Sirius. For whether or not you’d love me no matter what.”

Realization dawned on Sirius’s face, and he looked genuinely horrified. “Oh… Oh. I see now.”

James, having finally caught his breath, piped up, “Well, it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? You’ve got to make it up to her now, Padfoot.”

Peter nodded sagely. “You really messed up this time, Sirius. Girls don’t just ask you if you’d love them as a worm for no reason.”

Sirius turned to you, eyes wide with desperation. “Okay, I get it now. I was wrong. I should’ve said yes. I should’ve said I’d love you even if you were the slimiest, wriggliest worm in the world.”

You raised an eyebrow, letting him squirm under your gaze for a moment before speaking. “And why should I believe you?”

“Because,” Sirius said, his voice softening as he took your hands in his, “I love you. And I don’t care if you’re a worm, or a dog, or a… or a Blast-Ended Skrewt. I love you for who you are, not what you are. And if you were a worm, I’d find a way to make it work. I’d carry you around in a little jar, and I’d protect you from birds, and… and I’d even learn what worms like to eat!”

But you weren’t having it. “Too late for that, Black. You’ve already made your feelings clear.”

James leaned back in his chair with a smug grin. “You know, Pads, if you’d just said yes in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this mess. But now, she knows your true feelings.”

Sirius turned back to you, his expression one of pure, unadulterated pleading. “Please, love, I’m sorry. I was just being stupid. You know I’d love you no matter what, even if you were… I don’t know, a Blast-Ended Skrewt!”

You blinked at him. “A Blast-Ended Skrewt?”

Sirius nodded earnestly. “Yes! Anything but a worm!”

Remus couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer. “And you think that’s better?”

Sirius groaned, running his hands through his hair again. “Okay, bad example. But you get what I mean, right? I’m sorry. I love you—worm, human, Skrewt, whatever.”

You paused, staring down at him as he knelt before you, looking thoroughly pathetic. The room was silent, all eyes on you as they waited to see what you would do next.

Finally, you sighed and sat back down, though you still kept your arms crossed. “Fine. I forgive you. But you’d better start thinking before you answer stupid questions in the future.”

Sirius beamed, his relief palpable as he quickly scooted closer to you on the sofa. “I promise! No more stupid answers!”

James leaned over, whispering to Remus. “Bet he’ll say yes to anything she asks now.”

Remus smirked. “No doubt about it.”

Sirius, now fully back in your good graces, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your temple. “So, just to be clear… I’d love you no matter what, even if you were a worm. A very cute worm.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, though you tried to hide it. “Good. Because if you ever hesitate again, I might just have to turn you into one.”

Sirius laughed, pulling you closer. “And I’d still find a way to love you.”

James, watching the two of you, sighed dramatically. “Merlin, if this is what love is like, maybe I’m better off single.”

Lily rolled her eyes, nudging him playfully. “Oh, please. You’d have said the same thing if I’d asked you.”

James grinned, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “You wouldn’t have to ask. I’d love you no matter what.”

Lily blushed, playfully shoving him away. “You’re ridiculous.”

James smirked. “So, Sirius, if she were a Blast-Ended Skrewt—”

“No,” Sirius said quickly, “We are not going down that road again.”

Hope you all liked it!

#sirius black #sirius black fluff #sirius black x reader #sirius orion black #fluff #marauders era #marauders #ivy's soft scribbles ೀ

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inkedinshadows · 4 months ago

Text

Lazy Mornings

Pairing: Azriel × reader

Summary: Azriel really loves to wake up next to you.

Warnings: short mention of sex toward the end

Word count: 701

A/N: look at me, posting another fic already (just a drabble though). I have too much time on my hands lol

Azriel had always been an early riser. As someone who had trouble sleeping, staying in bed once he was awake was nothing more than a waste of time. But both of those things changed when you came into his life, and he got to sleep next to you every night. With you, he would gladly spend all morning lying in bed.

He loved when the first thing he felt upon waking was your body curled up against him, your arm loosely thrown over his chest and your soft breaths caressing his skin. Your hair was usually a mess, and he would run his fingers through your locks, careful not to wake you.

If he awoke to find you had drifted away in your sleep, he wrapped his arms around you and tucked you back against his chest. You merely stirred, curling into his warmth, a content sigh escaping your lips.

Some mornings, he was the one snuggling into you. Lying on his stomach, his wings draped over both of you, he could feel your heartbeat as his head rested on your chest. Your hand was often still tangled in his black curls from where you had been stroking him until you both fell asleep. In those moments, he felt a sense of calm and peace like never before, and something inside him healed a bit more every time you cradled his head and buried your fingers in his hair.

It didn’t matter if he had meetings or appointments. When he woke with his head on your chest, unless it was something of utmost importance that he couldn’t postpone, he wouldn’t move until you woke up on your own. By now, he knew the telltale signs of your awakening—that little groan and the slight twitch of your fingers.

But even just holding you was enough for him. You had laughed at him when he told you he liked to watch you sleep. You said it was creepy and not romantic at all, but he couldn't help it when you looked so innocent, so vulnerable, and peaceful. Besides, he knew you did the same every time his eyes were closed and you thought he was asleep.

Being a heavy sleeper, it always took you a while to fully come to your senses. Watching you open your eyes was one of his favorite moments: a small furrow formed on your brow, and then your half-lidded eyes settled on him and your expression softened, a loving smile appearing on your lips. His heart always swelled at the sight, no matter how many times he had seen it already.

If time was on your side, Azriel was more than content to cuddle until you were ready to rise. When you struggled to fully wake up, or when cuddling caused you to fall asleep again, he got up to make you breakfast. If you still weren't up when he was done, he'd bring it to you on a tray: hot tea with a splash of milk in winter and orange juice in summer, always accompanied by your favorite chocolate pastries and seasonal fruit.

And then there were those mornings when the cuddles led to more heated kisses and before you knew it, you were both naked. Making love to you in the early hours was another of Azriel's favorite activities. It took you longer than usual to reach your first climax, but he didn’t mind, because it gave him a reason to spend even more time between your legs. He would coax it from you with his mouth and fingers, and only then would he sheath himself inside you and you would have slow, gentle sex, filled with soft caresses, tiny kisses, and whispered promises of love.

The days when you could spend hours just lying in bed, simply enjoying each other’s company, were few and far between, and Azriel cherished every single one of them. It wasn’t something he had ever done before, and if someone had told him he would one day grow to love it, he probably wouldn’t have believed them.

Yes, Azriel had always been an early riser. But you had changed that, just like you had changed his life for the better.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @andreperez11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette

#azriel #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel × reader #sjm #azriel x y/n #azriel fluff #azriel spymaster #fanfic #azriel fanfic #shadowsinger #fluff

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gladiatorcunt · 2 months ago

Text

- GUESS | XIII.

you wanna guess the color of my underwear, you wanna know what i got going on down there

cw: kinktober prompt (ass worship), yoga trainer!oikawa, fem reader, rimming, body hair, scent & piss mentions, light implied yandere, public sex (?), hinted possibly one sided iwazumi x reader, light dub con, mentions of fisting, implied that oikawa’s been into reader from the start, semi obsessive behavior, porno plot, self degradation, food play mention

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“Mmh, just like that cutie, lift those hips up for me.”

You’ve been coming to the new yoga class that just opened up at the gym for a while now, a couple months a few times a week, you’re a bit of a homebody otherwise and yoga is the one physical exercise you don’t mind doing often. You like being flexible, able to bend your body in shapes and ways another person would have a harder time doing. And you’re not having sex, so any physically strenuous activity that leaves you sore until you’re put back together by your healing body does wonders for you.

Plus you like the way the leggings hug your well endowed assets, so do a lot of the men in the gym. You wear the form fitting workout clothes for yourself first and foremost, but you can’t lie that a little attention from afar (sometimes too close up by one of the trainer’s usually steps in to help you) boosts your ego. If there’s one thing in life you have to be proud of, at least you have your ass. Squishy and round, jiggles when you walk and never disappoints you unlike everything else in your life.

The same ass that’s raised high in the air in front of your yoga trainer, a more than handsome man in his late 20’s with wavy milk chocolate colored brown hair and a smug twinkle in his eye that’s connected to his smarmy always on his face (even when he seems pissed) grin. You’ll never forget the confidence in his posture, standing tall at the front of the class and introducing himself. Tooru Oikawa, just moved here from japan, his best friend owns the place so it wasn’t too much trouble to get hired, and SO excited to start this journey with you all!

You’ve stayed at the back since then, anxiety swirling in your belly when he’d make the rounds to correct your forms and check on you all. But he’d only pass by with a brisk touch to your back and a ‘good job’, maybe a semi solid pat if you were one of only ones who had a good form, and not to brag, but that’s been the case on more than one occasion.

Now you’re undergoing a little one on one session, he asked you to hang back, noticing you’ve been holding yourself back. You’ve never made much of an effort to talk to him and despite the fact that you’ve never needed this kind of focused attention, he’s been feeling a bit bad that you keep to yourself so much. He doesn’t bite you know, not unless you want him too.

It’s an odd flirtation, something you’ve noticed he never does with anyone else in the class. Oikawa’s attractive enough that you’d balk at him abusing his privilege to drown himself in quickies in the gym’s showers, as off putting as it’d be. But he’s very professional, chuckling at one of the older women making a pass at him and politely turning her down.

So you got in your own head and knew that since there was always room for improvement, surely there must be something he could help you with. So here you are, going through basic poses first before he pushes you into the more advanced ones. You told him that other than increasing your flexibility, you weren’t really sure what other areas would be best for you to get better at.

Oikawa smiled and squeezed your shoulder, no worries, he’ll walk you through a little assesment mini program. Since you mentioned not having done yoga seriously until now, there could easily be something you didn’t even realize needed to be attended to!

“Remember, we want to really feel that stretch, arch your back and lower your head. Breathe in, breathe out.” He instructs, settling a wide palm on your lower back. “That’s it, good girl.”

He’s so close, if you backed up to regain your footing your ass would press up against his bulge. Not that you can tell if he has one right now, but you’re kind of hoping he does. It’s just another part of the fantasy, that’s all this is, you tell yourself. You’re going to soak up the attention, make more small talk as you gather your things and leave, and sit at home suffocating your vibrator until your legs turn into jelly.

“Am I doing this right? My legs feel stiff.” You shift your weight from side to side, your hips gently sway, you could be too in your own head but having Oikawa’s pretty eyes scrutinizing every detail of your body is fucking with your confidence.

He hums, a trail of heat sizzles down your back as he slides his palm down to cup your hip. “If something seems off then it probably is, just widen your stance and put your feet further apart, loosen up your hips. You’re definitely a little tense, cutie.”

Okay so he’s definitely flirting with you, but you don’t startle and shoot back up so you can get out of here. Instead you internally cringe at the squeaks your yoga mat produces, adjusting your ankles to line up more with your shoulders. You keep breathing, in and out, letting your energy flow through your limbs as you maneuver them into the different positions.

Oikawa Tooru burns like a furnace in hell, you realize. Despite having a firm grip on your hip, he’s standing a respectable distance away from you as you bend over. You can still feel the heat radiating from him, his sleeveless muscle tank and his black shorts.

“I think that’s better. Sorry, it's hard for me to relax, I guess.”

“No worries, I totally get it, you do seem like the type to be wound up but that just means we get to unspool your thread and unravel you so we can get to the start and rebuild.” His free hand curls around your other hip, his thumbs absentmindedly stroke the crease where they disappear into your thigh.

This private coaching session is steadily becoming what you’re afraid of, and so horny for you could shoot off into the sky like a soda bottle chocked full of mentos. You didn’t notice when Oikawa got even closer, his blunt hip bones cradling your ass in between them. Could he just be weirdly, and grossly in most people’s eyes, friendly? Does he even see what he’s doing as being the tentative first step into fucking you in a public gym yoga studio?

“Um, yeah, thank you by the way. I’ve felt so much better since I’ve started taking your class, you’re a lifesaver even if I still have a lot to learn.”

“Oh, we all do, including me, believe it or not. I remember you from back then you know, so shy and fidgety, like a baby bunny.”

“You’ve really filled out too. Excuse me for saying this but I know this ass wasn’t always like this, so pretty and plump.” Toned hands drag over the swell of your cheeks, not digging in and kneading the globes, only ghosting their touch along the clothed flesh.

You subconsciously wiggle your hips, Oikawa’s breath hitches behind you, and that is perhaps the most monumental thing you could have achieved today. Flustering the man who gets hit on a billion times per day and gives it back tenfold, a competition of who can keep their cool, that’s how he operates in most things you guess. Like he’s always competing against somebody even if they don’t know, and he just has to win or it’ll be an ugly spot on his record. A record only he keeps and only he sees, but you sense that that’s more important to him than anything else.

“Oh, thank you. I just do a lot of squats every morning and every night after class, nothing crazy. Yoga’s the only other kind of workout I do consistently, anyway.” You're still in what feels like a perverted version of downward dog, briefly taking stock of the strain in your legs now trying to hold the position.

Oikawa makes a surprised sound, “Really? You have such a great body, I’m shocked you’re not a gym rat like me and all my buddies. Some people are just lucky, huh cutie?”

He says it, humble and charming, like he doesn’t also consider himself one of those people. Your cheeks heat up at the idea of a musclehead like Oikawa complimenting your curves, your chubby gathering of fat even in places some people would find ugly, your wideset bones and plush tummy.

A pin drops, “Alright. I think you’ve been in that position long enough, why don’t you go ahead and lower your knees into the table top pose, bring your head up slowly and remember to breathe. In, out, good girl.”

His hands guide your hips down, he steps back to let you settle your knees on the mat. You hear the foam sink behind you, he’s sort of kneeling too, halfway sitting on his legs, the backs of his feet facing the ceiling. Oikawa looms over you like this too, he has a presence you can be lost in before you actually see him, which you definitely can in the wall to wall mirror in front of you. The yoga class was a dance studio before Iwa decided it didn’t fit with his vision, you remember Oikawa telling you all on his first day.

He must feel your wide eyed stare, because he looks up too and suddenly you’re locked in a charged moment.

Neither of you says anything as his feather light touches on your ass become firmer, he’s outright groping you and pulling you back to be flush against his crotch.

He grinds his half hard bulge against you, keeping eye contact with you through the mirror.

“I can’t believe it’s taken you this long to notice me, cutie. Been wanting to do this for so long, you have no fucking idea.” He huffs, adjusting his clothed cock to rest between your cheeks. “You’re so hot, every time I saw you bend over I wanted to cancel class and take you right then and there.”

You gasp and rock back into him, shaking your hips and digging your knees into the mat. You have half a mind to look around the room for the camera and porn filming crew but reality is clearly stranger than fiction, your hot yoga trainer’s stiff cock is sandwiched in your ass crack.

He takes his sweet time dragging his length up and down, the tip catches in the divot of your leggings where your hole is, you’re a little disappointed that he’s not humping you like a rutting dog but you suspect that that’s part of the fun. Oikawa knows you want him so bad that he’ll restrain his urge to fuck you through the floor all the way to the center of the Earth just so you can endure some teasing. You’re so shy and withdrawn but those girls are usually the best kinds of freaks, all he’s doing is bringing it out of you, call it another one of his famous coaching methods.

The door’s locked, so if Iwazumi catches on to what’s happening and tries to rain on your parade, he’ll have to listen to a symphony of moans and slick sounds of bare sweaty flesh slapping against bare sweaty flesh. Oikawa laughs and tells you that Iwa’s been eyeing you too, when you check in at the front desk, when you’re getting water, when you head into the changing rooms to get ready for his class, it’d be helplessly cute if you weren’t already taken. Or, you’re gonna be, at the very least.

“When we’re done, I'll clean you up with my tongue and we can go on a little date. I can take you out properly this weekend but I'd hate for you to think that I was just trying to hit and quit it. I’m not the type to pump and dump, not anymore.” He speaks into the divide of your ass cheeks, having sunk to floor fully and doing some bending over of his own to be at eye level with your lower half.

You bite your lip when he starts nipping at you through your leggings, he smiles into the fabric and bites down harder, soothing the sting with slow licks. Oikawa kisses all over the swell of your behind, sniffing the scent of your perspiration and your body oil in between, medicinal vanilla and natural musk. You can see him hump the mint green yoga mat as he reaches up to hurriedly tug your leggings down enough to expose your ass. Your black thong frames it perfectly, but Oikawa pulls them off too and stuffs them under the waistband of his shorts.

He groans at the sight of your bare skin as it bounces free to say hello, taking a handful of each cheek and squeezing the life out of them, the thick flesh bulges between his fingers so he swiftly smacks each one, for tempting him and making his cock so hard it could explode into a blood filled mess of cum and sticky pubes in his pants. You cry out, rocking forward only to be immediately pulled back so he can keep kissing your ass.

