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pathologicalreid · 8 months

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the archer | S.R.

in which a trip to your hometown leads to an exposed past and a wrongful arrest, you can't help but wonder who could stay

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angst

content warnings: normal cm violence/death. mentions of sexual assault and physical assault. mentions of miscarriage and dv. arson/fires. please take care of yourself while reading <3.

word count: 5.96k

a/n: if you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, the US hotline is 800-799-7233. be well and be safe.

can you see right through me?

Emily had called you into her office fifteen minutes before the briefing began to let you know that the case was in your hometown. “There are some things that may come to light in a small town, and I wanted to let you know that you can stay behind if you need to,” she told you, having shut the blinds to her office to give you the most privacy she could.

Giving it a moment, you thought about it before you met her eyes, “if someone tries to say something, I’d rather be there to clear things up than let them say anything.” You wiped your clammy palms on your plants before standing up, “and besides, who better to work on victimology than someone who knows the town.”

You stepped out of the office, holding the door open for Emily before the two of you made your way to the roundtable room.

The two victims had been killed a week apart, they were both women who you had gone to school with. The first was in your graduating class, Victoria Reynolds, kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and asphyxiated. The second was a year ahead of you, Melanie Baylor, kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and asphyxiated. The team had been called in by the lead detective on the case, Charlie Platten, and he had likely made the call without telling the police chief.

It had already been three days since the second body was recovered, and Emily didn’t want to waste any more time. You left the roundtable room to grab your go-bag, smiling when you felt a familiar presence next to you. “Are you alright?” Spencer asked, leaning against your desk while you reached underneath it for your bag.

Stepping in front of him, you looked up at him, “I’m okay, Spence.” You plopped your go bag on top of your desk, “it’ll be okay,” you whisper.

“And if at any point it’s not,” he prompted, placing a hand on your waist.

You simpered up at him, “You’ll be the first person I go to, love.”

He reached over and grabbed your bag off of your desk, carrying it to where the rest of the team is waiting for the elevator. “I’ll admit, I am interested in seeing your hometown,” he told you, letting you step into the elevator before him.

“Yeah, Y/N, maybe you can show us some of your old haunts once we solve the case,” Luke chimed in from the back of the elevator.

Laughing breathily, you turned your head to face Luke, “Do I really strike you as the kind of person to have ‘old haunts’, Alvez?”

A few of your team members chuckle. You faced forward, wondering how long it would be before one of them saw through you. When working with profilers, it was always a risk.

'cause all of my enemies started out friends

Emily sent you and Luke to the latest crime scene while she and Spencer set up at the precinct. JJ and Matt met with the latest victim's family while Tara and Rossi met with the medical examiner. Your stomach felt unsettled as soon as the plane landed, you had a bad feeling about this case. Spencer tried to ask you what was going on with you, but you just brushed him off.

You would tell him. After this case was over and you went home, you would tell Spencer everything. He deserved that.

“Did you know her?” Luke asked, using a gloved hand to inspect a shard of glass he found on the concrete.

Blinking rapidly, you snapped out of your stupor, “Melanie? Yeah, she was a year ahead of me in school. I graduated with Victoria though.” You used the toe of your boot to clear some dirt off of what looked like some sort of plaque. “I wasn’t all that close with either of them, but in a town this small, you kind of know everyone,” you explained.

Standing back up and walking back over to Luke, you looked at the building, it’s an abandoned factory on the edge of town. “Is there any significance to this building?”

“It was a functioning factory in the eighties,” you explained, looking at the vines growing up the side of it. “This business was the entire economy of the town, when the factory went down, so did the town.”

Luke nodded, taking a step back and eyeing the entire decrepit building. “And the church? Where the first body was found.”

You pursed your lips, “Only church in town, I was baptized there, when it burned down people had nowhere else to go, so they stopped believing.”

“How did the fire start?” He asked, turning the knob on the factory door, and looking surprised when it opened.

You shrugged, “lightning strike, I thought. I wasn’t much of a believer, especially once my mom died.”

Alvez nodded in understanding, “Would you say that both of these locations are important to the town and its history?”

Nodding, you followed Luke back to the SUV, leaning back in the passenger seat as you mentally prepared yourself for the scene your arrival at the precinct was about to cause.

When you got there, you immediately spotted the police chief ripping the lead detective, Charlie, a new one outside the front door. He saw you and did a double take, “And what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“Sir, we’re members of the BAU, our-“ Luke started explaining, obviously confused at the chief’s combative nature.

He held up a hand, “I wasn’t talking to you, agent.” Turning to face you, “You don’t show your face at home, leaving in the middle of the night ten years ago and now you’re what? A big bad FBI agent?”

You stiffened, pushing your shoulders back as you faced him. Stand tall, stay strong. “It wasn’t the middle of the night, and the FBI is only big and bad to the people who deserve it, Frank.”

The man in front of you scoffed, “I’m talking to your supervisor, you’re not working on this case.” He pushes past you, causing you to stumble back against the wall.

“What was that about? Who was that guy?” Luke asked, looking at you as you got your bearings back before walking into the precinct.

Bowing your head, you grumbled, “You just met my father.” At that moment, you were glad to be facing away from him, because you weren’t sure you could face any of it.

You’re still the newest member of the BAU, technically being a profiler but Emily pulled you in to help with public communications, since the old unit chief had been handling it along with Garcia, Emily did the same. When Spencer went to prison, she found she needed extra help, so you were snagged from your cozy office in sex crimes and sent to the BAU.

You fit in well with everyone, and you never really felt the need to prove yourself. Even taking the initiative to write letters to Spencer, because you didn’t want to be a stranger to him when he came back. So, when you met face-to-face last year, he thanked you. When you kissed him eight months ago, you both agreed to move slowly.

Seven months ago, he showed up at your door and told you he loved you.

Emily gave you an understanding look when she saw you walk into the police station, she, of course, knew everything about your situation.

“We don’t have enough for any sort of geographic profile yet,” Spencer said, standing in front of a whiteboard with a map over it, along with pictures of the two victims. He turned as soon as he saw you, smiling in a silent greeting. You winked in response, sitting down in the office chair next to him.

Luke stood in front of you, blocking your view of the whiteboard, “What do you mean that was your father? Why wouldn’t you say that your dad was the chief of police here?”

You shrugged, leaning back in the chair, “I may share DNA with the man, but I haven’t seen Frank Burris since I was twenty years old.”

“Doesn’t that bother you? Did she tell you?” Luke asked Spencer, who was still looking at the whiteboard, entirely unbothered.

“What did you find at the crime scene?” Emily asked, effectively ending Luke’s questioning. You had no idea if she had heard any of the previous conversation, but either way, you were grateful for the change in subject.

Taking a deep breath, you turned and faced her, “The dump sites are all places that are former symbols of the town, maybe the unsub wants to further desecrate these locations.” Emily nodded, prompting you to continue. “These kills are angry, the overkill and sexual assault definitely lean toward a male offender, I think the unsub is angry,” you said.

“Angry that his town is no longer what it once was,” Spencer suggested, taking his eyes off the whiteboard. “Are there any other locations that could fit that general description?”

Shaking your head, you crossed your arms over your chest, “Probably, I haven’t been here in ten years, it might help to talk to a local. Charlie could probably help.”

“Charlie can’t help with anything; the chief took him off the case. It belongs to me now,” a voice behind you said. Immediately, you straightened up in your chair, earning a strange look from Spencer. “Y/N, I’m looking forward to working with you,” the male voice said.

Swallowing thickly, you turned and faced him, “I wish I could say the same, Johnny.” You stood up, needing as much ground as you could get. “Do you know any places that would fit the description? Somewhere that used to be a symbol in the down, but is abandoned now?”

“The school burnt down about eight days ago, but you’d know that if you gave a damn about us,” he said indignantly, looking down at you.

You felt Spencer stand behind you, “do you have some kind of problem?”

Johnny eyed your boyfriend and you hoped he didn’t catch on to your relationship, “If I’m being totally honest, I’m not completely comfortable working with Y/N.”

“Our team was called in to help solve these murders and Agent Y/L/N is a part of that team,” Emily defended you. “If you have a problem, I suggest you suck it up until this case is solved.”

Angrily, Johnny stalked off. You turned around and grabbed a file off of the desk, glancing over at Emily and silently thanking her.

help me hold on to you

Later in your shared hotel room, Spencer looked at you curiously, “Was he an ex-boyfriend?”

You rolled your eyes and laid back on the bed, it wasn’t the worst bed you’ve slept in since joining the BAU, but it certainly wasn’t going to be winning any awards any time soon. “Don’t be jealous, Spence, it’s unbecoming," you deflected.

Spencer climbed on top of the bed and kissed your forehead, “I’m not jealous, I’m concerned.”

That made your heart clench, you sat up in the bed and cupped his face with your hands, “You don’t need to worry about me, okay?” You studied his face, the small crease in his forehead that told you he was overthinking the situation made you sigh. Gently, you leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. “If I think you need to be concerned, I’ll tell you,” you whispered, allowing him to gather you in his arms.

“Okay, angel,” he whispered back.

You sighed and laid back against the pillows, “I have a bad feeling about this case,” you told him softly. Spencer doesn’t believe in intuition the way you do, but he’d never discredit your feelings.

He reached over and swept your hair behind your ear, “Me too.”

Pulling away from him, you looked at him curiously, “Why?”

He shrugged, “Both of them look like you. You’re the same age as them.” The victims, he was saying the victims were too similar to you for his own comfort. You hadn’t really given it much thought. If you start comparing yourself to the victims, you’d freeze up. That was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

“I’m not going anywhere, Spencer,” you comforted, curling up next to him.

i've been the archer, i've been the prey

The call came at five in the morning, only four hours after you had gone to sleep. Splitting up into two SUVs, half of you went to the precinct while the other half of you went to the crime scene.

“Katherine Meadows was dumped in front of the school,” Emily said, leading you, Tara, and Rossi into the precinct. You were still pulling your blazer on over your tank top, having been given approximately five minutes between waking up and getting out the door.

You stopped in your tracks; your mouth went dry. You knew of the other victims, but you were friends with Katherine. She helped you pay for your plane ticket out of here. You owed her your life, and now you’d never be able to repay her.

“What kind of school is it? Elementary? High school?” Rossi asked, flipping through a file that had been left on a desk.

Snapping out of your daze, you shook your head, “It’s K-12 all in the same building, that’s why it’s such a big deal that it’s gone.” You looked at the whiteboard, there weren’t any pictures of Katherine up yet, but you could imagine it. She looked more like you than the other victims, and you silently cursed Spencer for putting those thoughts in your head.

“Agent Y/L/N,” you heard Johnny call from behind you, he and your father were charging toward you at an alarming pace. “Are you armed?”

Your head snapped up, “yes,” you answered, putting your hand on your holstered weapon, watching as Johnny and Frank pulled their guns out.

“Please hand over your firearm to Detective Klein and put your hands up,” Frank commanded.

Taking a deep breath, you handed the weapon over to Johnny, facing him directly. It gave you tunnel vision, and you couldn’t even hear the protests of your team as you raised your hands level with your head.

Johnny grabbed your wrists, and you hissed as he cuffed you, the metal cutting into your skin when he made the handcuffs too tight. “Y/N Y/L/N, you’re under arrest for the murders of Victoria Reynolds, Melanie Baylor, and Katherine Meadows. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.” He shoved you in the direction of the interrogation room, “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

An officer opened the door, and he pushed you down into a metal chair, hooking your handcuffs to the table in front of you.He continued reading your rights, “If you decide to answer questions without an attorney present, you will still have the right to cease answering at any time until you are able to talk to an attorney.” Johnny said, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “Do you understand your rights?”

You glared up at him, “What the hell are you doing, Johnny?”

He slammed a palm on the table, “Do you understand your rights?”

Pursing your lips, you looked away and peered right at the glass window ahead of you, “Yes, I understand my rights.”

“With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?” He asked, leaning far too close to you, you could smell the cigarette smoke on his uniform. That smell was on you for years after you left, you were convinced you’d never be able to fully wash it off. Maybe you hadn’t.

You seethed up at him, “fuck no.”

Johnny nodded assuredly, opening the door to the interrogation room, and slamming it shut.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to pull the handcuffs away from where it was pinching your skin, you winced when it tore your skin. You set your head down on the cold table and sigh, knowing you should’ve taken Emily’s offer to stay behind when you had the chance.

Another officer came in later and told you they wanted your jacket and shoes for evidence, you didn’t fight them, numbly watching as he unlocked the handcuffs and took your jacket before putting the cuffs back on, just as tight. You kicked off your shoes for the officer and sat back down. Before he left, another officer came in and dropped an evidence box on the table.

It was an FBI scare tactic to leave an empty evidence box on an interrogation room table, but your box wasn’t empty.

They wanted to humiliate you in front of your team, and it was working.

all the king's horses, all the kings men, couldn't put me together again

The next people to open the door were Charlie and Tara, they sat down across from you. “I’m really sorry about all of this Y/N,” he muttered to you, pulling some files out of the evidence box.

You shrugged and shook your head, “Nothing Johnathan Klein does to me anymore really surprises me.” You looked at the files.

Charlie was hesitant to open the files, “there’s some rough stuff in here if you’re okay with going over some of it with us.”

Swallowing thickly, you looked at the file, “I don’t really have a ton of choice, do I?”

You hated both of them for pitying you, but more than anything you hated your father and Johnny for doing this to you and wasting time while there was a serial killer on the loose. He opened the file and placed pictures of the three victims in front of you.

For a couple of minutes, he asked general questions. Do you know them? How did you know them?

Then Tara finally asked a question, “Y/N, how old were you when your mother died?” She asked you, placing a photo of you and your mom in front of you. You were probably seven in the picture.

“Ten,” you answered, looking at the picture. You wondered if you could keep it once this was all over.

“When you were ten, you started a string of hospital visits that lasted until you were twenty years old. Broken ribs, concussions, fractures, and… a miscarriage,” Tara said, your eyes snapped up to look at her.

Your mouth went dry “You had Garcia unseal my files?” You couldn’t help the hurt in your voice.

The way Tara looked at you, you could tell she understood you in a whole new light now, “we had to. She felt horrible doing it.” That you didn’t doubt, the whole team had a mostly unspoken rule on inter-team profiling. You nodded understandingly.

