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skiller0dani · 3 years

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Broken Paradise | Spencer Reid

M A S T E R L I S T Criminal Minds Masterlist

smut requests info wc | 9.1k summary | you run into an ex boyfriend during an interrogation. except it's you being interrogated, and it's your ex boyfriend doing the interrogating.

song

another draft just waiting to be published. really obsessing over Spencer Reid.

also there's mentions of abortion, nothing graphic it's literally just a short direct reference and nothing else.

You always hear people say your past will come back to haunt you, you just didn't know they meant literally. You leaned back against the metal chair in the interrogation room, you've been in here for what felt like hours. You couldn't complain too much seeing as it's your fault that you're in here at all. You wished they'd come in and tell you something, give you an update, say hi, say anything. You seriously underestimated how maddening silence can be. You knew little about the murders the police were investigating, something about druggie women being found mutilated. The pictures they showed you were downright horrifying, you'd need at least one solid bottle of tequila to forget the bodies of those poor women.

The Las Vegas Police Department were a bunch of judgmental pigs, the only reason they'd brought you here at all was because you were from the wrong side of the tracks. Both of your parents were users, and if you were lucky, also dead. They probably assumed you used as well, and seeing as you seemed to fit the killers physical preference the police brought you in for questioning and also for your own "safety". But really you knew they didn't give a damn about your safety, they just wanted to know where you got your shit from. No matter how many times you insisted you didn't use, they kept pushing. When one male officer started throwing your parents in your face, you stood up and promptly broke his nose. That's how you landed yourself cuffed to the table, tightly.

"Oh thank you so much for gracing me with your presence once more." You smiled sarcastically as another officer walked in, wait he's definitely not an officer. The man who entered the room had cleanly cut dark hair, and wore an expensive looking black suit. Not the run of the mill beat cop that you were expecting. You bit back any other fiery remarks, if you wanted to get the hell out of here you needed to cooperate. Diana would be expecting you, not that you were itching to see her but after letter number 75 of her begging you to swing by- well lets just say that Spencer's mother was never the problem. You doubt Spencer even knew Diana was contacting you, which was good. You wanted nothing at all to do with him.

"I'm Agent Hotchner here with the FBI I need to ask you a few questions." This man was all business, you seriously had to fight the urge to fuck with him a little bit.

"I'd shake your hand but..." Your eyes flickered towards the table, where the police officer who's nose you broke had very tightly handcuffed you. In fact he cuffed you so tightly that your wrists were already raw and bleeding a bit.

"They wouldn't have handcuffed you if you didn't punch an officer. Did he hit a nerve?" The Agent's face was level, and gave nothing away as to what he was thinking. You tongued the inside of your cheek, your foot tapping quickly on the concrete floor. These assholes were really starting to piss you off.

"He was being a dick, how many times do I have to tell you guys that I don't use? Are your heads filled with sawdust?" You snapped roughly, yanking away from him to lean back in your chair despite the biting pain in your wrists.

"That's not why I'm here Miss Y/L/N." Agent Hotchner said, his voice even and his eyes on you. The way he was looking at you made you feel exposed, like he could read all of your secrets because of the way your eye twitches when you're nervous. You hate these damn FBI profilers- wait.

"How's Spencer?" It's a shot in the dark, a very long shot in a very dark tunnel. Before the scumbag left you without warning, Spencer mentioned that someone was trying to recruit him for the BAU department of the FBI. The profilers. Spencer left and never came back, two guesses as to where he went. Your eyes locked onto the Agent's in front of you, and from the slight upturn at the corner of his brow you knew you got him. Spencer is here.

"You know Dr. Reid?"

"So he's a Doctor now, doesn't surprise me. Let me guess, he has PHD's and Doctorates in Math, Chemistry and something to do with Geography right?" You say as casually as you can and you can only hope this man is wondering how you happen to know so much about one of his Agents.

"Unless I'm speaking to Spencer Reid, I want my lawyer." You snap, leaning back. You know Spencer won't talk to you, and unless they have physical proof you're guilty of something they'll have to let you go.

Check mate.

Spencer couldn't ignore the questioning glances from his fellow teammates even if he'd wanted to. He watched you lean back in your chair from the other side of the one way glass, what are the chances that you are wrapped up in this case? You of all young petite blonde women in the metro area. The world was fucking with him, it had to be.

"She a friend of yours?" Derek's voice was the first to cut through the silence.

"No." One word answers were the safest route, the shortest diction would give little time for them to draw information out of the way Spencer was speaking. There was a tremble in his tone, he knew there was. Spencer prided himself for having little to no baggage behind him, but of all unopened suitcases- his previous relationship with you was the largest one.

"Really? Cause she seems to know a lot about you." Derek said, his eyes fixed on Spencer. The tension in the room was palpable, and suddenly it felt hard for Spencer to breathe let alone compose himself. After shoving free from the small viewing room, Spencer found it a lot easier to exist without the scrutinizing gazes of his coworkers.

"You hear her?" It was Hotch, with a patiently guarded expression on his face. Spencer and drugs wasn't an uncommon problem, although in the past his poison of choice was dilaudid. Now there's a string of drug related murders and a possible junky who seems to know a lot about him.

"Yeah, from before the Bureau." Spencer clarified quickly, and Hotch honestly looked the tiniest bit relieved.

"Think you could talk to her, she's made it obvious she won't talk to any of us." Hotch said, and from the tension building in Spencer's shoulders he can tell there's some bad blood between the two of you. Spencer took a deep breath before taking all of those unresolved emotions and forcefully shoving them down. Deep, deep down. It's time to do a job, there's a missing woman who needs to be saved.

When that door opened again, you thought you'd won. You thought they were coming to begrudgingly release you. Instead you were met by the big doey eyes of Spencer Reid, your first and last love. All the air was stolen from your lungs in an instant, the memories flood back and you can't stop them. The anger rises then, this is the first time you've seen him since he left you. The one person you trusted not to leave you did, he left like everyone leaves you. Like your parents left you. He's very clearly all business, his face hardly giving anything away as he swiftly reached down to unlock the handcuffs around your wrists. If you wanted to walk away from this without your heart getting broken you needed the upper hand.

"Heya baby." You smiled, you hoped that maybe it would disarm him. At least a little, but when you looked at him all you saw was a stoic and focused expression. Nothing? Really?

"I need to ask you a few questions Miss Y/L/N." Spencer's voice was controlled, even in tone. His voice... God his voice could bring you right to tears. You could still hear him saying how much he loved you with that stupidly angelic voice of his. Spencer was very quickly taking control of the situation and you did not like that at all.

"You know you can ask me anything, there's no secrets between us right Spence?" You leaned forward on your elbows, trying desperately to ignore the throbbing in your wrists. One of Spencer's biggest giveaways is eye contact, when he's upset or feels guilty he'll avoid looking into your eyes. You turn your gaze up to meet his, but once again you're completely disarmed to see him unabashedly looking into your eyes like it isn't a problem at all. Either Spencer has amnesia and forgot who you were, or what happened between you two doesn't hurt him like it hurts you. You refuse to believe it's the latter, he just forgot. Definitely forgot. Somehow he must have forgot.

"Nina Fredricks, have you ever seen her?" He slid a photo in front of you, you recognize her as the woman who was most recently kidnapped. Most recently being 12 hours ago so chances of her still being alive are unfortunately slim. You nibble on your lower lip, come to think of it you actually might have seen her.

"Yeah, saw her at Winchell's, little coffee shop on the corner of 5th? You remember right Spence? You used take me there all the time, I loved giving you head under the table." You smirk, but it quickly falters. Whatever training he went through must have stripped him of all emotion and turned him into a machine. Built only to solve cases and do nothing else. That wasn't the case however, you just didn't know how good Spencer is at compartmentalizing his emotions. He could only imagine the looks on his coworkers faces upon hearing you say that, at least he can just say you were lying to try and illicit some sort of reaction from him. They don't have to know that you totally used to slip under the table and swallow his cock in a diner full of people. They don't know about that side of him, and Spencer doesn't plan on changing that.

"When?" He presses on with the interview, and surprisingly you're forthcoming with information when you're speaking to Spencer. Even after all this time, he has this annoying power over you. This innate ability to get you to do whatever he wants you to, although you would prefer him to use this special ability in the bedroom. No! No you have to eradicate thoughts like that, Spencer hurt you worse then anyone else ever has. He hurt you worse because he made you think he was going to stay, and then he didn't.

"Few nights ago, she looked really messed up though. Winchell threw her out, definitely doped up on something. Before you ask, no I didn't see where she went." You sigh, finally giving up flashing Spencer the all too familiar 'you win' look. Usually a victorious grin stretches across his face, but not this time. Those times are over.

"Did you see anybody with her?" You're not entirely surprised that Spencer isn't writing any of this down, that stupid eidetic memory. You're fooling yourself if you think he forgot what happened, Spencer never forgets anything. Ever.

"Every detail matters."

You genuinely try to remember if anybody was with Nina, and while you didn't see anyone you remember shortly after she left the diner there was this horrible screeching sound. "After Nina left I heard what sounded like tires screeching on the street. Never saw a car though."

"Thank you Miss Y/L/N, is there anything else you can remember about that night? Anything that sticks out?" After a few moments of quiet contemplation, you shake your head.

"Am I free to go?" You ask quietly and Spencer shakes his head.

"Unfortunately we're going to have to keep you in protective custody. We'll move you to a more comfortable room, but you'll need to stay in the precinct."

"But why? I'm not a drug addict-"

"You are exactly this killers type, and we don't know if looking a certain way is more important or if being a drug addict is when it comes to him choosing his victims." Spencer explains simply, his mouth moving a mile a minute as he stands. When he turns his eyes back on you, you realize he's waiting for you to follow him. You stand and follow him out of the cold interrogation room to a comfier waiting room. It has a table and chairs, vending machine and a big plush couch.

"You can stay in here, we'll let you know when it's safe to go home." Spencer says, and this is when you finally catch the crack in his façade. His eyes flicker away from yours, trying to disguise the waver in his voice, the desperation to vacate the room as quickly as he can. But now that you've seen him break, even a little, you're going to crack him wide open. You won't let it go that easily.

"Spencer?" Your voice is soft, with an innocent drawl that Spencer can't resist. He turns his head to look at you, swallowing thickly when his eyes meet yours.

"You do remember me don't you? Once upon a time we were in love." You see the rest of his coworkers trying and failing to look like they're not listening. But it's not like you care if they do, Spencer will though but luckily his back is to the door. After a few moments of tense silence, he finally speaks.

"Of course." It's not the answer you were hoping for but it's an admission, which is more then you were getting earlier.

"Do you miss me Spencer? Miss me in bed next to you?"

"W-Well I-"

"Do you miss when I used to cook your favorite dinner every night when you came over? Do you miss how I loved you unconditionally?" Your voice was steadily growing more hostile, and you knew there were tears building in your eyes. This has all been building up for so long you know you can't stop it now.

"Y/N-"

"Do you miss being able to fuck me whenever the hell you want? Is that what you miss the most Spencer? You must not miss me that much because when you left I didn't even get a fucking call! You didn't even say goodbye, you just left!" You were yelling now, with tears streaming down your face. Spencer had slyly shut the door by now, he knew this was going to happen the second he saw you. He wished he could help you understand why he had to leave the way he did. He was trying to protect you, and he still firmly believes he's protecting you. Look what happened to Haley, what happened to Maeve. Spencer loved Maeve and he lost her like Hotch lost Haley, and Spencer can't lose you. Not you. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to you.

"Please try to understand-" You never even let him get close to finishing his thought.

"Understand what? Leaving me? You said you loved me! How could you love me and then leave me alone? While I was pregnant!" Your hands flew to your mouth, you honestly never planned on telling him that. Spencer's eyebrows rose high in the air, and you can tell you just knocked the wind out of him. Spencer's hand reached back for the door handle, "pregnant?"

"Spencer I'm sorry I didn't mean to tell you that way." You tried to explain, and despite the fact that he'd abandoned you, you were dead terrified of him leaving again now that he was stood in front of you.

"Do I have a child you never told me about?" His voice is shaky, afraid. Now you can see all his coworkers heavily invested in your conversation.

"N-No, I...I got rid of it." You said softly, watching the mix of emotions swirl across his face. When his trembling palm curls around the door handle you launch forward to grab at his arm.

"I'm sorry, please don't leave. Not again-" But he's pulling his arm free from yours and turning out of the room, nearly slamming the door behind him.