He dotes on it like he would your face or mouth, almost giggling before and after quick pecks that develop into long slurps at your rim. He runs the tip of his nose over the hair on your crack, wetting it in messy swipes of his tongue.

“You taste so fucking good, baby, better than pastry i’ve ever had, and believe me, you don’t even want to know how much money i spend at the bakery across the street from my apartment. You’d love it.” He moans, saying hello to your winking hole by dotting barely there kisses right in the center before toying with you, dipping the tiniest bit of his tongue in your walls, then dragging his saliva all over your pucker. “It’d be fun to eat something off you, we could make a date out of it. Go up to the counter and pick which ones would taste the best when I eat it off your fat ass, but I think they’d all be amazing, don’t you?”

You nod rapidly and throw your ass back on his tongue, burning in shame with every smug laugh and grunt as Oikawa beats around the bush so to speak, doing everything under the sun with your ass but properly eating it. You wish you were in your shitty apartment, sitting on his face and drowning out the sound of your arguing neighbors with your slutty moans. He looks up from behind you to check on how you’re doing, and thank heavens because he finally buries his face in your ass and slurps at your puckered hole.

You lose yourself to the experience, feeling his wet tongue fuck into your ass hole and carve out little pieces of you for himself. He pays zero attention to your pussy, which is why it’s so wet and dripping onto the mat beneath you, it’s like he’s too obsessed with your thick globes to even notice, but you don’t hate it. It’s hot to have a guy be eye socket deep in your ass but also have him neglect where you really need his attention, there’s a dichotomy between being the mousey way you’ve gone about your life and the whorish behavior this man is urging you to consider.

You looked fucked out already, hair all over the place from how much you’ve messed with it and lips dropping open on drawn out squeals and whines. Oikawa is eating your ass out like it’s his main job, the one he puts in overtime for and goes above and beyond to be employee of the month at. He thrusts his tongue a few more times before apparently deciding that’s not enough and slipping in one of his absurdly long fingers alongside it.

You whimper, clenching around both as you just sit there in that damn table top pose and let a man you barely know play your ass like a well oiled fiddle. He shakes your cheek in his hand as he digs his tongue into you, delicately fingering your hole until it goes slack enough for him to insert another. You’re impossibly tight, as much as your clit is howling for it you know perfectly well that any serious penetration isn’t possible. From the impressions you got, Oikawa’s packing enough to tear you until you bleed if you don’t use lube or prep thoroughly beforehand, which you’d do anyways but it’s a shame.

Your clit throbs painfully but Oikawa pulls back with a gulp of air to level you with a warning look in the mirror, which only gets you wetter, you twitch again because he’s one of those. There’s a brief flicker of defiance, you could pout and touch yourself anyway, you don’t owe this ridiculously attractive man anything and he’s the one motorboating your ass cheeks and not the other way around, so shouldn’t you be the one in charge?

Then his eyes darken, you get another sharp smack and you table the discussion for some far off occasion.

Oikawa smiles, gently kissing the apple shaped swell of both of your cheeks, “See, I know from your time here that you can be such a good listener, you’re so sweet for me, I know it. You can’t hide that from me just because you want to throw a fit, I said we’d get to know each other afterwards, didn’t I?”

You scoot your ass back in apology, silently begging him to get back to it. He must really be horny too because he dives straight back in, groaning into your rim and french kissing your hole. The hand not doing its best to push its entirety into you kneads your fleshy ass cheek, molding it like dough and separating it from its twin, giving him easier access to your pucker. He ‘tsks’ not even a second later, crooking his two fingers and letting go off your cheek, humming in contentment when it bounces against his face and he’s smothered again.

He wonders if you’ll let him fist you, give you a unique one of a kind rose to swoon over and keep tucked away inside you later, the perfect first date gift from your future boyfriend.

You can even do couples yoga in the morning after your first night together!

“Let’s see if you can cum just from getting your ass played with.” Punctuated by a fourth finger sliding into the knuckle in your ass, he scissors his fingers to stretch you out and playfully acts like he’s gonna sink his whole fist in, pulling out his fingers to curl them into a ball.

The barest hint of blunt pressure on your hole sends a flood of your juices down his arm, smelling somewhat pissy which gives Oikawa truly the most impish grin imaginable.

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bluesidez · 2 months ago

Text

Gym Rat Miguel Part 15

content warning: more angst, mentions of food, mentions of underage drinking and recreational drug use, some suggestive convos but nothing too crazy

word count: 6.4k (@slushycoookie thee wife, thee beta 🩵)

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“Does it show anything different?”

“Will you give me a second?”

GymRat!Miguel who was currently sitting at his desk, bouncing his leg while he waited for Tempest to tell him something good.

“It’s honestly looking like the same thing from last night. And the week before. And the week before that,” she deadpans through the phone.

Miguel turned and pressed his lips to his palm.

His call list was a constant cycle between his friends back home and Gabriel, but mostly Tempest, who has taken the role of checking for any updates from you online.

So far, all he’s gotten out of this was pain. You’ve completely removed anything that involved him from your pages. No anniversary pics, no highlights, no emojis in your bio to refer to him. From how Tempest put it, this was a huge deal.

“Look,” Miguel slumped as he geared himself up to listen to the same speech she’d been repeating. “I know you don’t want to hear this- don’t make that face! - but I think it’s time to give up or try something new.”

“It’s been forever.”

“If your definition of forever is a little over two weeks, then sure!”

“I just thought that,” he paused, mulling over the words in his head.

“That she would bend at your will? You’re cute, but not that cute.”

“No, that’s not- Temp,” Miguel whined. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

She snorted, “Uh huh. Which is why we’re stalking her page like weirdos.”

“If the roles were flipped, I would be doing the same for you. I have done the same for you.”

“Touché.”

Miguel remembered Tempest spiraling over girls she thought was the one, the two of them huddled up over the phone watching as they all moved onto the next.

He sat beside her and reminded himself never to get this way. He perked up like a flower soaking up the sun every time there was an inch of hope, which truly rivaled how Tempest acted.

“I was just thinking that today would be different. Maybe she would think about me today.”

The thought sits in the air, Tempest’s face shifting to one of sad understanding.

“Not trying to feed your delusions, but maybe she hasn’t stopped thinking about you.”

Miguel looked at the screen, a tiny bit optimistic.

“But in all fairness, I wouldn’t want anyone on my page who I thought committed one of the most cruel offenses. I would want to forget everything. You have to see this from her side too.”

Tempest was right, a common state when it came to their friendship. It didn’t stop that ugly rust of selfishness that crowded his heart.

He feels like he’s crying out for you, and you don’t care. A year of being together meant nothing to you.

Saying that out loud was insane, though. It didn’t align with how hurt you looked.

So, he’s been internally fighting the feeling, going from understanding to upset and back again.

“Have you talked to Xina at all?”

“She’s only keeping our conversations about school. And acting like nothing happened.”

“She’s probably embarrassed,” Tempest said. “She got caught this time and doesn’t know what to do.”

“Apologizing could be a start.”

“And that requires admitting she was wrong in the first place, so if you get that, let me know so I can mark the day. I’ll even make a t-shirt.”

The sigh that left Miguel was strong enough to irritate Tempest’s speakers.

He wanted to talk to her about the situation again, but it was like talking with a brick wall. It reminded him of when he snapped at her for constantly hitting him when they were younger. Looking back, they were just kids, and she probably didn’t mean anything by it. The red tint and angry pout on her face as she slid him her chocolate milk as an apology stuck with him.

“Why do you want an apology anyway? Or, why do you expect one?”

Miguel wasn’t sure himself. Xina was his childhood best friend, someone with whom he spent a lot of time and shared secrets. There were sweet memories and joyful moments.

It sucks to see her act so different.

“I think,” Miguel paused, looking off through his dorm window. “I think that-”

“Oh my god, she just posted.”

Miguel almost dropped his phone while he switched back to the messages app.

“What is it? What is it?”

“It is,” she dragged out her i’s. The sound of Tempest screenshotting and tapping away at her phone was like rapid fire. “An event, I think?”

“What event? You aren’t sending the pictures fast enough.”

“I already pressed send! Not my fault I don’t have high-speed internet.”

“Tell your cousin to stop fucking hogging it.”

“Shut up and watch the screen.”

His eyes dart across the screen as he waits for the screenshare to load.

Your account comes up, still intact. Miguel takes in everything like he did back when he first met you.

There were new posts about the sculptures you made in class and food from a new café. There’s also a glimpse of you smiling, and he feels like he’s ready to erupt.

Tempest refreshed your page again.

“This is so against girl code.”

“You haven’t even talked with her before.”

“How would you know?”

“Temp.”

“Right, sorry.”

She taps your story, and a flyer comes up.

“A Halloween-themed festival night?” Miguel says as the story disappears.

“Sounds fun!”

“I’m going to go. Put the story back up again.”

Tempest side-eyed him as best as she could, “Uh, maybe let’s not.”

“Why can’t I? I’m a member of the student body.”

“Do you usually go to these things?”

“No,” Miguel slowed his words. “But I could now? Maybe she won’t even be there.”

“And if she is? Wouldn’t it seem like you’re stalking her?”

He thinks about the many times he’s lingered around the art building, walked by your favorite spot on campus, and stared at corners of the library that you loved to see if you would be there.

“No?”

“Doubtful.”

“I just need to see her in person.”

GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t stop thinking about whether or not you’ll be at the festival.

If he doesn’t see you, he’ll be disappointed, but the panic clawing at his throat won’t shift to his mind.

If he does see you, he’ll be like a fish out of water. Floundering, lost, and begging his lungs to gain its necessities.

He just hopes that going is the right decision.

GymRat!Miguel who goes to his robotics club meetup the next day.

There’s no competition coming up, but the department wanted to revise a moving metal skeleton for Halloween weekend.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Margo. I feel like it, too.”

She pulled his cheek out and made baby noises out of sympathy before Miguel swatted them away.

“Still no luck with your ex? Or is that joint giving you trouble?” she snickered at his sloppy attempt at connecting moving parts.

“Uh, no and yes.”

Aaron peeked up from his station and looked over like a beaver.

“I-it’s not because of what I said, right?”

Margo made a line with her mouth as if to say 'get a load of this guy'.

“No, Aaron,” Miguel mumbled.

“Yeah, Aaron, stop being nosy and get back to work,” Margo joked.

He snapped his welder’s mask back down like a dork and returned to sawing something, sparks flying past him.

Margo looks down at Miguel’s work.

“Well, I hope you can get her back soon because you need to work on your anatomy. Those bones don’t go together at all.”

He looks to a femur and a humerus connected with the sheer will of his clouded mind.

He missed when you attached sticky notes to his body for practice. The prize for getting the different parts of his body correct being kisses. You would laugh at his mistake but give a peck on the lips anyway. His arms were one of your favorite places to put your star-shaped stickers on, too.

“I didn’t mean for you to get even sadder,” Margo snapped him out of the memory.

“It’s fine. My fault.”

Margo shifted her weight as she started to take apart his mistake, “It’ll get better, Miguel. I’m sure of it.”

GymRat!Miguel who sits across from Tyler at one of the uppity restaurants in town. The lights are dim, as if the people eating here are all hiding from something.

“How’s school?” Tyler asked, clothes still managing to glow despite the one warm lamp above the table. He thanks the waitress for refilling his water glass. “Made any new friends? Connections?”

The age-old awkward feeling of trying to concisely describe his growing adult life was at the top of his mind.

“It’s going well,” was always the easiest answer. Simple and open-ended.

Of course, Tyler took this as a sign to delve further.

“Your mother told me you’re taking up game programming this semester. Do you like the feel of that class?”

An ice cube floated to the top of Miguel’s glass.

“I was enjoying it at first, now I’m sort of ready for it to end.”

Tyler cleared his throat, hand covering the frown on his face.

“Ah, well, some people just like the end result, I suppose,” he refolds a napkin, the reflection from his watch panning across the tablecloth. “What about your girlfriend? How is she? Perhaps, you have some new pieces of her’s to show me. My colleagues love the one in the entryway.”

The waiter placed a filet mignon in front of Miguel and bluefin tuna across from him. Tyler moved to tuck the same napkin into his crisp button down.

“I’m not sure.”

Tyler pauses as a slice of fish dangles from his fork.

Miguel is still cutting into the meat unnecessarily, knife scrapping against the plate.

“Son, this cut of meat is like butter,” Tyler said, taking the knife from him and putting it back on its napkin.

A twitch at the corner of his lips almost aligned with Tyler’s. The man racked his brain for the memories of his first son coming home with a similar expression.

He chewed and swallowed his fish stacked with cucumbers and cilantro.

“As you know, I am not the best when it comes to relationships. Nancy and I have had quite the uphill battle. However, I believe I am well-versed in the field of compromise. Should I reach out to her for you?”

It was a long shot, and by the growing shadows on his son’s face, Tyler suspected that his suggestion was a poor one.

“What will that do? Other than show her that I can’t handle my own problems.”

“Surely, you two can work it out. She was lovely, truly,” Tyler frets, afraid he’s made Miguel even more upset.

He just starts to eat, mind elsewhere.

Tyler wondered if he should have ordered some wine.

“When you found out Nancy cheated on you, what did you do?”

Lemon juice from his dish hit his throat right as he swallowed, a hand banging on his chest as he coughed.

“I, uh,” two gulps of water were taken from the glass Miguel handed him. “Well. The fruit of that labor is in front of me.”

“Obviously,” Miguel’s shoulders dropped and Tyler grimaced again. Curse his silly statements. “I meant, how did you feel? What were your initial thoughts?”

“I remember being angry. Here laid the mother of my only child with a much younger and, honestly, less fortunate man. I thought I was foolish to think that my genuine love or money could keep someone.”

Miguel pushed around an asparagus on his plate, “So there was a betrayal. A pain you couldn’t describe.”

“Exactly. For me, that came afterwards. I’m a prideful man. If one thing does not satisfy me, I simply find something that does.”

“And that thing just happened to be my mother?”

“Ah, if you put it like that, it’s far too harsh,” Tyler fixes a cuff. “Your mother provided me a place of warmth, solitude, and love for a short time. It’s something I’ll never forget. I regret the hurt Nancy and I inflicted on each other, but I don’t regret you.”

Tyler watches and waits for a response. His son shifts in his seat and rolls his neck, eyes never leaving his plate.

“Has she,” Tyler tilts his head, “hurt you this way?”

“No, but I broke her trust.”

“You cheated?”

“Never. But we have a lot to work on.”

Tyler might order some bourbon tonight to drink in place of his son and the mopey demeanor.

“I’m all ears whenever you need me. But if there is as much love between you two as I saw earlier this year, then you’re sure to gain in back. That doesn’t go away.”

Miguel takes a deep breath and Tyler believes that some of the shadows on his face disappear.

The meal continued, and the people around them continued their quiet chatter.

“Could you do me a favor?” Miguel asks as they both clean their plates.

Tyler lights up, “Anything.”

“Don’t tell my mom about this?”

Tyler thinks back to the unpleasant things Conchata had to say about her son’s girlfriend and quietly agrees that it’s for the best of she’s out of the loop.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

GymRat!Miguel who walks up to the festival wearing one of the shirts you gave him for his birthday.

It was an impulsive decision because now that he’s here, he’s wondering if seeing it on him will upset you.

The festival is partially outside and inside, a mix of games, concessions, and small rides for students to enjoy.

He walked under the pumpkin and bat-shaped balloons, and fake smoke from a cauldron moved past him.

It smelled like sour candy apples, and marshmallows. Booths were all around the campus grass. He walked past them slowly, not interested but searching for something.

The turnout was nice for a night when he figured people would be out partying. There were a lot of students walking in and out.

A game caught his eye as he neared the entrance to the student center. It’s a Shoot Out booth with the ducks replaced with black cats and the gun switched to tiny ghost bean bags to match the theme. There’s a giant white bunny with an X for lips, a blue dress, and a bow on its ear.

It’s so you that he couldn’t resist.

The student volunteer told him he had three chances this round to knock out twenty cats for the bunny.

“Everyone’s been gunning for it, but this game is pretty hard!”

Miguel nodded in understanding.

If he focused enough, the bunny could be his.

On his first try, he knocked out thirteen cats, much to the volunteer’s surprise.

“Woah! You’re pretty good! Did you wanna grab anything from this tier?”

There was student association merch and a shirt with the college logo.

Miguel rolled his sleeves up, “No, I’m going to try for the plushie again.”

The second time, he knocked down the last cat with just a few seconds left on the timer.

The girl running the booth smiled with her eyebrows nearly merging to the top of her head in shock.