“Y/N, do you have an alibi for the murders? We already cleared up that you weren’t working, but can anyone account for your whereabouts?” Charlie asked impatiently, he knew you didn’t do this, and it might not be his case anymore, but you could still tell he wanted it solved.

Looking directly at Tara, you answered the question, “No, I wasn’t with anyone.”

Your coworker set her jaw as Charlie got up and left.

“How did you get those injuries, Y/N?” Tara continued her line of questioning, setting a packet of medical records in front of you. You were still cuffed, so all you could do was touch the papers with your fingertips.

The paper read of chromosomes and a D&C, you couldn’t help the tears that flooded your eyes, “I- uh. I don’t want to look at that, please.”

Quickly, Tara pulled the papers away, “who hurt you?”

You bit your lip to stifle a cry, “Tara, please.” You knew what was going on, the only person who knew everything was retaliating against the precinct. They humiliated you, so she was going to humiliate them. She repeated the question and this time you answered, “My father.”

“Was your father also the father of your baby?” She asked, looking down at the papers. Honestly, she looked just about as uncomfortable as you were.

Solemnly, you shook your head, “That was Johnny. We were together from when I was fifteen until I was twenty. My dad-“ Your voice broke off, “Frank never touched me like that.”

“Can you tell me more about Frank?” She asked softly, the way she spoke to victims. The one thing you had tried to avoid.

Blearily, you looked up at your friend, “Can we take a break?”

Nodding, Tara stood up. When she opened the door, you heard shouting. People asking if your cuffs could be taken off. You just let your tears fall for a moment. Charlie came back and unlocked your cuffs, looking at the dried blood on them and the still bleeding wounds on your wrists, “I- I think we have a first aid kit somewhere.”

You brushed him off, waiting for him to leave and for Tara to come back. She did, draping a sweater over the table, and you tentatively grabbed it. Sighing when you recognized it as Spencer’s, “Has everyone seen the paperwork?”

She nodded slowly, “are you alright to talk to me about Frank now?”

You used your newly freed hands to wipe under your eyes before pulling the cardigan on. “It was my mom, she took everything he threw at her to protect me,” you whispered. “He hit me when I was ten, I had gotten a bad grade in social studies. So, my mom and I planned to leave, but he figured it out,” you said, furrowing your brows at the memory. “He strangled her, and she died. He told everyone she hung herself. The whole town believed him because he was the chief of police.”

Tara wrote something down, “he killed her in front of you?”

You nodded, “He needed someone else to take his aggression out on after that, so he beat me.” You told her, fiddling with the hem of Spencer’s sweater. “So, when I was fifteen and I met a boy, I thought I had found the answers to all of my problems, but I really had just discovered more.”

“The boy was Johnathan Klein?”

Affirming her question again, you continued your story, “he was a horny fifteen-year-old boy, and he had sex with me even when I begged him not to. He told me he had to because he loved me, and I believed him.”

Tara leaned over and looked you in the eyes, “You know that wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” You asked meekly, tilting your head to the side. “He proposed to me the day we graduated from high school. I had already accepted the fact that I was never getting out of the town, but what I didn’t know was by getting engaged to him I was very nearly signing my own death certificate.” You took a deep breath and tried to ignore the ache in your chest, “I found out I was pregnant when I was nineteen, and looking back at it now, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

Tara didn’t speak, she just listened. You supposed that was the psychologist in her, letting you take the lead in your own story.

You furrowed your brows as you tried to bring memories that you had spent so long burying to the surface. “I knew I couldn’t make my baby go through the same thing I went through, so I tried to run, but I didn’t get far. He found me, he beat me, he brought me to the hospital, and he told me I killed our baby.” You could see the story was bothering Tara. When you told Emily, you told her in pieces over the span of a month. “The only people I was allowed to see after that were my dad, Johnny, and Katherine.” You wiped tears from your face, “the judge wouldn’t grant me a restraining order, my only option was to run. So, when Kath showed up with a plane ticket and an envelope of cash, I took the opportunity and left.”

“Y/N, do you think these murders could be somehow connected to your upbringing here?” Tara asked, flipping through another file.

You looked back at the glass that separates the observation room, having no idea who was on the other side listening. “I didn’t until Reid said the victims looked like me,” you confessed. It felt too convenient, victims looking like you, you being framed for their murders. Yet, you still made sure not to call Spencer by his first name, afraid of giving yourself away. “Do they have any evidence?”

“They found soil from the factory crime scene on your shoes, but your jacket is still being processed. Without an alibi, we can’t get them to release you,” Tara said.

Rolling your eyes, you leaned back in the chair, “Of course, they found soil from the factory crime scene on my shoes, I was at the scene yesterday.”

The door opened and Frank stepped inside, “Your alibi spoke up.” He sounded irritated, but not as irritated as he’s going to be once the BAU is through with him.

i see right through me

Spencer had settled you down on a desk in the corner of the precinct, disinfecting the cuts on your wrists made by Johnny’s handcuffs. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, watching as he cleaned the debris from your torn skin.

He didn’t respond, he just shook his head. You could tell he was thinking, as clearly as if you could see gears physically turning in his head.

“Spence, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you whispered, bending your neck to try to catch his eyes.

He shook his head again, “I’m not upset, not with you at least.”

You raised your eyebrows in suspicion, “Then stop getting so lost in thought. What’s bothering you?”

He clasped both of your hands in his own, setting them in your lap, “Does it feel like a coincidence to you that the same night Johnny told us about the school the woman who helped you escape an abusive relationship was found dead at that school?” Spencer dropped your hands, reaching into the first aid kit and pulling out bandages before gingerly wrapping your wrists. At work, you tried to keep the public displays to a minimum, but you felt like these were extenuating circumstances, which was why you had secluded yourselves in the corner.

“I need to look at the crime scene photos again,” you said, trying to get off of the desk.

Spencer firmly placed both of his hands on your hips, effectively keeping you in place. “Once I’m done,” he whispered, securing the bandages on your wrists. “Are you alright?”

You tilted your head up at him and smiled sadly, “Everyone learned a lot about me today. Some of it I had never intended on telling them. I just feel… exposed? Raw?” You searched desperately for the right word to use to describe exactly how you feel.

Hanging your head low, your eyes traced patterns in the carpet when Spencer hooked a finger gently under your chin and lifted your head, so you were looking at him. His honey-colored eyes searched your face, and you felt like he was looking right through you. “You know nothing that happened today makes any of us see you differently, right? I don’t think of you as any less of a person because of what I learned today.”

You shook your head, “You don’t learn those things about your girlfriend and look at her the same.”

“You’re right. I don’t look at you the same, I’m even more in awe of you now than I was before. The fact that you’ve been through what you’ve been through and you’re this bright, shiny person sitting in front of me is astounding, but…” His voice trailed off.

Here it was, he couldn’t want who you were. He didn’t want the heavy history that comes with you. You shut your eyes.

He cupped your face with his hands, “it makes me worry that maybe I haven’t been there for you enough. Not in the same way you’re there for me.”

“Spence,” you whispered, swallowing back your emotions, and looking up at him.

Spencer shook his head, “I love you, and I have to make sure that you know that I’m always going to be there when you need me.”

Nodding rapidly, you stood up and wrapped your arms around him, “I know.” Your voice was little more than a rasp, “I know, I love you too.”

After assuring Emily and Tara that your friendship was intact, you turned to the team. “I think I play a bigger part in this case than I realize.”

“We were just coming to a similar conclusion, once we saw what Katherine Meadows looked like, it just confirmed our suspicions,” JJ said, looking at the whiteboard, which now had Kath’s picture on it, as well as yours. “The whole town seems to have it out for you, though. How do we narrow down the suspect pool?”

You stepped up to the whiteboard, “Because it’s not about the locations and their relation to the town, it’s about the locations and their relation to me.” You pointed to the factory, “When I was fifteen, this was the first place Johnny ever assaulted me.”

“You said he proposed to you at your high school graduation, right?” Tara said, “That’s the connection to the school.”

Nodding, you continued, “And we were going to get married at the church.”

Spencer wrote this all down on the whiteboard as you fit the pieces of this puzzle together. “Is there anywhere else that would fit in with these other locations?”

Flipping through a file, you set papers down on the desk in front of your team. “That’s our house, it was set on fire not long after I left,” you pointed out. “That’s where he’s going next.”

“But who will his victim be? If we can get to her before he can, then we can stop him before he gets to her,” Matt mentioned.

Slowly, you turned around and faced your team, “I don’t intend on letting anyone else get hurt. This is between me and Johnny.”

who could stay?

You sat yourself down at the dining room table. Nothing in the house had been moved, its charred remains were left defenseless against Mother Nature. You knew this table, there was blood ground into the wood grain. It was your blood.

You wished they had torn the rest of the structure down.

Spencer didn’t like the idea of you going alone, but you were armed, and you had an earpiece in. You weren’t alone, the team was nearby in case things went wrong.

“Incoming, blue pick-up pulling into the driveway,” Luke said through the radio. “Suspect’s getting out, it doesn’t look like anyone’s with him.”

Realistically, you knew nothing was going to happen to you, but there was some small voice in the back of your head that told you something was going to go awry.

You wiped your sweaty palms on the floral-patterned chair. Part of you was grateful that the team had enough faith in you to send you to get a confession on your own, but another part of you wished someone would’ve asked you if this is really what you want to do. Sure, you wanted Johnathan Klein to be put away for a long time, but you didn’t want to be in this house. When you left, you had hoped you’d never have to set foot in this godforsaken town ever again.

Sitting up straight, the front door opened. You’re not sure why he opens the door when there’s a hole in the wall leading right to you. “I thought you might come looking for me,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I always knew you’d come back to me, baby,” Johnny spoke to you in a low voice, but you knew the team could hear.

“I didn’t come here for you, Johnny,” you whispered, keeping your voice steady. “I came for the girls who were murdered. I knew them, we both did,” you told him. That was the truth, you felt like you owed them because they died while you got to live.

He sat next to you, placing a hand on your knee. It was all you could do to not flinch away from him. “Then why did you bring that guy? If not to make me jealous, then why?”

“Johnny, if I go with you, will it stop?” You asked, turning to him, reaching out your hand, and placing it on his arm.

Humming, he reached out and brushed your hair behind your ear, luckily not the side where you had your earbud in. “I don’t know what you mean, babe. You’ll have to spell it out for me,” he said, pulling you to your feet abruptly. You didn’t see the knife when he first walked in, you didn’t even know he had it until it was to your throat.

But you weren’t twenty years old anymore. You had grown up. You had learned self-defense.

So, you caught him off guard when you hit him, causing the knife to clatter to the ground. “You bitch!” He growled, “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“You won’t kill me,” you said, planting your feet on the ground. “You had five years to kill me, Johnny.”

He stood up, “No, but I killed a part of you. Didn’t I? When I killed your baby?”

After all these years, he knew how to get under your skin. He got one hit off, across your cheek, the strike so hard that your earbud went flying across the room. “You killed the part of me that you created, that’s not who I am. I recreated myself, a version of myself without this godforsaken town.”

“But I got you here, back home. I killed all those girls for you to come back to me,” he said, running straight at you.

You hit him with your gun, you physically struck him with the butt of the gun. You could’ve shot him, it would’ve been clean, but you didn’t. That would’ve been easy for him. He dropped like a ragdoll and the rest of your team came rushing in. Someone was calling your name, but you couldn’t hear.

Matt ended up being the one who cuffed him, you slowly walked away from them. Backing yourself into a wall, you watched it all happen.

When you left your hometown, you never quite felt like it was over. He was always still going to be around. But this? This felt final.

It made your chest ache.

Gently, Spencer took your hand and led you outside. “It’s done?”

He nodded rapidly, “It’s over, angel. Emily and Luke are at the precinct taking Frank into custody. They’ll both go away for a long time.”

“Spence, I want to go home,” you whispered, looking down the road and seeing houses that you recognize from your childhood. This whole town was filled with your own ghosts. “Can we go home?”

Spencer didn't answer, he just pulled you into him and held you tightly. You let him inspect the wound on your cheek before you went back to the hotel and put everyone’s belongings in an SUV.

On the jet, the two of you sequestered yourselves in the back where it’s darker. He offered to let you lie down, so you rested your head in his lap. He used one hand to hold his book and the other to smooth your hair back. Your eyes were shut, but you were vaguely aware of the rest of the team as they took turns peeking back at the both of you.

you could stay

please remember to like, reblog, and comment

#written by margot #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds angst #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds imagine

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vaaaaaiolet · 3 months

Text

You take it upon yourself to spice up your husband's work lunches at Rebecca's encouragement, and Leon nearly dies in the process. Is Hello Kitty really a killer? Leon, for one, is convinced she's up to no good.

f / m, you're married to older leon!, crack treated seriously, fluff, slice of life, the dso is just one big happy family because i said so, bento boxes and happy ending but maybe not for chris (i still love my peanut buster king)

word count: 1.4k // read on ao3

a/n: inspired by rrcherrypie's hello kitty bento box video that i watched religiously as a kid. this entire fic is a shitpost tbh LMAO this is my government mandated apology for a story where no one goes anywhere <3 go check it out if you haven't yet!

Ever since his cop days, Leon’s learned that you can’t trust anyone whose hands aren’t in plain sight and well, Hello Kitty’s emblazoned face staring up at him from the kitchen counter doesn’t exactly have hands. Or arms.

Leon scrunches his nose at her and opts to wrap his own arms around your waist instead.

“Doll.”

“Hm?”

Leon lines the side of your neck with kisses as carrot coins and cucumber slices fall serenely away at your knife.

“Whatcha doin’?” he prods.

You neatly sweep the vegetables into the Hello Kitty bento box and give your attention-hungry husband a kiss to tide him over, but it’s not quite enough to satiate. Octopus sausages stare back at him with pointy sesame seed eyes, and Leon grows more unsettled by the minute.

He’s done playing nice; gives your hip a pinch. “Come on, you’re killing me here. What’s with all the arts and crafts?”

“Now, before you say anything,” your voice is soft and placating and giving him all the more reason to worry, "‘Becca came by to visit me the other day and said she really liked what I made you for lunch last week.”

“So this is for her?” Leon breathes a sigh of relief. He was starting to thin-

“No, this is for you, silly!”

And you laugh like it’s funny.

“I thought I should start putting in some more effort into your food. You’re away for work so often, and I don’t get to make you nice things as much as I want to.”