Spencer ignored the questions, he ignored the looks. His legs gave out somewhere near one of the couches. He stared ahead numbly, trying to make sense of what you'd just told him. Trying to somehow wrap his head around the terror of you being pregnant and then the grief of the lost possibility all at the same time. By now, JJ and Rossi had shooed everyone away from Spencer. Which he was immensely grateful for, the only thing he wanted now was to be alone. Completely and entirely alone.

Pregnant.

The word kept replaying like a scratched record, screeching in his ears every time he closed his eyes. Spencer pressed the balls of his palms into his eyes when he heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching him. Whoever it was, he already wished they would go away.

"Damn Kid, I didn't expect you to date such a spitfire." Derek joked as he sat down, doing what he can to ease the tension. Spencer didn't even bother looking up at him, his head stubbornly lowered and his gaze locked on the ground. Derek racked his brain for something adequate to say, but what was there to say? How could Derek find a way to make this right? Spencer just found out you were pregnant with his child and that you'd got an abortion all in the same 10 seconds. It was a lot to process.

"You gotta talk to her Spence." Derek's voice was less humorous this time. Spencer wrung his hands nervously, his eyes finally lifting to meet Derek's. A sharp shake of his head and a flash of the tears in his eyes and Spencer stands, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. Time to get back to work. Someone has to talk to you, Derek can't stand of someone crying by themselves like that.

"It's not really my place-" JJ tried to argue as Derek stood in front of her.

"Someone needs to talk to her, and Spencer isn't going to." Derek said, rubbing a hand down his face as his eyes flickered back to Spencer. Who was currently throwing himself headfirst into the geographic profile of the killer they're looking for, because maybe if he works hard enough the rest of the entire world will just disappear. Maybe if Spencer keeps working and does nothing else you'll just vanish from that room and he won't have to deal with this. It's not that Spencer wants you to go away, the opposite actually but there isn't room in his life for you anymore. It's not safe. Spencer would rather be alone for the rest of his life then put you in danger because he's lonely and misses you.

"Alright, fine. But only for Spence." JJ says, jabbing a finger in Derek's direction before reluctantly heading towards the room you're in. She glances back at Spencer, who has become consumed by the map in front of him. JJ can always tell when something is bothering him, he has physical giveaways. The way his shoulders are rigid as he scribbles something on the whiteboard, the furrow in his brow that lets her know that while he's working on something, his mind is elsewhere. The tremble in his palm from trying so hard to hold everything back, everything he doesn't want anyone else to see. To someone that doesn't know Spencer, he looks perfectly composed, his attention and focus completely on his work. JJ knows him well enough to know that his mind, and heart are sitting tattered in this waiting room on the couch next to you.

JJ creaks the door open, flashing you a smile that makes you absolutely hate her guts. Spencer probably has some puppy love crush on her, she's beautiful. Long blonde hair, slender body, stunning smile. Everything you're not.

"Hi I'm Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ." The way she's looking at you lets you know that she came in here to try and understand. You're not in the mood to talk to her or anybody else in this stupid building except for Spencer. You want to hate him so bad but you can't. You can't because of how much you fucking love him. The bastard.

"Look I know you're probably not all that excited to talk to me-"

"I want Spencer." You snap, and by the look on her face you can tell she isn't surprised that you said that. JJ chewed on the inside of her cheek, how does she say that Spencer doesn't actually want to talk to you?

"Dr. Reid is needed elsewhere right now, but I'm willing to talk if you need to."

"You don't have to lie Agent Jareau. I know he doesn't want to see me, he's doing that thing where he pretends to work on something while secretly obsessing over something else." You say casually, and the fact that you can pick Spencer apart so easily is somewhat off-putting to JJ. But that could be her unrequited crush on him shining through, deep down JJ doesn't like that some other woman knows Spencer better then she does. While you'd love to sit here and wallow in your misery, a much worse idea strikes you then. If you can't talk to Spencer why not fuck with the woman who's clearly in love with him.

"And the little twitch in his fingers, the slight clench in his jaw. See that? He keeps rolling his shoulders back," while everything you were saying isn't a lie- it's guaranteed to annoy her. JJ stayed quiet, she hated that she didn't know what the goddamn twitch in his fingers meant.

"He's tense, but there's more. He can't stand still, keeps shifting from foot to foot. It's driving you crazy that you don't know why he's doing that." You laugh as her annoyed eyes flash to yours for a second before settling on Spencer again.

"You're a profiler, you can't figure it out? That doesn't surprise me, you've probably never considered the fact that Spencer has an unusually high sex drive." Your words completely stun her, and JJ's cheeks flush profusely.

"It means he's horny." You say casually, leaning back against the couch. You love the blush on her cheeks, and the fact that she's clearly biting her tongue to avoid saying something rude. You love that you got under her skin, and yes you're aware that you're a bad person. Now that you've said it, JJ can't get it out of her damn head. Spencer is horny. Spencer isn't a virgin. The thought of Spencer having sex makes JJ feel a sick turning in her gut. She was happy believing Spencer was a virgin, believing that nobody has gotten to experience that side of him yet. Happy to believe that he was untouched, but apparently that was not the case. Now that the illusion has been shattered, JJ feels as though the jagged pieces of it are cutting into her, and she knows you enjoy watching her bleed.

"Trust me, I know just what to do to relieve the tension, I know how to get him off quick. Do you?" You smile as you let your eyes shamelessly drag down his slender frame.

"You're only saying this because you want to control the conversation, and you hate that I see him everyday. That I can talk to him whenever I want, about whatever I want. You wouldn't lash out if you didn't feel intimidated." JJ says calmly, rendering you just as speechless as she was moments ago. The pain that was sent stabbing into your heart caused you to recoil back from JJ, trying to hide your misty eyes from hers. You can't let her know that she's winning.

"Look, we can both get nasty all we want but that's not why I'm here. I just want to help." JJ says sincerely, but you still don't budge. JJ taps her fingers against the wood of the table, thinking about leverage she can use to get you to talk to her.

"Spencer fell in love again." JJ says finally, and this time you turn your gaze up to look at her. You push your emotions down, no matter how much it hurts to hear her say that. Who is she? Are they still together?

"If you want to know more about her, then I suggest you talk to me. An answer for an answer, fair?" You can see her trying to bait you, and damn her because it's working.

"Fine." You grumble, leaning back fully against the couch. Your eyes catch Spencer's for a second when he turns to face the table, presumably looking for a map you remember being on the right side. You point to the right side of the table and Spencer looks nothing but annoyed when he follows your direction and finds what he's looking for. He hates that he functions better as a person when you're around.

"What's the deal with you and Spence?" JJ asks, and there is a lot to unpack with that question.

"Gonna have to be more specific." You say with a shrug, your eyes hesitantly meeting hers.

"How long were you two together?"

"2 years 8 months." You answer without pausing, causing her eyebrows to raise. JJ didn't expect you to remember down to the month, it's been years since you and Spencer were together. That's not a short fling like JJ originally thought, that's a substantial amount of time.

"What's her name?" You ask, desperate to get information on this mystery woman who has stolen Spencer from you.

"Her name was Maeve." Was. You don't miss how she says was instead of is.

"Why do you hate Spencer?" JJ looked like she cared, but you know it's not you she cares about. She's in here to try and protect Spencer in some way, she's acting like you're the villain.

"I don't hate him. He abandoned me. Just packed up and left, no note, no goodbye. Haven't heard from him since." You snap, hating the amount of emotion that was in your voice. JJ's eyebrows furrow, that's just so unlike Spencer. He's not cruel, he's never been cruel but that...is cruel. You see a look flash across her face.

"Sweet boy isn't as sweet as he seems." You say softly, folding your arms over your chest.

"He must have had a good reason." JJ insists, her eyes landing on Spencer's back as he continues to map out the hunting grounds of the killer. You know he's just wasting time to avoid coming back in here. Spencer is a certifiable super genius, he finished mapping it out a while ago. He's just pretending he hasn't finished yet.

"Spence still with her? Maeve." Her name felt like poison on your tongue, and JJ slowly shook her head.

"She died in front of him, really tore him up." Your heart cracks a little bit at her words, you can't imagine how hard that must have been for him. You see JJ open her mouth to ask something else when the door opens, and a man with darker skin pokes his head in.

"JJ? Reid found him, we gotta go." As soon as he arrived, he's gone with JJ hot on his heels. She sends you a smile before she rushes out of the room, and you see Spencer following her path out. They're going to arrest a murderer who has an arsenal of weapons at his disposal.

"Spencer! Y-You can't go, it's not safe!" You blurt from the doorway, and he pauses. His eyes find yours as he holsters his pistol, an unreadable expression on his face.

"It's my job." And that's all he says before he disappears out of the precinct, leaving you once again.

You couldn't quell the anxiety turning in your gut, you're not sure how to exist while Spencer is out there hunting a murderer. You wished that you could turn off the part of your brain that's still so damn attached to him, but no matter how hard you try you can't silence your heart as it calls for him. You're not sure you could survive the constant fear of losing him if you ever ended up with him again, this life is too much for you to take. Maybe he knew that all those years ago when he left you the first time, Spencer always could see right through you. Maybe he left because he knew staying would only lead you to live a life of constant fear, maybe he was trying to protect you. Either way the reasons don't matter anymore because he left, and nothing can change how badly that hurt you.

"Does it normally take this long?" You ask a passing officer, who in turn shrugs before continuing on his path. You feel like you're going to explode or vomit, or both. It's been over 2 hours, should it be taking this long? What if he got shot? What if he's dead right now and you're sitting here with your damn thumb up your ass worrying about him like a useless housewife? Feeling useless, that's what you hate the absolute most. Knowing there's nothing you can do to stop a bullet on it's trajectory to his heart.

"Spence, are you sure you're okay?" You hear a flurry of voices and when his name graces JJ's lips you're pushing out of the room. Your eyes find him instantly, and then travel to his palm which is pressed tightly to his neck. His bleeding neck. You feel your heart rate spike, hammering like the hooves of wild horses as you move without thinking about it. Before you even understand that you've moved, you're stood in front of him. Your eyes try to scan his neck for wounds but his palm covers the location the blood is coming from.

"C'mere." You grab his wrist and yank him back towards where you saw a first aid kit earlier. Luckily your 2 and a half years of nursing school taught you how to stitch a wound and perform basic first aid. Spencer offers no resistance as you yank him to a back corner of the precinct, pushing him to sit down. You grab the first aid kit, slowly prying his hand from his neck. Your eyes mist at the wound, it's a bullet wound. Looks old though, there's scarred tissue. This had to have happened a few weeks ago at least. You see the thin line of the scar, the middle section seems to have opened up again.

"You didn't wait long enough for this to heal." You scold gently, not missing how his eyes watch you with an intensity smoldering in them. You miss the way he used to look at you, the way he's looking at you right now. You miss being the center of his whole world, you scoff. Look how easy it was for him to walk away from you. You threat a needle to stitch the center of his wound shut again, and when you look for numbing cream you discover that there isn't any.

"Spence, there isn't any- I can't find the numbing..." Your voice trails off as you begin to yank things out of the first aid kit to search for the numbing cream. Spencer's hand catches your wrist and it's only just now that you realize you're trembling.

"It's okay. I'll be fine." He settles back against the chair he's sitting in, turning his head to reveal his neck to you. You hesitate, the Spencer you remember had a very low pain threshold. All of a sudden he's expecting you to stitch him up with no numbing agent?

"Y/N, I can handle it." Spencer says again, his voice firmer than before. You swallow a lump in your throat before reaching forward to begin stitching. You press the needle against his neck, eyeing him to gauge his reaction as you puncture his skin to make the first thread. To your surprise he hardly flinches, a small quirk in his lip is the only giveaway that he's in pain. Is this the same man that got squirmy getting a shot? That would shy away from the needle? Now he's sitting here letting you stitch him up without moving a muscle, without even flinching? The more time you spend with him the more proof you get that this isn't the same Spencer that left you all those years ago.

"How did it happen?" You ask, wondering how he could have survived a gunshot to the neck. He shifts uncomfortably.

"Got shot, two inches away from hitting my jugular." Spencer says it so casually, but you're so stunned that you halt your movements for a moment.

"How many times have you been shot?" You ask, your voice hoarse. Is him getting shot a common occurrence?

"Twice. Also got shot in the leg." The casual way Spencer talks about it almost convinces you it isn't a big deal. But it is. It's a bullet ripping through his body, and it's happened to him on two separate occasions. You finish stitching and bandaging him up, your hands moving away from him as soon as you can.

"Thank God you went to nursing school or I'd be six feet under." He jokes. You know he's kidding but still, the thought of it makes you feel lightheaded.