“I-I guess that means you win the bunny!”

She handed it to him with a lull of awe.

He muttered a quiet thanks and turned towards the doors with fake spiderwebs dangling off them.

There was music, a sign to go to a haunted hallway, and even more tables with food.

He wonders if you would have gotten scared walking through scary attractions with him. You would probably hold his hand as tight as he’s holding the belly of this rabbit.

Scanning the room, he doesn’t catch a glimpse of you anywhere.

Looking down at the little white face in his hands, he started to think he wasted the hour or so he’d been here.

Walking to the table of free cookies, he took a frosted Frankenstein in his hand and bit a bolt off.

He felt like a lost kid as he floated from table to table to stall.

Maybe he should give up. You were probably promoting this event for Jess.

GymRat!Miguel who was finishing off his fifth mummy-in-a-blanket when he saw you leaving the haunted hallway.

The first thing he noticed is the long, blue cardigan falling off your shoulders. The end of it is trailing after you as you run out.

There’s a grin on your face and an air in your steps, something he missed seeing.

The next thing he noticed was that you weren’t wearing your necklace anymore.

Then a hand pulled it up on your shoulders and slid back down your arm.

A guy is standing next to you and laughing as if you’ll give him money for doing so.

He’s tall. He looks like he could be built, too.

It’s like a slap in the face, worse than when you pushed him away.

Looking down, Miguel saw your hand in his, clinging tight. You smile at the guy and reach up to get something out of his hair.

Miguel thinks that there was nothing wrong with his hair. There was nothing to smile about either.

The guy’s hands touch you in places where Miguel has embraced. His fingers were covering the same neck he’d put his head in. His thumbs ran over the apples of your cheeks, the same ones that used to crowd his lips.

You lean into the guy’s chest and say something that he can’t hear.

His stomach makes an angry lurch and he feels that orange being shift to a green one. It’s clawing at him, pulling at his mind.

This wasn’t how today was supposed to end. You weren’t supposed to cling to some random guy. You weren’t supposed to be with someone else.

Miguel turns when he leans down towards you, chest burning. What he didn’t see was not true to him. What he didn’t know was not reality.

GymRat!Miguel stormed out of the building, and images of you happy with someone else faded onto the inside of his eyelids.

The material of his sweater was scratching against his skin as he made his way back to the festival entrance.

Everything was too much. The people were too loud, the lamps were too bright, and the music playing over the speakers sucked.

His nose started to twitch and he wondered why did festival food have so much damn sugar.

Someone nearly hits the ground as he pushes past them, a confused noise hitting the air, but he doesn’t feel inclined to stop.

GymRat!Miguel who almost breaks free from what feels like a harmful joke when Xina spots him.

“Hey!” She ran over to him, leaves crunching against her boots. She’s wearing the varsity jacket he bought her years ago. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah, I,” he stopped when he thought he heard your laugh somewhere deep in the festival. “I’m not feeling too good. Think I’m gonna go back to my dorm.”

“Oh, do you have a fever? The weather did drop out of nowhere,” her hand lifted, fingers twitching like she wanted to see for herself.

She hesitates, scared he’ll blow away.

When her fingers press into his neck, he just wants to cry. It felt like when she caught him crying under the trees on the playground or when he’d show up at his grandma’s house with a chubby face full of tears.

He covers her hand for a second, just one, then pushes it away.

If he talks about it, he’ll break into pieces.

“Here,” he shoved the bunny into her hands. The dress is wrinkled, and the bow is a bit lopsided.

Xina’s eyes grow as sees it. The smile on her lips is familiar, “Thank you. I love it.”

Her mouth opens as if she wants to say more, but Miguel starts first.

“Glad you like it. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, ok. Get back safe, Hare-Hare.”

He heads towards his building empty-handed.

GymRat!Miguel who is in denial.

He’s moved past his brain making up you being at the Halloween festival and was now choosing to believe that it was a friend.

The tiny Gabriel on his shoulder was telling him that you had moved on. You had a new boyfriend, so he needed to move on as well—or stop moping about you.

He was choosing to ignore him for now.

It’s been another week since he saw you. Thanksgiving was on its way and he hasn’t been focused in a single class.

At a time when he really needed Tempest to update him, she told him to step back and recenter himself. Something about him not being level-headed.

He didn’t care.

The point of no return was truly here as he stood in front of the elevator in the art building.

A bag of food was sweating in his palm, and the two drinks were seeping into his hoodie, but he would regret it forever if he didn’t try talking to you again before the semester was over.

He’s doing something he told himself he wouldn’t do, but he couldn’t help that he still knew your schedule by heart. Taking a chance on you sticking around for studio hours was all that he had.

GymRat!Miguel who got to the right floor and was happy to see a student leaving the room.

The lights in the hallway were still on and music came from down the hall.

Miguel walked down, peering in every door, leaving once he couldn’t see you or when the people inside gave him weird looks.

GymRat!Miguel who walks into the last studio in the hallway with quiet steps.

Your canvas is almost bigger than you, the top of it covering you as you moved your brush across it.

You had headphones on, star molds stuck on the sides of them.

Miguel sat the food down on the table, moving like a stealthy agent.

Your sleeves were rolled up to your elbows, yet paint was still on them despite your efforts. You looked tired, but god, you were still overwhelmingly gorgeous to him.

He stepped closer. Slowly, step by step, coming into your peripheral.

“Why are you here?”

Miguel paused mid-walk, face like a puppy who got caught.

He should have thought this through more.

“I wanted to see you,” he holds his hands before him. It’s not making him any smaller, but it brings a slight comfort. “Brought some food.”

“’M not hungry.”

An apology is his first instinct, but the sound of your stomach growling speaks for him.

You refuse to look at him, face warm.

“It’s your favorite. Come eat, please.”

Taking off your headphones, you sighed.

“Fine.”

GymRat!Miguel who has to pinch himself to stop staring at you.

You weren’t just tired, you were exhausted. Your eyes drooped as you bit into your fries, and your movements were sluggish.

You didn’t ask for his extra sauce like you usually did. You didn’t even try to steal his fries.

“How have you been?” he asks instead of digging himself further into the sad hole of his heart.

Your eyes flick at him over your glasses and back to your food.

“Really, Miguel?”

“Y-yes? I’m always wondering how you are.”

“Then you should know how I’ve been already, then.”

Miguel faltered.

“You’re not very subtle, you know? I could see you pacing back and forth around campus.”

“Oh,” he slurped his drink nervously.

“And I saw you at the festival, too.”

He almost punctured the styrofoam in his hand.

“So, you’ve been fine is what you’re telling me. I’m gla-” he choked on the words. “I see you’ve…met someone.”

“He was just a friend. You could have said ‘hi’ then, if you really wanted to speak with me.”

“Didn’t look like a friend,” left Miguel’s mouth before he could stop it.

You hummed, eyebrows raised, and a click sound from your teeth. “Oh, but now do you see how that feels?” You started to untie your apron.

“I didn’t mean for that to come out in that way. I came here to just talk.”

“About what? How you didn’t actually cheat on me? How you didn’t mean for any of this to happen? How you’re sorry you got caught?”

He bit his tongue.

That was almost what he wanted to say.

“About us,” he said as you rolled your eyes. “I still love you, and it’s killing me not to be with you. This is as plain and simple as I can say it. I’ll say it over and over and over again until you hear me.”

“Miguel,” your voice puffed out, weary and broken, “you cheated on me with your best friend and now you’re here trying to spin this and pull me back. I-I have dignity. As much as I want to pretend like what’s been happening this semester is meaningless, I can’t.”

“And I’m telling you that I would never do that you. Not in a million years, not in this lifetime, would I ever purposely hurt you in that way. Baby, please. Listen to me!”

“I see the way you are with her,” your words fall after his. “I remember the texts. There is something there. I don’t know if I can compete with that and I’m not trying to. So, if you want to be with her, then do that, but leave me out of it.”

Miguel is quick to grab your hands as you try to turn away, “Fine. There is something there.”

You try to yank yourself from him again, the pain from October 13th filling you again, but his hands are faster this time.

“There’s a girl who used to threaten to beat me up if I didn’t defend myself against bullies. There’s a girl who used to trade collectible cards with me in secret because her parents didn’t allow her to obsess over junk, and the girls at school thought it was lame. There’s a trust built long over a decade that has been broken. I do care about her, as I would do with any friend, but you have to understand that I care about you, too.”

“Then why didn’t you show that?” you whispered, tears leaving your eyes. “It felt humiliating, Miguel. That night, I felt disgusting. Like you were just throwing me away. I kept thinking that you lied to me about everything, that you were indulging in something that you never really wanted.”

Miguel reached to hold your face, thumbs sliding your tears away, heart breaking.

“Lo siento, amor. Hm?” he wanted to take your pain away and place it onto himself if it meant that you didn’t talk like this. “It’s not true. What we have created is not some trial run. I love you so deeply, that I was going insane. Knowing that you thought otherwise is painful to hear. The buildup to that night is a misunderstanding. You have to know that.”

You take a breath, “How could I know?”

Miguel stared at your face and thought the same.

He’s been yelling trust, trust, trust and when he thinks back to your few interactions with Xina, it clicks that you truly had no foundation to trust.

“If I had just been better, you would have known.”

Like you said, Xina had walked all over him.

“So what now?” you asked, and pull your sweater over your fingers.

Miguel blinked, “I was hoping to start over? Restart?”

“I can’t,” you said immediately and Miguel tensed. “You entering my life has given me far more ups than downs, but when those downs come, they can be brutal.”

“So, you don’t want me to be your boyfriend, again?”

You shake your head and he felt like it was his turn to cry.

“I want action. Show me that something like this won’t happen again. We can sit here and tell each other promises until we’re blue in the face, but what do those promises mean if one person or thing can ruin it.”

“I’ll do that. I’ll do anything.”

You brush his hair back and wrap his arms around your waist to settle in this feeling. Your thumbs traveled from his hairline to curves of his ears down to his jaw. They rub circles into his skin, slow and rhythmic.

“Have you talked with Xina? Has she confessed to what you’re telling me she has done?”

He shakes his head softly, afraid to break the scene.

You laugh, small and quiet, then unwrap his arms from around you. You go back to your canvas and start to scrape at the glass of the taboret. Miguel was so in a trance, that almost didn’t notice the switch.

“I’m going to talk with her,” Miguel stated across the room.

You wave a hand in the air, unmoved.

He followed you as you go to the mineral spirits bucket to soak your brushes.

“Baby-“

“As far as I’m concerned, you shouldn’t talk to me until whatever you two have going on is fixed. Don’t know who 'baby' is.”

You walk to the sink and turn the water on. Miguel was right behind you and grabbing the dish soap before you can.

“And I will talk to her,” Miguel sayid. You reach for the soap and he holds it out of your reach, petulant. “Baby.”

You give him an irritated look and pinch his neck. He makes a hurt noise and gives you the jug.

“Action. Miguel.”

GymRat!Miguel who waited until you’ve packed everything up.

He didn’t mean for this to turn into him teasing you, but he couldn’t help it. He was getting his fill while he still could.

“At least let me walk you back to your dorm,” Miguel sayid, picking up the wet paper towels you’ve been throwing at him.

“No, thanks. I have a date. I don’t need you changing up my energy.”

Miguel’s smile dropped.

“You do?”

“His name starts with an R, ends with an E. He’s super sweet. Sturdy.”

Reese? Reggie? Raye? Ronnie?

“I see,” Miguel’s heart plummets. “Your friend wasn’t just that.”

“Mm-hm. We’re still testing the waters, but I don’t think he’ll disappoint me.”

Miguel didn’t know what to say. He was nothing but bold, though.

“Who’s to say that…guy won’t hurt you?”

Who’s to say that he would treat you better than Miguel?

You pull the straps of your back over your shoulders and Miguel wants to hold it for you.

A snicker leaves you, “Because he’s made of plastic and is designed of pleasure.”

“Oh.”

“Bye. Enjoy your Thanksgiving.”

Miguel stood and watched you go, wondering if this was progress.

GymRat!Miguel whose bedroom was filled with the chatter of his friends once more.

Friendsgiving was always fun.

GymRat!Miguel who thinks that Lyla is a terrible teammate.

“You’ve got be doing this on purpose,” Miguel groaned as Lyla’s Yoshi pumps the pedal incorrectly.

“I don’t know what you’s talking about!” Her giggles float across the room as saw Miguel get more and more frustrated.

Winston and Tempest were laser-focused, their Monty Mole and Peach following a stead 1-2 rhythm to get their cart across the track.

“Lyla!” Miguel yells as her Yoshi stumbles back. “You’re selling me. You want me to lose.”

The mini-game ends with Tempest and Winston high-fiving each other and Miguel yelling at Bowser to pick his head up.

GymRat!Miguel who laughed as he watched Winston reenact his band director, nearly breaking his neck.

“I’ve never seen a bald man somersault on grass until that day.”

GymRat!Miguel who, full off of food and peach cobbler that Tempest made, stared at the bag of gummies that she placed in the middle of their huddle.

“We can just try this tonight. We’re safe with each other,” Tempest whispered.

“You guys are horrible role models,” Miguel said.

“I don’t know. That blue one is speaking to me. It reminds me of Scooby Doo,” Winston mumbled.

Lyla motioned across one, “Maybe we can cut it in half.”

“That defeats the purpose though. These barely have anything in them,” Tempest complained.

“Says you,” Miguel quipped. “You just called me about a cherry bong the other night.”

“Ok, but wasn’t it cute?”

GymRat!Miguel who nearly jumped out his skin when his door slams open.

Everyone except him shoves their gummy in their mouth with lightening speed. Miguel just holds his awkwardly as he turns to see him mom standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, ma?” he says. He chose to ignore Winston who is over exaggerating, lips smacking.

“Mijo! I have a surprise for you guys!”

GymRat!Miguel who sat awkwardly on his rug, running his wrapped gummy in his palm.

Lyla was practically in Tempest’s lap, tapping at her phone. Tempest is looking around their circle expectantly.

Winston started tapping a fast beat on his arm.

Miguel is looking everywhere except in front of him where Xina was sitting with her chin tucked into her knees.

“It’s good to see you again,” Winston said, forever the peacemaker.

Xina relaxed a bit, “You guys, too. I’ve missed this.”

Miguel saw Tempest softening up a bit at Xina’s words.

“When is stuff gonna hit?” Lyla barks out to which Tempest elbows her.

Xina cleared her throat, “Actually can we talk, Miguel?”

“Yeah, shoot.”

Xina looked around them, “Alone?”

GymRat!Miguel who was standing across from Xina in the office-turned-bedroom that his parents barely used.

“Did my mom invite you?” Miguel asked.

“Actually, Tempest did.”

Miguel raises his eyebrows and nods. He didn’t expect that but he’s not mad at it.

Xina was antsy, arms hiding themselves in the sleeves folded across her body. Miguel stayed quiet.

“So, things between us haven’t been exactly smooth sailing lately.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Miguel looked down at the shark slippers you bought him last year.

“And I have some things that I want to explain to you.”

Miguel raised his eyes expectantly. Xina was mirroring his posture, but her face looked uncomfortable, conflicted.

Her eyes flicker over his before she covered her face and huffs, “这太难了.” (This is so hard.)

“What’s hard?” Miguel asks, pulling together the few times Xina taught him anything. He sat down, hoping it would relax her more.

Her hands drop as she blinks at the ceiling, “Everything. When it comes to you, everything just gets overwhelming.”

“As in?”

She looked at him in disbelief, “As in I’m doing silly shit, again.”

A pause in her words comes as they hear laughter from down the hall.

“Last year was so surreal. I did everything right. My mailbox was full of acceptance letters. My mom finally genuinely smiled at me for the first time in what felt like years. I moved so far away from my parents that I felt like that string that kept me attached to them had broken. I had fun. I went to my first party and got so drunk that when I woke up, I was on the porch of a frat. I made friends who could relate to me more than anyone else. I made acquaintances who could have never gotten into that school without their parents painting the campus with money. Still, I worked my ass off and got kicked out because one of them hid drugs under my seat.”

Miguel’s breath hitched, but Xina continued.

“It was my word against kids whose parents could have the school shut down within minutes. My dad was so angry at me that he pretended like I wasn’t in his home. And my mom just,” her leg started to bounce. “She helped me pack up some things and sent me to go live with my aunt for the summer. It wasn’t until she dropped me off at the airport that whispered to me that she loved me. That she was proud of me. That it was ok to make mistakes.”

“I cried like a baby for half of the flight. And it wasn’t until I got to customs that I realized that I should have called you. You always knew what to tell me no matter what the situation was and I just disappeared. Everything came back tenfold and I missed you so much. So when I saw you again, it was like I fell back into my old habits. I thought ‘I’m finally going to do it!’ but would chicken out and relieve that stress. I was kind of hoping that my tipsy self would have more confidence.”