Leon chokes a little and looks back down at Hello Kitty’s gleaming metal face. “This is…what I’m taking to work?”

Your face falls. “What, you don’t like it?”

“No, doll, it looks delicious but…you really didn’t have to go all out. Your sandwiches are just fine. I don’t wanna give you the trouble, y’know?”

“No trouble at all, baby,” you practically sing the words as you twirl to add your knife to a precarious tower of dishes in the sink, “you just say the word, and I can make you bento boxes every week.”

Every week?

You cup a soapy palm to Leon’s cheek as his gaze descends into a thousand-yard stare to rival Hello Kitty’s. “I think your friends might even be excited about your lunch now!”

Oh, absolutely. Chris was going to have a field day.

Chris completely loses his shit as predicted.

“Oh, Leon, it’s adorable,” Rebecca chimes in hopefully as Chris coughs into his fist, “you should have seen how excited she was when I gave her the box!”

The frustrated ceramic click of Leon’s teeth is somehow audible over Chris’ uncivilized howling. “So this was your idea?”

She gives him a sheepish chuckle.

“Rebecca, I thought we were friends,” he pleads as he picks up his metal fork. The team hovers over Leon’s shoulders like vultures to eye what his wife’s made him for lunch.

To your credit, it’s a mealtime Michelangelo. There are Sanrio-themed rice balls of both the brown and white variety, vegetables neatly cut and festooned with animal picks, a beautifully folded omelet, and the ever omniscient octopus sausages. Hello Kitty’s metal face guards the entire hoard like a gargoyle. It’s enough to make Leon lose his lunch, but he’d have to have some first to cough it up.

He gives the octopus a tentative poke.

“Seriously, Leon, just man up and eat the damn thing.” Jill takes no nonsense as usual, plucking a carrot from the bed of lettuce and tossing it into her mouth. “Chris is just salty he’s having his fifth protein shake lunch of the week.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

It’s never quiet with those two around, but Rebecca gives him an encouraging smile as he gives the octopus a chew. It’s not bad, really. It’s just something about eating something with ey-

Rapid alarm beeps in the main compound snap the team’s attention away from the bento box affair and towards the map in the middle. Rebecca shoots off in her rolling chair to pull up what’s alerting the alarm system, and Hunnigan’s business voice projects into Leon’s earpiece.

“I hope you’ve had a satisfying lunch.”

He wonders if Hunnigan ever eats as he shoves his bento box into the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

She, however, is unconcerned. “You’re going to need the energy for the incident we’ve just gotten wind of downtown.”

The situation was supposed to be minor. There were rumors of King Tut’s Curse swirling amongst the museum staff after a rare shipment of Egyptian artifacts, but nobody had taken anything seriously until a janitor walked into the storage room and came back out more dead than alive. Things escalated after the infected janitor wandered into the World War II exhibit and bit the cleaning team there. The staff was horrified, the media was unhelpfully broadcasting the entire thing on live TV, and the DSO had blessedly quieted the whole thing down on that end before directing the case to Leon’s team as a classic T-virus takedown operation.

Easy as pie. Except the undead cleaning crew had gotten ahold of loaded World War II guns, you know, for historical accuracy.

It’s a cinch for the most part to evacuate the visitors from the museum. Leon ushers terrified middle schoolers out of the exhibits as fast as he can while the rest of his team rounds up the infected, and it’s a routine sweep. He just feels bad for the kiddos.

“But what about the gift sho- AHH!! ” Leon whirls around to see an Infected point a knife bayonet into a terrified sixth-grader’s face. The zombie’s finger pulls back the trigger almost cinematically, and Leon’s not stupid. He’s going to be too late.

The gun fires.

It fires a round directly into his left shoulder as he shoves the kid to safety.

Leon collapses on the ground after shooting the zombie’s head to bits, but his shoulder aches something fierce. Oh God, not again, this time he hasn’t even got Ada to patch him up. He gingerly presses two fingers to the wound and pulls them away to inspect the warm spill of blood, but surprisingly, his fingers come away clean.

Jill comes running up as he stumbles to his feet. The last of the Infected have been wiped out, she explains frantically, pulling out a roll of gauze, and everything’s secure, but suddenly she stops to peer at his spotless bullet wound.

So it’s not just him. There was definitely a shot, and his shoulder definitely hurts like a bitch.

But where was the bullet?

You’re chewing your nails down to the quick when Leon walks into the living room later that evening. The quiet shuffle of his shoes falling onto the stand prompts you to smother in him a warm, bakery-scented hug and take him by surprise, but he squeezes you back as much as his shoulder allows.

You sniffle into his leather-clad chest. “I’m so sorry, baby, I just- I saw the news before they stopped the broadcast and I can’t believe they sent you to deal with the riot!”

So that’s what Hunnigan fed the press this time. Practical as always.

“I can’t believe I made you go to work with that stupid lunch,” you carry on, gasping as you spot the bandage peeking through his jacket, “you didn’t like it and you could have died, I’m never-”

“I’m alright, no biggie.” Leon kisses the top of your head, taking you by the arms and sitting you down next to him on the couch. You furiously wipe a tear off your face.

“It’s not alright, I’m never making you anything you don’t like ever again. That bento box is bad juju. I’m telling Rebecca never to buy anything from that shop from now on.”

Okay, so you finally admit the box is creepy. Leon bites back a laugh.

“Woah, doll, not so fast. You think it’s the box’s fault I got hurt?”

“What else would it be? Today’s the first time you take it to work, and then you get shot on a regular patrol.” You frown as he pulls the Hello Kitty bento out from inside his jacket. “You brought that thing home?”

He chuckles. “Take a look at it. I’ve got you to thank for saving my life.”

You squint at the tin and realize with a startle that a bullet round is lodged smack dab in the middle of Hello Kitty’s yellow nose. Like a goddamn bullseye.

The lunchbox had taken the brunt of the hit, leaving Leon unscathed.

“Incredible.” you breathe out.

And he’s inclined to agree.

“So, doll,” Leon grins, “got any leftovers for tomorrow? Chris is a really big fan of the octopus things.”

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #resident evil #vaaaaaiolet #ao3 fanfic

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mythicmanuscripts · 1 month

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(Also, Aemond is also a biter but that’s exclusively during sex when he’s completely overwhelmed and he bites hard enough to bruise. He always feels terrible afterwards but you think it’s a small price to pay to see him completely broken down by pleasure)

Hello sir/ma’am/gender neutral term to show respect, I have the physical need to hear further thoughts about this.

Maybe about the first time Aemond does this? And he’s a bit ashamed and all apologetic (he might even cry a little) because he didn’t mean to hurt reader!! But reader just felt so good, and he was so overwhelmed. And aftercare of course because our boi deserves it all

Of course! I’m utterly obsessed with anything to do with Aemond losing control and just letting himself feel.

Subby NSFW Aemond below the cut! It starts out a bit angsty but I promise it ends well.

So to start, Aemond prides himself on being put together and composed. He’s not his brother. No one will ever find him stumbling out of pubs and brothels in the early hours of the morning, nor will he ever make a fool of himself in court through a lack of knowledge. He is good, he is prepared, and he prides himself on his composure.

Except no one ever told him that falling in love can make a person lose all that composure. Perhaps if his first time wasn’t that brothel worker and he didn’t have such a screwed idea of sex that he wouldn’t touch another woman until his marriage, then perhaps he would have expected this. But of course that didn’t happen.

I also think a large part of his poor outlook on marriage would be from witnessing his parents' marriage? Anyone with eyes can see that Alicent is not even slightly in love and just doing what she thinks is best to gain power for herself and her children.

Aemond may avoid sexual contact after that brothel incident, but that's not to say he's naive in any way. He knows the guards would summon Alicent to Viserys's chambers where she would be forced to lay with him before returning to her own bed.

This, he believed, was what marriage meant for noble arranged couples. There was never intimacy or care or warmth, only ever duty and thinly veiled resentment.

So when he meets you for the first time and Alicent says you're to be his wife, he doesn't quite know what to expect but he certainly doesn't expect how reasonable you are? He never expected a friendship to form never mind a relationship and yet he found himself searching for you in crowded rooms before he had even said his vows.

You and Aemond get along better than anyone ever expected and well, Aemond has no fucking idea what to do now.

Pretty quickly you realise Aemond seems to have two states? He’s either cool and calm and very collected, every word he speaks is carefully chosen and no one can get under his skin or get him to reveal anything about himself. Or he’ll be very flustered and whiney and he can’t even string a sentence together, he’ll end up clingy and unsettled, shaking until you pull him into your arms and then only settling when he can hold onto you.

There is no in between. Aemond has never found an in between because he’s never been anything other than composed until you come along and suddenly he’s feeling a whole new range of emotions and for the first time he actually doesn’t want to be closed off?

(Sidenote: the single most important realisation Aemond has is when he realises he actually wants you to see that side of him? He loves you, and you love him, and you’re the one who has made him feel so warm and soft and so… so loved and he realises that he actually wants you to see that? You did that to him, you deserve to see how you effect him)

Anyway, let’s address the actual point now.

The first time things get really intense between the two of you is a few weeks into the marriage, once you're regularly kissing and cuddling and Aemond is beginning to rely on your touches and confidence. Maybe Aemond had even eaten you out a few times. It takes a while of Aemond refusing to let you reciprocate before he finally feels safe enough to let you touch him properly.

The first time you do, you end up stroking him while straddling his thighs. What really ruins him about this is how it goes against everything he ever expected? He's sitting in a comfortable chair besides the fireplace in your shared chambers, he's warm and safe and he feels so... at ease? There is none of the horrid vulnerability he experienced at the brothel but also now of the sterile nature he came to expect as a result of Alicent and Viserys.

Instead it's just... good? That't it. There's nothing complicated or hidden or anything. That's what makes him completely unravel, this unparalleled safety and love that just lets him let go.

He whines and cries and bucks his hips without any care for how pathetic he probably looks. He can't help it, especially not when you're smiling down at him and calling him pretty and stroking his cock.

When he gets close, he warns you and just tell him to let go.

He ends up gripping your hips hard and burying his head in your shoulder as he rides out an orgasm that takes his breath away. He doesn't even realise it until he pulls away, but he bit your shoulder pretty hard when he came.

You felt it of course, and it wasnt exactly pleasant, but the way he smiled at you once he recovered enough and slouches back against the chair without an ounce of tension in his body made it well worth it. He can bite you as many times as he likes if it means you get to see him like this.

He, of course, absolutely panics when he realises. He sees how your shoulder is already turning red and the only reason he hasn't ran out the room is that you're literally on his lap.

You try to reassure him that you arent upset, but your words seem to fall on deaf ears. In the end you have to grab the hair at the bottom his neck and tug hard enough that he stops speaking and gasps as his head gets pulled back. You keep him like that, keeping your grip on his hair tight, as you tell him that you arent upset, not at all. You tell him that you know it wasnt meant to hurt you, and also that you're fine. You arent upset, he's still so good for you.

He calms down enough then to be led to bed.

But the next morning is when a rather interesting development occurs. You wake up to discover a dark purple bruise on your shoulder in the shape of a bite mark. You can see exactly where his teeth were. You touch it and it stings, but you arent upset about it.

What really shocks you though is how when Aemond wakes and sees it, he kinda loses his mind? Not because he thinks he's hurt you, but because you have a mark from him. You've literally got his bite mark on your shoulder how the fuck is he supposed to function now??

#sub!aemond #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #house of the dragon imagine

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dckweed · 1 year

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Not sure if you're doing top gun requests right now, but if so, here's one. Rooster with a girl who is helping penny at the bar on a super busy night and there is some rowdy group who keeps calling her over and staring at her, and eventually they go too far and try to grab her but she just knocks one of them clean out and as the guys (hangman, fanboy, etc) is taking care of them, rooster takes her away bc she was about to go crazy on them lol. He's just like "that was so hot but you don't need to go to prison tonight."

baby i am always taking top gun requests. ooooh i love this idea so freaking much, thank you for choosing me to send it too, i absolutely do love it when you guys send things!

please note that i see every request that comes in and i am getting to them one at a time! with that being said, feel free to send one in!

anway, how are we all doing today? are we staying hydrated?

warnings: drinking, violence, inappropriate groping and harassment, bar fights, established relationship with rooster!

"BITCHLESS & DICKLESS' bradley rooster bradshaw x fem!reader

It was a busy Friday night at the Hard Deck, you and Penny the only two working and barely able to keep up with the constant flow of customers coming through, it only seemed to get even more crowded and rowdy when a small group of sailors fresh off the base come through, taking up a couple of the tables near the juke box. They signal you over and you make your towards them, order pad in hand incase they order more than just beer.

"Hey guys, how can i help you?" You ask, your voice upbeat and a smile on your face. It was sticky hot outside and you knew your shirt was clinging to your skin because of it, you tried not to feel too uncomfortable with the obvious way two of the men were staring at you. "Eyes up here, fellas." You say, giving a playful angry look. You were used to being looked at, it kind of came with the job title of bartender, but that didn't mean that it didn't make you uncomfortable.

One of the men cocks a smirk at you, leaning back easily in his seat. "They'll have a round of Budweiser," He says, his eyes not leaving you once as he gestures towards his friends. "and i'll have your number, sweetness."

Before you can open your mouth to object politely, one of his buddies beats you to it. "Hey, Hanks, give some of us a chance with her damn." He chuckles flashing you a smile.

"How about none of you get a chance?" You say sweetly, laughing with his buddies. "I'll be back with the beers in a minute." You shake your head, walking back to the bar. You grab six cold beers from the ice box and start putting them on a serving tray.

"Those boys gonna be trouble?" Penny asks, maneuvering her way behind you with a few drinks of her own. You hadn't realized that she had heard the interaction.

"No, they'll be fine." You shake your head, glancing back over at the table as you pop the tops off of the bottles one by one. The one that had asked for your number, Hanks, was staring at you and talking to the rest of his friends at the same time. His gaze unsettled you, but you carried on with your job anyway. You make your way back over to them, planting your serving smile back on to your face as you start handing out their beers. "Alright fellas, let me know if there's anything else i can get you, okay?"

"That phone number is still wanted, honey." Hanks' friend says, taking a sip from his bottle. He shoots you a wink and manspreads in his chair, you perk an eyebrow at him. What was it with navy boys being so goddamn persistent?