"Don't say stuff like that." You snap softly, and you know Spencer can see the fear and vulnerability in your eyes. You hesitantly steal a glance up at him once he's stood up only to find he's already looking at you. You shy away from his intrusive gaze, and you could practically feel him probing at your mind. Reading your thoughts as if they were written down for him. You hate that he can always tell what you're thinking, you hate that it was so easy for him to read you. Like a damn book. You have to fight the urge to reach out and grab his hand, it's what you always did when you felt lost or unsure. Spencer was always there to ground you and bring your mind back out of your thoughts.

"Miss Y/L/N?" You hear JJ's voice gently interrupt you two. You shoot away from Spencer as though you were doing something scandalous. He doesn't move an inch.

"Yes!" You blurt a little too loudly, suddenly flustered being so close to him. Why does your sharp tongue always leave you when you need it?

"You're clear to go home."

"I can take her." Spencer speaks up before JJ has a chance to offer, and she knew he would. You swallow a nervous lump in your throat, your palms shaking.

The SUV has dark tint, you weren't expecting that. The second you sat back in the plush leather seat your mind flew to lewd thoughts of you leaning over the center console, Spencer's hand in your hair as he helps you take his cock in your mouth. You steal one glance at Spencer, his right hand holding the steering wheel loosely. Your cheeks heat up as you glance down between his legs, get ahold of yourself.

"The address is-"

"I remember." You knew he would. That damn eidetic memory ensured that he never forgot anything. It broke your heart a little, because some naïve part of you was hoping he remembered because it meant something to him. You hoped he remembered the way to your house because he didn't want to forget, because forgetting it meant forgetting you. But you know the reality, you know that he remembers because he has no choice but to remember. His memory is too good to allow him to forget anything, even if it was something he wanted to forget. You're grasping at straws and you know you are, holding onto that foolish notion that Spencer still held onto the memories. That he still held onto the gifts you gave him, crying softly in the night like you did sometimes.

"JJ told me about Maeve." You say softly into the silence, and you saw Spencer swallow thickly out of the corner of your eye. "I'm so sorry you lost her Spence."

"Thank you." He honestly wasn't expecting you to say that, to acknowledge the pain. Because acknowledging the pain meant that you knew he loved her. He did love her. But it was a different love then the love he feels for you. It was special, but so are you. You're special too.

"Have you...dated anyone else?" Spencer can't help but ask as he subconsciously continues the drive to your house. A drive he's committed to his memory, a drive he never wants to forget. You shift to look at him, there were a few you dated. You know when you tell Spencer about them that it'll drive him crazy.

"Tony Anderson." You say and just like you thought, Spencer groans deeply. Spencer detests Tony, they were practically mortal enemies when he still lived in Las Vegas.

"Tony? Seriously?" His tone is incredulous as his grasp on the steering wheel tightens ever so slightly.

"He was a good fuck at least." You know you shouldn't wind him up, but he hurt you for Christ's sakes. He deserves a little bit of pain too. Spencer flinches, a look of anger and something else simmering in his eyes.

"Please tell me you didn't have sex with Tony."

"Why does it matter?" You shouldn't enjoy upsetting people as much as you do. But there's still a small part of you that's convinced that Spencer deserves this.

"Because I can't live with the fact that somebody else has gotten to feel that perfect cunt of yours, let alone Tony." His crude words take you by surprise, and you can't fight the gasp that escapes your mouth.

"Well before you start digging your grave, relax. I never had sex with Tony." You decide to put him out of his misery, and you see the relief physically flood his body. You lean against the window, the next admission from you will leave the air heavier in it's wake.

"I've never slept with anyone but you Spence." You realize it's been a long time since you've seen Spencer let alone had sex with him but you could never bring yourself to sleep with someone else. It's not as though the opportunity never presented itself, you had plenty of chances to have sex with someone else. But you couldn't because there's still a stubborn part of you that doesn't want to betray Spencer.

"Really? Why?" Apparently this revelation surprised him.

"Because no matter where you go I will always belong to you." You snap without thinking, blinking tears from your eyes as you avoid his gaze. Spencer fell silent then, and you know he feels guilty. Probably because he's slept with someone else in the time since he's been with you.

"I know you have and it's fine I'm not trying to-"

"I haven't." Spencer corrects instantly, his eyes meeting yours through the darkness of the SUV. If he could see you he would see the look of utter surprise on your face. It's not as though Spencer was an overly sexually ambitious person when you dated, but you figured he probably slept with at least one person. "I haven't slept with anybody else either."

"I know someone that wants to though." You grumble without thinking, your mind drifting to JJ and the obvious crush she thinks isn't obvious. Spencer tilts his head in a way that resembles a confused puppy, you resist the urge to ruffle his hair.

"Who?"

"Agent Jareau." As soon as the name slips past the threshold of your lips, Spencer's jerks the wheel in surprise. You see a dark blush color his cheeks as his other hand reaches up to steady the wheel.

"J-Jennifer? No way! She's my best friend." You nearly laugh at his flustered state, and normally you would push it a little further but you decide to let it go. You don't want to completely destroy the way he sees her, you know you already destroyed the way she sees him.

"You have no idea what a catch you are Spencer." You tell him as you unbuckle your seatbelt, getting ready to exit the SUV. Spencer reaches over and places a warm hand on your wrist to stop you from leaving, his eyes searching yours for an answer he isn't sure you have.

"Come in?" You ask hopefully, you're not ready for him to leave again. Damnit why did he have to turn up again after so long? You were just starting to think that maybe you could move on and find someone new. You were finally starting to feel okay, and then Spencer reappears and turns your entire world upsidown all over again. Deep down you know that nobody will ever compare to Spencer Reid, and you don't want them to. You don't want anyone to be like Spencer, you want him to be his entirely own person. It's what you love the most about him, is his ability to be himself no matter where he is or who he's with. All of his little quirks, the things about himself that he doesn't notice but you do.

"Yeah." His answer comes across as an exhalation of breath, and you try to hide how excited you are. You want to hold on to any moment you can, stolen moments that you take as you please with no regret whatsoever.

"Nothing has changed." Spencer muses once you unlock the front door and push inside the darkened living room. You blush, admittedly nothing about your small townhouse has changed. It's all basically the exact same as when Spencer saw it last. You rub a hand down your arm as Spencer's eyes go wandering. Trailing over the curtains he remembers hastily pulling closed to protect your decency on more than a few occasions. His gaze then travels to the couch, all those movie nights you two spent curled up together. Or when he got you into Star Trek and you couldn't stop watching it. Pain stabs his chest for a moment, it's hard to remember everything he had to let go of to get the job he has now.

"I miss you too, you know." Spencer says off-handedly. It takes you by surprise, the sureness in his tone is jarring. He sounds so comfortable admitting when he's vulnerable, it's never been easy for you to be vulnerable with him. Maybe that's part of the reason he left, maybe you drove him away by shutting him out. His eyes meet yours, a look so soft in his eyes it feels as though his gaze is caressing your skin. You bite your bottom lip to keep the emotions at bay, what is it about this man that makes you so emotional?

"I never said I missed you." You try to snap, to add an edge to your tone. But instead it came out watery and broken, and in turn Spencer reached up to swipe away a falling tear.

"But you do." You can't even deny it, it's obvious.

"Damn you Spencer Reid, I was finally starting to feel okay again." You cry softly, curling your arms towards your chest in an attempt to shrink away from him. He cups your cheeks in his palms, turning your face up towards him.

"I wasn't." He admits before his lips are on yours, and it's not frenzied and desperate like you've been picturing all these years. It's slow and calculated, soft and passionate. Firm but with a tenderness that makes your knees buckle from the gravity of it. Spencer's fingers card into your hair, pulling your head closer to his. He nips at your lower lip, his arms crushing you against his chest. You throw yourself into him, your arms holding him as tightly as you possibly can. Afraid that if your vise grip loosens, even for a second, that he'll slip through your fingers like trying to hold onto water. You almost don't want to let your eyes close, you don't want him to disappear again.

"I missed you, I miss you-" You gasp against his lips, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt. Spencer continues to move his lips languidly against yours, backing you against the wall. His hand ghosts down your side to the hem of your shirt, his fingers toying with it.

"O-Off." You beg, and in an instant Spencer is pulling your shirt over your head. His eyes land on your bare chest, shocked that he almost forgot that you never really wear a bra. His hands curl around your back, drawing your chest up into his awaiting lips. His mouth curls around your hardened nipple, your hand flying into his hair from the contact.

"Is this a dream? Please tell me you're really here Spencer." You beg, almost becoming lost in the emotions again. His eyes flutter up to meet yours, his mouth reluctantly leaving your nipple. He brushes his lips over yours, his hand trailing down your stomach towards the waistband of your leggings.

"This is real, I'm here baby. I'm home." Hearing those words was too much, and you launch yourself into his chest as the first tear trickles down your cheek. Your lips press sloppily to his, the kiss messy and wet as his hand slides into your leggings. His fingers find your wet slit in an instant, desperately parting your lips to slide a lithe finger into you. Your body reacts to him instantly, in a way that surprises you. Almost as though it too was crying out for him, keening into him and begging for his touch as much as your mind is. Spencer hauls one of your thighs up to hook around his waist as he presses another finger into you. You cry out softly into the quiet air, accompanied only by the labored breathing fanning across your face.

"I need to feel you, I- I need-" You can barely get the words out as he steadily pumps his fingers into you. His mouth on yours silences your desperate pleading, his chest firmly pressing your back into the wall. You missed being able to feel him and you hate that you forgot what it feels like to have his body on yours. It's been so long you forgot what the sting of his cock feels like. What it feels like when you stretch wide open around him, to feel like you're being ripped in two. Spencer continues his pace, his thumb rolling your clit to provide the extra stimulation you're missing. It's not enough to satisfy you, but its enough for you two cum. Which you do. You gush around his fingers as you gently come undone, your back arching into him.

"Please," You beg wantonly, curling your other leg around his waist as his hands hook underneath your thighs. Spencer's lips press against yours, moving slowly against your own. You know now that you will never stop loving Spencer, and that he's completely ruined you for life. You'll never be able to love anybody else without your heart wandering back to him. But then again, you don't really mind because you don't want to be with anybody else. You don't want to love anybody else. You just want him, only him. He pushes into your room, walking the entirety of the way with his eyes closed and his mouth pressed against yours. He has the layout of your house mapped out in his head? He never even bumped into anything until he was dropping you unceremoniously on the bed.

"Tell me what you need, I'll give you whatever you want." Spencer husks against you, hovering above you. Your fingers are already unbuttoning his shirt before you even have the chance to respond to him. You know instantly what you want, what you need from him.

"I want all of you, give me everything." You plead, your lips practically chasing his as he kneels up over you. He's being soft tonight, and that's something you appreciate greatly. You need to feel his love, you need to feel everything you know he can't quite put into words. His hands are shaking as he undoes the button and zipper of his dress slacks before kicking them off the edge of the bed. You stare up at his naked body, looking as though it's been sculpted by the Gods specifically for you. Spencer smiles softly at you as he pulls your leggings down your legs, leaving little nips and kisses on your inner thighs as he goes.

"Hurry." You groan, nearly clawing at his bare shoulders to pull him back up to you. Spencer chuckles at how eager you are, watching with interested eyes as the head of his cock breaches your folds. You reluctantly stretch open as he continues his intrusion, his fists curling tightly around the sheets. Christ you weren't lying about not sleeping with anyone else, you're so tight it's making him feel a little lightheaded. Inch by inch Spencer presses into you, his forehead resting against yours once his pelvis is sitting flush against yours. Sure, you've had sex with hi before but never have you felt this connected to him. Spencer sits like a gentleman and lets you adjust to his size, trying to take a few deep breaths himself. It's hard to breathe with your heat sucking him in with a vice grip.

"Can I move?" You're surprised by how collected his voice is, but the furrow of his brow is a giveaway that he's losing the battle to stay stock still inside you.

"Yes, please." You moan, unashamed. Spencer gently draws his hips back, pulling himself nearly all the way out before swiftly sliding back into your inviting cunt. He sets the pace slow and deep, his hands reaching up to lace through yours. Every time the head of his cock nudges that spot deep inside you, you can feel your toes curl. Your head slams back against the pillows, unable to keep your gaze on him any longer. You feel yourself becoming one with him, and you wish you could capture this moment somewhere other then just in your minds eye. Your memory is nowhere near as good as Spencer's, he'll be able to recall every detail of this moment up until the day he dies. But over time, this memory will fade for you. It'll wear out, all the details becoming fuzzy and blurred. If he's not here in front of you, you'll forget and you don't want to forget.