“Because a drunk tongue speaks a sober mind?” Miguel hummed.

Xina finally laughed, “Are you 40 or something? Yeah. Exactly.”

Miguel blinked and looked up at her, “So tell me what your sober mind wants to say, Xina.”

Xina’s eyes lowered, “That I. I feel like I lose myself when I’m around you. It’s why I acted the way I did. It’s why I overstepped.”

His heart picked up as he registered her words.

“I like you so much, Miguel. More than I can bear. More than I’d like to admit. More than a friend.”

dividers by: @adornedwithlight 🩵

a/n: Please don't be mad at me. 😵‍💫 Also please watch your tone in the comments. 🤠 Be very mindful, very demure.

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#love lab drabbles 💊#GymRat!Miguel 💪🏾#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara #x chubby reader #x plus size reader #miguel o’hara x plus size reader #miguel o’hara x chubby reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x plussize!reader #miguel o'hara x chubby!reader #x fem reader

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secretly-a-polar-bear · 3 months ago

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Oh boy time for a recipe that’ll probably be thrown into the forgotten depths

Chocolate lemon cupcakes

Chocolate cupcakes

* 1 cup (130g) all-purpose flour

* 1 cup (207g) sugar

* 6 tbsp (43g) unsweetened cocoa powder

* 1 tsp baking soda

* 1/2 tsp salt

* 1 large egg

* 1/2 cup (120ml) buttermilk

* 1/2 cup (120ml) vegetable oil (I used a majority of olive oil and used about 1/4 cup vegetable oil, I didn’t specify any better because fuck you and I don’t wanna)

* 1 tsp vanilla extract

* 1cup (120ml) hot coffee

Lemon Curd:

* 4 large eggs

* 1 cup granulated sugar

* 1/2 cup lemon juice fresh squeezed, from one large lemon

* 1 Tbsp lemon zest from one large lemon

* 6 Tbsp unsalted butter cubed

Frosting

* 1 cup (240 ml) heavy cream, cold

* 2 tablespoons (16 g) powdered sugar

* 1 teaspoon (3 g) cornstarch

* 1 teaspoon (2.5 ml) vanilla extract

For the cupcakes

1. Preheat oven to 300°F (148°C) and prepare a cupcake pan with liners. 

2. Add the flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking soda and salt to a large mixing bowl and combine. Set aside.

3. Add the egg, milk, vegetable oil and vanilla extract to another medium sized bowl and whisk together to combine.

4. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and mix until well combined.

5. Add the water to the batter and mix until well combined. The batter will be very thin.

6. Fill the cupcake liners about half way and bake for 18-23 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out with a few moist crumbs. (I have a shitty oven so I added ten more minutes to the bake time after I checked if it was fully cooked, just start off with 5 minute increments, if you want to be more cautious)  

7. Remove the cupcakes from oven and allow to cool for 2 minutes, then remove to a cooling rack to finish cooling.

Lemon Curd:

* Place eggs and sugar into a small pot, whisk to combine. Add lemon juice, zest, and butter. Cook over medium-low heat whisking constantly until mixture thickens and coats the back of a spoon. 

* Transfer to a glass bowl and lay plastic wrap directly on the surface to prevent a skin from forming. Chill for 1 hours to almost set.  

Frosting

1. Chill the Bowl and Whisk: Begin by chilling your mixing bowl and whisk (or whisk attachment) in the freezer for at least 15 minutes. This helps the cream whip up faster and increases volume.

2. Combine Dry Ingredients: Mix powdered sugar and cornstarch in a small bowl. This ensures even distribution of the cornstarch in the whipped cream.

3. Whip the Cream: Pour the cold heavy cream into the chilled bowl. Using an electric mixer, start whipping the cream at a low speed, gradually increasing to medium-high as it thickens.

4. Add Sugar and Cornstarch: Once the cream starts forming soft peaks, gradually add the sugar and cornstarch mixture, continuing to whip.

5. Add Vanilla Extract: As the mixture thickens to stiff peaks, add the vanilla extract and continue to whip until well incorporated and the cream holds stiff peaks. (Probably make the frosting after the cupcakes have fully set)

Assembly

1. Remove the core of the cupcakes with a knife or a cupcake corer, you need a hole

2. Put almost solid curd in the center of the cupcakes, preferably with a piping tip.

3. Let curd set fully in the cupcakes for 1 hour more

4. Pipe on frosting, and serve

**note that this is posted on the same day is was baked, I can’t say how well the whipped cream frosting will hold up.

**a large cookie scoop helps with filling the cupcake liners. I used 2 scoops of the largest one I had

**normally you’re supposed to fluff your flour, but I was worried it would be too liquidy so I just scooped the flour from the container, like a heathen.

** I know I should half the recipe for the lemon curd, because there was a little left and it was overflowing out of the cupcakes a little, but it could be the fact the cupcake holes weren’t big enough. It wasn’t that much plus, you could mix the cake that’s left over from the removal of the middles with it, so idk.

I suppose I should put a useless story like all other blogs.

It was my possible step brother’s birthday and there was a mix up with the 2 cakes. Instead of chocolate raspberry and vanilla lemon cake, the bakery mixed up the flavors and reversed it. And me being weird I kinda liked it. So here’s a recipe that basically makes that cake. Why are these so long? Like that story was simple and easy. You could easily just say “my mom made this a lot when I was a kid.” Like I’m pretty good at writing a whole essay about something that doesn’t matter, evidence and an explanation, everything you could need. Would anyone even read this? It’s a recipe on tumblr, if I posted this on Pinterest maybe but even then most people I know don’t like citrus and chocolate. I offered some cupcakes to my grandma but I actively left out that the custard is lemon flavored, because I knew she’d make a virtual face at it. I want to show my creations but I can’t do that when no one is willing to try it. My mom was easy to convince because sugar. This is long because that’s the whole joke, for this whole piece about a simple story to be far too long when people just want the recipe. Would this bit even work? It’s all at the end, not at the beginning like every other blog does but I understand how frustrating that shit is. And like since I’m dragging it out it’ll only be more of a nuisance to the people wanting to see the recipe. Should I just half the lemon curd recipe? Do people even read the notes about the recipe? I sure don’t also. I also should’ve put proportions sizes but I don’t wanna put effort in remembering or counting. 8+6+1…. Uhhhh 15 cupcakes that I made. How likely is it that government secrets are put in these long bullshit paragraphs? I hope I get some criticism on this recipe there was a fair amount of research and rewriting. I forgot the name for cupcake liners btw, I had to ask my mom what they were called so that was a little awkward because I was making some more notes on the recipe while doing so. I wonder how I’m going to transport those cupcakes, I mean my grandma’s house isn’t that far of a walk but also it’s kinda hot and I don’t have any boxes also it’s night. Is this paragraph long enough that the joke gets hammered in? I don’t think it’s long enough but I could be wrong, I suppose I should write some more nonsense to add to the word count. Anbdndjdjelskxnjskwjsjzjksnsbsjkwksbhsjsksnsbsjkwndnzjsknwnsjsksks. Space. Ajkdndjoelndkkpl high ndkskskskndjjdksksnnsjsk. I got my cats some new toys recently, they’re touch activated and they make noises and move around. Of course I think they primarily like them because of the cat nip. I think I’m going to stop writing this, I’m getting bored and I don’t have much to say rn.………………………………………………………………………………………… I hope I don’t explode after this…………………………………….. my phone is spacing out this out weirdly, idk what that’s about…………………………………………………………………..do you think aliens are real?………………………………………are ghosts real?……………………………………………………………………. How do food bloggers end these anyways? I’ve never read the paragraphs but they have to at some point, right? ……………………………………………………………………..I think half the reason why food bloggers have such long paragraphs is because we’re encouraged to make a whole essay whenever we’re writing something. I know I am…………………………I’m probably wrong……………………. It probably forces more ads onto the screen at once………………….aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…………… I know it doesn’t matter but I wonder how the tumblr algorithm works, like do they prefer to show longer or shorter posts? Of course it could be our decreasing attention spans. I like spam, it’s not that bad, of course I’m probably a couple of sprinkles of salt away from death……………..I’m tired……………………… I think it’s time to stop typing, I think my space button is starting to die.

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kteezy997 · 1 year ago

Text

The Candy Man- Part Four// W.W.

Warnings/Info: cursing, fluff, lots of Wonka whimsy, Willy liking pregnancy boobs

It worked. Everything went according to plan, and your husband has no reason to believe that he wasn’t the father of your baby.

With time, your belly started to grow more and more, and luckily, so did Willy’s chocolate sales.

You were about four months along in your pregnancy when Willy gave you the news that he had bought the chocolate shoppe. He was beaming with glee and you were overjoyed for him. You wanted to help him, so you said, “How about I come and work for you?”

“Oh, no no, no heavy lifting for you, or being on your feet for hours.” he said firmly as he caressed your belly.

“Not even just as the cashier, Willy? I haven’t had a job in years since I’ve been a wife. I’d love to get back out into the world again. And be with you, of course. I’ll keep a stool nearby to sit in if I get tired, if that would make you feel better.”

Willy sighed, then he grinned at you, “Okay, you can work the register. I know that I can count on you. You did promise to help run the business side of things.” He took your hands in his, “Things are happening, y/n. I’ve saved enough money to not only to but the shoppe, but also to rent an apartment nearby. I know it won’t be as spacious and comfortable as what you’re used to, but this is just the beginning. I want you to live with me. And if things keep going the way they have been, you’ll be living like a Queen, and our baby will be the prince or princess of the Wonka chocolate empire.” Willy had put his forehead on yours.

"Oh, Willy, you have already made me the happiest woman in the world. I just know that you-that we will have everything we dream of, I'm happy to work hard, and to be with you and our child."

You and Willy were so absorbed in one another and your daydreaming, that you didn't even hear the front door of your home open.

"What. The. Fuck?" it was your husband, home early and unexpectedly from work.

You and Willy looked over at Mr. Hudson, both in shock. You didn’t know what to say.

“John, how-"

“What a fine day this is, huh? I come home with a sniffle to find my wife with the fucking…chocolate salesman?”

“John, it’s, it’s not what you-well it is actually…”

“That’s it, y/n! Tell me what the hell is going on here.” he yelled, approaching you, towering over you with his height, and actively trying to intimidate you. This was the side of him only you saw.

“John,” you trembled, “this baby isn’t yours, it’s his. I’m in love with him.”

“Ha, well you can go ahead and be in love in the streets for all I care. Get your clothes and get the hell out of my house.”

You were scared, not necessarily of John, but to leave the only home you knew. You were glad that John didn’t say or do anything to Willy.

Willy was with you as you packed, and he held your hand on the way out of the house. You thought that maybe it was a good thing that this has happened now, rather than drag it out any further.

“Alright well, let’s go check out that apartment.” Willy said in his cheery voice to help make you feel better. You knew that you were going to be happy with this man, no matter what.

You were able to close on an apartment that day, well, Willy was, as you didn’t have an income yet. But that soon changed as you went to work together in the chocolate shoppe. Within days of opening, you were making good money.

You balanced the cash drawers, and the accounting books as Willy worked hard on his sweet creations. The candy he made was as tasty as ever, and the shoppe was an absolute dream. Hoverchocs, giraffe milk macaroons, edible flowers, and lollipops as far as the eye could see. It was a whimsical, colorful, joy to behold, with a giant winding cherry tree in the middle of the shoppe. There were pink cotton Candy clouds that you could climb upon, you and Willy would sit on them and have some chocolate milk, and then eat the tea cups.

It was the most fun you’d ever had in your life. It also felt amazing to help build something from essentially nothing, and to be creative with him.

Even at home, Willy would be inventing new flavors and trying new techniques and asking for your input of course.

...........

As you went into the later months of your pregnancy, you and Willy were able to buy a house. It was no mansion, but it was big enough to accommodate a young couple and their new baby, and maybe another child down the road.

You would be at the shoppe all day, resting adequately, of course. Willy eventually gave you an office in the back room to do your accounting work, which was good for you as you were heavily pregnant, but you started to miss being out front with customers. But you knew that once the baby arrived, things would be back to normal soon.

In the evenings, your tired Willy would rest his head on your big, basketball-sized belly and sing to our unborn baby. "Come with me, and you'll be in a woorrld of pure imagination." His voice was like that of an angel, soft and soothing. You could tell that your baby was relaxed by their father's voice, because he would lull you to sleep with his sweet lullabies after a long day in the office.

You started to set up the nursery together, and it was of course candy themed, much like your chocolate shoppe. Willy had lollipop raddles and candy cane-shaped teething rings made for the baby, among lots of other colorful accessories that resembled the sweet treats that were sold in the shoppe.

Above the baby's crib was a mobile made special by Willy, they were smaller versions of the pink cotton candy clouds that hung in the shoppe. Everything was absolutely adorable, and it made your heart swell with happiness.

After looking around the baby's room, you hugged your chocolatier, "Oh Willy, I'm so happy." you nuzzled against his shirt collar as he hugged you tightly. "I can't wait to meet our baby."

"Me either, my darling." he said, kissing you on the head, and then looked at you, "But I have to say that I'll miss your boobs being so big." He then eyed the large mounds on your chest.

You laughed, "You are a typical man, Willy Wonka. You can still use them as pillows after I have the baby."

"I know, but they're just so squishy right now-" he gently cupped your breasts through your shirt, "like marshmallows, or pudding."

"Okay, okay, you better stop before you get too excited, Willy." you giggled, kissing him.

Everything in your new home came together so beautifully, and your tried to enjoy it as much as possible, even though you were incredibly tired, and your body was swollen from head to toe. Your belly had grown much bigger than you ever would have expected.

Willy was wonderful during your whole pregnancy, but he was especially attentive to you in the last month. He would make you dinner after work, and no matter how tired he might have been, he never let on to his exhaustion. He would even massage your feet before bed. His sweetness and generosity never wavered.

.......

The day finally came: the day that you and Willy became parents. He was by your side throughout the entire birthing process, encouraging you and thanking you for giving him a child. He told you he loved you over and over, and wiped the sweat off of your forehead.

Your midwife was stunned after you had your baby, because she noticed another baby coming.

A/n: I hope you all are having a great Christmas season and have a safe and happy new year! The next chapter should be better than this one. lol

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @bitchyunknownuser @lixzey

#timothée chalamet #timmy chalamet #timothee x reader #timothée imagine #timothee chalamet smut #willy wonka x reader #wonka #willy wonka

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receedingdawn · 4 months ago

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Cookies And Acrylic

Pairing: Logan x Reader

Summary: When anxiety keeps the art teacher awake at night, she comforts herself with late-night shenanigans and a surprise guest.

Warnings: OOC for Logan (Sorry he can be IMPOSSIBLE to write for but I love him dearly, fluff, pining

Word Count: 2k+

A/N: I'm so sorry I wrote this at like 1 am because I could not sleep, very fitting for this one shot though... Also unedited because I didn't feel like it!

Read on AO3

Groaning as you twisted and turned in bed, you rolled over to check the time. It was one of those nights where no matter how hard you tried to lift into that blissful rest you so desperately craved, it never came. A pitiful sound escaped you as the clock read two in the morning, too late to have a good night's rest, yet too early to be up. Rolling back over, you contemplated your next actions for a few seconds. Sleep never came easy, especially during the nights that you were kept up with anxiety.

When asked to help out at Charles’ school for the gifted, you instantly agreed. You knew how the rest treated mutants of the world, you practically leaped at the opportunity to help out. It was a harsh world they were born into, and you made it your goal to help as many out as you could. How much stress the job would give didn’t dawn on you when you started. Nights like this where you lay awake, your mind stuck on the endless probabilities of the children being hurt while in your care. You knew the rest of the team would be there to help if anything happened, but anxiety doesn’t always need a reason to happen. It just does.

Deciding to walk around the building to calm yourself, you got out of bed with a sigh. You changed your sleep shorts into flannel pajama pants in fear of a student discovering you wandering around the school in the middle of the night. The last thing you wanted to do was accidentally traumatize a student with their half-naked teacher roaming the halls in the early hours of the morning. Sliding your feet into a pair of slippers, you made your way out of the room to begin your adventure around the perimeters.

It was incredibly calm with the habitants of the house fast asleep, keeping the building at an eerily quiet tone as you wandered the rooms. You padded to the kitchen, in search of a glass of water and maybe a late-night snack. At this point, would it be considered an early morning snack? You didn’t care enough, all you knew was that a secret tin of baked goods was calling your name. Ororo had been into town a few days before, stopping at a bakery on the way home. She had selflessly bought a pack of assorted goods for her fellow teachers on the way home, hiding them in the back of the pantry as to ward off sneaky students.