"I'm sure it is honey," You say, your voice a little more stern on the matter this time around. "but my boyfriend sure wouldn't appreciate me giving it out to random navy boys that walk into my bar." You turn to head back towards the actual bar, where you see Penny starting struggle.

"I don't see him around, im sure what he don't know won't kill him!" Hanks voice calls after you, its almost admirable how persistent they are, it was afterall one of the more endearing qualities about your boyfriend when you first met him, although you had to say that he hadn't been nearly as uncomfortable as these boys were.

"Oh he'll be around!" You call back over your shoulder, not noticing that at that moment said boyfriend and his group of friends had walked through the front door of the bar. You didn't notice them for quite a few minuets, giving them plenty of time to get to their usual seats as you worked on the fresh wave of customers at the bar, mixing drinks and handing them out almost mechanically.

After around twenty minutes or so Bradley comes up to the bar, standing directly behind you, your back turned as you pour beer from the tap. "Here you g-Bradley!" You exclaim excitedly, nearly spilling the beer in your hands before you hand it to the man standing next to him.

"Hey baby," He says, his voice gruff and hoars, tired. He gladly accepts your kiss as you lean across the bar for it, pressing his lips against your own. He was still wearing his flight suit, and still covered in sweat, and a quick glance towards the others told you everything y ou needed to know.

"Rough day?" You look at him, eyes questioning as you get to work making their drinks. Whiskey neat for Jake, Scotch on the rocks for Bradley and Natasha and a pop for Bob, your favorite sober companion most evenings.

"You could say that," He says, a deep sigh leaving his chest as he watches you, already feeling more at ease. You didnt pry any farther, knowing he would tell you all about it in bed that night. "When are you off?"

You pout, coming around the bar with the drinks on a serving tray. "Not until nearly closing tonight," You say, walking with him towards the others. Bradley studiously takes the tray from you, ever the gentleman even on his roughest days, his arm brushing your shoulder as you walk. "Hey guys," You greet, giving Jake and Bob your usual friendly kiss on the cheek, and with a giggle you give one to Nat too when she taps hers and gives you a lopsided grin. You could tell by looks on their faces that they all needed a dose of happiness.

"Where's mine?" Bradley whines, hand on your hip possessively. You roll your eyes at him but lean up to kiss his waiting cheek anyway, adoring the small smile that tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Awe come on Rooster, you get her all the time, let the rest of us have some." Natasha says, causing you to throw your head back in a laugh, leaning farther into your boyfriend. Your laugh was infectious and the whole group lets out a chuckle, you watch their bodies relax afterwards. "Might want to keep em coming, Y/N , it's been a rough one.."

Jake looks somewhere behind you, eyebrows pinched, stare hard. "Looks like you're in need, Y/N" He says, raising his whiskey to his lips to take a sip.

You look over your shoulder, your eyes landing on the group of sailors from earlier on the other side of the bar. "Those guys again," You sigh, grabbing your tray off the table.

Bob grabs your wrist before you go, and you furrow your brow at him. "Are those guys giving you a hard time?" He asks quietly, he knew Bradley was already on edge as it was and didn't want him looking for a fight.

"Nothing i can't handle, Bobby," You say, ruffling his hair with a wink before heading off towards the group, putting some pep back in your step. "Ready for round two already, fellas?"

The night drags on quickly and slowly all at the same time, customers come and go, drinks are made and made again and carried out to tables. The two main groups being your Boyfriend and the rest of the daggers and the group of boat boys who become more rowdy as the night drags on.

Bradley is already uneasy with them as it is, catching them staring at you one too many times and asking for your number more than once, to which you studiously turn them down, looking his way as if asking for help. He knew he would step in when needed, but he also hoped that didn't need to happen, he knew Penny would talk to Mav and Mav would talk his ear off about it tomorrow on base.

Your patience had more than worn thin, and you were counting down the minuets until your shift was over, hoping that the last half an hour would pass without any issues. Your hopes were wrong though.

You were bringing the group of boat boys another round of beers and a couple of waters and were just picking up the empties and placing them on your tray when you feel it, a large, sweaty hand sliding up the back of your thigh and right up onto your ass, giving it a heavy squeeze. Your eyes widen. "You wanna lose that fucking hand?" You ask, voice gruff as you stand up straight. The entire table quiets.

"What? Fly girl over there is good enough to squeeze this thick ass but i'm not?" Natasha had playfully smacked your ass on her way to the restroom a short time ago, something the two of you had grown close enough as friends to do. It had made you laugh, but this? Oh this was an entirely different ball game.

You see red, and off in the distance you hear Bradley and Jake both yell and the sounds of chairs scraping against the floor as they all get up abruptly. Youve done it before they can even reach you though. The tray drops from your grasp, your dominant hand balling up as the sound of shattering glass reaches your ears and your fist collides with Hanks' face, right between the eyes. You feel a sickening crunch under the force of the blow and blood spurts out of his nostrils as he slumps down, you had hit him hard enough to knock him out.

"What the fuck?!?" Bradley is next to you, arm out protectively as his friends all stand from their seats, ready to brawl over what you had done, even though their pig of a friend had done worse in your opinion. "Y/N?"

"Bitchless and Dickless over there can't catch a fucking hint!" You yell lunging for his friend. Rooster's arms hold you back though before you can make contact with him, the entire bar watches you scream and kick at the sailor as your boyfriend drags you out towards the parking lot. "Fucking assholes! Squeezed my fucking ass!"

Surprisingly, Bob is the first to throw a punch. He had been watching the idiots mess with you all night long along with Rooster. And after their long ass day he was just as ready to fight as the rest of them, infact, he actually took pleasure in what he did. His fist collides squarely with Hanks' friend and Natasha drags the already semi conscious asshole across the floor after you and Bradley, Penny coming to help her.

"Jesus christ baby, you started a fucking brawl!" Bradley laughs, opening the passenger door of the bronco, shoving all of his stuff onto the floorboard as he sets you up on the seat. "That was so fucking hot," He says, hearing police sirens in the distance already. "You have no idea how bad i want to fuck you right now but i can't have you going to jail tonight, buckle in tight baby.." He says, closing your door before running around to the drivers side, the only the thought on his mind is getting you home where you're safe and in your guys' bed, preferably underneath of him.

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun imagine #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick imagine #miles teller

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pearlzier · 3 months

Text

⊹ 🩰 ࣪ ✶ ˖

✶ . ࣪ ׅ now playing / pink matter by frank ocean ࣪ ✶ ˖

๋࣭ ⭑ from the inbox . . . | reader thinking that matt doesn't really care about her and his priorities are always elsewhere, and he decided to worship her to make it up to her — @lovesickgrlsrh0t

๋࣭ ⭑ warnings . . . | kinda subby matt, also kinda subby reader, oral (f!receiving), barely angst but sure, riding schlong, unprotected sex (dont be silly wrap that willy LMFAOO), p in v

๋࣭ ⭑ author's note . . . | take me shopping i dont care you can take me anywhere see the wind fly through my hair make the people stop n stare 😇 i hope this is. good BYE

you know matt loves you more than anything. it was so obvious in everything he did, how he behaved around you. you love him more than anything, you're sure to make it obnoxiously clear too. he makes your heart flutter, your demeanour happier and just everything better.

so why was that quiet but insistent part of your mind trying to convince you otherwise?

it started when matt was getting consistently more busy with youtube and other influencer-y things that he and his brothers do. you were used to it, yeah, but lately it felt more intrusive and an inconvience to you more than anything. but you never mentioned it, because you never wanted to seem needy, or like that annoying girlfriend who always wants his attention on her. you do, of course, who wouldn't, but not like that.

"m'busy, baby, i can't," he'd tell you, glancing at you for a faint moment before he looked back at his computer or resumed talking with nick and chris. it shouldn't have made you as upset as it did, since it wasn't anywhere near rude or a rejection, but it did make you upset. even a—"maybe later, babe,"—was almost catastrophic, making you feel even worse.

it may seem irrational or an overreaction however you just felt.. ignored. or underappreciated, or whatever you'd call it. like, does he even care about you? insane, you know, but.. you couldn't help but feel like that. what was making you so highstrung?

and matt. oh, matt. as perceptive as ever, knew there was something wrong almost immediately. he stayed quiet about it, trying to test the waters to see whether he was wrong about it however when your reluctance to even be around him became evident, he knew something had happened. he just.. didn't know what. so, he asked chris, first. "i dunno, man, she's just—she's like, avoiding me," chris laughs, almost instantly.

"what the fuck did you do?" he's not really paying attention, considering he knows exactly why you're avoiding matt. you'd talked to him and nick about it. and he vividly remembers you saying you wanted matt to figure out why you were so upset himself; without help.

matt retorts immediately, "i don't know, if i did, i think i'd be fixing it, dumbass." he swallows thickly, feeling uncomfortable with the thought of you not wanting to be around him. he pushes up from the counter, sighing, "thanks for the help." his tone is sarcastic, snarky, as he runs a hand through his hair before heading to the living room where you were with nick.

yeah, you'd resorted to hanging out with nick, when matt was in the house—it wasn't unusual, just.. weird considering how worried he was. it was petty of you, you knew it, but..

"hey," the tension is unsettling, and he hates it. you hate it too. you both hate it. nick's in the middle of it, fiddling with the beads of the bracelet he'd been making with you with a sideways glance at matt as if to tell him that he fucked up, big time. matt knew that, of course he did. you glance up at him, a tiny bit guilty. "nick, you mind if i steal her away for a bit?" he jokes, glancing at you with soft, almost sad puppy dog eyes.

"go ahead," nick mumbles, not exactly wanting to be stuck between couple drama and kind of just wanting to make cute bracelets.

you reluctantly get up, handing the beads back to nick. a dramatic sigh slips past your lips, and you make your way over to matt, looking at him expectantly. he swallows hard, gently grasping at your arm and leading you to his room, closing the door behind him. looking back at you, he finds you standing there with your arms folded over your chest defensively. his heart melts. "baby," he starts.

you glance away, frowning. you weren't mad at him, could never be mad at him, but.. uncertain and worried and all those bad feelings that made your head hurt and stomach ache. "matt," not even a matty? now he's frowning, unsure of how to approach this without making an absolute fool of himself. you had him wrapped so tight around your pretty finger, it was unbelievable.

"you're upset with me," matt mumbles, sounding dejected and upset with himself that he'd done something to upset you. "c'mon, look at me," you won't even look at him, give him the time of day.

kind of like how he made you feel, right? he doesn't know where the thought came from, and maybe it's from how you refuse to look at him, but.. he starts to piece things together. especially when you accidentally look at him despite the whole ignoring thing you have going on. "oh, baby," he says softly, ashamed. he hadn't been looking after you the way he should, right? that's what he's thinking, and he knows he's right.

"mmph," you glance away, focusing your gaze on the ceiling. it's how a child, a particularly petulant one, would react to being neglected in the way matt had done to you. his frown only deepens, hands moving to clasp at your thighs. you flinch at the cold metal of his rings against your warm skin, however you relax moments after. "i'm sorry," he starts, knowing a simple apology won't get you to forgive him. he knows you well, after all. "c'mon, let me.." he says softly, pulling you gently towards the bed. he's careful, not too forceful in case you don't want him to touch you or anything. he's too on edge. you let out a quiet sound as the back of your knees hit the bed, and you plonk down, eyes flickering up to his.

it would seem pathetic to some, desperate to many, the way he drops to his knees infront of you. it even surprises you, and you finally look at him properly. a giggle bubbles from your throat, despite yourself, "what are you doing?" your tone is soft, upset but oozing curiosity. his baby blues meet your eyes, and he swallows hard. "makin' it up to you, ma." he runs his hands over your thighs, chest rising and falling in gentle breaths as he takes you in. all his, right? all his.

matt lets his hand gently slide over your thighs, the exhale he lets out shaky and almost whimpery in nature. "wasn't bein' nice to my girl, was i?" he shakes his head, watching the way you nod slowly, "you weren't," you say matter-of-factly, because he wasn't. matt agrees, a soft hum of acknowledgement slipping past his lips. he feels so bad for ignoring you like that, having his priorities else where even when he was busy with work.

his head dips down to suckle gently at your soft skin, tentatively kissing at it. his blue eyes lift to yours for a moment, as if asking for permission. you nod, swallowing hard. "let me make it up to you," he asks, before he continues, murmuring against your skin, "let me make it up to you. please, baby, wanna make it all better."

how could you say no to that? the sound of him begging?

"okay," you say gently, "if you'll let me rant," he moans softly against your thigh, and he nods gently, mumbling something in affirmation but you can't hear it, nor do you really care, since his touch is a little bit mind fogging. his hands grasp at your thighs, tugging you impossibly closer.

"go on," he says quietly, bringing your legs over his shoulders so he can take care of your soft skin the way he wants to, needs to. but also to hear you take your frustrations out on him, it's the least he can do, isn't it? he sounds so apologetic, it's heart melting. "i dunno, kinda feels like you don't really care about me," you say quietly, a little ashamed for even thinking it. matt lets out a whimpery sound, like it pains him to even hear that.

"no, no, no, baby," matt leaves soft marks on your skin, nibbling gently. he's only careful with you, nothing less than delicate with your body. the open mouthed kisses he leaves make a shiver run down your spine, and you continue, "it's dumb.. but, just.. i feel ignored," oh, not right now. you feel very much attended to. "and like.. i'm not really.. you don't think about me? more about your work?"

matt's hands grasp tightly at your thighs instinctively as he swallows hard, shaking his head, "ma.." it's like he doesn't even think twice as he reaches for your leggings, tugging them down quickly but gently. "lift up f'me," he mumbles quietly, pulling down the leggings with relative ease. they're discarded soon enough, and you flinch a little at the cold air on your legs. "i'm so sorry, god.." he tugs your clothed cunt closer to him with another tug to your legs, leaning in and nuzzling himself against you.

a sharp gasp slips past your lips at the friction and your fingers instantly thread through his dark hair, his groan vibrating against your core at the sensation of you tugging. "ah.." your lips part, a pretty sound escaping you. he relishes in those sounds, adores them, and he starts to coax more when he starts mouthing over your clit through the fabric. the sensation is new to you, but not at all unwarranted. his pretty groans make it even better.