When the night draws to a close, and the moon has reached its peak, Spencer slips carefully out of bed. It chisels away pieces of his heart as he carefully gets dressed, reaching for his go bag which he'd brought inside upon realizing that he'd be staying a while. He pulls out a t-shirt he'd worn recently and leaves it folded neatly at the end of your bed, something for you to hold onto when he's gone. Spencer's cheeks are wet with tears as he leans over and presses a kiss to your head.

"I love you." Is the last thing he whispers in the space between you two before he's gone again.

On the jet, Derek can't keep his eyes off Spencer and that helplessly broken look on his face. A book is laid nestled in Spencer's lap, but Derek can tell he isn't really reading it. Trying to bother Spencer into opening up probably won't work, but it's worth a try. Derek has to do something and this is all he can think of.

"You okay kid?"

"Yeah fine, why?" Spencer draws his eyes up from the book, his gaze meeting Derek's from across the table. While Spencer might be a talented actor, he can't lie to Derek.

"Look I know how hard it must have been leaving her again-"

"Did you know that on average the FDA allows a minimum of 1 rodent hair per 100 grams of peanut butter? They have to allow themselves room for error just in case of-"

"Alright you win, forget it." Derek sighs, turning his gaze out the window. In an instant Spencer drops his peanut butter spiel, turning back to his book. A guaranteed way to get people off his back is to start rambling about something boring or gross, they usually leave him alone pretty quickly. It's not that Spencer doesn't appreciate Derek's concern, he just doesn't want to talk about it. He can't talk about it, because every time he imagines how you're going to feel when you wake up, tears come to the surface of his eyes. He hates this case more than all the rest even though they saved the victim. Spencer hates this case for ripping open an old wound, one he thought healed.

He was wrong.

When you wake the next morning you knew he'd be gone. That didn't stop the tears from coming when you reached over and felt cold sheets. That didn't stop the tears from coming when you cried how much you loved him over and over again even though he couldn't hear you. It doesn't change how badly this hurts, how much worse it feels compared to the first time he left. Your eyes catch the shirt folded at the end of the bed and you grab it instantly. You pull it over your body and you lay down in your bed, inhaling his cologne that you know will fade over time. Eventually his scent will disappear, removing all traces that this fabric belonged to him at all. Every trace of him will disappear over time, every mark from your body will slowly vanish. When it's all gone, you'll be left with nothing more than a t-shirt that's too big for you, and a cold reminder that the man you love will never truly be yours. A reminder that every time he comes home, he leaves again.

A cold reminder that this world is cruel for bringing you Spencer Reid, only to rip him from you again and again.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #spencer x y/n #spencer x you

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write-orflight · 3 years

Text

Settle Down: Chapter 3

**Gif Not Mine**

Prev - Next

Pairings: SpencerXReader (kinda enemies to lovers)

Rating: M

Words: 2K

Warnings: None, suggestive language

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Y/N and Spencer don’t get along but turn to each other for the one thing you need someone else for… A baby. You can plantonically start a family, right?

AN: Unedited and ending might change as I wrote this half asleep. Comment on this chapter or inbox to be on taglist. thanks! much love, Cia.

Chapter 3: You’re really going to waste a Good Witch on this?

You still felt pretty normal. You knew not to expect or feel anything at least for another couple of weeks but that didn’t make you any less nervous about it. So now you were playing the waiting game. You and Spencer were doing good. For some reason it wasn’t awkward that morning after the sex at all. The two of you just woke up and got coffee before heading into work like nothing happened. It was fine until Spencer had suggested that night maybe having sex again would increase your chances of getting pregnant since you were also ovulating the second day. You agreed of course but you couldn’t figure out if it had been for the reasons you were supposed to. The sex had been great, as good if not better than the first time yet you still felt slimy, like you were tricking Spencer even though he suggested it and was probably right. Spencer gave no indication that it bothered him though so you figured you were in the clear.

You almost had been caught by Penelope when you went to work the following day. The second time around, let's just say Spencer was a lot less shy, a lot more ambitious and left a giant bruise on the side of your neck where he had been kissing practically the whole night. You couldn’t be that mad about it when you left your fair share of bruises on him.

“Whoa!” Penny said when you walked into the small work space the two of you shared. You knew what she was talking about instantly. You desperately tried to cover it up and he apologized profusely for it. You told him it was no big deal. It wasn't like you were making big moves to stop him at the time. “Someone had a fun night. Come on, spill!” She says, turning to face you.

“I burned myself on a curling iron. Not nearly as fun a night as you think.” You lie, shrugging the whole inquisition off so you wouldn’t suspect you lying to her. It seems to work because she groans.

“Ugh, nothing interesting ever happens here!” She groans. “What about you and Spencer?”

You look nervous for a second. “What about me and Spencer?”

“I mean, anything new in babyville?” She gestures.

“Oh! Nothing yet. We’re just playing the waiting game right now.”

“That was fast. So you might be pregnant right now?” You shrug. “I can’t believe you and Spencer are having a kid.”

“Yea, it’s kinda strange but we’ll manage.” You say as the phone rings. The team was out on a case, it wasn’t uncommon for them to call you guys for technological aid.

“All seeing, all knowing.” You greet them on the phone. You adapted Garcia’s jovial speech the more you worked with her.

“Hey, Y/N…” You hear Spencer’s voice say back to you.

“Oh, hey Spencer. I’ll patch you to Penny.” You say, hand on the button to do that. You’ve grown accustomed to transferring him to Penelope over the years since he preferred to talk to her.

“No! No, I’m actually calling for you…” He says.

“You never call for me.” You say. “You always ask for Garcia.”

“I know, I know. I just— how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Spencer.” You say. “It’s only been a couple days.”

“I know, I know. I just wanted to see how you were doing.” Spencer says nervously into the phone.

“I’ll tell you if anything changes, but right now I’m fine, ok?”

“Ok.” He says back.

“Now did you have a question pertaining to my actual job?”

“Could you run financial records for Wilard Yannis for me?”

—————————————

It was a week later and the team was officially back from the case. It was a paperwork day which you and Garcia always used to review potential cases. You were doing just that when a knock came to your door. Spencer walked in brandishing two coffees and a pastry bag which he places in front of Garcia.

“What’s this?” Garcia asks, excitedly opening the pastry bag. “It’s a crossiant and it’s still warm. Oh, you love me and I love you.” She says, patting his cheek. You don’t turn from your screen but you smile at Penelope’s antics. You don’t look up until you see a cup being placed in front of you.

“What is this?” You ask.

“Coffee.” He says like it’s obvious.

“Why?”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” He rolls his eyes before walking out. You sip the coffee tentatively.

Ok, how the fuck does he know your coffee order?

You wait until he’s heading to the file room later to corner him. You follow in behind him and lock the door.

“Ok, you need to knock it off.” You say, crossing your arms.

“Knock what off, Y/N?” He asks.

“You know what!” You exclaim. “Do I need to remind you what your job is? What our coworkers jobs are? We work with Profilers for God's sake! Now, I was able to avoid suspicion even though you left a Texas size bruise on my neck. But you’ve got to knock it off and stop acting weird around me.”

“How am I acting weird?”

“For one, stop calling me for cases. You have always called Garcia and now you’re suddenly calling for me?”

“So I can’t call and ask you to do your job? That’s rich.”

“No asshole, you can’t ask me now. You’ve always asked for Garcia and while it was insulting that you would still do it even though I’ve been doing this for years, I’ve gotten used to it because that’s how you are, Spencer!” You exclaim throwing your hands in the air. “Spencer Reid doesn’t bring me coffee and he certainly doesn’t call to check up on me. Knock it off.”

Spencer’s silent for a second, thinking. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I never thought of it like that. And I certainly never meant to insult you.” He says looking you in the eye. “But we don’t need to worry about me.”

“What do you mean? You’re the only one who’s acting differently.” You say, confused. Spencer just laughs which only makes you look more confused.

“I’m the only one acting different?” He says, taking a step towards you, crowding into your space. You back up slowly until your back hits the wall next to the door. His eyes drift up and down your body and you shiver under the scrutiny. “You’ve been staring at me all morning and the past couple of days we’ve been back. Specifically my hands and mouth. And whenever you do, your hand drifts to that ‘curling iron burn’ you have. Like you’re trying to remember what it felt like.” He’s mere inches away from you now and when you look up you can see the smug smirk on his face. “If I can notice it then so can they. So we don’t need to worry about me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say, stubbornly.

Spencer chuckles darkly. “Yea ok, answer me this then.” He says, his face moving so he’s impossibly close to you. You tilt your chin up to look in the eye and show him you’re not cowering away from him. But for some reason, despite only having sex the two times, his smell takes you out of focus and you’re almost at the point of drooling like a Pavlov dog. He notices this because he always does and smirks and leans down close to you, your eyes drift shut thinking he was about to kiss you. You hate how ready you were for it. “If you were truly worried about me drawing attention to us…. Why did you lock yourself in a room with me?”

With that, he’s reaching behind you and unlocking the file room door, moving around you to go through it. “We’ll talk later.” He adds before leaving you alone, confused and surrounded by cabinets.

---------------------------------------------

You stop in the ladies room to collect your thoughts for a second before heading back into your shared workspace. When you do get back, Penny turns her chair towards you, hands folded manically. You look at her confused.

“You know, I knew something was up. I’m not a profiler or anything but I have a good intuition. So I knew by the way you flushed when I asked about your neck that it wasn’t an iron burn. But I let it go figuring if you wanted to tell me you’d tell me when you wanted. And then, when Derek told me he shared a hotel room with Spencer and saw some very interesting claw marks on his back when he was changing, I also didn’t say anything figuring you’d tell me if there was something to tell and I thought maybe, just maybe, it was a coincidence and the two didn’t correlate at all. But now, imagine my surprise when I was on my way back from the coffee machine that I saw both of you leaving a file room?” Penny smirks at you and you try to keep a straight face but your heart was beating so fast, you’d been had.

“I have no idea what you’re on about. I was just having a conversation with Spencer.”

“Something happened and you’re going to tell me.” She says. “Good Witch.”

Good Witch was a phrase from way back in your hacker days to indicate a I scratch yours, you scratch mine deal between two parties. Since then, you and Garcia coined the term to mean no matter how big the ask the other had to say yes when it was called. Though it was typically used for moving or picking up the other from a bad date, it was never used like this.

“You’re really going to waste a Good Witch on this?” you ask and she nods profusely.

“Fine.” You throw your hands up before sitting across from her. “But my Good Witch is that this stays between us, no one else, including Spencer, can know. She nods and complies you sigh. “We went to the clinic and the Insemination cost was way too high. So we decided we’d you know…. Try the old fashion way.”

Garcia looks at you wide eyed. “You guys didn’t.”

You nod, awkwardly. “It was nothing. Just two times while I was ovulating and if I’m pregnant now, never again.”

Garcia hums. “And you’re sure you don’t just like each other?”

“Garcia, Spencer hates me. We’d never work.”

“You said, Spencer hates me. Not we hate each other like you usually do.” She points at you. “You’re starting to like him.”

“No, I’m not! Just a slip up on my words.” You exclaim, but Garcia gives you a look that screams she doesn’t believe you. “Anyway, you used your Good Witch to ask a question I already answered so I don’t need to tell you anything else.”

“Can you at least tell me this?” She asks. “Was it… good?”

You groan into your hands. “That’s the problem! It was good! Too good! Earth-shattering, mind blowing good that I can’t focus or think of anything that’s not it. And Spencer knows that and he’s being a dick about it.” You sigh. Garcia pats your back, looking sympathetically.

“Well, it’s just like you said, it was just to have the baby, right? So at least you know if you’re pregnant now, you never have to deal with it again.” She smiles before turning back to her screen. She was right, Spencer wouldn’t play games with your emotions like back in the File room if you were actually pregnant now so you could go back to less stress-inducing, Spencer-free mornings, at least until the baby was here.

That was what you wanted.

Right?

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#spencer reid x you #spencer x reader smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer x you #spencer x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #bau x reader

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lovethisletters · 3 years

Text

Devilish nights || A fantastic 3 one-shot!

I love this idea ngl, I love the dynamic between the three of them! And I tried to do them justice here but... there's definitely a Whole ass ranch for improvement... :C

also Diavolo is Mexa xd

Summary: the fantastic three go to a concert but things don't go as planned.

Additional notes: I was going to make this a comic but decided against it since it was gonna take me much more time to finish it, but perhaps I'll do it as a small follow up to this one-shot.

▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️

There's a reason why the Demon elite are very protective of their private life...you see: everyone has a side of their personality only the ones closest to us are allowed to see and for the demon prince, the avatar of pride and the loyal butler this is no exception.