Taking a simple chocolate chip cookie out, you decided that instead of water, of course, you needed milk with it. Even though you were well into adulthood, no single person could be too old for the comforting taste. You grabbed a random mug from the cabinet, pouring yourself a glass before sitting down at the kitchen table in silence.

Holy shit.

Ororo wasn’t lying when she said the bakery was the best she had ever been too. It had been a few days since she brought them home, yet the taste could still bring tears to your eyes. You had no idea such a regular-looking cookie could be borderline orgasmic.

“Am I interrupting something?” The rough voice awoke you from the temporary trance the heavenly treat had you in. Your eyes snapped to the dark doorway of the kitchen, noticing the gruff man. Logan was leaning on the side of the frame, his arms crossed while his eyebrow was cocked playfully. You chuckled to yourself for a moment, realizing the absurd position the man had caught you in.

“You might be, I was having some sweet alone time with the newfound love of my life,” you giggled, pointing to the half-eaten cookie. Logan rolled his eyes as he sauntered into the kitchen, making his way to the pantry. He opened up that tin you had just been in, grabbing himself a helping. Shooting a look in your direction, he held up the cookie as if wordlessly saying “It better be good” before taking a bite.

“Holy fuck, what the hell did they put in here?” The man let out in the middle of chewing, his voice muffled by the crumbs. You stared at him for a second before bursting out into laughter at his unusual response. Logan was always one for seriousness, you had never seen this side of him before. The severe nature of the man never bothered you, it drew you in. He fascinated you with his witty remarks and lack of social interaction with the others. Logan was an outcast in a place where no such thing existed, and you had always wanted to figure him out. Jean would call you out on those thoughts, saying it was a crush, but the word made you feel like a school girl following around her boy of the week.

“I think Ororo said there was a sign in the shop that said Made with EXTRA love, but I honestly think it might be drugs.” You said after finally getting a hold of your laughter, causing the man to crack a slight grin. God, if you could take a picture there and frame it, you would. He never smiled, he smirked, but never a true smile.

“Definitely drugs,” Logan remarked, finishing the last of his cookie. He wiped the excess crumbs off his hands and rolled up his sleeves to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. You did your best to not make it obvious you were staring at the veins in his arms as he lathered them up.

“What are you doing up?” You asked him, forcing yourself to think about something other than his well-built body. The man quickly dried his hands before facing you again, “Couldn’t sleep.” There was the Logan you knew best, the one who gave short answers with little to no context. You cocked a brow at him, telling him that answer wasn’t good enough.

“Nightmares,” He let up after a few moments, finally giving you an answer. Shooting him an understanding look, you got up to clean your mug and throw away the napkin your snack had been on.

“I get it, between my nightmares and anxiety I rarely ever sleep.” You responded, voice low with the admittance. The man nodded in understanding, knowing exactly what you meant. He was well acquainted with the nightly battles one who had been through the events either of you had been though fought every night. Logan was surprised to feel he felt bad for you, even though the admission wasn’t a surprise to him. Most who lived at the mansion had some sort of trauma to get through and lived with the reminders of it each day. He was more surprised that it didn’t cross his mind you struggled with it. You were a light in the mansion, both students and other teachers adoring you. It was completely understandable, in a world of chaos and unknowns you were a beacon to everyone. Your kindness and warmth radiated to all those who were in your vicinity, and they did not take it for granted.

“I’m in the same boat princess,” Logan said, moving himself away from the sink to give you room to clean the dirty dish. You both sat there while you scrubbed, the sound of the faucet filling up the silence. He just stood there, watching you as you worked. It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling, it almost felt as if he was studying you.

“Are you going back to bed?” You asked after putting the now clean and dry mug back into the cabinet. Shaking his head no, Logan made his way to the hallway to go back to whatever he was doing before interrupting you. You called out after him before he left, causing him to turn around.

“Have you ever painted?”

In the over a millennium he had been alive, Logan Howlett never thought he would be caught dead with a paintbrush in his hand. He had no idea why he agreed to a painting lesson in the early hours of the morning. Logan knew everyone at the school was equally obsessed with you, which resulted in him usually keeping his distance. He knew you were a gorgeous and kind individual, but he never caved to his urge to get to know you.

“You’re psyching yourself out, it’s written all over your face, Lo.” His gaze snapped from the small tool to you in an instant. You had never called him by a nickname before, and the way it rolled off your tongue sounded like music to him. He gripped the paintbrush with such a force you had never seen before, causing you to almost let out a giggle. Sitting on your bed, cross-legged, with a brush in his hand, he looked extremely out of place. A man with hands the size of his had no business being even close to a paintbrush, let alone using one. The jeans and white tank top he practically had glued onto his body at all times had no business being on your bed, but he had no complaints if it meant he got to spend a few moments with you.

“Just follow my lead, okay?” How could he follow your lead when you worked so meticulously? The man just stared at you as you worked, your talented hand shaping out a small tree on the canvas. He stared for a few moments, coming to the realization he could watch you for hours and not get bored. Didn’t people say watching paint dry was excruciatingly dull?

“You’re worse than my students,” you joked, noticing the lack of paint on his canvas.

“None of your students have metal for bones, it makes it harder,” You both knew Logan was just coming up with excuses to get away with his little creative talent.

“I have a boy in one of my classes who had feet for hands, you’re pulling things out of your ass Logan.” He was caught there.

“Enough, just help me.” His hazel eyes shined playfully, holding out his hand to help him again. You rolled yours back in response, leaning over to help him. Taking a hold of his hand, you guided his movements on the canvas. Your breath caught as you felt how strong Logan felt under you, despite him letting you be in control.

You couldn’t help but feel that it was almost domestic, the two of you sitting on your bed in silence while participating in your favorite activity. No answer as to why he would agree to this came into your head, but you weren’t mad.

“Alright Edward Scissorhands, your turn to try by yourself. You can be a big boy and do it yourself, can’t you?” Teasing him, you went back to your work. It was a simple scene of the courtyard out back, showing off the gorgeous greens of the trees. Logan couldn’t help himself but watch you, continuously messing up his own work in the meantime. After finishing yours, you looked up, noticing the mess left on the man's canvas.

“I tried,” He shrugged his shoulders in embarrassment.

“I know you did,” Your genuine response took him by surprise. Logan assumed you were going to have some cute quip to respond with, but this one was different. Not everyone was cut out for making art, but he had tried. Never in a million years would anyone who knew Logan would think he would even think about partaking in a hobby. Yet here he was, getting out of his comfort zone (while multitasking and checking you out).

You helped him finish his painting to the best of your ability, yet it came out comparable to Charlie Brown’s old Christmas Tree. Logan knew he had no creative bone in his body, but boy did he try his best. You joked that his finished product was similar to Charles’ old burnt tree in the courtyard, and he chuckled in response. He signed his initials at the bottom and dated it as well. You started to pack up the supplies while Logan helped clean off brushes.

“I’m keeping this,” You held up his work while grinning, He groaned in embarrassment at the thought of others coming into your room and wondering what the abomination was.

“Jesus Christ,” Running his hand through his hair, Logan gave you a pointed look. There was no way in hell you wanted to keep his god-awful creation to yourself.

“Listen, in fifty or so years I can sell this for crazy money. A painting made by The Wolverine himself, you could make me rich Lo!” There was that nickname again, and it suddenly made him okay with you taking it.

“So you’re just using me,” He muttered sarcastically, causing you to giggle in response. You handed him your painting as a consolation for your gold digger behavior. Logan would not admit how taken away he was by the action, instead he just stared at you again. You looked back at him curiously, wondering where his words went. He genuinely had no words, it had been a while since someone gave him a gift, even if you wouldn’t consider it.

“Thanks for hanging out with me,” you had just given Logan a masterpiece and that was all you had to say about it? It annoyed him how sweet you were, and he knew this was going to become a problem for him.

“Despite the looks of it, I did have fun. Thanks for making the night bearable, princess.” You both got up, giving each other one last look. In a moment of courage, you stood up on your toes and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you, I needed this,” you responded after lowering yourself back down. Logan noticed you blushing at the peck, which almost made him chuckle. Closing the door behind him, you made your way back to bed, hoping you could get at least a few hours before the next day came.

Logan made his way back to his room, studying every paint stroke of yours as he did so. He had never been interested in the arts before and was now obsessing over what he thought to be the second most beautiful thing he had seen in his life. The man concluded that you were the first. He decided to place it on the small table next to his bed, the piece standing out in his sparsely decorated room. Before setting it down, Logan looked at the back of the painting to see the words To: Lo written on it.

Let me know if you guys liked this or not, I don't know how I feel about the ending tbh... To my friend that I admitted to in a Canes that I was writing fanfic again, I love you.

#wolverine x reader #wolverine #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan james howlett #hugh jackman #im so sorry i haven't written fanfic in years #i need him so bad

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pitchsidestories · 4 months ago

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Swiss chocolate for breakfast II Lia Wälti x Reader

masterlist I word count: 790

inspired by this sweet request here.<3

Milk, eggs, oats, almond butter, paper towels…

It was all right there on the grocery list that Lia was studying while she absentmindedly pushed the cart.

You knew exactly what it said on there. After all, you were the one who wrote it all down in the morning.

It was all stuff that had to be stocked up before you two would leave with Arsenal for the US tour.

Boring. Something absolutely essential was missing that wasn’t on the list.

With a dull thud you dropped a few packages into the cart.

Lia looked up from her shopping list.

Her gaze drifted from the cartons to you: “Wait, what’s that?“

You innocently blinked at her: “We travel to America therefore I need my English tea, Lia.“

“You don’t need your tea. I’m sure they will have tea there.“, your girlfriend laughed while removing the tea from the cart.

You took the cartons from her and dropped them back inside: “But not as good as this one. It’s simply the best.“

“It’s just tea.“, Lia complained but this time didn’t touch the packages.

You shook your head in disbelief. You had this conversation way too many times. “Lia, it’s not just any tea!“

Lia pointed at the three packages: “You don’t even need that much tea.“

“Yes, I do!“

“You won’t drink it there anyway.“

“Maybe the other English girls and I want some tea in the afternoon or evening…“, you explained but stopped yourself suddenly.

You looked around. How did you two end up in the chocolate section all of a sudden?

You watched as Lia gently placed something into the cart. You immediately recognized the metallic packaging of her favourite chocolate.

“Hold on. Is that Swiss chocolate in the basket? We certainly don’t need that either.“, you decided, giving her deprecating stare and trying to bite back a smile.

Your girlfriend pretended to be offended: “Of course we need chocolate! The flight is super long!“

“Pretty sure they give away chocolate on the plane?“, you playfully rolled your eyes.

“What if they don’t? And what if it isn’t real Swiss chocolate? Also that’s never enough for a ten hour flight.“

“You’re a professional football player my love you should know better.”, you teased her lovingly.

“If you can’t appreciate my Swiss chocolate then I won’t appreciate your English tea!”, Lia decided pouting, trying hard not to laugh about your little unserious argument.

“You didn’t appreciate my tea to begin with!”, you countered, your lips twitching, wanting to turn into a grin, but you didn’t want to give in already. Luckily this was London and not the English and Swiss countryside where you both grew up, so no one was turning their heads during the discussion.

“Okay, listen, here’s a deal, we get both, okay? And everyone’s happy.”, the midfielder sighed loudly.

“Deal.”, you nodded satisfied while the two of you continued your way through the supermarket peacefully.

“I’m sure the new teammates will feel better and more welcomed to our team with that chocolate.”, she declared happily.

Fondly, Lia reminisced the times she joined a new football team in Potsdam or Arsenal and always brought some Swiss chocolate at the beginning which turned out to be a great way to her new teammate’s hearts.

Even your romance started with a little praline which turned up at your seat in the changing room at every home game with a little message until one read, will you go on a date with me? Marking the day where you turned into lovers.

“And with some tea.”, you added smirking.

“Which tastes like nothing.”, Lia commented chuckling.

“Love, I’m telling you, you’re doing your tea wrong.”, you replied.

“This reminds me we need to get coffee too; we ran out of beans.”, your girlfriend remembered.

After the coffee beans were secured, she looked at her phone before glancing back to you.

“Oh, Steph texted and asked if we want to join making pizzas at Kim’s place tonight and if we’re still in the supermarket.”

“I hate when they do this. They always make us get groceries for them. Okay, text her we’ll bring everything.”, you groaned dramatically.

“I’ll. She immediately replied with a lot of kiss emojis.”, the brunette noted amused.

“Come on, we’ve to hurry up.”, you told her, while simultaneously grabbing the things needed for pizza.

“Please I’m starting to get hungry too.”, Lia said. Both of you couldn’t wait until you meet the other women as evenings at Kim were always a lot of fun which you didn’t want to miss out on.

And maybe but only maybe there would be a bit of chocolate for breakfast in the morning before you took on the long flight on the plane.

#lia walti #lia walti x reader #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso community #woso #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal wfc imagine #lia walti imagine #awfc #swiss wnt #lia wälti #woso blurbs

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hypnos333 · 1 year ago

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Our Forever

Cha hyunsu x reader

Synopsis: You were hiding your baby boy from the world but it seems like the military already knows hopefully Hyunsu finds you before they do.

Part 1 - Your forever

Taehoon waddle around, eyes pitch black as he was fed grapes from you. As sweet as this little baby was he always gets what he wants. He even named him monster Teddy. You could only imagine what having a girl would be like.

“When will I see you again?” You whisper think instantly to Hyunsu,He sacrificed himself to get a cure leaving you heavily pregnant and alone but a monster helped you through it before it died. And Now you gave birth to Taehoon. Your sweet baby boy.

when you look at Taehoon you see his father. Taehoon nudged you before pointing at his mouth “Ah” he whined making you smile sadly before gently putting a grape in his mouth making him chew slowly.

You were surprised to find fresh grapes from the run down market. You haven’t ate anything making sure Taehoon gets enough protein and food.

You lift up your baby boy to put him to sleep but as soon as you picked him up he was out like a light.

Taehoon is indeed a hybrid with the same abilities as his father but when a human look deep into his eyes a human can turn to a monster. So sometimes he wears blindfolds.

One day Taehoon snuck out making your panic.

“How can a three year old be curious already” You mumbled but then gasp as you saw Sergeant Tak holding Taehoon.

You instantly rushed to him as he gladly gave the baby boy to you.

“A baby during golden hour that’s new one” He said making you tense but you can’t ignore the Sergeant.

“I was pregnant before all of this even happened Sir sorry for the inconvenience” You answered respectfully as you shift Taehoon in a more comfortable position.

“I see, you’re also not apart of the safe place, Would you like-“No thank you” You interrupted him making him tilt his head in confusion.

“What’s his name?” He asked slightly pointing to you baby, you looked at Taehoon his adorably before look back at the solider. “His name is Taehoon it means perfectionist and Compassion” You answered.

“Is his father with you or turned into a monster?”

“What’s with these questions?” You asked politely trying to be a good role model to your son.

“I know about you trying to hide your baby from us but I can assure you he is safe unless he attacks” Sergeant Tak said honestly making you hold Taehoon tighter in your arms.

“I understand” You said before walking back to your home.

As a mother of a hybrid no monster dared to hurt you. They avoided you or helped you scout for food for your son.

Days later you decided to take Taehoon out for some air. So a walk was ideal for the both of you, You packed a bottle of milk, his blindfold and pacifier. As he chew on a chocolate chip cookie that you found in a convenience store.

You held his hand as you both walked under the stars. The cold air blew luckily you gave Taehoon a big jacket otherwise he would be having a cold. But this wasn’t a typical breeze it was like someone was coming.

You held Taehoon close as you closed your eyes. This person must have been in front of you because-“Dada?”

What?

You opened your eyes and saw Hyunsu in front of you and Taehoon. Your baby looked at you for permission before you nodded making him with a little struggle instantly run to his dad.

Hyunsu took him with open arms as he spins him around in joy.

“I missed you so much Tae I promise I’ll never leave you and your mama again” Hyunsu said holding back tears. Both of your boys looked at you both extending their arms so you’ll come to them.

You smiled going in their arms. Now they were a complete family. Even though the world around them was still a disaster they still had each other to hold.

Pt.3

#cha hyunsu x reader #hyunsu imagine #hyunsu x reader #hyunsoo x reader #sweet home x reader #sweet home imagines

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moosesarecute · 5 months ago

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Part 7: The Shadows Sing

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 8

You were drowning. You felt your hands and foot freeze as you sunk further down into the lake.

You were too weak, so you let your shadows out.

Not even seconds later, they had shadow walked you out of the lake.