"m'so sorry.." his fingers, as he wets the fabric of your underwear even more, skim over the waistband of the fabric between the two of you. he tugs, once or twice, as if asking for permission. "go on," you say softly, a giggle bubbling from you again when he pulls down your underwear with relative ease and definite eagerness. an awed groan slips past his lips at the sight of your pretty pussy, one of his favourite things in the world. "there she is.." he says softly under his breath. eyes lifting to yours.

"been neglectin' you," he addresses you directly, tone soft, then he looks to your cunt, head tilting gently, "and neglecting her, huh? how bad of me.." matt tuts, shaking his head once more. he brings you close once more, giving a gentle pat to your puffy pussy and watching as you squirm almost instantly. "should make it better for my girls, shouldn't i?" another pat, and he's diving in, letting out a groan against your folds as he kisses and slips his tongue across them.

"she tastes so good, huh? she missed me," matt's words make you cry out softly, taken off guard by how desperate he is to please you. you tighten your grip on his hair a little and even squeeze your thighs around his head a bit more, causing him to groan into your soft, wet skin. "matt, oh, shit," you whimper, and he swirls his tongue around you, shifting lower so his nose bumps against your clit with every movement of his head.

his tongue circles your entrance for a moment before he flicks his tongue into your wet hole, loving the way you practically grind down onto his face. "take what you want, that's it," his words are muffled by your heat, and how you're almost sat on his face, but you get them nonetheless, eyes fluttering down to his own meeting yours. matt's hands slide down to your ass, squeezing and kneading in his hands.

matt's not even focused on himself, no, not at all, his hips grinding into the bed slowly to gain some kind of friction at all. he might end up cumming in his pants, he doesn't care, as long as you feel good and wanted. he never wants you to feel ignored or neglected again. you're his girl, his. "holy fucking shit," he's good with his mouth, like, good. and he knows it, lord does he know it.

the moment your hips start to stutter from his mouth sucking and licking at your pretty pussy, he doesn't let up, only making his movements more intense and pleasurable for you.

"that's it, fuck," he grunts, your thighs squeezing around his head once more. he doesn't even mind it, not at all. in fact, it gets him going, nose bumping against your clit enough to have you whining and squirming against his face, that familiar tight knot of arousal squeezing in your abdomen. matt can feel it too, as he eats you out like his life depends on it, which to him, it really does. "yeah, baby, there we go, that's it, come all over my face, make a mess on me, shit.."

you in fact, do, without any shame in the world. why feel shame when your man was making you feel so fucking amazing? your thighs tremble around his head and he helps you ride out your orgasm, licking slowly to bring you back down to earth without overstimulating you. soon, he pulls back, not even minding the state of well, his face. "did so good for me," he mumbles breathlessly, and you swallow hard. "that.. felt.. oh my god, matthew." a chuckle escapes him at the use of matthew and not just matt, and he gently pushes up off his knees to lay down on the bed on his back. his hands find your hips, slowly bringing you over on top of him.

"matthew, huh?" matt smiles, a gentle, loving smile that tells you exactly how much he cares for and adores you. a little grunt slips past his lips as he tugs his boxers down enough to free his cock, pre cum leaking from it due to how he was basically humping the bed earlier. your eyes flutter over him as you look down at him, swallowing hard, and he murmurs, "so pretty, ma," he gives his cock a few quick strokes, before he lines himself up with your tight hole. "i got you.."

you let out a pitiful little whine when he pulls you down onto him, the stretch making your lips part with soft noises, and matt tilts his head, taking in your form as you squirm. "relax for me.. i've got you.." his eyes flutter over your body, adoringly. his heart swells with warmth, just.. he can't believe he's so lucky. "i'm gonna fuckin'.. explode," you mumble breathlessly.

"i'll pick up the pieces, baby," he leans back against the headboard, hands squeezing at your hips. matt swallows hard, just in awe for a moment. "gorgeous, gorgeous girl. how'd i get so damn lucky?" he lets you adjust to him for a moment, waiting for the greenlight. "you'd be even luckier if you started movin'," ever the graceful, you are, he thinks to himself, and a laugh escapes him again.

"right, right, sorry," a giggle escapes you too, but it soon melts into a moan when he lifts you up, only to drop you back down. his eyes flutter to yours, baby blues dark with sheer want, and he grunts under his breath at how tight you are. "wish i could stay buried in your pussy forever, honey," he guides your movements a few more times till you find a rhythm, however his hands remain on your thighs to hold you up if you get tired.

"mmh, shit, shit, shit," your love for profanity only fuels his adoration for you, his hands squeezing at your thighs as you bounced on his cock, the sounds of skin slapping against skin hitting your ears. he didn't think about how loud the two of you were being and the fact his door was open, no, he wanted to make you feel as loved and wanted as you should. "feels so good, matt, mmh!"

he's doing a very good job at it too.

"that's it, fuck, look so pretty ridin' my dick like that, you like that, mama? yeah.." his eyes follow the way your tits bounce beneath your top, and he pushes up the fabric so he can get a good view of them. no one's ever looked at you with such adoration like that, it's intoxicating. matt greedily gropes at you, squeezing and flicking your nipples just because. and because it makes you clench around him so good. "these pretty titties, fuck."

matt swallows hard, getting lost in you as you get lost in him too, holding onto his hoodie tight as you lift your hips up and down. "never wanna make you feel bad again, never wanna do that. m'so sorry baby, fuck, you forgive me? forgive me, please, ma?" he's practically begging, hands squeezing your body all over, showing how much he loves you. "always got time for my baby, for my girl. even if i don't, gonna make it, promise, fuckin'.. promise," he mumbles, words borderline incoherent.

it makes you smile, it makes you beam, and you're not mad at him. you'd stopped being upset with him since he made you come all over his face, to be totally honest. "it's okay, it's okay," you murmur softly, "i forgive you, okay? i forgive you." matt squeezes your hips once more, bucking his own into you to drive himself deeper inside of you. the way you squeeze around him is intoxicating.

"gonna come, ma, shit," matt whimpers, and you coo softly at his whiny tone, "yeah? go on, come for me," he whines shakily, gripping your thighs tighter and thrusting up into you harder. his chest rises and falls in quick breaths, dark hair falling over his eyes as he lets out soft sounds as pretty as yours. "where d'you want it?" he asks breathlessly, eyes searching yours.

"want it inside," just the sound of your voice saying shit like that has him groaning, hips stuttering as he feels himself reach that peak, ropes of cum painting your walls as he lets go. you find yourself gushing around him around the same time too, a shaky series of moans and whines slipping past your lips. matt takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around you and press your body against his. his head soon nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "i love you so much," he breathes out.

"love you too," you murmur in response, relaxing into him. you're happy to stay there for a while.

or go again.

๋࣭ ⭑ taglist / @mattslolita , @st7rnioioss , @flairdean , @mattsluv , @bepositiveforachange , @poetatorturadaa , @onlynextdoor

๋࣭ ⭑ line dividers / @rookthornesartistry

#𐙚˙ ana writes ⋆.˚#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo #christopher sturniolo

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moonstruckme · 3 months

Note

Hi luv, can I request something?

I was thinking about a poly!wolfstar x fem!reader where reader is feeling down because of her period but don’t wanna tell the boys bc she’s embarrassed. But she ends up acting all sad and the boys are really worried, thinking they did something wrong, and when they finally find out the truth they try to comfort her? A little angst with fluff ending, lots of cuddles. Only if you feel comfortable writing it, of course!

I love your writing, btw

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: period sadness

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 971 words

“She’s moping,” Sirius whispers, arms crossed and dark brows bunched. He’s leaning back against the counter, having followed Remus into the kitchen to ‘help make the popcorn’. Two fingers tap restlessly on his bicep.

Remus watches the movement, pensive. “She might’ve just had a rough day,” he says back. The sound of popcorn in the microwave works to cover his voice. “I think she’d tell us if we’d done something to upset her.”

He gets where Sirius is coming from. You’ve seemed a tad dimmer than usual, mumbly and perhaps a bit tired. But Sirius is quick to worry, and he has a nose for tension that occasionally sniffs it out when it’s not really there.

“She might not.” Sirius is doing that thing where he looks and sounds angry when really he’s worried. Remus leans over to kiss his hair.

“She’s better than us,” he reassures him, taking the popcorn from the microwave and leading the way back into the living room.

You’re huddled up in one corner of the couch, blanket pulled tight around you and eyes looking to nowhere. You perk up a little when Remus shakes some of the popcorn into a bowl and sets it in your lap.

“Thanks,” you say.

“Course. Did you pick a film?”

“I started to, but…” You shrug, passing the remote to Sirius as he sits down next to you. “You guys can pick, I don’t really care what we watch.”

Sirius sends Remus a look. See? Remus frowns. He’s still not convinced you’re upset with them, specifically, but your upset in general is hard to deny.

It’s unsettling to have you glum like this. He and Sirius have always been prone to their moods, but you’re…not, so much. It’s not that you never have a bad day, of course, they try to give you the environment to feel whatever you like. They’ve just not seen you like this before, obviously upset but seemingly with no cause.

Sirius picks one of your favorite films anyway. The intro credits start, and ordinarily, this would be the part where you lean onto your other side and cozy up to him, but you don’t. You stay curled up in your corner, eyes at half-mast and pretty face impassive.

The sweet bit of skin between Sirius’ brows is marred by a dent.

Remus is sitting in the armchair adjacent to your side of the couch. He reaches across the space for your hand. With so overt a request, you give it to him, looking a touch bemused. He holds your gaze, sweeping his thumb over your knuckles.

“Are you alright?”

You blink. “Me?” When Remus doesn’t look away, you shrink slightly, shoulders pulling up towards your ears. “I’m fine, yeah. Are you?”

“Oh, how crafty,” Sirius drawls. “Redirect the question, we’ll never see through that.”

You smile cautiously. “Way to make me asking my boyfriend how he is seem nefarious.”

Sirius’ answering grin is sharp, but Remus can see the anxiety beneath it. “You’re not as subtle as you think, babe. Why don’t you tell us what’s got you so twisted up, huh?”

Just like that, you shut down again. You pull your hand from Remus’, fixing your eyes on the TV. “I’m not twisted up,” you say.

“Dovey,” Remus says softly. When you look at him, your expression is controlled but your gaze is tentative. “Have we done something to upset you?”

“What?” A line forms between your brows, a companion for Sirius’. “No, you’ve—you’re perfect.”

“Well, I like to think so,” Sirius agrees breezily, “but you’re obviously not happy with us. It’d help if you’d just say what it is, so apologies and amends can commence. Unless it’s that I left the toilet paper roll empty again, in which case I can only say that you knew what you were getting into when you moved in.”

His feeble attempt at levity doesn’t make much of a dent in your creased expression, though you do tilt up one side of your mouth as though to commend him for his effort.

“I’m not upset with either of you,” you say slowly. Your tone carries a hue of resignation. “I promise, if I was mad I would say.”

Now it’s Remus’ turn to look at Sirius. See? But Sirius looks even more troubled, as though he can’t fathom what could be wrong in your life if it’s not him.

“You are upset, though,” Remus says softly. “What’s wrong?”

You sigh, the sound heavy with that unidentified melancholy, and Sirius seems to feel secure enough now to drop a kiss on your shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong,” you reply, defeated. “I’m just in a mood because of my period, sorry. I don’t mean to be a bother.”

Remus coos, reaching across the gap again to pet your baby hairs.

Sirius leans into your side. “You?” he asks, kissing your shoulder again. “Never. Why didn’t you say, lovebug?”

You shrug. You seem to be slumping deeper into the couch with every affectionate touch, your body relaxing. “It’s a bit embarrassing. I don’t want to be acting all sad just because my hormones are going funny.”

“You’re not just acting sad if you are actually sad,” Remus points out. “Is your stomach hurting you?”

“Not really.” You shift your weight so you’re leaning into Sirius, too. He looks about as happy as he can be when someone he loves is hurting, bottom lip pushed out as he rubs your shoulder and smooshes his cheek into the top of your head. “Just sad.”

“D’you wanna watch something happy, sweetheart?” Sirius asks, voice dripping with a syrupy sweetness. “Or something sad, to cry it out?”

You shrug again. “Maybe just a little sad? Like The Perks of Being a Wallflower.”

“That’s only a little sad to you? Shit, baby, you’re tough as nails.”

922 notes · View notes

itsswritten · 5 months

Text

gone. | 3

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 5.9K

Warnings: Slight angst, drinking alcohol, nightmares, slight mentions of death.

Summary: Sometimes it take's heartbreak to move on...or to realise what you've always had.

<< Previous Part

To celebrate your return, Mor insisted on a night out at Rita's. Despite your lingering exhaustion and the pull of a quiet weekend begging you to spend it sleeping and reading, you didn’t have the heart to say no to her.

That evening, you prioritised finishing your reports before joining your friends at Rita's. You had always been exceptionally dutiful in your role, taking immense pride in your responsibilities. Though Mor grumbled at your decision to work, she reluctantly agreed to meet you there later, with the rest of the group.

As you worked alone, you cherished the moments of silence. After six months of solitude, acclimatising to the hustle and bustle of family life was both exciting and well… exhausting. And navigating your relationship with Azriel wasn’t the easiest, you were trying, trying really hard in fact. And although you had fallen into old patterns, it was still a little awkward at times.

Azriel had perhaps had the most enjoyable week he’d experienced since you’d left all those months ago. Everyone had noticed how the tension had eased from his shoulders, warmth had returned to his eyes and how finally, his lips would pull into a full smile again. Azriel hadn’t allowed himself a moment of happiness since you left, in fact he quickly realised in your absence how you were the cause of most of his smiles. So your eagerness to mend a bridge between you both had been greatly appreciated, and he had relished in having your company back.

Yet, despite the familiarity in your interactions– friendly banter, teasing laughter and comforting silence. Azriel still felt the weight of your confession, and what it had done to him. How it had peeled back the layers on himself, revealing something that threatened the very dynamic you had begged for when you came back.

Best friends again?

Your words reverberated in his mind, a relentless echo of your plea. Azriel had teetered on the edge of refusal, almost said no, on the brink of voicing his own desire for something more. Admitting that just being friends would no longer be enough. But he found himself frozen under your vulnerable gaze, he had faltered, he too, consumed with the fear of unsettling the delicate relationship between you. The idea of risking your friendship was too daunting, too uncertain. It was safer to remain friends, safer to keep things as they were.

So he had remained silent.