—Uhhh?!?! You're going out?!!—all 6 brothers questioned in surprise.

—Yes, and I hope that when I arrive, the house is not a mess!— Replied the avatar of pride as he placed a distinctive blue coat over his shoulders.

—Ehhh? Are you going on vacation to the human realm, Lucifer ?! And without me ?! How cruel!—Asmodeus inquired dramatically, hugging his older brother's arm like a child begging his mother to go out and play.

The black-haired demon was unfazed by the avatar of lust childish demeanor, released himself from his grasp with ease and continued with his speech.

—Diavolo has important matters to resolve in the human realm and he needs me and Barbatos to support him, it is not a vacation.—

—I hope all of you behave in my absence; Satan, you're in charge, ”Lucifer declared.

-What?!?! Satan in charge ?! - the rest complained.

—As much as it bothers me to admit it… Satan is the most responsible among you — Lucifer looked at the blonde demon in the eyes — I'm counting on you — and the avatar of pride came out hurriedly before he could even hear the answer of the fourth brother.

—Don't— whispered the avatar of wrath as his lips settled into a sinister smile at the plan that was being formulated in his head.

[…]

—Ahhh ~ finally it's THE day! I can't wait any longer !!!— upon hearing the title "prince of hell" we could normally assume that the person bearing it is someone intimidating, ruthless and rude; but there he was ... the heir to the throne of the Devildom jumping all over the place with immeasurable enthusiasm, glow sticks in each hand and a white shirt with the image of a sun with the face of Luis Miguel on the chest.

—Diavolo, I'd appreciate it if you could calm down a bit.

—Calm down?! Lucifer! I have been waiting for this for years! I will finally be able to be at a concert of my favorite singer from the human realm! Do you have any idea how much I struggled to get these tickets?!?! I had to do it the human way! line and everything!—The redhead claimed at the lack of enthusiasm from his best friend.

—His majesty stopped time and he moved a couple of old ladies to be able to acquire the tickets in the front row; it would be appreciated if you showed a bit of enthusiasm, Lucifer.—Barbatos finally spoke, the same formal and cold smile always etched on his face to which Lucifer could only replay in the same way.

—Oh! I won't let you two ruin my night with your formalities! At least pretend you're as excited as I am!—Diavolo begged but his stoic companions could only mutter a mocking “yeeei”as they waved their respective glow sticks reluctantly and the prince of hell could only roll his eyes.

[…]

Mistakes happen, they happen when we least expect them and even worse; at too inconvenient moments.

—Quick, Lucifer, we're next!— The tallest of the 3 hurried, still jumping up and down.

—Give me a second — The black-haired demon searched in his pockets for the tickets that Diavolo had asked him to keep until the day of the concert because he was afraid of losing them among all the paperwork that week and knowing the responsible nature of his friend he entrusted them to him .

The thing is ... Lucifer could not find the tickets ... and when he realized this, with all the tranquility of the world: he cleared his throat, clasped his hands and positioned himself firmly like a teacher about to explain something to a child .

—Diavolo, in terms of tickets… I forgot the ttickets— At first the prince of hell gave his friend an incredulous look and even proceeded to laugh.

—Sure, stop playing games, Lucifer— the redhead expected a laugh from his friend followed by him handing over the tickets, but that gesture never came.

—Your Majesty I think Lucifer is not joking— Barbatos corrected

And oh my god, have you ever seen a child's face when you take a toy that he just can’t have out of his hands? And then the endless crying begins? Yes, at that moment the heir to the throne of hell simply bursted in tears.

—It’s Okay, your majesty, everything is going to be fine— The butler tried to calm him down by patting him on the back.

—Diavolo, I can buy others, don't worry— But the redhead only limited himself to pointing at the sign above the theater entrance "Sold out" was written in large letters.

—Well… I guess I owe you the next concert, how about we go to your favorite restaurant, hmm? My treat — Despite his offer, his friend only let out a sigh of despair and helplessness.

—You have no idea where you left them?

—Ummm… I guess in my office…

—Tell your brothers to bring them to you! Please!!— Lucifer was quick to dial Satan's number, because by the way things were he would not be surprised if Diavolo's despair at this moment led him to pray.

By pure chance, Lucifer noticed that he had several unanswered messages and calls from one of the angels: Simeon

—You can't reach them?—the prince questioned

Lucifer just stood there, glaring at his phone with a mixture of regret and anger.

"Damm you Simeon" was all that came to mind.

—Oh? Aren't those Solomon, Simeon and Luke?—Barbatos voice interrupted his thoughts.

And sure enough, there at the entrance of the theatre were the inhabitants of purgatory hall, dressed in human world clothing, waiting in line, the youngest of the group with tickets in hand.

—Oh!? I didn't knew they had bought tickets for this!

—They didn't

—How do you know?

—Because those are YOUR tickets!

—What?!?!—Diavolo's confused expression was quickly met with Lucifer's phone right in front of his face, showing him the text messages.

—I'll go get them—but before the avatar of pride could take another step towards the purgatory hall group, Barbatos hand stopped him in his tracks.

—Your Majesty, I believe Luke's birthday is just in a few days and he seems to be enjoying himself, why don't we let them keep the tickets?—the butler suggested politely.

It took a couple of seconds for the prince of hell tho make his desicion, but the smile on the small angel face made all trace of doubt dissipate, and with a heavy sigh he finally spoke.

— leat it be, Lucifer...

—...are you sure of it, Diavolo?

—yes, perhaps next year we'll go together...all of us, right?

Lucifer was surprised but with a small smile forming on his face he said yes.

—Now... who's hungry?! We should go to the fanciest place in town, after all, It's Lucifer's treat!—the prince joked

—Perhaps the restaurant we attended last year would be fine, your Majesty?

—Ah yes! That would do!

And while Lucifer's wallet had started regretting his desicions, he was happy he could spend this evening with his dearest friends.

▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️

I was going to put a drawing of the fantastic three hanging out but I only did Diavolo bc while I was finishing Barbatos and Lucifer my computer crashed and didn't save anything :c

So here's a Diavolo in front of bellas artes to compensate:

If you find any grammatical errors let me know! I'm trying to improve my english and that would help me so so much!

I will forever thank you if you go check out my other profile: @aileysmirnov where I post things about my OC: edits, one-shots, imagines, art, etc. If you like Greek mythology and the bat family maybe you would get to be as fond of her as much as I am!

Anyway, thank you for reading!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #om! lucifer #obey me lucifer #obey me x reader #om! diavolo #obey me diavolo #om! barbatos #obey me barbatos #obey me oneshot #Lucifer #Barbatos #Diavolo #the fantastic three #Mexa Diavolo!

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ally-writes-many-things · 3 years

Text

Secret Voight Season 3 Part 3 (J. Halstead)

Summary: Its been a year and a few months since Olive showed up announcing that she was pregnant with Justin's kid. You were working on a case that involved Justin. Is Justin back doing the same old things or is it something else?

Words: 3.9k

Requested: Yes

Warnings or A/N: Guys, I appreciate the love and support yall are giving me again with this series but please dont keep asking me over and over again if I'm continuing it. I think there will be at least one more part in season 3 and there will be one more chapter for s3. There also maybe be one more chapter that will be special. Idk yet. Well see.

You were smiling at your nephew in his high chair while wearing a birthday hat. It was Daniel's first birthday. You, your dad, Olive and Justin were all singing happy birthday to him as Daniel was just looking around and babbling. "Happy birthday, kiddo. Come on, blow out that candle. Ready? One, two..."

Your dad had put the cake on the food tray as Justin walked closer to his son and they both helped Daniel blow out the candle. "Good job,"

You looked from Daniel and then to Olive. "I can't believe he's a year old already,"

Voight nodded and went to grabbed a present. "Ooh, wait. Time for presents. This one is from me,"

Justin reaches over the table and grabbed the bag and opened it up. He pulled out a toy horse that he seemed to recognize. "All these years you kept this?"

"Your mom did. She kept all your baby stuff upstairs in the attic, just, you know, hoping one day she could pass it along,"

Olive puts her hand Justin's back. "Hank, it's perfect,"

"Yeah. Thanks, Pop. I wish Mom was here too,"

You got up from your seat and walked around to where your brother was and placed your hand on his shoulder. "I didn't know Camille but from what I've been told of her. She would be so proud of you,"

----

It had been an hour or so after you were done with giving Daniel his gifts. Justin and Voight were in the living room catching up. You and Olive were still in the kitchen with Daniel cleaning up. "So when are you and Jay getting married?"

Justin and Olive got married about six months ago and ever since then everyone has been up yours and Jay's ass over it too. Or well besides Voight. Voight told you over and over 'to take it slow'. You chuckled as you had a secret but it wasn't an engagement. Jay didn't even know about this either. "Whenever he proposes, I guess,"

"I'm sure, it'll be soon,"

You shrugged. "I'm just going with the tides. In this line of work, its difficult to worry about things like that,"

She nodded. "You guys did move in together right?"

"Yeah, a couple of weeks ago,"

"With two bedrooms right?"

You cocked an eye at her. "Yeah? Why?"

"Just asking. How's it going?"

"It's going good. It's a lot easy on the both of us since Jay would take me to work,"

Voight walked into the kitchen with Justin. "Sorry to break the girl chat up but we got a case. Team is already there,"

You walked over to where Daniel was and kissed him on the top of his head. "Goodnight my sweet boy,"

---

You and Voight drive to the scene separate but arrived at the same time. You saw Kevin and Antonio were waiting for us at the police line which they lifted up when we walked up to it. "Hey, Serge. We got one dead female found in the trunk,"

Antonio looked at his notepad. "A park district employee was closing the gates. He was about to have the car towed when he noticed blood on the rear of the car and called the police,"

You and the others walked up the car, Jay was already there at the car holding up the trunk. "Victim's hands and feet are tied with barbed wire. Throat's cut. Fingernails are gone, too. I'm guessing she fought back against the assailant. He knew there'd be DNA, so he yanked them off,"

"Cartel hit?"

"Or Russians. They've been known to use barbed wire too,"

You got a ping on your phone and looked at it. "Car's registered to the victim. Her name's Melissa Wilds. She's 26 years old. We got an address,"

"All right, call Ruzek and Olinsky. Tell them to go over there and do a knock-and-talk,"

It was the next day and you didn't have much to go on as of yet. Al and Ruzek knocked at the address but no one answered. Her neighbor came by and they found out she had a daughter. You were sitting at you desk while talking about the case. "Melissa Wilds. Her husband was an Army private killed in a training exercise last year at Fort Bragg, along with three others when their chopper went down,"

Antonio took it from there. "She had an associate’s from Roosevelt and worked as a paralegal for the law firm Sawyer & Sawyer,"

Antonio was still in the outs with you. Yeah, its been a year but you still didn't trust him enough to let him back into your life. Jay, on the other hand, just didn't care because no one was gonna tell him what he can or can't do. Ruzek swung around in his chair to look at Antonio. "Yeah, I've seen those commercials. They're just high-profile ambulance chasers,"

"Bigger than that. They do seven-figure class action lawsuits against pharmaceutical companies or schools with asbestos,"

Jay was looking into Melissa's background and to see if she got any priors. "Except for a few parking tickets, Melissa has zero priors. She's a working, widowed mom, so the more I'm digging here, I can't see any reason why she'd be associated with cartels or any Russians,"

Voight walk to where he was standing in front of everyone. "Well listen. This girl was tortured with barbed wire. That means the killer either wanted something from her, or it was personal. So I want to know where she was before we found her, who she was with- if she was seeing someone new,"

Your phone of your desk rang while Voight was saying what he was saying. "Voight,"

"Roger Simpson is down here. Says he is Melissa's father,"

You pulled the phone away from your mouth and looked up at Voight. "Hey,"

"Hm?"

"Roger Simpson, Melissa's father, is downstairs,"

Voight looked over at Al. "Al?"

"We should start drawing straws,"

It had been about an hour since Al met with Roger and he said that Melissa was acting strange the past few months and that she was asking him to watch Tigan more and more which was no problem but it was hard cause he lived two hours away. He had asked her if something was wrong but she wouldn't tell him. You were engrossed with your digging that you didn't hear Jay walking up to you until he tapped on your desk. You looked away from your computer and up at him. "Hey handsome,"

He slightly smiled before dropping it. That concerned you. "What's wrong?"

"We got Melissa's phone records,"

"And?"

"Follow me,"

Jay started to walk towards Voight's office and you got up from your desk and followed him. "Hey, we got, uh, Melissa Wild's phone records,"

Voight looked at you confused and you just shrugged as you walked into his office. "Okay?"