However, in front of you wasn’t the beautiful hazel eyes you’d learn to adore, it was Amaranth’s black eyes staring into your soul.

“We’ve got you now. You can’t get away.”

It was Amarantha that was speaking, but the voice was Adrian’s. The illyrian that took your wings.

“I see you’re a shadowsinger,” the voice continued. “We could use one of you on our team.”

You were dying.

“Please don’t run away,” Azriel said the second you opened your eyes. “You need to rest, you have a fever.”

You sat up in your bed and looked around. You were home and safe. The fire was going.

You noticed the presence of your shadows and immediately hid them away.

You felt warm. Not only from the fire, but from the presence of the illyran male that sat before you. You hated to admit it, but you couldn’t hold it back any longer. You didn’t want to run away from him.

Azriel slowly walked towards you with your mug in his hands. You had made it yourself out of tree.

He handed you the mug and you looked down at the content. You had no idea what it was, but it smelled delicious.

“It’s hot chocolate,” Azriel said before you could question him. “It’s chocolate melted and mixed with milk. Remember to blow on it, it’s hot.”

You nodded and did as he said. It was so good, you felt like you were in heaven.

“Where did you get milk?” You asked him.

Milk was something you’d never have money for. Oat milk you were sometimes able to buy, but never cow milk.

“My shadows got it from Velaris,” he answered.

“Velaris?” You asked him. “Is that a store?”

You had never heard about that, but the name told you it was beautiful.

“It’s a city in the Night Court,” Azriel answered. “I live there.”

You thought back to your time in the Night Court. You were always told the court didn’t have any cities other than Hewn City. You’ve never heard about Velaris.

“It had been a secret for over 5000 years,” Azriel explained. He must have seen your confusion. “It only got revealed during the war against Hybern.”

You tried to imagine what your life had been like if you’d live in a city. If you’d know about a city, you could have escaped the war camp easier and probably hidden well enough to not get caught.

“Many other illyrans still does know about it. That’s probably why you don’t know about it either,” Azriel continued hesitantly. “I talked to Rhys.”

You couldn’t stop yourself as you whipped your head towards Azriel.

“Rhys?” You asked him. “Rhys as in Rhysand as in the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhys?”

He only nodded.

“I’m his spymaster,” Azriel told you.

You immediately stood up from your bed. Your now empty mug fell to the floor.

“Why does he want to spy on me? I haven’t done anything wrong. I would’ve died if I didn’t do that I did. I’m not going back.” You rambled.

Azriel stood from your chair and took a step towards you. His arms were lifted, it was like he wanted to hold you, but he soon lowered them again.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “I’m not here to spy on you. Definitely not here because Rhys said so. I’m here because I’m curious about you. I’m also here because I realized I like talking to you. No other reasons.”

It didn’t calm you down. You felt so vulnerable.

You’d let a spy into your home. Not only a spy, but an illyrian spy.

You can’t believe you thought of him as safe.

“You’ve used your five minutes,” you replied with a shaky voice. “The bargain was that you’d leave me alone after the five minutes.”

His eyes widened a little as he shock his head.

“The bargain was that I’d leave you after five minutes of questioning if you told me to leave,” Azriel told you and moved towards you. He lifted his arms again, but this time he put them on your arms. You loved the feeling. One simple touch from him made your anxiety disappear. “Tell me to leave, and I’ll leave.”

You looked deep into his hazel eyes. You didn’t want him to leave. You wanted him to stay. For him to continue holding you.

“I…,” you started, but had to stop.

You heard him draw a sharp breath and felt his shadows in your hair. They then moved to caress your cheeks.

You felt worry spreading through your body. You didn’t understand why, it’s not like he would reject your request for him to stay. He literally just told you he wanted to stay.

That’s when you realized, you felt his emotions. You’d been feeling them ever since the bond snapped for you, but it felt so much stronger.

You realized his grip on your arms had tightened, not in a dangerous manner, but in a protective one.

“It snapped for you too?” You asked him before you even thought about it.

He just nodded as his eyes grew in size.

You almost laughed.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you told him. Knowing he felt as nervous as you did made you confident.

“Then I won’t leave,” he answered determinedly.

“Good,” you said. “I’m going to sleep.”

He let out a small laugh.

You’d slept through the night and woke up to a ready breakfast. You didn’t talk much while eating, you only focused on savoring the taste. You loved the feeling of being full.

“What happened yesterday?” Azriel asked you when you’d both finished eating.

You thought for a second. You felt so embarrassed. You didn’t want him to look at you as weak.

“There are a pair of twins in my hunting group,” you started to explain. “They’re the best of all of us.” You had to draw a breath before you continued. “They thought it funny to pull my prosthetic from my foot and throw it out onto the ice. I had to crawl out to get it and fell through the ice.”

You could see the anger spreading through Azriel’s entire body.

“How did you get out?”

“I waited for them to leave and shadow walked out of the lake,” you explained. “They didn’t want to help me further.”

Azriel tucked his wings back as he thought. He pushed his shoulders back.

“I want to train you,” he explained. “Both in combat and how to control your shadows.”

You didn’t hesitate as you agreed to take his training.

“Balance is the most important part of fighting, both with and without shadows,” Azriel explained to you.

It had been a week since the lake incident and your fever was long gone.

Azriel had met you twice during the week and finally agreed that you were healthy enough for training. What he didn’t know was that you’d been out hunting every day this week and had been categorizing yourself as healthy all along.

The two of you can found a clearing far away from anyone you knew and decided it would be your training spot.

Azriel had his shadows in every direction, so that you would know if anyone got close to where you were.

“We start with your right foot,” Azriel told you next. “You’ll need to balance and I’ll poke you with this stick trying to make you unbalanced. Got it?”

You nodded as you lifted your left foot off the ground.

“Do you always carry all your weight on your right foot when you stand?” Azriel asked you.

You were about to answer him when he poked you with the stick. You used all the strength you had, but managed to stay upright.

“Yes,” you answered him.

“We’ll have to change that,” he explained. “It’s a weakness that’s easy to notice.”

You knew he meant well, but you didn’t like that he talked about your weaknesses. You’d spent your entire life trying to hide your weaknesses and Azriel picked up on the weakest one within minutes of you two training.

You were soon pulled out of your thoughts when the male poked you again with his stick. This time, you didn’t do so well.

You lost balance completely and you were about to step down on your prosthetic leg, when you were covered in shadows.

Not yours, they would never help you like that, but Azriel’s. They felt a lot cooler than yours, but they were careful around you.

They helped you regain your balance and soon you stood still on your right foot once more.

“Our goals is for you to use your own shadows to stabilize you if you loose balance,” Azriel told you. “Just like my shadows just did. That way, we can practice both balance and shadow control at the same time.”

You nodded at him, but you felt like the task would be way too hard. Your shadows never listened to you other than shadow walking. They never liked to take directions from you.

Azriel looked like he was waiting for you and you realized he wanted you to let your shadows loose.

It felt extremely unnatural to let someone else see your shadows, but your shadows were ecstatic.

“Yayyyyy.”

“Friends!!!”

“Mate!”

“Safe!”

They immediately surrounded Azriel and both yours and his shadows started to dance together in the wind.

You liked to see them this happy. Usually they hid away and moved around slowly. You often thought of them as moody teenagers.

“You’re ready?” Azriel asked.

You were still standing on your right foot as Azriel did his best to get you unbalanced.

“Try to get them to help you,” he instructed you.

You drew a big breath and tried to lighten the tone of your voice.

“Can you help me stay balanced?” You asked your shadows. “Please?”

They reacted worse than you expected.

One second they were dancing around with their friends and the next one, they had pushed you so that you ended up on the ground.

You felt your cheeks getting red. You felt so embarrassed you couldn’t control the shadows that were a part of you.

You looked up to Azriel. He stood and held out a hand to help you up. You looked past his hand and glared at him. He wore a smug smile.

“Are you laughing at me?” You asked him. You were pretending to be annoyed, but you couldn’t lie, you’d never be annoyed at him for this.

He shrugged as he helped you stand.

“We’ll change to the other side, okay?”

You moved your weight over to your prosthetic and lifted your right leg off the ground.

“Ready?”

You nodded. You were struggling, so you spent all your energy staying balanced and had no energy left to answer him with words.

Azriel poked you with the stick and you immediately lost balance. You had to set down your right foot and you then spent a few moments before you managed to balance on your prosthetic once more.

You had a long way to go.

Azriel had left after your training session. He gave to you tasks before he left. First one was to practice balance on both your foot and prosthetic. The second one was to become friends with your shadows.

“They’re your companions,” he had said. “You’re supposed to help each other.”

So you decided that for them to be your friends, you had to make them happy. And your shadows loved two things more than everything else. They loved to be out in fresh air and they loved to bother you.

So your daily routine the last week had been you and your shadows, practicing balancing in the clearing you and Azriel had found. You would balance and they would try to overturn you. They were very rough against you, so you fell more times than you should in the beginning. However, your shadows have never been happier.

Throughout the next few weeks you would, after advice from Azriel, let your shadows roam free also when you weren’t with him. You would leave them at home if you left the house to meet with Master Raven and the rest of your hunting team, but you’d bring one that would cling to your tight the entire time.

If you went hunting, they would come with you. They would keep their distance, hiding behind trees or in bushes, but again one of them would always stay close to you.

After a while, they started to argue about who’d stay with you and who’d be on their own. The luckiest one was the one that was allowed to be with you on your adventures.

“My turn!”

“No, my turn!”

“You went last time!”

You learned to know the difference between the shadows and had different inside jokes with all of them.

They finally had become what Azriel had described them as: your companions, your friends.

As winter turned to spring and the nature begun to bloom, so did the relationship between you and your shadows.

However, also the relationship between you and Azriel had bloomed a little.

Not a lot, you were nowhere near accepting the mating bond, but you’d become friends at least. You’d start every training session by talking about what had happened since last.

You’d learn about his family, he’d learn about the people in your hunting group.

You’d told him nothing about why you were hunting or how you ended up in The Middle and he told you nothing about what he was working on. You had a mutual understanding that you both needed time before you could talk about that.

You one thing you knew for sure, you’d never been happier.

@i-have-a-thing-for-the-dark @saltedcoffeescotch @rcarbo1 @mrsjna @kitsunetori @thecraziestcrayon @blessthepizzaman

#acotar #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x shadowsinger!reader

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wingedcat13 · 8 months ago

Text

Siren Call: 3

[We’ve had past and present Minerva, but what about future?]

One day, Minerva will be familiar with the island’s crags and shelves. She’ll know the way the shore slope becomes a drop off and where the sandbars are, the color and density of all the coral, the migratory patterns of the species who pass by.

Today, she knows enough to avoid triggering the sensors. Even pauses to adjust one that’s started sagging out of place.

Minerva chooses not to walk up the beach, not wanting to track sand into the - house? Facility? Building? - not wanting to get sand caked to her feet and legs. Jumping straight up to the roof in a waterspout is also unnecessarily dramatic when there isn’t a fight to get to. So she just gathers herself, waits for a wave, and urges it a little higher, placing herself at its apex.

It gets her high enough that she can reach the railing of the overlooking balcony, with enough momentum to curl and tuck her body, cartwheeling over the rail partially just for the joy of motion. Even the smooth tiles feel rough compared to the water, strangely unyielding, and she wobbles just a little as she catches her bearings. Belatedly, she realizes she almost kicked the crap out of one of the balcony’s chairs. The little swerve she does is automatic. At least there wasn’t an audience-

“Minerva.” Says Synovus, sitting on the table because they’re deranged. There’s a surprised tilt to the end of her name, like half a question answering itself. They’re wearing civilian clothes again, and some part of Minerva’s mind can’t help noting that their arms are bare. “Welcome - back.”

One day, Minerva won’t scowl at them on reflex.

Today, she demands immediately, “Were you waiting for me?”

“Y-es?” Synovus hedges, not moving. “But also no? I was - I thought you’d be coming up from the shore.”

They sound almost abashed. But that’s too close to ‘embarrassed’ and Minerva is well aware that Synovus has no shame. She may have genuinely surprised them - they’re perched on the edge of the table, and had leaned away slightly. Synovus wanting to be a problem would have chosen a much more… blatant posture. Or at least to sit further back in the shadows. The absence of either a gaudy attention grabber or deliberate stealth indicated this middle ground was not an act. Or perhaps that’s what she’s meant to think.

One day, Minerva will not have to consciously pick aside the paranoia to see what is in front of her.

Today, it takes effort - but she does it.

With a sigh, she closes her eyes, and focuses on each part of her body, bringing herself down from the mild surge of adrenaline. One hand draws back the wet strands of her hair. The other removes the mask that was a gift. She leaves her eyes closed while she rubs the red marks out of her skin.

With her eyes closed, it’s easier to skip past the defensive retort, and say instead, “You could’ve at least had a coffee waiting for me.”

“I don’t actually know your preferences in that regard.” Synovus admits, and for a heartbeat Minerva is worried this will turn into a far too blunt conversation about homecomings, but - “Do you take it black? Iced? Green?”

Minerva scoffs, but it might have just been a laugh. Even she’s not sure. “White chocolate mocha.” She answers. “One shot espresso, oat milk.”

“Ah,” Synovus says, as Minerva opens her eyes. They seem to have had a revelation. “So that’s why Alexandria likes those Unicorn frappes so much. Hm. And here I usually go for the cider.”

A smile tugs at one corner of her mouth at the thought - Synovus, dread assassin, going to a coffee shop and ordering hot apple juice with whipped cream.

Minerva sets her mask on the table. “Stand up a minute.” She tells Synovus quietly, her voice nearly lost in the sound of the waves below.

“I don’t take direction well.” Synovus replies, even as they slide off the table and to their feet, turning to face her. There’s a caution to their movements, but also curiosity, written far more liberally across the unobscured face Minerva once never thought to see.

If Minerva meets their eyes too long, she’ll lose her nerve, so she winds up staring somewhere around Synovus’s collarbone instead. There’s a scar there, hidden for now by a high-necked top, and Minerva knows that because she put it there. It had been a targeted move: Synovus had broken her collarbone the fight before.

She wants to be better at giving back things other than pain.

“Just - give me a moment. Don’t move, please.” She’s pretty sure it’s the ‘please’ that gets them. Synovus goes so statue-still that Minerva’s not sure they’re blinking. But they don’t protest. And they certainly don’t move as Minerva steps forward.

And in one of the most awkward movements of her life, slides her arms around Synovus’s ribcage, setting her chin gently on their shoulder.

This is instantly easier when she no longer has to look at Synovus’s face. Well. When she can’t look. Can’t fixate on finding and parsing the smallest of expressions, assigning meaning to the specific tilt of a chin or speed of a blink. She’s still bad at it - hugging - because she usually just lets other people hug her, and initiating it is weird, but she can’t imagine Synovus is particularly good at it either.

After all, they’re still standing stock-still, and if Minerva wasn’t currently very aware of their breathing, she might even think they were panicking.

“Not a trap.” She mutters, and feels as much as hears Synovus’s responding huff. But their arms slowly, cautiously, hesitantly come up to return the embrace, hands resting lightly on her back. The side of Synovus’s head tips gently into hers.

One day, Minerva might not feel awkward about body contact and physical affection. One day, she may find herself as familiar with Synovus’s scars as she is her own. And she just might reach a point, eventually, where one of them could make a joke about this just being an excuse to get Synovus wet and not immediately both perish from the agony of an accidental allusion to arousal.

For today, this awkward embrace is enough.

———————————————————

Minerva probably won’t ever see a crowd as something other than a threat to be monitored.

Large groups have always made her tense, and that instinct had only gotten worse over the years. Most villains respect the ad hoc agreement about making an entrance, but there are a distinct few who would kill from a crowd. And there are those who are not villains in the distinct, identity sense, but would wreak havoc nonetheless.

So she scans the mall’s sheltered internal colonnade from behind her sunglasses, and listens to her daughter tell her about her day.

“- I just told him that I’d come from further South, and he didn’t ask me any more questions after that, but then freaking Brad asked me if I was an ‘illegal’ and I know what you mean now, about temptation to cram people into lockers. He’s lucky he’s so tall; I couldn’t fold him up to fit without taking some limbs off.”

Alexandria huffs, taking an aggressive pull from her milkshake. The stress of her life is getting to her - no teenager should have worry lines, or bags under their eyes that deep - but she insists this is what she wants. Even if Minerva sometimes wonders whether Alexandria sees herself as a member of the school’s attendees, or just a spectator who sometimes catches a stray ball.

“Did you tell Brad that?” Minerva asks mildly, mostly curious.

Alexandria sighs again, “No.” She says sullenly, shoulders slumping. “I asked him if he thought the government should determine who gets to live where, and then when he started to argue with me I told him I hoped his yacht sank with him on it.”