Azriel took another sip of his drink, listening to his family laughing around their designated table at Rita’s. You weren’t here yet, your usual spot next to him and Mor still empty. Mor had mentioned you were wrapping up some work, and a part of him couldn't shake the urge to seek you out. He was contemplating sending his shadows to check on you.

Again.

His shadows had been silent watchers since you came back, although you hadn’t you seemed to mind. In fact after spending six months with a few of the smoky tendrils, you actually welcomed their company. Each morning, you were greeted by at least one shadow curling around your cheek, or if you were away from the group for too long, a shadowy companion would appear to give you a light whispery kiss on your skin.

Whether they acted of their own accord or at Azriel's behest remained unclear to you.

He had always been protective of his family, but it only intensified with you since your return. It becoming somewhat obsessive. He couldn’t stop himself though, and you hadn’t rejected his shadows yet, so he took that as silent confirmation that he could continue.

“Gods, the girl has always known how to dress.” Amren said approvingly, her words pulling Azriel out of his thoughts. He followed her gaze to the entrance of Ritas, where a familiar figure seemed to capture the attention of the room.

You.

Dressed in a black lacy number, you exuded an alluring energy. In fact you always had, but Azriel in all his centuries of knowing you had done a remarkable job of ignoring it. The dress was classy in shape, but the sheerness added that Night Court sex appeal you always carried so well. A little black thong and bralette peeked through the sheer fabric, while the lace hugged all your curves.

You had always captured the attention of everyone, a trait of yours that had only become more endearing to Azriel as the years went on. But previously, he would bury those thoughts and feelings in the darkest recesses of his mind, never to be touched. Them only slipping out occasionally in his dreams.

Those particular dreams had plagued his sleep for centuries now, his deepest desires burying themselves in his consciousness to slide out when he drifted into a slumber. His suppressed desires manifesting themselves in vivid dreams, visions of you that often made him struggle with what was real or illusion.

Some dreams were innocent, filled with whispered conversations under the starry nights. Dreams of taking you flying while your melodic laugh filled his ears. It was those nights he slept soundly, his mind surrendering to the hazy false reality.

There were also those darker dreams. More forbidden.

The kind that made it hard for him to look at you the next day. It was those dreams he struggled to stir from, the kind of dreams where he’d find you waiting for him in his bed, or where he’d wake still hearing your moans and the taste of you on his lips.

He’d had more of those dreams since you’d come back, and he knew he would definitely have that problem tonight after seeing you in that dress.

Was it really a problem though?

He couldn’t pretend that those dreams weren’t some of his favourites. As guilty as they made him feel.

And now, after everything. Knowing that there had been a possibility you could have been his, that feeling you, tasting you could have been his reality– he found it hard to steer his gaze. Hard to ignore your allure. Hard to believe he ever could have been so blind.

Pretty, pretty, pretty.

His shadows coiled round his ear to chant, it was information he didn’t need. Because he already knew how beautiful you were.

He watched as you sauntered in, flashing a smile and small wave to regulars you recognised. A male had reached out, gently tugging on your arm for your attention, Azriel swore he heard him beg you to come dance.

“Maybe later,” you replied sweetly.

He was glad you rejected that male, glad he didn’t have to watch you dance with someone else, not that he had a right to feel that way. Azriel’s eyes followed the sway of your dress as it cascaded down to calf-length. He was mesmerised by you, and when he caught your scent he had to stop a quiet groan rolling up his throat.

Careful Azriel, you’re almost salivating there. It was Rhys’ talons that had clawed on Azriel’s mind, only for him to tease as soon as he was granted access.

Azriel shot Rhys a dark glare.

Fuck off.

Rhys merely laughed into Azriel’s mind. I’m just reminding you, that’s not how you look at a friend.

I said fuck off.

How you stayed composed all those centuries, to merely crumble now I’ll never understand.

Azriel was fast to push Rhys out his mind, while you took your seat beside him. “I got you a drink,” Azriel said to you, pushing your favourite cocktail your way.

“Thanks Az,” you beamed, picking the glass up to sip of the sweet concoction. A soft giggle left your lips as one of his shadows, coiled round the glass up your hand, to greet and pepper you with kisses.

He wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked, the words on the tip of his tongue but there was this fear holding him back.

“ME-OWW, I want a bite of you!” Mor teased, her fingers grabbing your waist pulling you closer to her on the bench.

“Was that Orion giving you those sex-eyes?” she spoke loudly, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. She had clearly seen the interaction you’d had with an old admirer of yours.

You shrugged nonchalantly in response, opting to sip your drink instead of answer.

“We aren’t the only ones to have missed you it seems.” Nesta purred from across the table, joining in on Mor’s suggestiveness.

“Put the poor male out of his misery and fuck him already.” Amren smirked, stating an obvious solution.

The table erupted in amusement, words of encouragement and teasing remarks filling the air. It was definitely an option, one worth considering. Especially after that crushing rejection from Azriel.

And Orion was undeniably attractive. He had that deep dark tan with vibrant blond hair that offered a stark contrast to Azriel. It would be a welcome distraction.

However he could never match Azriel’s beauty.

You noticed how strikingly handsome Azriel was looking tonight, dressed in all black just like you. Always so smart and chic, the pair of you always dressed that way. Mor had pointed out years ago, you both always seemed to coordinate effortlessly. Her comment had sparked a glimmer of hope within you, something you had desperately clung to. That maybe yours and Azriel’s connection was deeper, and a small part of you had fantasised at the possibility that maybe you were mates.

In the end it had just been wishful thinking. Fulled by your own affection and longing. You and Azriel were fated to be only friends.

And that would be enough.

You rolled your bottom lip into your mouth, glancing behind you with Mor to look at the male. A large shit-eating grin on his face as he winked at you. He was quite the charmer.

“Hmmm maybe,” you replied to your friends quietly as you turned back to face them, Mor bumping her shoulder with yours gently in response.

Maybe this was how you would move on from Azriel? By getting under someone else.

You’re not sure why you felt compelled to look, why you cared what he thought, but your gaze steered to your side. Gazing up at your handsome darked-haired friend. Azriel’s eyes were already on you. There was an intensity in his eyes that caught you off guard.

He didn’t appear impressed, neither angry nor happy. “You’re too good for him,” he stated quietly, before taking a sip of his drink again.

You wanted to respond, ask what he meant by that. Ask why he even cared, why it even mattered. Casual rendezvous’ didn’t hold some kind of standards, and your partners didn’t need to meet whatever expectations Azriel suddenly had for you.

“Oh shut it Az! She deserves to get laid, she didn’t get to have any fun on her trip and that was six months long!” Mor reiterated her rhetoric from the other day.

You rolled your eyes, about to interject to remind her once again you were not on some half-year vacation.

“It was not some trip but a high-stakes mission yadda yadda” Mor chimed, mimicking you.

You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing, the female really knew how to open you up. Her teasing, her probing, was relentless to some. But had always worked on you. Pulling back those walls.

Giving her a playful glint you spoke, “I almost had some fun if you must know.”

For some reason, you found yourself stealing a glance at Azriel, curious about his reaction. He had never taken an interest in your romantic encounters in the past, so his sudden attention confused you.

Azriel tensed at your words, chewing the inside of his cheek before taking another sip of his drink. It was Rhys that was watching him with that infamous smirk. Azriel wanted to wipe it clean off his brother’s face.

I told you to fuck off.

Rhys only laughed back into his brother's mind.

“Give me all the details.” Mor squealed, clasping your hands in hers.

You shrugged, your lips curing into a soft smirk, retelling how you had met this mysterious male on your travels. “He was really cute…handsome…had these gorgeous eyes,” you sighed dramatically, your eyes gazing off into the distance, hand on your heart. “But he was the enemy, so I had to kill him.”

Your friends laughed in response, some of them shaking their heads in disbelief. Nesta leaned across the table with a dark glint in her eye, “You could have had a bit of fun first.”

You scoffed playfully at the notion, hand waving in the air dismissively. “Etiquette darling. I don’t like playing with my food before eating,” you purred.

Nesta shook her head with a smirk, “I’ve missed you, come dance.”

It wasn’t so much a request as it was a command when it came to Nesta and dancing. You rose from your seat, Mor and Feyre joining you eagerly as you made your way into the crowd, letting the music engulf you.

Azriel’s eyes, though, stayed glued on you.

"She's not going anywhere, Az," Cassian chuckled, downing the rest of his drink. It was easy for Cassian to assume Azriel’s obsessive nature had spun from your absence, from your dangerous mission, just Azriel’s natural protectiveness of all his family members, but of course that wasn’t the only reason.

He couldn't help but watch you, captivated by every movement. Not when you looked like that, when you moved like that, smelt like that.

Your confession had torn him a part, shattered his perception, forcing him to confront feelings he'd long buried. Make him acknowledge a possible reality he never considered himself worthy of. Azriel couldn't shake the image of what could have been, a world where it would have been your body swaying against his tonight.

Cassian had smacked his empty glass on the table now, shouting that he’d get another round in as he walked over to the bar.

“So what are you going to do, Azriel?” Rhys then asked, his own eyes never leaving Feyre who was dancing drunkenly with you.

Azriel glanced briefly at Amren, who remained at the table, swirling her drink absently. She didn't meet his gaze, clearly uninterested in being dragged into the complexities of her family's relationships.

"I don’t think you'll have four centuries to pine for her this time," Rhys remarked quietly. "I don’t think she'll wait that long."

Azriel drew in a sharp breath at Rhys’ words, his gaze still tracing the contours of your form. His breath caught as he realised your eyes had found him from across the crowded room. A soft smile forming on your lips, prompting him to give you one back in return.

If this was all he could have of you. Would it be enough?

❊

“Az…”

He heard someone calling his name. That familiar melodic tone.

“…Azriel wake up,” that soft sweet voice sang to him.

Only that voice could pull him from his deepest dreams and nightmares.

Azriel stirred, his consciousness slowly emerging from the recesses of sleep. Blinking groggily, he glanced around his dimly lit room, his mind clouded with confusion.

His head throbbed faintly, a dull ache pulsating behind his temples. Had he drank too much? He couldn't remember.

He turned on his side to face where your voice had called him, only to find you laying beside him. Why were you here? What had happened last night?

There was a soft smile gracing your lips. You were adorned in a delicate white nightgown, that seemed to shimmer in the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. You were a vision of ethereal beauty— and you were in his bed. A sight that left Azriel momentarily breathless.

How had this come to be?

You were so close to him, only a breath away from his face. So close, he could feel the warmth radiating from your body. For a fleeting moment, he almost let himself get lost in your gaze. Those eyes, he loved so much. He often dreamt of them, lost himself in them, and searched for them in a crowded room. He loved the way they crinkled when you laughed. A sight he would never tire from seeing.

His mind was reeling though, he couldn't recall getting into bed. Or when you joined him.

"It's time, Az..." you whispered.

Azriel didn’t understand.

"Time for what?" Azriel mumbled, his brow furrowing in bewilderment.

Your words were sickly sweet, dripping with an unsettling ambiguity that sent shivers down his spine. But before he could make sense of them, your fingers were threading through his hair, and he found himself paralysed by the intimacy of the touch.

"It's just time," you murmured softly, your smile masking a deeper sorrow. Your voice echoing through the caverns of his mind like a haunting melody.

But time for what?

Azriel's confusion deepened, his heart pounding in his chest. Something was wrong, he could sense it.

Where were his shadows?

Before he could question you further, he watched as you closed the small gap between you, pressing your lips to his.

As your lips met, there was a sensation of weightlessness over Azriel. As if he was suspended in a realm where time held no sway. It was silent, peaceful and felt endless. He wasn’t sure why or how this was happening, but he couldn’t bring himself to question. Couldn’t bring himself to break away.

No, not now. Not now he had you.

His heart swelled with a mixture of joy and disbelief. You were finally his, finally in his arms.

He felt you against him. Your body plush to his, melting into his touch. A warmth vibrated through his chest, as your breaths mingled. Azriel’s arms wrapped around you tighter, as if terrified this would all slip away.

Wait, something was wrong. But Azriel, lost to your touch, couldn’t remember what.

The softness of your kisses against his lips was like a sweet melody, stirring something deep within him. He craved more, his hunger for you insatiable, as if he could never get enough to quench the burning desire within him.

This was what he had been searching for all those years. All those times he got it wrong, thinking it was someone else. It had in fact been right in front of him the whole time– you.

He could feel you pulling away. Azriel looked at you now, noticing that sorrowful expression on your face again.

“It’s time…I have to move on now,” you smiled sadly.

"Move on...what do you mean?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I've waited so long, Az...too long," you replied, your words laced with a haunting sense of finality.

Unable to find the right words, Azriel watched helplessly as you began to slip away, sliding out of his arms and off the bed. He tried to move, tried to grab you, stop you, pull you back but you were slipping through his fingers like water.

A cold breeze swept through the room, sending goosebumps over his body. The air seemed to grow thicker, heavier, as if the very atmosphere was connected with your emotion.

Panic gripped his chest, like a claw had clasped his heart and it was squeezing it with every heartbeat. Desperation was flooding his senses as he reached out for you, his voice cracking with emotion. Something was wrong.

“Wait don’t leave y/n, I’ve been meaning to tell you–”

"Will you make me wait another 400 years, Azriel?" your voice echoed in his mind, the haunting tone of your voice shaking him.

His body felt as if it were encased in stone, every movement sluggish and strained. No matter how hard he tried to rise from the bed, he could only manage to shift to its edge, his limbs refusing to obey his desperate commands.

In the doorway of his room, you stood, your form bathed in an eerie half-light that cast strange shadows across your face. Fear etched lines of worry into your features, your eyes wide with a terror that mirrored his own.

Something was wrong. You needed to come back to him, back to his arms where it was safe.

"I may not live that long," you cried out, your voice raw with anguish, the sound of it tearing at his soul.

Azriel tried again, ragging his limbs to try to get closer to you. Then in that moment, time itself seemed to warp and twist, as if the hands of fate were turning the clock.

Azriel could only watch in horror as you began to age before his eyes, each passing second drawing lines of time upon your skin. Your once youthful visage contorted and twisted, suddenly you began to wither, flesh peeling away like petals from a dying flower.

Your scream was piercing through his skull, your hands trying to hold onto the pieces of flesh that were burning away until there was nothing left.