Jay closed the door and hand a copy to you and Voight. He kept one for himself as well. "She and Justin, um-- they knew each other. Looks like there's maybe 20 phone calls and twice as many texts between the two of them last month. The last phone call she made was a half hour before time of death,"

Voight picked up his personal phone from his desk and started dialing Justin. "He said he was in town to help a friend. Maybe it was her,"

You walked up to Voight's desk. "Where is Justin now?"

"He should be at home with Olive and Daniel,"

Jay looked from you to your dad. "Did he ever mention this girl to you, to either of you?"

"No,"

"Don't you think I would've mentioned it if he did? Straight to voicemail,"

You and Voight rush to his house and see that Olive is there with Daniel but no Justin and he looks worried. "Where's Justin?"

"He left over an hour ago,"

"Have you tried calling him?"

"He's not answering. I texted him too. Hank, I'm worried,"

"We'll find him,"

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and dialed Al. "I need you to track the GPS on Justin's car now,"

It took about ten minutes to find the location of Justin car which was parked on the side of the road. You and Voight both jumped out of the car and speed walked to the car. You looked into the car and didn't see anything. You walked around to the trunk where Voight was already opening it up. "Oh, my God,"

You find Justin the same way you found Melissa. Bound with barbed wire. "Justin. He's got a pulse!"

You pulled out your walkie. "Lincoln 5021, emergency. I repeat, emergency,"

Voight was trying to see if he had anymore injuries. "Oh, my God, he's been shot!"

You pushed the button on your walkie again. "I need an ambulance at my current location. We have a gunshot wound victim,"

You and Voight ran into Med with Justin and the paramedics when Maggie came into view. "We have incoming. You're with me. Talk to me,"

"It's my son!"

The paramedic started talking to Maggie. "GSW to the neck. GCS 3, tubed in the ambo. Pupils fixed and dilated. Sinus tachy on the monitor. He was bound in the trunk of a car,"

Maggie pointed into a room and started directing them. "Rotate. Get ready to transfer. Three, two, one--transfer,"

Sharon came up to Voight and started to pull Voight away. " Hank, let's step outside,"

"Is he breathing?"

"I need a CT head. Someone call neurosurgery!"

"Is he still breathing?"

"Checking right now, Hank,"

"Come on, let them do their job,"

Voight had called Antonio and told him what happened and the next thing you knew he had brought Olive and Daniel to the ER. Voight didn't look to pleased at Antonio.

Voight looked at you. "GET everyone back to 21,"

"Dad,"

"Now,"

You had texted everyone in the unit that if they were at 21st to get there. You couldn't call them because you knew if you called them you'd break down. You stood outside the door of 21st for a few minutes before walking into the precinct and then up the stairs to Intelligence. Jay saw you and walked up to you and pulled you into a hug and whispered into your ear. "It's going to be okay. He's going to be okay,"

You let him hold you for a few minutes before you pushed him away. Antonio looked at everyone in the unit before speaking. "Everybody needs to hold on real tight, and you all know what I mean. If at any point you're not comfortable with something, you come tell me,"

You were all looked at Antonio when Antonio stopped talking when he looked at something. You all turned around and saw Voight standing there with a duffel bag in hand. He throws in on Jay's desk and throw out money. "I want you to put word out to all your C.I.'s. That's 90,000 for any information on who did this to Melissa Wilds and my son,"

Kevin slowly got up and walked towards Voight. "Hey, we got this, Serge. Think you should go to the hospital?"

Voight nodded but didn't say anything for a good minute. "All right, let me be clear. I don't need condolences. I need commitment from each of you. I'm gonna do whatever it takes to find who did this. Anybody not comfortable with that should take the next couple of days off,"

You nodded and walked towards the detail board. While holding back tears, you looked at everyone. "So, turns out Justin went through basic training with Peter Wilds

at Fort Campbell before Peter got shipped to Fort Bragg. That's how they knew each other. They stayed close friends. Melissa started reaching out to Justin about four weeks ago.

"Still doesn't tell us how they were mutual targets,"

Jay who is now sitting on his desk, talked next. "Maybe there's a nexus with her job- the law firm,"

"Check it out,"

Voight had started to leave but you had grabbed him and stopped him. "Hey. You have a grandson now, okay? That is counting on you. Just remember that,"

Voight looked at you for a few seconds before nodding.

You were going out of your mind in the car when you and Jay were driving to the law firm. Jay placed a hand on your knee and squeezed it. "It's gonna be okay. Justin is going to wake up and everything will be fine,"

You looked at him and smiled. You appreciated the thought but that's not the biggest thing on your mind. You were worried about what your dad is doing.

Jay pulled up to the law firm and you put everything about your dad and Justin in the back of your mind and put all your focus on the case itself. You walked up to Melissa's boss' office. "Melissa used to be a great employee. Never complained about the hours

or working weekends. But there was definitely something off with her these past few weeks,"

You shifted on your other foot. "How do you mean?"

"Her demeanor. Melissa was always outgoing always had a smile on her face, even after losing her husband, Peter. But lately she'd become withdrawn..distant. To be honest, that's when I started to get suspicious,"

Jay didn't look away from her boss. "Suspicious of what, exactly?"

Her boss didn't answer for a minute thinking about what to say. She held up a finger to signal that she needed a minute. She got up from her desk, shut her office door and then sit back down. "We worked a class action suit last year. Several dozen plaintiffs were awarded mesothelioma cancer pay-outs, all over a million dollars each. three of the plaintiffs were robbed in home invasions, some of them badly injured,"

"Was Melissa the only one with access to this information?"

Her boss shook her head. "Well, no. But the way she was acting, and now what's happened to her, it can't be a coincidence,"

As you were leaving the office, Jay called the unit and told them what Melissa's boss, you got in his truck and he got in his truck after he finished the call. You were driving to the precinct when you got a call telling you to meet the team at a location they think Ginger is at and to suit up. Apparently while you were out, the team had learned the suspect's name. You were also texted a picture of him.

Jay parked a little ways down the street and you guys suited up and walked the rest of the way to meet up with the team. Voight saw you and as soon as you got next to him, he started talking. "This one we don't announce. We hit it and we hit it hard,"

You all nodded. Jay grabbed the battering ram and hit the door. Antonio was in first, Al and Ruzek was next, then you, Voight and Jay. You could hear a woman screaming. You saw three males trying to get up and run. You pointed a gun at one of them. "Don't move!"

Jay pointed the gun at the other. "Right there!"

Voight goes past you to point a gun at the three suspect.. "I'll blow your head off! Let me see your hands. Don't move,"

Antonio looked at the girl. "You, get your clothes. Get out of here,"

When everyone was under control you finally looked up at the three suspect and saw that it was Ginger. " You got a warrant?"

"Melissa Wilds,"

"Never heard of her,"

Voight didn't say anything for a minute then didn't take his eye of him but address the team. "The stove. Cover the door,"

Al and Antonio grabbed Ginger and pulled him over to the store as he turned on the store. "Wait a minute,"

"Justin Voight is my son. You shoot him and wrap him in barb wire?"

"No, man, that wasn't me. It was all Kevin!"

"Kevin who?"

"Kevin Bingham, a guy I work with sometimes. He...he used to bang

that girl Melissa when they were younger, started forcing her to give up info on who was getting big pay-outs from her law firm,"

"Yeah, and you did the home invasions.

"I just do the safes, man. He handles the people, then we split it down the middle,"

"Why did he kill her and shoot my son?"

"Melissa wanted out. But Kevin wouldn't let her, so she went to Justin for help. wanted me to meet him at that social club to broker a deal for her safety for five grand. I told him, leave it alone. He had no idea who he was messing with. Kevin knew Melissa was gonna rat him out, so he called Justin to meet to tie up loose ends!"

"Where's Kevin now?"

"I don't know. I swear! He only calls me when there's a job!"

Voight grabbed Ginger's head and forces it down on the hot burner so he could burn his cheek. Ginger screamed out in pain and you looked away in disgust.

Antonio came up to Voight and tried to pull him off of him. "Voight, we can do this at the district!"

Voight shrugged. "We're fine right here. Relax. Relax. Where's Kevin now?"

"Hiding cause he knows you're after him. I swear to God, that's all I know,"

It's been about two or so hours since you talked to Ginger. You had finally found some information on Bingham. You printed off a picture of Bingham and what you found on him. You also made copies for the team. "Kevin Bingham. He's been racking up felonies since he was 18, armed robbery, assault, battery, burglary. Five years ago he got popped for attempted murder. A guy spilled his drink at a bar, so Bingham stabbed him 16 time,"

Antonio looked up from the sheet. "Yeah, and he got out of jail three months ago,"

Al who was leaning up against the file cabinet talked next. "Melissa's father said she and Bingham dated six years ago back in high school and after her husband died, he started coming around again,"

Jay pointed at the photo that was sent over. "So these were sent over, all of these are from recent home invasions where the victims were tied up with barbed wire,"

Kevin looked at the phone. "That is definitely something he picked up in prison,"

Ruzek comes into the room with a paper in his hand. "So Bingham's parole officer said he stopped showing up-- violated him, but he's got no LKA. Yeah, so we've been running an extensive check on all his known associates, including those off his prison visiting list. All right, this is Dillon James. visited him all the way up until his parole, putting money into his canteen account. He's got priors for methamphetamine and a thing for stealing UPS trucks and selling the stolen goods,"

Voight turned and looked at him. "Where is he?"

"We got a possible house in Rogers Park,"

Voight nodded. "Let's roll out and suit up. Oh, Antonio. You stay here. Just call us if you get anything,"

You hit the house and found his brother but all his brother told you was that Bingham came by last night and took some cash and guns that he was holding for them. He only told him that he needed to get out of town until something blew over.

*Justin was moved to ICU and Sharon will call in an hour with an update*

Dillion: I ain't--I ain't seen him *point the gun at him* All right, he was here! He came by last night. He was picking up some cash I was holding for him and some guns. He also gets a call from Antonio saying Sharon called and told him that Justin came out of surgery and that

You were in the unit for an hour or so when Voight gets a call and goes into his office and he was in there for a few minutes before he comes back out. "I got an address on Bingham. I want everyone rolling there now. First two to arrive, breach. This guy's on the run could be leaving any minute. Let's go,"

You didn’t ride with Jay or anyone else. You rode by yourself so you could have some time by yourself just to think about everything that was happened. You heard your phone go off and you looked down and saw that it was Jay. "Hey, I'm two minutes out,"

"Bingham's not here. No one's here. Not for a while,"

"Is Voight there?"

"Not yet,"

That's when it hit you that Voight sent you to a bogus location and that whoever he was on the phone with, found Bingham and he was at the Silos.

You heard Jay on the line calling for you but you dropped your phone in the seat and as soon as you could turned around. You drove as fast of you could to get to the Silos before your dad could do anything stupid. You drove up and saw that Kevin was digging a hole. You got out of the car and Kevin started talking to you. "Oh, thank God. Thank God. This guy tried to kill me. I didn't do anything,"

You walked up closer to your dad. "Don't do this. Think of your grandson,"

"Get back in your car, Y/N,"

"Do not throw it all away over him,"

"Get back in your car,"

"Dad, please. Justin is still alive and he wouldn't want justice like this,"

"Get out of here,"

"Justin,"

You looked at your dad to Kevin and then back to your dad and knew you couldn't get your dad to think straight. You slowly backed up and got in your car and left. You were halfway down the road when you finally heard the gun go off.

You didn't even go the unit after, you went straight to the hospital and you saw Sharon coming out ready to go home. She saw you. "He is in room 12. Say that I allowed it. Talk to him, he can hear you,"

You nodded and said a silent thank you. She placed a hand on your shoulder for a second before removing it. You walked up to the room and no one bothered you. You took a deep breath before opening the door. You opened the door and saw your brother in the hospital unconscious and Olive sitting next to him. She looked at you. "I'll give you two some time together," You walked to the chair and sat down. You finally let go of all the emotion you've been holding on too since you found Justin. You reached out to grab your brother's hand. You sat there and cry until you couldn't let anything else out. When you were finally done crying, you sat there in quiet thinking of what to say. "I don't know if you can hear me, Sharon says that you can. Do you remember when we first met after dad transferred me into Intelligence. We didn't like each other at well. We hated each other at first. Bickered all the time. Yes, we always had bad times but we also had god times and I want...I need more good times with you. I need you to be in my life..."

You trailed off with what you were about to say because you haven’t said it out loud. "Your niece or nephew is gonna need their uncle,"

You put your head on the side of his bed and just sat in quiet once more. "I'm gonna make them my partner in crime,"

#chicago pd #jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x you #jay halstead imagine #one chicago #hank voight #secret voight #jay halstead x imagine

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spenciegoob · 3 years

Text

What’s That Vegas Saying?