“Alexandria.” Minerva was still learning to find the right tone. The right amount of reproach, without exasperation or accusation. She must’ve gotten close, because Alexandria just lifts one hand in a ‘not me’ gesture.

“Specifically so he’d wash up in Mexico or Hawaii and get to be illegal himself.” She clarifies. “I don’t think that convinced anyone I wasn’t an immigrant, though. Til Seanna pointed out my grades in Spanish would probably be better.”

Minerva’s sigh is more restrained, but she points out, “There are other languages in South America. Brazilian Portuguese, for example.”

She’s not sure why she’s entertaining this, really.

“That’s true.” Alexandria ponders that for a moment, drinking more of her milkshake. “I mostly just meant to imply I was from one of the towns that got fu- uhhhh, screwed up by the power grabs.”

Minerva briefly leaves the conversation, remembering that shell of a place. The layouts, the dressings of a town, not quite abandoned yet but with nothing else to bleed.

Judging by the nudge she receives under the table, Alexandria isn’t totally oblivious to her distraction. She’s also changed the subject.

“So.” Alexandria is saying, drawing one syllable into three, “How are you and my godparent getting along?”

‘Godparent’ has become Alexandria’s favored way of referring to Synovus in public. It’s a joke on multiple levels, some of which Synovus seems to appreciate. But Minerva thinks it also makes them slightly uncomfortable, in a way they refuse to express to Alexandria.

“It’s fine.” Minerva replies, on rote. Her eyes flick to Alexandria, then back to the crowds. “What is it?”

“What do you mean, ‘what is it,’?”

“You wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t want something in particular.”

Alexandria’s mouth twists down, “Can I just get an answer without fishing for it, for once?”

Startled, Minerva looks at her again. Takes a better assessment of her daughter’s body language, the tension there. She knows she’s also gone tense.

Anger creeps into Alexandria’s voice, replacing the annoyance. “I’m not going to lose control. I’m not-“

She cuts herself off, abruptly looking away. Her fingers relax around the plastic cup, deliberately demonstrating that her strength won’t get away from her.

Minerva has a suspicion of how that sentence might have ended. I’m not like you and dad.

Reaching out physically feels like the wrong move here. So does stiffening up further and refusing to talk about it. Be better, she thinks to herself desperately, her mind flicking back to an image of a person with one foot in the water, one on dry land.

“We still… disagree, on some things. Some major things.” Minerva makes herself say. She still doesn’t like that Synovus kills people. She doesn’t like that Synovus has ostensibly killed for her, or for Alexandria. But she also feels relief that Synovus did, and a sense of gratitude she can’t quite smother. It makes her feel dirty, oily, and she hasn’t found it’s root.

Taking a breath, Minerva continues, “But… I don’t think they mean either of us harm.”

Alexandria has relaxed a little, absorbed by what Minerva’s saying. And probably having to pick through it for what she isn’t saying either.

“Would you say that you, I don’t know, maybe, trust them?” Alexandria prompts.

Minerva’s grimace is answer enough.

Alexandria sighs, “Mom.”

“It’s complicated, Alexandria.” She says, but it’s not the abrupt conversation-closer it would have once been. More… beseeching.

“Do you trust anyone?” Alexandria asks, “And like, I don’t even really mean me, here, but like. Anyone?”

Minerva remains silent.

“Do you trust yourself?” Alexandria asks, sounding a little alarmed.

Minerva hesitates - but she can’t really answer that one either.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, just the background roar of the mall’s crowds between them. Minerva hates this. She hates feeling like she can’t actually control herself, can’t master the emotional impulses she’s forcibly crammed into a box for years. She hates that Alexandria is having to pick up the conversation, make the overtures, do the work.

But any time she tries to think of a way to do it herself, her mind shies away from it. The words wilt and die in her throat. Because what if she gets it wrong?

What if she has more to lose?

Eventually, Alexandria looks at the melted remnants of her milkshake, and asks, “Can we stop at the Hot Topic before we leave.”

One day.

———————————

A week later, Rosie pokes her head into the common room Minerva’s reading in. “Minerva?”

She’d finally been asked point blank by one of them what she wanted to be called, because Athena no longer seemed accurate. Committing to Naiad hadn’t felt right either, so she’d given up her civilian name. Synovus already knew it, what was the point?

(It had occurred to her, later, that the small thrill she felt at being addressed by it was possibly what Alexandria felt at being addressed by her chosen name.)

(Also, it would’ve made Albion furious.)

“What is it?” Minerva asks now, letting one finger hold her place in the book as she sits up.

“There’s a fight drifting our way - Zephyr and a few others against the Eye. He’s made another floating platform again.” Rosie rolled her eyes, providing her professional opinion.

Minerva tilted her head, hesitating. Zephyr was a hero she’d worked with before, though they had never gotten along. He’d offered to take her flying, she’d taken that as flirting and shut it down, they’d never really overcome the resulting awkwardness. She had no idea who he’d be working with.

Eye, in contrast, was Eye in the Sky - a villain obsessed mostly with surveillance, and not being observed himself. He was a center point of several conspiracy theories involving the NRA, CIA, and a number of international organizations. She’d never fought him before, just heard the stories.

“What’s the protocol?” Minerva asks, rather than offer any of that information. She was certain this group of people knew far more about everyone involved anyway.

Rosie smiles, “Not much of one, just a lower alert status. Doll and I will make the rounds and check on everyone, Synovus is going to suit up just in case, but we won’t get involved unless territory agreements are breached.” She added, “Alexandria’s still on the mainland, we’ve made sure she knows to be suited if she makes her own way home.”

Minerva taps at the cover of her book, thinking. She feels adrift, still. This isn’t an actual fight, unless she wants to go and be Athena, and the idea of that is physically uncomfortable. It would also invite too many questions. Naiad would-

Hm. “Does Synovus want me in uniform?” She asks, sardonic.

“I didn’t ask and don’t plan to.” Rosie replies flippantly. “If they want you to do something, I imagine you’ll hear about it directly.”

Somehow, that isn’t the response she wants. “I don’t-“

“They also haven’t given any orders that you’re to be stopped.” Rosie points out, cutting her off. “The rest of us will be either in the operations room or up on the roof to watch. Klaxon if there’s trouble.”

She gave Minerva another smile, twiddled her fingers, and withdrew. Minerva shifted, and opened her book again.

She made it through two more paragraphs, then left it unceremoniously on the floor.

———————————-

On the roof, Synovus was pacing.

In a way, that’s reassuring, because even Minerva knew by now that if there was imminent danger, Synovus would be stock-still. The sun glints off the dark helmet, and threw the matte black of the rest of the suit into stark relief against the sandy-colored rooftop. Wind off the sea ripples through the cape, keeping it blown back, perpendicular to the path Synovus is walking.

The sun is kinder to Minerva’s costume, and there is no cape to blow. The dark mask helps keep her from being blinded by the sun. Athena wouldn’t be of much use here; Naiad might be.

Doll - the larger, Russian man who Minerva thought of as Synovus’s second in command - stood up here too, a viewfinder raised to cover his face. He’s looking into the direction of the wind, angled out and up, and Minerva follows that direction.

There it is - flashes of distant, shimmering silver in a cloud bank that’s thinning. Some masking device, most likely, now disabled. There’s tiny flashes of what must be powers or weaponry at use, but she can’t make out more than that.

“How bad is it?” She asks anyway, brisk and businesslike.

“The wind isn’t in our favor.” Doll comments. He’s always answered her as if she’s a coworker, and she appreciates that. “I can’t tell how much of it is powered and how much of it drifts. If there’s been damage to it -“ He lowers the viewfinder to make a hand gesture. “It might not be able to control its direction anymore.”

“Sloppy.” The comment is out of Minerva’s mouth before she can stop it. It draws Doll’s attention, if not Synovus’s. At the slightly raised eyebrow, she sighs and continues, “Disabling propulsion or navigation creates unnecessary risk to everyone involved. The only time it becomes necessary is when there’s weaponry that absolutely must be disabled, and you don’t have either the training or the time to sort out different power systems.”

Doll nods, offering her the viewfinder. “It could be self-inflicted,” he points out.

“Possible, but suicidal. That would require an exit strategy. Do you think Eye has one?”

“He’ll have three, only two of them will work, and none of them will be enough to keep him from getting captured.” Synovus breaks into the conversation abruptly, annoyed. Or perhaps professionally offended. “They’ll be personal craft.”

Meaning the rest of the platform’s crew would be left to die. Incentive for the heroes to try and rescue them rather than pursue, but what a waste.

The viewfinder lets Minerva get a better sense of the platform’s size, and also an estimate of its height and distance. She can make out a glimpse of a gray-shaded costume, diving through the clouds: Zephyr.

“If you interfere,” She asks, while her view is disconnected from her surroundings, “What would that look like?”

There’s a hesitation. A gust of wind snaps at Synovus’s cape. The distant battle continues.

“If they cross the boundaries, there must be consequences.” Synovus says reluctantly. “I will destroy the platform. Survivors will become my prisoners. If the heroes protest, I’ll fight them.”

Minerva lowers the viewfinder, and returns it to Doll. Synovus has stopped pacing. “You don’t have the facilities for a mass casualty event.”

“No.” Synovus agrees. “I don’t.”

————————————

Rosie has come out to join them on the roof by the time there’s significant change. The wind has died down some - likely a marker of Zephyr changing it, finally reaching their shores. The air feels thick and dead without it.

They’ve mostly stood in silence, watching. It feels longer than it has been, and Minerva knows it’ll be worse for those actually fighting. She’s surprised she hasn’t felt more of an urge to intervene.

Though she has been keeping watch for anyone falling to the water below.

It’s hard to say which of them notices first - their attention is collectively on the sky platform, and not each other. But there’s a decided tilt to the mostly-exposed metal monstrosity now, and in very short order, it begins to fall.

“Catch it.” Minerva finds herself murmuring. “Catch it. At least slow it-“

But no one does.

The platform hits the water at the full speed gained from a several thousand foot drop, slamming into the ocean. Those watching know that the metal will crumple on impact, water at that height and velocity worse than slamming into concrete. The surface area only makes it worse; tilted in at a slight angle, it displaces the water in a specific direction.

Towards the island.

Minerva had studied the ocean as much as she could. She knows this phenomena, and can cite times in the past it’s occurred. Not caused by the shifting of the ocean floor or tectonic plates, but by a sudden mass displacement.

They call it a super-tsunami.

Synovus is a statue beside her from the moment the platform starts to fall. Doll catches on once the surface of the water rises - and then doesn’t fall again.

“Three minutes.” Minerva calculates, based on distance and the probable speed of the wave. As many miles to cross. Much taller. “Evacuation?”

“The Jet is under repair, we can’t get it into the air in time.” Rosie answers, grim.

“Seals on the inner portions of the facility might hold, but we don’t know how long we’d be underwater.” Doll says, hitting the klaxon anyway. “The fridges?”

“Only as good as long as the power lasts.” Rosie replies. “Alexandria?”

“Still on the mainland.” Doll growls, running a hand through his hair. “Even if she could reach us in time, we’d have to get everyone onto the plane-“

Synovus has, so far, said nothing. Minerva is the only one close enough to catch when they choke out a strangled, “-fucking submarine -“

Minerva had expected Synovus to have a plan. A power, a strength, a defense mechanism. The realization that they don’t is like a fire’s been lit at the base of her spine.

She doesn’t remember grabbing Synovus’s collar, or dragging them to face her. She does remember saying, “I can stop it.”

Synovus doesn’t hesitate. “What do you need?”

There is no questioning of if she’s sure, or recommendation that she go into the waves to ride it out. No suggestion of running.

“Get me in front of it.”

Immediately, Synovus has one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, and they’re running. Off the edge of the roof, not quite flying, flickers of shadow beneath their feet. Minerva doesn’t have time to question it, because her attention is on the big damn wave.

When she had said she could stop it, she had spoken with a bone-deep certainty. But she’d never actually tried to divert a tsunami before, let alone one of this size. The largest amount of water she’s worked with has always been as much as she needs to accomplish her goal, and nothing more. Diverting some rain-induced flooding is nothing compared to the power of the tides.

But she can feel the ocean beneath them, as Synovus clears the island’s coast. She can sense the oncoming wave, so fast to them, but to the ocean like a flinch in slow motion. The ocean doesn’t know how to control a fall.

But Minerva does.

The trick is in grasping the majority of the wave without over extending. She doesn’t need every droplet, every molecule, but she does need the vast majority of them.

It’s like trying to get a grip on something flat with only the pads of her fingers. It’s like misjudging a stair and finding herself both plummeting and ramming into an outside force. It’s like taking the first breath of rain-rich air in the early morning, and feeling life enter her lungs again.

Minerva twists the top back over itself, breaking the wave in the wrong direction. She cuts it down the middle, diverting it off to the sides. She forbids it to go forward, as though it’s met a cliff. And as the water falls, the wave collapsing, so does she.

It takes a brief second to put together that the body that had been holding her aloft is now limp, twisted slightly as though to put itself between her and the wave. Synovus is unresponsive, the shadows gone, only the cape whipping around them as they fall. Minerva is able to catch them, now, grabbing on before they can drift away.

She reaches for the water below them, calling it up to catch them with less than bone-breaking force. It’s easier, somehow, but also harder, and she’s having trouble fixing a direction in her mind for where the wave was and where the shore should be. Hot air, harsh wind, cool water and the dimming depths as they’re both drawn down.

And she remembers, finally, that Synovus can’t swim.

—————

The disorientation has mostly worn off by the time Synovus wakes up.

Minerva had managed to follow the upset currents, but hadn’t wanted to risk trying to shape and change them. Or to fight them overmuch, with her cargo. So they’d wound up washed not to shore, but to a small opening into one of the partial lava tubes at the island’s base.

Outside, saltwater rain is still falling, though it will stop soon. The ocean’s roar sounds, to her ears, slightly confused. The sun is still shining, and the wind has picked up again. ‘Calm’ is a subjective definition, but they’re approaching it.

Minerva had been relieved to find that Synovus’s helmet was intact, even with the impact to the water. She’d managed to find its clasps, and to remove it, making sure the seals had also held and that Synovus wasn’t drowning in their own personal fishbowl. They’re propped up against her legs, which are folded beneath her, and she’s prepared for a violent awakening.

But Synovus’s eyes blink open, and Minerva is able to watch their facial muscles work as they come to terms with their surroundings.

“You fainted.” Minerva informs them.

Synovus squints at her, but doesn’t immediately protest. They also don’t try to move much, other than a slight squirm that Minerva recognizes as a full body check. Do I still have my appendages? Do my fingers and toes all work?

“Yeah.” Synovus concedes. Their voice is raspy with saltwater, even though they didn’t get much of a chance to drown. This time.

Minerva should probably start somewhere else - like making certain they’re okay, or assuring them about the conditions outside, that the wave had been averted. Instead, she all but demands, “If you’re so terrified of water, why in the hells did you build on an island?”

She can see the balk in Synovus’s expression: a furrowing of their brow, a twitch of the nose. Synovus lifts a hand to consider covering their face, eyes the sand on their glove, and lowers it again.

“I already know you can’t swim.” Minerva says flatly.

“I can swim.” Synovus shoots back, annoyed. “I cannot swim well, there’s a difference.”

They sigh, and move to sit up. Minerva doesn’t stop them. She doesn’t expect an answer, at least not without further prompting, but Synovus continues:

“It’s… easier. The isolation. Clearly defined borders. This is mine, everyone else fuck off. And it…” Synovus shakes their head. “It serves its purpose.”

Once, Minerva would’ve accused them of grandstanding. Of the island being a show of wealth and status. She knows better now - knows that while that is true, there’s other reasons, layered beneath.

And she thinks about everything Synovus has ever told her about self control.

“It contains you.”

Synovus hesitates, partially grimacing, but nods. “Serves its purpose.” They repeat quietly.

The two of them sit in silence, in the dark shadow of the cave. They listen to the water, and the waves as they return to normal.

“Thank you.” Synovus says, into the silence.

“I don’t require thanks.”

“But I feel you deserve it, and it’s mine to give.”

“And if I don’t want it?”

“Refuse it. I will survive the disappointment.”

Minerva has the uncomfortable feeling that they are not discussing only gratitude. Rather than address that, or continue the discussion, she says instead: “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

Synovus doesn’t reply. They tilt their head, studying her in the dark. Minerva’s dragged them into a cave and confronted them with truths after they passed out from fear doing something on her word, she should give them a break. She doesn’t.

“I should be out there looking for survivors, or recovering the dead. I don’t want to. I should’ve involved myself in the fight, reminded them to be careful of the platform’s vulnerabilities. I didn’t. I don’t feel guilt. I feel… annoyed. Angry. Because they should’ve known better.”