Tears were streaming down his face as Azriel stumbled off his bed, his heart pounding with a frantic urgency. His rapid uncoordinated footsteps matched his heartbeat. He felt drugged. But that didn’t matter, he needed to find you. He ran out of his room into a darkness that seemed to swallow him whole, his voice a desperate plea echoing through the empty halls.

"Come back...please," he cried out, his words carried away by the chilling breeze that surrounded him. Each step he took felt heavier than the last, his limbs weighed down by a crushing weight. "I won't make you wait…please...please," he begged, his voice suffocating with painful emotion.

“Azriel…” he heard a voice.

“Y/n,” he cried out again. But only darkness answered him.

“Azriel! Wake up!” It wasn’t your voice, no, someone was shouting. Someone was shaking him.

Suddenly the darkness faded, and the face of his brother speckled into his vision. Rhys had his hands gripped to the side of Azriel’s face.

Rhys and Mor had stayed up for the night, lounging with some faerie wine, reminiscing as the house slept silently. But then they’d hear screaming, and before they could even move Azriel had stumbled down the hall screeching your name. It was clear to Rhys, that Azriel was entrapped in some disorientating nightmare, and he had used his talons to pull him from the deathly grips of the dream.

“It’s a dream brother, only a dream” he tried to reassure him.

But Azriel’s eyes were searching, looking for you.

Azriel was slumped on the floor, his knees under him. Rhys and Mor pulled him against a wall, hoping the cool stone would bring him to his senses. His shadows were frantically buzzing around him. Attempting but failing to console him.

“Where is y/n?” he managed to choke out.

Not here, not here, not here. His shadows whispered in his ear.

Mor stepped forward, concern on her face “She’s with Orion. You know this…” she spoke softly.

Slowly slivers of reality seemed to sink into place. His dream had felt like eternity, and yet it had only been a few hours since you had all left Rita’s.

No you hadn’t left, you had stayed. Stayed with him, stayed with Orion.

He had been too late. Too late to find the courage, too late to speak his truth.

That male. Orion, had found you on the dance floor. Ensnared your attention for the evening, had charmed you. Charmed you enough that you hadn’t returned with your family, that you had stayed to seek the comfort of him that night.

Not Azriel. He had been too late.

Azriel had curled in on himself, knees brought to his chest as sobs began to rack through his body. The talons of the nightmare still clung to him, dragging him back into its clutches. Senseless words left his lips, your name rolling off his tongue repetitively.

"I was too late…" he cried, his voice choking with anguish. "Rhys, you have to save her… she… her face… Rhys… she was dying."

“I think you might need to call for y/n, Rhys,” Mor suggested, her concern evident as she crouched near Azriel. He was trapped in a dreamlike state, caught between the realms of reality and imagination. When she reached out to touch him, he only flinched away, lost in his own torment.

Azriel was drenched in sweat, his body burning with fever as he struggled to distinguish between what was real and what was not. As much as Rhys tried, Azriel’s mind was a mess. He couldn’t decipher what was right in front of him and what was in his mind.

To him you were gone, he’d seen it with his own eyes. He had failed you.

"What's going on?" Your voice cut through the tense air, drawing the attention of Mor and Rhys.

You stood in the doorway of the lounge, your hair tousled and your nightgown askew as if someone had forcefully dragged you from the depths of your own dreams. In fact that is exactly what had happened. Azriel’s shadows were circling you, pulling and tugging you relentlessly, just as they had awoken you.

You could tell from their desperate plea something was wrong, and it had only taken you a matter of seconds to run from your room.

"We thought... I thought you'd gone home with—" Rhys began, but you shook your head, your expression filled with concern as you took in Azriel's state. Without hesitation, you moved quickly to kneel beside him.

You could have gone home with Orion, almost did. Was tempted, but there was something about the way Azriel had looked at you as they all departed for the night that had gnawed at you. A look of a broken male. His expression, a mixture of sadness…and well, longing. It was confusing.

And unfair. He had rejected you after all.

Yet, there was a vulnerability in his gaze that you couldn’t ignore. Despite his rejection, your heart ached for him. After an hour in Orion's company at the bar, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease. So you called it a night and came home.

It had been a long time since you’d seen Azriel caught in a state like this. Azriel didn’t sleep much, but when he did there had been a few times in your years of knowing him that he'd find himself trapped in the liminal space between dreams and reality.

“Hey Az…” you moved to the space in front of him, crouching between the space of his kness. His eyes were skittish, looking at you but through you. It was as if he didn't register your presence at all, trapped in a world of his own making.

“I waited too long…” he breathed out, his fingers tangled in his hair pulling and ragging at the strands.

“Azriel,” you spoke gently but firmly, your voice a lifeline in the darkness that engulfed him. You needed to coax him out of this. “It wasn’t real, only a dream”

A torrent of incomprehensible words spilled from his lips, and you exchanged a glance with Rhys and Mor, who stood nearby, frozen in place.

Over the centuries of being part of this family, you'd all encountered moments like these. Moments where the nightmares and traumas racked over you. However, Azriel had always been more private about his inner turmoil. You realised that this might be the first time Rhys and Mor had witnessed this part of him.

It wasn’t your first time, though. One of the earliest moments you realised you loved Azriel was after he had helped you through a debilitating nightmare, one that had left you screaming in your sleep. From then on, he had always been there to offer comfort in those dark moments.

And you had always been there for him in return.

“I’ve got this…” you reassured them with a soft smile, and they nodded, reluctantly leaving the room. They didn’t want to abandon Azriel in such a state, but they trusted you, trusted that you would only ask this of them if it was for Azriel’s best interest.

You waited for them to leave, the room enveloped in a heavy silence, save for Azriel's incoherent whispers that echoed off the walls.

“I was too late…” he repeated, his voice strained.

“Hmmm were you? What were you late for Azriel?” Again you voice, firm but sweet resounding through the room.

He blinked, finally recognising your presence. His brows furrowed as tears streamed down his face.

“I lost you, I was too late” he choked out.

“You haven't lost me, Az. I'm right here,” you reassured him, your voice a soothing balm.

But Azriel shook his head, haunted by the vivid memory of seeing you slip away before him.

“Tell him, tell him I’m right here.” You spoke, this time towards his shadows.

She’s here. She’s here. They sang.

Azriel’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as he listened to his shadows. They had never deceived him before, always guiding him with honesty. So surely what they were saying was true?

You tilted your head slightly, a soft smile gracing your lips as you reached for his hand. His eyes widened at your touch, but he didn’t recoil. He watched as you gently placed his hand against your chest, just above your heart.

Real, real, real. His shadows continued to sing in his ear. Their own feather-light touches caressing his body, cooling him down.

He could feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his touch.

Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump. The vibrations of your heart were sobering under his palm. And there was something about the way this felt, so different to the version of you in his dream. Everything was heightened, every sense felt multiplied.

“I’m real Az, and I’m here. It was just a dream, okay?”

Azriel felt a shaky breath leave his lips as his own breathing synced with yours. His rapid heartbeat gradually slowed to match the steady rhythm of yours.

You weren’t gone. But you had chosen someone else.

“But…but you chose someone else,” he sputtered out.

You weren’t sure what he meant. Whether this someone else was what he had dreamed of, or if he meant Orion. But you leaned forward, drawing closer until your faces were mere inches apart, so close that he wouldn’t be able to look away.

“I’ll always choose you, Azriel.” It was the truth. You knew he needed to hear this, he needed reassurance to pull him from the grasp of his nightmare, but it was also unequivocally true. You would always choose him.

You had tonight.

In the opportunity of comfort and pleasure of another, you had chosen Azriel. Even in his rejection. Even if that made you a fool. You would always choose him.

“Really?”

“Always.”

You both sat there for a while, Azriel syncing his breathing to yours as the cloudiness of his vision cleared and he began to feel reality pinching him. It felt so real, that nightmare. A version of his future he never wanted to face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, gently moving his hand from your chest as embarrassment seemed to finally wash over him.

“Don’t ever apologise for this, Az,” you spoke softly.

“No,” he shook his head. “I just mean I’m sorry for everything, for hurting you before, for not seeing what was right in front of me all along, for not being honest…”

Your brows furrowed as you looked at him, but you let him speak.

“I’ve been trying to find the right words to say to you for the past six months.” He laughed then, not the laugh you loved. A self-deprecating laugh that made your chest ache. “I had six months to find the right words, and I was still too late…” he trailed off, his voice heavy.

“Ever since Mor introduced you almost four centuries ago, you’ve had me mesmerised. I thank the stars every day you came into my life…”

You thanked the stars everyday for him too.

“Azriel, I feel the same…” you began, but he interrupted you.

“No, I don’t think you understand, y/n. I adore you. I’ve always adored you.” Azriel's voice wavered slightly as he spoke, his hands trembling as he reached out to take yours.

He hesitated with his words, still struggling to find the right way to say this. You felt the roughness of his scars against your soft skin, but it was welcome, you had always found his hands beautiful. His touch, comforting.

Right now though, something felt different.

The way Azriel was looking at you was unlike anything you had seen before. It was as if he was seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you.

“You are so wonderful, so beautiful, smart, hilarious. You’re the best of all of us.”

You weren’t sure how to respond, it was a notion your family had always told you. Azriel through the years, claiming that statement more times than you could count. But this time the words felt different, they weighed heavier, they revealed so much more. And you feel your cheeks heating under his intense stare.

“You are. You’re the best of us, better than me. Too good for me.”

“Azriel…” you said softly,

“That’s why your confession came as a shock, I just never considered myself good enough for you. Never thought I’d be the kind of male worthy of you.”

You felt your throat tighten at the idea. The thought that Azriel had never considered himself good enough for you, when he was exactly everything you wanted and needed.

“I’ve been deflecting my feelings for years, ignoring them, because I didn’t think I deserved you…”

Azriel's hand tightened around yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.

"But I don't want to waste any more time," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know you were with Orion–”

“There’s no one else,” you cut him off quickly, the realisation dawning on you. A realisation of what was happening, what your dear friend was admitting. Something you had hoped and wished for so long.

Your heart was now the rapid one and you could feel it beating through your chest.

"If there's a chance for us, I want us to take it." Azriel concluded, his confession final.

"Really, Az?" your bottom lip quivered slightly, your eyes becoming glassy as tears threatened to spill.

"Really, my love."

“I love you…” The words tumbled from your lips, soft and heartfelt.

With gentle strength, he pulled you into his embrace, your head finding its place in the curve of his neck. He inhaled deeply, savouring the familiar scent of you.

“I love you more than words can express, more than you may ever realise,” he whispered, his voice brimming with tenderness. “And I promise to make up for lost time.”

You leaned back slightly, your eyes meeting his. A soft smile was on his lips, one you gave back, as a tear rolled down your cheek. He moved gently then, leaning down to press a tender kiss where the salty tear had escaped.

Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, a force he had ignored for hundreds of years, his lips found yours in a long-awaited embrace. Time seemed to slow as you shared that kiss, your lips melting into one another. Finally, the kiss seemed to speak of.

This was it.

This would be enough, because this was everything.

fin.

a/n: Sorry to make you all wait so long for this! I was in a really bad writing slump, and wasn't sure how to make this work, still not 100% on it but hey-ho (but thank you to my love, @illyrianbitch for her continuous support every time I changed my mind and scrapped an idea lol, and to @milswrites for her lovely words that helped me get out of my slump) Anyway I hope you all got the ending you wanted ;) but yeah let me know if you want any one-shots from these two! I'd be happy to explore their dynamic a little more if you've got a scenario in mind <3

Forever tags: @lilah-asteria @illyrianbitch @milswrites @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @alittlelostalittlefound @amberlynn98 @marscardigan

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #acotar fanfiction #angst #acotar series #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel angst #azriel fanfiction #azriel fic rec #azriel imagine #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x y/n #azriel series

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fioiswriting · 3 months

Text

The lust we share

Summary : When your husband takes you to Harrenhal, you meet his lover. And things don't turn out the way you thought they would.

Rating : Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Pairing : Aemond Targaryen x reader, Alys Rivers x Reader, Aemond x Reader x Alys

TW : pwp, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, light angst, threesome, unprotected sex, breeding kink (implied), praising kink, loss of virginity, not proofread.

Words count : 3652

AN : hi everyone!! How are you doing ? SO I know. I know I should be working on all my other works in progress BUT I had this idea and…Well. I had to write this. Who else is excited to see Alys??? Btw I’ve finished my exams and my internship, so I should have more time to write <3

Sorry, it’s filthy. As always.

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

From the moment you see her, you're mesmerised by her striking beauty, which makes her mysterious and dangerous. There's something intriguing about her gaze, as if she's reading through you, and it sends shivers down your spine every time. She seems to pierce your soul, deciphering your deepest secrets, leaving you both entranced and unsettled. She moves with a graceful confidence, her long black curls bouncing behind her. You don't know where to look. She's mesmerising. Your gaze is relentlessly drawn back to her. She has curves where you don't. A confidence you don't have.

You can only see in her what you lack in yourself, and in a way, you understand Aemond.

But Alys is surprisingly gentle with you. Her eyes show a kind of pity. You were nervous, frightened, and the edges of your thumbs can testify to that. After all, Alys is the other woman. Or maybe it's you, the other woman. Alys was there before you, after all. And she exudes a confidence, a poise, a maturity that you'll never be able to match, as if she were able to bend anyone or anything to her will. You can see why they say she's a witch.

With you it's different. Alys is patient. You just don't like the pitying tone she uses when she talks to you, as if you were a frail little thing to be pitied, as if she's afraid to break you – but you're no doll. You're not made of glass. You don't need pity. She knows you had no choice. You were forced to follow your husband to Harrenhal. Maybe that’s why she pities you.

She wonders how you manage to stay by his side, when you know the horrors he's committed, and it's something you wonder too. Every step he takes is made of ashes and blood, and you know the cries still haunt the walls of Harrenhal. The blood is probably still fresh, soaking the cobblestones.

She's made a habit of brushing your hair, stroking your long curls, cradling you and talking to you, and there's something comforting about the way she mothers you. You seek solace in her arms, when your husband is distant. At least you are not alone.

Your marriage to Aemond is recent. She listens as you confide in her and caresses your head. You are young and frightened, and you know the King needed an alliance to continue the war - your father had military and financial support to offer him. Marrying into the Targaryen family is a privilege no one can refuse. And especially not when your husband is the Prince Regent.