Request(?): Just saw this tiktok where a girl and her friends were drinking shots, and the alcohol was in these tiny test tubes. the one girl had the end of the tube in her mouth, grabbed her friend’s face so basically the alcohol was being fed to her and I immediately thought of doing that with Spencer.

The request (?) was gifted to me by the amazing @imagining-in-the-margins

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GenderNeutral!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warning: alcohol consumption, intoxication, major pining (lol oops)

Masterlist

___

Team bonding with the BAU was not as simple as it sounds. They couldn’t just stay in the woods on a camping retreat; they’ve seen too many cases in the woods. Going to the beach was just... weird. And apparently hunting down the sickest minds or eating pasta at Rossi’s mansion wasn’t “team bonding” enough.

“How about we go to Florida?” You asked the group seated around the conference table. The chorus of unenthusiastic groans of disagreement served as your answer.

“If we want to be surrounded by drunk teenagers, maybe,” Derek piped up, and you couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle at his sarcasm. As sarcastic as it was, though, he was right. It dawned on the group that there was possibly no where to go that didn’t either have bad memories, or would definitely create some.

That was until Spencer Reid broke the silence.

“What if we go to-” The suggestion didn’t need finishing; they all knew what he was going to say. As quickly as it left his mouth, regret etched his features with the realization that not only was the team going to hop on the idea, but if he had not spoken at all, they might not have even considered it.

“Boy Wonder does it again!” Penelope shouted in her usual enthusiasm, although unlike most times, this held a bit of mischief as well.

“That’s it,” Emily jumped in. “We’re going to Vegas, baby.”

And that’s how the team found themselves on a plane heading straight for Las Vegas, Nevada. More importantly, how you found yourself next to a more than usual jittery Spencer Reid. You knew for him, going home wasn’t exactly a team bonding vacation, but more anxiety than normal.

Anxiety about what exactly?

The question remained in your head for the first hour of the trip. That was until you couldn’t ignore the way his leg basically shook the whole plane, and his constant moving eyes flickering between anything he could out of the tiny window.

“Hey,” you said putting your hand on his knee softly, the bouncing immediately halting. “Are you okay?”

The bouncing didn’t return when the question left your mouth, but tension in his muscles returned. His whole body went rigid at your words.

“Y-yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” The question came with no malicious intent, but the speed at which it left his mouth confirmed his growing worry.

“I’m not going to pry, but I will tell you this,” you say as you squeezed his knee before releasing it.

Spencer would never say it, but he missed the warmth of your hand on his skin too soon after it was gone.

“This could be your chance to let yourself go and finally have fun in the one place that seems impossible for you to do so.” You hoped your words reached him as you watched his eyes flicker rapidly again, the movements so subtle that if the small lights above you were off, you may have never noticed.

He was trying to let your words sink, wrap his brain around logic that had no scientific reasoning or fact to back it up. You could only hope he heard you, really heard you, and when his eyes halted and a small smile stretched his features, you couldn’t help but return the gesture with a fluttering heart.

“You may just be right.” He finally made eye contact with you, causing both of your smiles to grow wider.

With a new found serge of confidence with the hot doctor who unknowingly held your heart, your smile turned to a smirk and you leaned in so your cheek was besides his.

“And you know what they say.” You turned slightly so your eyes could rest on his side profile and gauge his reaction. It didn’t last long, because sensing movement, Spencer turned slightly too. His face was stoic, but behind his eyes there was something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You let your eyes drift to his partially parted lips, and then back to his eyes, all within less than a second.

“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

The same day the plane landed the team found themselves in a club that night. It was 9:57, but from the way half of the team joined Penelope is taking back shots, you could tell it was only the beginning of the night.

That’s when you noticed that Spencer wasn’t like you or Aaron pacing yourselves for the night. Actually, the doctor wasn’t drinking at all.

“Spence, you’re not drinking tonight?” You asked over the loud music that pulsed through your body. When Spencer’s eyes met yours, however, your heart beat faster than the club’s rhythm.

“No, I um- I don’t think really like alcohol.” Something about that answer didn’t sit well with you, but apparently you weren’t the only one.

“You don’t drink for the taste, Boy Wonder,” a very drunk Penelope yelled from across the booth.

“I’ve just never drank anything I liked.” That was definitely the worst thing Spencer could say. The second the words left his mouth, Penelope and your head shot up to meet one another’s eyes.

The “Let’s Get Spencer a Drink He’ll Like” plan blossomed in your one second of shared eye contact.

“I think it’s time we change that, Pretty Boy,” you said with a smirk Spencer melts for, even if that look meant trouble for him later on.

“On one condition,” he started, and turned his body to face yours directly. “You try everything I do.”

You contemplated for a moment. His request meant getting shit-faced in front of your coworkers, but the saying does go what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

“You’re on.”

Penelope all but dragged a slightly less drunk Derek to the bar to fetch Spencer and you some drinks. In the meantime, Hotch stared at the two of you looking at each other, smiles beaming.

“You know,” his voice broke through the trance you two unknowingly had on the other. “I’m not helping either of you out of here when you two get too drunk.”

“I’m with the boss man on that one,” a very, very drunk Emily slurred.

“That goes for you too, Prentiss.”

Before either of you could defend yourselves, Penelope was back with a tray of assorted shots. There were at least 7 different types of shots, two for each.

“Alright here’s how this is going to work,” she said as she put the tray in front of you two. “I will tell you what’s in them after you’ve taken them.”

The two of you stared at the tray, your face full of excitement, Spencer’s nervousness. When you two looked back at each other, he gave you a soft smile.

“Hey.” You put your hand on his on the table as you spoke. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

His hand flipped under yours to give you a reassuring squeeze, his smile growing into a smirk as he did so.

“Let’s do this.” Your hands pulled apart as you both decided to start with the clear liquids first. The smell alone was enough to make you want to gag.

Spencer stared at it quizzically before turning to you.

“Cheers?”

“Cheers.”

You both knocked them back as quickly as you could. You couldn’t help the scrunched up face you made as the liquid burned it’s way down your throat.

Spencer had the same face you did, obviously not enjoying the first drink of the night. You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn't find his scrunched up nose and eyes adorable.

“That was vodka!” Penelope through giggles as the team laughed at you and Spencer’s disgust.

“Yeah, no shit.” The next shot you and Spencer picked up was also clear, but Einstein did say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

“Oh god, here we go again,” you mumbled before throwing the shot back, Spencer following your lead.

Tequila.

He slammed the shot glass back on the table with a slight cough.

“That was so much worse than the first one,” he squeaked, and you couldn’t help the giggle from escaping. Spencer looked over at you and let out a breathy laugh.

“Regretting your decision now?” He asked.

You grabbed the next shot off the tray, this one having a small brown tint. He grabbed the matching one.

You clicked your glasses together and said “Never,” before finishing the third shot of the evening.

By the time the tray was finished, Spencer did not find a drink he enjoyed, but neither of you could remember what the actual goal was.

Spencer and you were both lightweights, so by the time the shots were cleared, you caught up to the rest of the team’s drunk level.

Sloppiness was a better word for it. At one point you stood behind Spencer with his head leaning back into your hand as you poured another tequila shot down his throat. At another, you had been dared to give JJ a lap dance that you didn't object to doing.

Now, the team found themselves seated at the booth sharing drunk horror stories.

All of a sudden, Spencer shot up from his chair on legs that can only be compared to a baby deer’s, drawing the attention of the entire team.

“I think I have something to say,” he yelled, and while he seemed uncertain that he wanted to say what was on his mind, there was no uncertainty in his next statement.

“I have a crush on Y/N.” Smiles spread around the table as the team realized it only took a little alcohol for this to happen. The only two not smiling was Spencer, who was staring at his now empty chair with confusing on what the fuck he was doing etched all over his face, and you, who’s jaw was on the floor.

“Hell yeah drunk confession!” Emily yelled, breaking the silence amongst the group that the music had the courtesy to fill.

You realized it’s been way too long for you to not say anything, and whether it was the alcohol or the confirmation you needed, you yelled back at him.

“Oh my god no way.” His head turned to you, the look of confusion replaced with... regret? Anticipation? Hope?

“I have a crush on you, too!” You said it as if the two of you realized you like the same TV show, or are wearing the same socks.

Your casualty about the whole thing made Spencer feel significantly less awkward, and he made a mental note to thank you later.

“No way, for how long?,” he mimicked you from before in the same tone. The two of you stared at each other with wide eyes and bright smiles.

“Since my first day six years ago!”

“Me too!”

The rest of the team just sat there, laughing at the two who finally admitted their feelings for one another.

“You know what we should do?” Spencer asked you, excitement spread through every inch of his face, and his hands moved between the both of you.

“Especially since we’re in Vegas,” you finished his question, catching on to what he was trying to get at.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” He needed confirmation that he was not the only insane person at this table.

Insane and drunk were interchangeable, right?

“Let’s get married in Vegas,” you both said at the same time, and the relief you both felt when you realized the other was as insane as the other came out as two laughs.

But, as the idea was shared between you two, the team sprung into action.

“Oh no. No, no, no no no,” Derek grabbed Spencer’s shoulders and kept him firmly by his side, JJ doing the same to you.

“How about we get you two to the hotel instead?”

And then you woke up in your hotel bed with no recollection of how you got there. Your head was pounding as the sunlight seeped through the cheap hotel curtain right in your eyes.

You groaned and shot up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes the best you could. To your right on the nightstand were two advil, a glass of water, and a note.

You took the advil as soon as you laid your eyes on them before picking up the note to read.

Lunch at noon Next time, we’re going to Florida -JJ

So JJ was the one that brought you to the room after...

Oh god, oh no. That was so stupid. Getting married in Vegas is so stupid why is that a thing? You internally screamed. But wait, Spencer likes you?

You needed to find Spencer. Grabbing your nearest jacket, you threw it on before basically running out the door.

You didn’t get very far, because the second you turned the corner, you ran into something hard.

No, not something, someone. Spencer stood before you in the same state you were in; disheveled, hungover and a little worried.

“Hey, I was just coming to find you,” you said, trying to alleviate some of the awkwardness between you two.

“Ye-yeah me too. I uh, I actually wanted to ask you s-something.” Well so much for alleviating awkwardness.

“You can ask me anything, Spence.” He looked up at you and gave you his signature tight lipped white boy smile.

“I know they say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but when we get back, would you want to maybe grab a coffee or something?” He said rocking back and forth on his feet.

“Like a date?” You didn’t even bother to hide the hopefulness in your voice and on your face. You wanted nothing more than to go on a date with Spencer Reid.

“Yeah, a date. Is that.. okay?” The longer it took to get a yes or no, even a maybe, was enough for the anxiety and regret to start to blossom. You wouldn’t let it grow anymore, though.

“Of course it’s okay, and yes, I would love to get coffee or something.” You giggled back at him, looking up to meet his eyes that matched the ones on the plane; filled with love.

Love for you.

____

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#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine #what happens in vegas #aaron hotch hotchner #derek morgan #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #bau

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specialagentsergio · 3 years

Text

last christmas

summary: You and Emily have been in a long-distance relationship since she moved to London. She can’t wait to see you for the holidays–that is, until you say, “we need to talk.”

pairing: emily prentiss x f!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: lil bit of angst but with a happy ending, reader celebrates Christmas (no denomination or religion mentioned or implied)

a/n: sorry this took a bit longer than i was hoping for (monday and tuesday were a bit rough for me mental health-wise) but it’s ready now! i hope you enjoy it.

word count: 2.2k

masterlist

Emily had forgotten how miserable flying commercial could be. But she couldn’t really justify using one of Interpol’s private jets for a personal trip, so here she was, frantically gathering her belongings off of the belt as she tries not to hold up the line behind her at the security checkpoint.

She shakes her head in disbelief as she sits at a bench and pulls her boots back on. To think that you’ve been doing this every other month and haven’t complained once! And it’s not a short flight, either—it takes eight hours to fly from D.C. to London. Yet every time you’ve made the trip, you’ve only expressed excitement over seeing her.

She’s excited, too, of course, but she’s also nervous. Right before you’d gotten off the phone with her last night, you’d said, “I really can’t wait to see you, Em. We need to talk, in person.”

We need to talk.

In Emily’s experience, that sentence has never led to something good. She’s been trying to talk herself down ever since. Surely you wouldn’t invite her out to spend the holidays with you just to break up with her. But then again, maybe you feel that you have to do it that way, that doing it over a video call was too impersonal. She really isn’t sure what to think.