Synovus just turns a bit, to rest their back against a rock. “And that in turn makes you feel..?”

“Foolish. Arrogant. A bad hero, and a worse teacher. I should be patient. Forgiving.”

“They nearly killed you.” Synovus points out dryly. “You’re allowed to be angry about that.”

“And more would’ve died if the wave had reached the coast.” Minerva grits her teeth. “But that anger should be - I can’t control them. I cannot fix them. But I didn’t even try to intervene until it was almost too late.”

“But you did intervene.”

Minerva gestures, attempts to pinpoint the logic fruitless and frustrated. “Am I a hero or not?” She demands. “Do I act for others or only my own skin? I’ve spent years - decades - so sure of the answer but now -“

She raises her hands, half-fisting them in her hair. The sensation provides a little bit of grounding, enough of a distraction she doesn’t think about the words before she says them. “- now you make sense to me, and the things I thought I believed in enough to die for are - are hollow or gone or dead. And I let you kill them. I let you kill him.”

Abruptly, she draws her knees up, burying her face in them. “I let - I made - my child - our child -“

Minerva can’t tell if she’s crying or not. Her breath is coming in gasps, and her face feels hot, and this was always the part of weeping that she hated the most; the lack of control, the inability to communicate. Her eyes burn. So does the center of her chest, her stomach.

And Synovus is here, as her witness. Why not? They’ve seen every other ugly part of her, every other failure. She’s spent a good portion of her adult life fighting this person, exchanging scars, only for them to pick up the pieces and try to protect her. She’s finally had the upper hand, proven that she does have power, that Synovus now owes her in the brutal calculus of lives, and instead of reassuring her it’s broken her.

Because Synovus doesn’t trust themself either.

But Synovus trusts her.

“Do you wish I wouldn’t have killed Albion?” Synovus asks quietly.

The answer is as simple and certain as the water. “No.” She says honestly. “No I - I don’t.”

There’s a pause. Then, “Do you wish I would’ve killed you too?”

That answer isn’t as clear to find. “I - some days.” She says hoarsely. “I committed the same crimes.”

Synovus exhales, across from her, and it isn’t quite a sigh. “Alexandria feels differently.”

Minerva stops breathing.

Of all the answers Synovus could’ve given, that’s the one she can’t counter. She can’t afford to do this. To wallow in self recrimination. Her daughter is out there. And while maybe - maybe her morals are falling to pieces, and she doesn’t know who she is, but she knows that whoever she is loves Alexandria.

“Is it pathetic?” She asks Synovus, in the dark she can’t see through and Synovus can. “To need someone else to determine who I am. What I believe.”

She can hear the twist in Synovus’s expression as they reply, “That’s… inherently not a question I can answer. But, Minerva?” Synovus doesn’t hesitate, so much as pick their way across uncertain footing, “I don’t think you would’ve been able to turn back that wave if you weren’t… as much as you are.”

It’s clumsily phrased. Wavering and uncertain. But Minerva, whether because she’s reading what she wants to from it, or because it’s actually Synovus’s intention, understands.

She takes a deep breath. Then another. Then she stands, and offers a hand in Synovus’s general direction. Her voice is much more certain, calm, when she says, “I need to go organize a search party.”

——————

Minerva may not ever come to terms with her role in her ex-husband’s death, or the harm she caused her daughter. She might not ever find the rock-solid beliefs that she once thought she had.

But she might - just might - come to terms with that uncertainty. The ocean doesn’t have roots either.

She’ll have good days and bad days. She’ll need to make decisions about who she wants to become, and how she feels about who she is. But as both Naiad, and Minerva, she has that freedom.

She’ll never touch the Athena costume again.

And one day, while she’s working on a laptop in one of the common rooms, Synovus on one of the other couches and Alexandria sprawled on the floor, Minerva will say, “I have an idea. Something I’d like to do about the Pacific garbage patch.”

And Alexandria will roll over to look at her, and Synovus will glance up. And Minerva will add, “It’s not precisely legal.”

And Synovus will say, “I’m listening.”

——————————

[And so ends Siren Call! This took much longer than it’s other pieces, and there were things I debated including and things I wanted to cut, but in the end, this was the flow the story took. I’m not saying I’m *done* with Synovus and co, but I will say that I’m glad to have this chapter closed and tied off.]

[As per usual, a copy of this will go up on Ao3 soon, and I’ll find out how long it is, because I’ve once again written directly into tumblr drafts. It’s where the Synovus muse lives, apparently.]

#synoverse #synovus #siren call #siren call 3 #tw: tsunami #as someone whose stress dreams manifest as dreams about tsunamis #HOO BOY did I not like writing that scene much #but it was what needed to happen #and I’m happy with how it turned out #dont @ me about the physics I will not be studying any more about those damn things #it’s magic I ain’t gotta explain shit

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dykeknightrises · 1 year ago

Text

PROMISES

A/N: I'd just like to say that I'm in absolute awe about the reactions to FALLING, really! I was very hesitant to post something that I've wrote but now I can't help but to be super excited laknkdns Seriously, thank you guys SO much for it! Here's part two, I hope you enjoy it <3

PART 1 - FALLING

PART 3 - US

After a couple of years living the best and worst of her life, Alexia promised herself a break. A year where she would be one hundred percent focused on football and herself. She had a lot to catch up with her family and with being comfortable with herself after her injury.

Everything had been going fairly well on that front until Y/N arrived in Barcelona. Alexia remembered the bright-eyed teenager, far too young to be playing in the u-19 team, being playing great, nonetheless. Watching the teen leave absolutely everything even when they were down 4-0 made Alexia respect her immediately and to keep up with her career whenever she could.

The Y/N was far from the shy teenager that Alexia first met, but still so terrifyingly similar. Her first few weeks in Barcelona passed in a blur, but not a good one. The midfielder and the rest of the team barely interacted with the newest signing and when it happened, which was strictly at practice since she didn’t join them when they spend time together, it was mostly through the shortest sentences possible.

Alexia realized the smallest flinch from Y/N whenever someone spoke to her in Spanish. She didn’t mean to and was honestly certain nobody else, even yourself, realized it. Then every downed on her.

Her time playing with Espanyol and Levante was weird. She was still in her home, still in her country, still in her city, but everything was just so different. Her teammates, the team culture, everything made her doubt herself for the first few months. A new country, a new city, a new language, a whole new culture? Alexia could not fathom that.

Settling in making Y/N feel home, Alexia now spent most of her time dedicating herself to her. They were partners in every training drill, spending their time together doing the heavy speaking in English. When she was home, countless of hours on YouTube were split between watching highlights of Y/N through the years and on tutorials about the best ways to make someone feel welcomed.

She wasn’t sure why and at that point she didn’t care enough to ask, but she needed Y/N to feel at home in Barcelona. When her attempts were going well, but too slowly for her liking, she was running out of patience.

Walking Nala down the streets was something she was doing a lot lately, lost in thoughts about Y/N. The little furball got tired after twenty minutes of their walk, making Alexia pick her up, only then realizing where she was.

In front of her stood her favourite chocolate store, the best in the entire Spin if anyone asked her. Deciding to buy a bar a pick-me-up for the moment, she walked into the store, greeting to small family that owned the business and making small talk.

Picking the small bar of milk chocolate, her hand unconsciously hovered on a second one, for Y/N. With her own bar clutched in her hand, she stood in front on the chocolate bars display, not knowing which one was your favourite. After a few minutes of contemplation, she grabbed one of every single chocolate the store held, giving the owner a sheepish smile as the old man raised his eyebrows at her purchase.

It was a Thursday when she got the guts to approach Keira to ask such a random and somewhat personal question. The Englishwoman responding very confusedly, making Alexia bolt before she could ask any follow up question on why.

Going to her car to retrieve the precious bar on a break from practice, Alexia slipped it in her locker before any of the girls could see and went back. When training was over, she managed to catch up with Y/N on an empty hallway by the pitch, telling her that it was okay to be with the team even if you weren’t in “Spanish Mode” yet, they just wanted your presence.

When she sees the realization down on Y/N eyes, she confirms that she didn’t even realize what was happening. Knowing that, if you were anything like herself, a whole moment of self-reflection would follow the realization. Alexia slips that chocolate bar on her hands and squeezes her shoulder as she leaves.

The unknown feeling growing in her gut through the rest of the day and the next one too, unsure if she overstepped or not. It was the team’s first Friday off since preseason and she was so desperately uneasy about it, unsure if she made things worse.

Walking into their usual restaurant, Alexia felt her heart skip a beat as she hears Y/N laugh at something Frido said, the smile brighter than everything around. Settling herself in the seat in front of her, being greeted with a smile and a warm gaze, a silent “thank you” written all over it.

It wasn’t long until everything was fitting together. The team quickly welcoming her into the family and their routine stronger than ever. It wasn’t until she refused the invitation to hang out with her friends for the sixth week in a row and got called out on it that Alexia realized that Thursdays had became their day.

She was fine with sharing Y/N with the team the whole time but was so deeply grateful to have her for herself on Thursdays. Sharing their passion for football, exploring the city, and cooking together had quickly became the favourite part of Alexia’s week.

Days bled into weeks, which bled into months, and everything was perfect. It wasn’t far from Winter Break when she went to lunch with the Putellas, this time without Y/N, and got asked where her girlfriend was that Alexia realized her feelings.

Loving Y/N was disturbingly easy, Alexia though laying in bed later that day. She’d been doing it for months now. Every moment of her days she wanted her there and every moment of her night she dreamt about her.

The warmness of her discovery was slowly cooled by the realization that had already broken her promise to herself. The heartbreak of her past relationships sucker puncher her into choking down a sob, knowing that she could not take that once again, not from Y/N.

The next month passed in a haze. Alexia felt like the biggest liar, and she smiled, making sure no one could see past it. It wasn’t until she reached home that she allowed herself to crack, suffering from a paralyzing fear of having her heart broken before she even gave it away once more.

It was on their Thursday that she felt herself cracking, knowing she couldn’t be alone with Y/N, cuddled up on a couch, being surrounded by her. Texting her asking to go out instead was easy, choosing Sala Apollo came unconsciously because, even if she could be alone with Y/N, she still did not want to share her on their day.

Breathtaking. Jaw dropping. Beautiful.

Words only came to Alexia brain a few beats after Y/N opened her door or them to go out. A stutter complimenting her was the only thing the Catalonian managed to slip out before she was dragged out of the apartments complex by hand and getting in the Uber.

The decision to drink that night was a well though out one. On one hand she felt like she needed a couple of drinks to function near the younger woman that moment, but she was well aware that her inhibitions lowered considerably. She chose to drink.

Dancing with her, Alexia felt every single part of her on fire. Whenever the touched, for the briefest seconds, her heart skipped a beat, and her breath was taken away. Hands slipping on Y/N waist, pulling her closer, was a necessity.

When Y/N perfume hit her nostrils, Alexia knew she was gone. Losing any shred on self-control, Y/N was the entire world right now. Hands roaming, lips finding the skin on her neck, sucking, and biting like her life depended on it. Maybe it did. Y/N turned around to kiss her and when their lips met Alexia was sure she was in heaven.

Going home, staying up the whole night, discovering each other in so many ways was everything Alexia ever dreamed of. The warm, sweaty tanned skin against her, made her overflow. She was everything.

Waking up on the next day to a cold bed made her choke. Reality crashed down, eyes glassing as she though she was being left once again. Minutes passed, with Alexia trying desperately to not cry before she heard the noise in the kitchen.

Slipping a shirt in, she stopped on the threshold, watching Y/N happily making them breakfast. Somehow, that made her hurt more. The thought that she could have left, that she the worst of you for just keeping their routine. It made her feel sick.

She knew then that she was not ready. The feelings she held for those tortuous moment where far worse than any previous heartbreak. Just the thought that Y/N left almost broke her. Alexia knew right then that she could not be with Y/N right now, no matter how much she ached for her.

Alexia was not enough for Y/N right now.

When she turned around, spotting her tucked in a corner of her own apartment, Y/N looked at her like she hung the sun, the moon and everything else. Her breathes came out ragged as Y/N came closer, warm smile and sparkling eyes still in place.

“This was a mistake.” Alexia choked out before she came any closer. The Spaniard knew that any poor excuse that she came would never be enough.

Y/N steps haltered, no more then a couple of meters away from her, lips parting and heart breaking. Alexia could see the younger woman opening and closing her mouth, frown in place, trying to come up with an answer.

“Oh.” The word came out in a breathless sound, after what felt like a whole eternity. “I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Y/N” The blonde called, holding the other woman’s wrist, desperately not wanting her to go, despite messing everything up.

“It’s okay, Alexia. We will be okay. We are okay.” She said, slipping her wrist out of Alexia’s grasp, shutting the door after her.

She took her heart with her. Any will to do anything and joy left right after them. Falling to the floor, on the same corner that everything became a mess, Alexia let herself be mess too. Sobs wreaking her body for hours, only getting up to crawl to bed when night came.

Days came and went, turning into weeks, and Alexia was still broken. She could not look at Y/N without breaking. That was reserved for the privacy of her place, where she didn’t have to be the Alexia Putellas, where she wasn’t a symbol of strength. Strong was the last thing she felt in those months.

Months passed by before Alexia even saw anyone after practice. She missed team bonding, birthdays, media duties, her own family. A knock on the door broke her out of the pit of misery of the day, making her drag her feet through the floor, feeling like her legs weighted a thousand kilos.

The grinning face of her childhood best friend greeted her when she opened the door. The grin quickly lost the place when Ana actually saw her. Pushing past her and settling down on the couch after opening a bottle of wine, the woman looked at her with an expectant gaze.

Alexia knew she could tell her the truth. Ana was her friend enough to just call her stupid and tell her to beg for forgiveness. But she didn’t know Y/N, didn’t know Alexia’s feelings. So, the blonde settled for a lie.

Maybe the lie was too good, because the very next day, she showed up with her girlfriend and another woman. A surprise double date, she said. The woman was great, there was nothing wrong with her. In fact, Alexia was sure that if she did not love Y/N so deeply she would have giver her a chance. But she was not her.

The next day, a Friday, Mapí and Marta coaxed the date out of her. Not that it was much to tell, Alexia herself was only half present for it, but it was enough. Enough because Y/N arrived in the locker room just as the defenders teased her about it. Y/N lips trembled when she heard the word date and that was enough to bring tears that were never shed to Alexia’s eyes.

She cancelled lunch with her family again on the weekend. She hadn’t gone back ever since they asked her about Y/N, too scared that they would see her, that they knew. Preparing herself for another day the bare minimum for herself, her door opened. Alba standing on the doorstep. Alexia never saw her baby sister look so angry.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Alexia?” the younger sister growled, entering the apartment. “Mamá is pit of worry because you look like someone has been running over you with their car everyday for the past year!”

“I’m sorry.” Alexia choked, flinching away from her sister.

She didn’t even realize that the tears, her current best friend, has already spilled out of her eyes and found home running down on her cheeks until Alba cradled her face, holding her in a hug. They laid on the comfortable couch for hours before Alexia managed to stop crying, her sister not laxing her hold for any second, whispering quiet reassurances at her every few moments.

“Ale, what’s going on?”

“I fucked it up.” She breathed out, before telling her everything.

That day was months ago. Surprising her, Alba didn’t judge her, didn’t jump the gun as usual, she held her, reassured her and gave really good advice. Which brought her to now.

Alexia spent the last few months talking extensively to her therapist about it, about everything. Her heartbreak, her injury, falling in love again. She wasn’t better yet, but she was in a much better place than before. More than wanting Y/N to love her back again, she needed her in her life, even if she had thrown away her only chance of them spending their lives together.

Today marked a whole month that Alexia came every day to Y/N doorstep, looking at the piece of wood that stood between her and the love of her life for hours, too much of a coward to knock. Finishing the cup of coffee that the awfully familiar doorman gave her from his on stash, she got up, standing in front of the door.

She had been in that exact place far too often, never knocking. Lifting her fist, she banged against the door before loosing her courage once again, like she had done far too many times.

Y/N opened her door and took Alexia’s breath away. She stood there, with a little black dress, light makeup coating her face and heels that put her just a little bit shorter than the Catalonian. The blonde felt her mouth dry at the sight of her, hands trembling away, tucked into her hoodie.

She felt like she had stood there, forever, just taking Y/N in, appreciating her, breathing her in. The younger woman was everything. She had always been everything. Her impossibly soft gaze, even now, asked Alexia what she was doing there.

“I was hoping we could have our usual Thursday? I have a lot that I need to say to you.”

#woso imagine #woso imagines #woso x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader

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