"Does he treat you well?" Your gaze meets hers in the mirror, but you are quick to look away. There's something too sincere in looking into her eyes. You feel as if she can see into your soul, read the truth, reveal your secrets, and that makes you uncomfortable.

" He's cold. Distant," you reply. Because it's true, Aemond is caught up in the gears of war, and he doesn't have much time for you, but you accept the place he's given you. He has a need to control, you've noticed. He controls and owns and dictates the rules of the game. Maybe it's comforting, for him, maybe it's his way of coping. He never shows vulnerability, at least not to you.

"Does he satisfy you?" Your face immediately turns red. You don't know how to tell her that you haven't consummated the marriage yet. You got married in a hurry. You didn't have time for -

At least he insisted you accompany him to Harrenhal. He didn't want you waiting for him in the Red Keep, he wanted you close to him. Because you are his wife, he said.

"We... We didn't..." You babble. You search for your words. And then you see her smirk, a subtle hint of a smile, almost imperceptibly curling the corners of her lips. You hardly know her, it's strange to discuss such intimate matters with your husband's lover. She knows him better than you do. Perhaps he showed her vulnerability, perhaps she knows what scars his soul. You wonder what she's thinking. She's indecipherable. Alys is a mystery. She exudes a special aura.

" What a pity," is all Alys answers. She has finished combing your hair. She takes the strands that have fallen across your chest and pulls them back behind your back, admiring her work. You hardly recognise yourself. You look bold. Almost confident. Your cleavage is accentuated. You look pretty.

You let her fingers brush over your bare shoulders, the touch light and pleasant. She places the finishing touch around your neck; a sapphire necklace.

"Now you look like a future queen," she whispers, her lips painted red in the hollow of your ear, and you shiver. With desire or surprise, you don't really know. There's a kind of certainty in her voice that intrigues you. You're not quite sure what that is. For a brief moment, you have the feeling that you detect some truth in her words, and you say nothing. Her eyes are shining.

Perhaps there's a part of unspoken desire there that you keep hidden beneath your innocent appearance.

You feel your husband's burning gaze on you all evening. You are alone at dinner. The two of you. The servants have brought the dishes and left immediately. He's at the other end of the table, his head held high, separated from you by steaming plates that make your mouth water. He has barely spoken, but you know that Aemond is a man of few words. He's all about quality.

"You look beautiful."

You politely accept the compliment. You like to feel that he fancies you. But then again, who doesn't like compliments? You cut your meat, your movements precise and delicate, like the lady you've been taught to become all your life. You play your role to perfection, it's a form of comfort, at least.

"I'm pleased that you find me to your liking, husband."

He looks satisfied. A silence falls over you. You are still hesitant in his company. You still have to adjust to him. You need to know how far you can go. What are your possibilities and your limits.

" She's intriguing, your Alys. "Your voice doesn't sound quite the way you would like it to, and you blame yourself. It gives the impression that you're reproaching him. That's not what you want. He stares at you with his one good eye, unreadable.

"My Alys," he muses. "She is, indeed." He lets a doubt linger, and you regret having brought up the subject of Alys. "She sees much and more. She saw a future for me." He pauses. You raise your eyes to him, puzzled. "For us." You and him, he means. And for a split second, you wonder if this has anything to do with what she told you. A future queen. She said you looked like a future queen.

Your pulse quickens. The idea seems dizzying. But there are certain desires that should remain buried, you know it. You don't want to appear power-hungry, even if your core is burning at the thought of having the whole Kingdom at your feet.

Perhaps your husband can see it in your eyes.

Aemond wears the Conqueror's Crown on his head like the Prince Regent that he is, and you can't help but think that it suits him so well. It's what he is made for. He looks like a statue carved in marble, ethereal and suspended in time, the embodiment of Targaryen beauty and grace.

How can such an angelic face hide such a cruel man?

"But don't be jealous, wife." He continues in the face of your silence. His voice is cold. It cuts through the air like a sharp knife. "For it is you I have chosen to marry, and I intend to be a dutiful husband."

You feel your cheeks flush. He's watching you so intently. His good eye shines even brighter than the sapphire you know hides under his eye patch. You feel as if he's undressing you with his gaze.

"I want you, tonight."

The statement sends a wave of heat between your thighs. You know what he means. You want it too. But to hear him express his desire so clearly, as if leaving no room for discussion, awakens a familiar sensation in your core. Aemond wants to take what he wants, what is rightfully his, and you may be sick in your head because the idea excites you as much as it frightens you. He's dangerous. You know what he's done. And yet. And yet, you can't help but want him.

By the time the meal is over, he's already standing in front of you. Tall. He towers over you, and as he leans towards you, forcing your chin up with the tip of his forefinger, he whispers, "You wouldn't deny your husband, would you?"

Gods, you can feel your arousal forming between your thighs, spreading across the fabric of your underwear. He's looking at you, his purple eye burning with desire. Between his legs, a visible bulge is already stretching the linen fabric. You notice it easily; it reflects the hunger you can read in his eyes.

"I wouldn't. Not when you are already so desperate."

To back up your words, your eyes drop to his crotch. He clenches his jaw and remains silent for a moment. You wonder what he's thinking, what thoughts are racing through his brain right now. He looks at you with a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as if studying an unknown specimen. Maybe you've been too bold. Maybe he likes it.

"I bet you are already wet."

A shiver runs down your spine. He doesn't look away, not for a moment, and your eyes are relentlessly drawn to his, as if hypnotised.

" Check. "

He doesn't waste any time. His fingers run down your body, slipping under the thick layers of your dress - you're wearing green to please him, but it's not the colour of your house. They work their way up your leg, up the inside of your thigh, raising goosebumps on your skin in a long shiver of pleasure. You feel him brush against your folds; a touch so light it's like a ghost. But isn't that his purpose, to haunt you in the depths of your soul? When he ventures between your warm folds, your teeth bite your lower lip to prevent the slightest sound from escaping your lips. You don't want to give him that privilege. You don't want to show him that you need him.

"Indeed, you are."

He captures your innermost essence with the tip of his finger and immediately withdraws his hand. His forefinger touches his thumb, and he inspects the transparent thread that stretches between his fingers. You look away. Your cheeks are flushed. You're burning with embarrassment at your body's betrayal. He wipes his fingers and straightens up as if nothing had happened.

"Be there when I call for you."

And with that, he leaves the room. You're left alone, staring at the flame dancing in the middle of a candle. Between your thighs, your centre throbs. Your husband is a mystery.

You are lying on the bed. Panting, you are drowning in a combination of feverish pleasure and anticipation of what is to come. Alys plants kisses on the back of your neck, spicy and intoxicating like the finest Dornish wine. Her fingers brush over your nipples, and with a deft movement, she rolls them between her forefinger and thumb, pinching them gently. She is behind you. You lie with your back against her full breasts, her legs on either side of your body. Her long black hair tickles your collarbones as she leans towards you, and an herbal scent wafts through the air; a mixture of sage and lavender.

Her lips were between your thighs a moment ago. With devotion, the tip of her tongue explored your still untouched womanhood, collecting the fruits of your desire, her fingers drawing circles against your entrance. She's experienced. She knows what she's doing. You've never felt anything like this before. And when your thighs have closed around her face, one of your hands buried in her thick mass of black hair, she welcomed your climax into her mouth. Her half-closed eyes looked up at you from under her long lashes, an enigmatic smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She seemed proud of herself, and of her work. You're sure she can still taste you on her lips.

When she had finished, she remained between your legs for a moment, tracing little circles on your lower stomach, her lips still glistening with your essence and her own saliva. Your chest rose and fell quickly. Red with embarrassment, you didn't dare meet her eyes and see the blatant traces of your shared sin still staining the lower part of her face. She let you catch your breath. Regain your senses. Come down from that little cloud you're still on.

It's Aemond who moves first. He stands and joins Alys, wiping what's left of your desire on her lips with his thumb. He looks satisfied. You wonder if he liked what he saw, if he liked seeing his wife tremble under the caresses of another. He pushes his thumb between Alys's lips, forcing her to taste you once more, and she sucks his finger with infinite compliance. You can see in their eyes that they know each other intimately, that he has already tasted her body. You can see it in their eyes, in the glances they exchange. You wonder if there has been more than carnal pleasure. You think there is. He kisses her chastely on the lips.

Aemond looks in your direction. He burns with desire, excitement and anticipation. You are about to become his and he can't hold back any longer. He needs to possess you.

"She did well," Alys murmurs, amused. "Give her a moment."

But he doesn't want to wait, he wants his wife. He undresses, and that's when Alys comes up behind you. She strokes your hair and whispers a series of praises into the hollow of your ear. You're cottony between her fingers, but your core is throbbing again at the thought of feeling your husband inside you.

"Open your legs," Aemond commands. And Alys gently spreads your thighs so that you reveal yourself to your husband.

Aemond details your body. Every part, from your lips to your breasts, from the valley between your breasts to your navel, and then the curve that leads to your centre. Alys follows the path of his gaze - her fingers on your nipples, and then her fingers running along your abdomen to your folds, caressing them gently. Her index and middle fingers slide between your flesh.

"Look how ready she is for you," Alys whispers to Aemond. You’re wet. His eyes are locked on you, right where you want him most. His member is hard, slightly curved against his belly, its angry red tip already leaking white beads.

And you are ready. You're just waiting for it. Desperately. The orgasm Alys gave you with her tongue has awakened a new, hungry desire in you. You stifle a moan that Alys encourages you to express with her lips along your throat.

Aemond leans over you, capturing your lips with his own. He nibbles at your lower lip. You feel his dominance, his need to own you. He's rough with his kiss, as if he's waited too long. Maybe he has.

You moan. Where Alys' body is soft and full of curves, Aemond's is angular and made of muscle.

"I want you," he whispers again against your lips. His fingers slide down your body, lingering on your breasts as he caresses your already erect nipples. Then he moves them between your thighs. He's meticulous with his movements. Precise. He traces your slit, spreads your folds to tease your little bud. You stifle another moan.

"And I can tell you want me too."

His fingers are against your entrance, which clenches around nothing as you feel him draw circles without ever entering you. It's frustrating. Slowly, he inserts a finger. You move your hips, desperate for more contact, desperate to welcome him deeper into you.

"Stay still," Aemond whispers, pressing down on your lower body. Behind you, Alys runs her hand through your curls. She strokes your long hair and when you move, she shushes you.

"You'll take what I give you," he adds, his lips against your jaw, his fingers inside you. "But if you are patient, you will be rewarded. I always reward good girls." You feel a slight stretch as a second finger enters you, and the sensation is delicious. Delicious, but not enough. Even when he starts to move his fingers back and forth - they are subtly crooked inside you, even when he traces the curve of your breast with his mouth, catching your nipple between his lips.

"You're doing well," Alys breathes, praising you. There's her body behind you, and Aemond's lips on your breasts, his fingers buried inside you, deep, and your body is on fire. But it's not enough.

"I'm ready," you moan. "Please."

Behind you, Alys chuckles softly, her chest rising and falling as she senses your desperation, senses your desperate need for more. The impatience of the youth, she thinks - for Aemond is like that, too. Impatient. Impulsive. She had to teach him as well. As Aemond withdraws his fingers and positions himself between your legs, you feel Alys hold your thighs apart. Her fingers are hot against your skin, but there's something soothing about having her against you, around you. Her presence calms the too-rapid beating of your heart - an inevitable form of apprehension at the thought of what is about to happen.

There's something strange about the idea of sharing such an intimate moment with your husband and his lover. It's not what you imagined, and yet you love the feeling of having them both against you. You're safe. You feel safe. The war can't reach you when you're between their bodies - it's a silly thought.

And then, his round tip rubs between your folds, testing your entrance. The contact is hot. When he finally enters you, the stretch catches you off guard, your fingers close in the sheets, then around Alys' arm.

"Fuck. You're tight." Aemond grunts.

The sensation is new and incredible - the slight pain you felt at first quickly dissipates, replaced by pleasure.

Soon you feel nothing else. Alys' hands leave your legs and move up your body. One hand on your breast, the other at the top of your folds, where she draws slow circles around your pearl. She knows what she's doing. She knows what she's doing, and so does Aemond. And there they are, both slaves to your own pleasure.

He sets his pace. She sets hers. You know you won't last long; your walls are already beginning to tighten around his member. You feel him so deep inside you, and there's this one spot, this one precise spot that he hits at a steady pace that makes you feel like you're seeing stars.

Soon your husband's movements become sloppy, messy.

"Fill your wife, Aemond." Alys whispers in a commanding tone, and there's something about hearing her give orders to your husband that sends a wave of warmth through your lower belly. She reaches out her hand, strokes his hair, his cheek. "You need an heir, don't you? So, spill your seed, I know you can." She addresses Aemond, but her honeyed voice echoes in your ears. You shiver, once more. The thought. The thought is -

You feel your release sweep through your body like a wave washing over you. You throw your head back against Alys, who is already kissing you. Her fingers leave your folds. Aemond brings them to his mouth - he cleans every trace of you that still stains her skin with a hm. It's filthy. It's indecent. But you're too far gone to think about that now.

All you can think of is Aemond's arms around your waist as he pulls you up so you're sitting on top of him, facing him, his forehead against yours, as he spills his seed deep inside you, white ropes painting your wombs. He holds you against him, his hands on your waist, the grip mean and possessive. You put your arms around his neck, your breasts pressed against his chest. And he holds you like that, against him, when his member stops throbbing between your inner walls, when he feels his member softening inside you. When you come to your senses, still high from your second release of the evening.

"Now you truly belong to me," he whispers against your lips, and all you can answer is "Yes, I do".

As you lie back, you can still feel the sticky combination of your two fluids dripping between your thighs. But your eyelids are already heavy - your lovemaking has exhausted you. Alys strokes your hair, under Aemond's watchful eye. He's still hesitant, despite what's happened between you - but it's hard for him to be vulnerable.

"You did well," she mutters, but she doesn't know if you can hear her or if you're already asleep. Aemond finally reaches out to caress your face with a gentleness you don't recognise; his thumb against your cheek. He's soft. You look so peaceful, asleep between them.

You are not sure what tomorrow will bring. You are not sure what the future holds. But when you close your eyes, your dreams are made of crowns and sapphires.

Ashes and flames too - but you'd rather forget that. Outside, the war still rages.

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