If she’s honest, she’s actually surprised you’re still together at all. Not that she doesn’t love you—she absolutely does, and you’ve said it many times in return. She had just expected you to break it off when she made the decision to move to London.

You didn’t know all the details about what happened with Doyle; you’d met after her return. But you knew enough, knew that she had had to fake her own death and hide out overseas, disconnected and away from everyone she knew and loved. And you had watched as being back in D.C. became a struggle for her. When she told you about the job offer, you had encouraged her to take it.

“I’m sorry,” Emily had sighed, pressing her forehead to yours. “I didn’t want us to end.”

“Who says we have to?” you’d asked. “I’m prepared and willing to do long-distance if you are.”

And that had been that. You had talked or video chatted at least five nights a week, and even had a standing virtual dinner date for Fridays. Her job made it difficult to travel for personal reasons, so you had flown to her (although she had insisted on paying for the ticket and always made sure you were in business class).

Long-distance wasn’t easy—she much preferred to have you in her arms. But, you’d made it work, and successfully if did she said so herself. She loved you just as much as the day she got on the plane to London, if not more.

And you loved her back... right?

If you’d asked her two days ago, she would have been confident in that. Now? Not so much.

Emily picks at her nails for almost the entire time she’s waiting at the airport terminal to board her flight. We need to talk, you’d said.

I don’t want to lose you, her heart whispers back.

---

It’s Rossi’s Christmas Eve party. Emily watches you from across the room as you chat with Morgan and Reid. You look absolutely gorgeous in a red dress, white tights on underneath to keep your legs warm in the chilly weather.

You haven’t been acting any differently than normal. You had greeted her at the airport last night with such a big hug and kiss that it drew a few “aww”’s from passersby. Every time you catch her looking at you, you smile brightly back. You’d cuddled up to her in your usual position when you went to sleep last night.

If Emily were a bit braver, she might bring up your previous conversation and ask what you wanted to talk about. But she can’t bring herself to do it. If you are planning to end things, she wants to soak in as much of you as possible before it.

JJ comes up to her side, touching her arm lightly to draw her attention away from you. “Okay, Emily,” she says. ‘What’s going on?”

It’s Christmas Eve and she doesn’t want to spoil the mood, so she says, “It’s nothing.”

“You keep picking at your nails,” JJ points out gently. “It’s something.”

Emily makes a noise of annoyance. “You know, I think I preferred it when you weren’t a profiler.”

JJ chuckles. “Oh, I’ve heard that before.” She nudges Emily with her elbow. “Come on, tell me what’s up. I want to help.”

“Alright,” she sighs. “It’s (Y/N). She hasn’t been acting any differently, but a few days ago, on the phone... Jayje, she said we need to talk.”

“Ah.” JJ tilts her head to the side. “Well, that’s necessarily a bad thing.”

“When has it not been, in your experience?”

“I said that to Will during our case in Miami, back before Henry.”

Emily frowns. “You also broke up with him.”

“For like, one day,” JJ protests. “And now look at us.” She holds up her left hand, showing off her wedding ring.

“Yeah, it worked out for you,” Emily admits. “That doesn’t mean it will for me.”

“Well, I think—”

“Mommy!” Henry comes running up and tugs on JJ’s hand. “Can we go home and get ready for Santa now?”

JJ checks the time. “Ooh, you’re right. It is time for us to go. Go find Daddy. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Okay! Bye, auntie Emily!” Henry waves and Emily waves back.

“Bye, Henry.”

He scurries off, but JJ doesn’t follow immediately; instead, she looks back to Emily. “For what it’s worth, I think everything’s going to be fine,” she says.

To Emily’s surprise, the sentiment makes her feel a bit better. “Thanks.”

After saying goodbye to JJ, she looks back to where she last saw you. You aren’t there anymore but she barely has time to wonder where you’ve gone off to before you appear at her side. You take her wrist in your hand and tug on it gently. “Come with me.”

You guide her through a few rooms and into a secluded hallway. You’re hiding something in your left hand, keeping it out of her view. When you stop, you turn towards her and a shy smile spreads across your face.

“What... what have you got there, honey?” Emily asks.

You sway from one foot to the other. “Oh, nothing much.” Then you raise your hand above her head and she looks up to see—

“Mistletoe,” she says, surprise coloring her tone.

“Mm-hmm. And you know what that means.”

She does know, but she can’t resist this opportunity to tease you. “Actually, I’m not familiar with it. Could you explain it to me?”

You drop your hand and roll your eyes. “Just shut up and kiss me, Emily.”

She feigns a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, if you insist.”

Emily takes your face in her hands and pulls you into a kiss. She tries to communicate all her feelings through it—her adoration, her happiness, her appreciation. Most of all, she pours all of her love into it.

You’re a little dazed when she pulls away; the mistletoe has slipped from your fingers onto the floor. “Oh, wow, Em,” you whisper.

“I don’t want this to be our last Christmas together,” she says, then winces a bit. “God, that was cheesy. But it’s true.”

“I don’t want it to be, either,” you reply. “Where is this coming from?”

Emily blinks. “Wha—you said that we needed to talk on the phone the other day!”

You giggle. “I didn’t mean it in bad way, dummy.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t mean it in a bad way! What else was I supposed to think?” The words just tumble out of her mouth. “You’re not seriously telling me I’ve been worried for days for no reas—”

“Shh,” you interrupt, placing your finger on her lips. “I’m sorry I made you worry. But what I want to talk about is a good thing.” You pause. “At least, I hope so.”

“Okay, apology accepted,” she sighs. “What’s this good thing you want to discuss?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you that yet,” you say, the corners of your mouth pulling up in a smile. “It’ll ruin the surprise.”

“Now that’s just cruel,” Emily grumbles.

“It is not!” you protest. “I just don’t want to spoil one of your presents.”

She purses her lips. “You’re really pushing it tonight.”

“It’s only one night, Em. It’ll make sense tomorrow.” You tuck some of her hair behind her ear. “Now, do you think we’ve been here long enough for it to be socially acceptable for us to leave?”

“I think so. JJ has already left so we wouldn’t be the first.”

“Perfect.”

---

Emily wakes up to your hair tickling her face and your lips on her neck.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” you whisper when she stirs.

Emily feels around a bit until her hand finds the back of your neck and she can pull you down for a proper kiss. “Merry Christmas,” she murmurs. She tries to tug you back down next to her, but you resist.

“Come on, let’s go open presents,” you say, tugging her in return.

She groans. “Can’t we stay in bed just a little longer? It’s so warm.”

“Don’t you want to know what your surprise is?” you remind her.

Emily tallies the pros and cons of leaving the bed in her mind, eventually settling on doing what you want. “Alright, alright.”

You grin and clap your hands together. “Yay!” Before she knows it, you’re already up and at the bedroom door.

“You go ahead; I’ll catch up,” Emily says with a yawn. She takes her time stretching, shaking off the sleepiness. She’d love to sleep in later but you’re so excited that she can’t find it in herself to say no. And of course she’s curious about your surprise.

When she wanders out to the living room, you’re waiting with a coffee mug that you press into her hands when she sits next to you. Emily takes a few sips—you’ve made it just the way she likes it. “Okay,” she says when she feels more awake. “Surprise me.”

You laugh, then go over to the tree. You retrieve an envelope from within the branches, which you then hand to her, looking nervous, but also excited. Her first thought is that it’s a gift card, but why would you be so excited about that? It would hardly be the first one you’ve given her.

The envelope itself is nothing special. It’s a pretty dark green, and you’ve written her name in your best handwriting on it in silver ink. Emily places her mug on the coffee table and slides her finger under the gold sticker keeping it sealed shut. Inside are some sheets of printer paper folded carefully. She straightens them out and it takes her a minute the recognize what’s on the first page.

It’s a plane ticket for January 1st, from D.C. to London. Emily furrows her brow. “I don’t get it,” she says. “I already have my return flight booked.”

“Look closer,” you prompt. You tap your finger on one of the lines of text and her eyes follow.

“That’s your name,” she realizes. “This ticket... it’s for you.”

“I found a job in London,” you start to explain. “A really great job. I’ve been looking for a few months, and last week I was offered the position. I had to ask Penelope for help to get a ticket on the same flight as yours on such short notice, and I think she may have exploited a few legal loopholes to do so, but we got it.”

Emily can’t focus on the papers in front of her. The text has turned blurry and it takes her a moment to realize that it’s because she’s tearing up. “I... you’re moving to London?” she whispers.

“Yeah,” you confirm softly. “I love you, Emily, and I don’t want to keep seeing you through a screen. I want to be able to touch you and kiss you. I want to be able to go see you at the end of a long day. I don’t have a place to live yet, though,” you add. “I figured I could just stay with you for a bit until I find one? As long as that’s okay.”

Emily clears her throat and wipes at her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, voice thick. “You’re not staying with me for a bit. You’re staying with me for good.”

She surges forward, pressing your back into the couch’s arm, kissing you passionately, tears still slipping down her face. It’s almost unbelievable to her, how much you love her. “I love you, too,” she says when you have to separate for air.

You catch the tears on her cheeks with your thumbs. “What was that you were saying last night about me being cruel?”

“Yeah, I’ll take that back,” she says. “Man, how are any of my presents for you supposed to match this?”

You laugh. “Well, you just immediately asked me to move in with you upon receiving this present. I think we’re even.”

Emily pulls you in close, wrapping her arms around you in an embrace. “Not to be extremely cheesy twice within twenty-four hours, but this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

You settle your head on her shoulder. “Me, too.”

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #emily prentiss #fluff and angst #my fic #sorry this took so long i accidentally triggered myself on monday and didn't feel back to normal until last night

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

Note

Heyo! 💖I just wanted to say that I completely ADORE your works and I was wondering if you could maybe give us some dad!Witcher reactions to when the reader goes into labor? Totally up to you, only if you want to and if your comfortable with this!☺️ again, I love your work so much and I really love seeing the boys being included in amazing fics and hcs💕

A/N: This has also been sitting in my box for a while, and many people have asked about this, so I’m glad it’s finally done. You can all thank @pressedinthepages for helping me out with Geralt cause he’s the reason y’all haven’t gotten this sooner. Thank you again baby!!!

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, labor, pregnant lady going into labor but not the actual birth part, just labor pains and water breaking :)

***

Lambert

You sucked in a sharp breath, your hand coming to hold your side.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Lambert sat up in his chair, brows drawing together as he looked across the table at you.

“I-I’m okay.” You told him, rubbing your ribcage. “The baby just kicked me.”

“Doesn’t seem like they’ve stopped moving at all today.” Ciri commented. She sat next to you, talking to you about different names for your unborn child.

“They haven’t. I think they’ve gotten too big. There isn’t enough room in there for the little thing.” You rubbed the side of your stomach. “Anytime they stretch, they bruise one of my organs.”

You started to stand up, needing to stretch your legs.

“Where are you going?” Lambert followed you with his gaze.

“Just for a little walk.”

“Thought you couldn’t walk too far ‘cause your ankles hurt.”

“They do, but sitting hasn’t helped my back at all. It's making my legs hurt even more.”

Lambert stood to his feet, a mug of ale in one hand, and moved to your side.

“The baby needs room to move. They can’t do that if I’m sitting down.”

He placed his free hand on the small of your back, offering what little support he could.

“They need to get a move on and get here soon.” Lambert thought out loud. He used his shoulder to push open a door that would take you out to the courtyard.

“Can’t rush a pregnancy, love.” You sighed gently, though you agreed with him.

“Just don’t like seeing you hurting knowing I can’t do anything to make it better.”

“I’ll be okay.” You looked over to him to meet his gaze, offering him a little smile.

“But what if you aren't?” He stopped, his hand slipping from your back to your hand. “What if…. What if you don't make it through this? Through having the baby? What if…. I-I’ve heard stories-,”

“Lambert, I’m giving birth to our child here at Kaer Morhen with Yennefer and Triss. Should anything happen, I trust them to do what's needed to save both myself and the baby. So stop with all that nonsense.”

Lambert nodded, knowing what you said was true. The safest place you could possibly be was Kaer Morhen where some of the best mages in the world were.

“I just can't help worrying.” The witcher muttered shyly, putting his hand on your back once more to lead you through the courtyard.

“I know.” You smiled softly. It was a rare sight to see the young witcher look so anxious and worrisome. “You’ve been worrying a lot recently.”

“‘Cause I know you're getting closer to having the baby. We’re…. I'm gonna be a father.” He shook his head like the mere thought was too good to be true. “Don't want to turn out like my old man. Damn bastard wasn't worth shit.”

“You'd never be like him, Lambert.” You assured him, looking over to admire his side profile. “You're too kind of a man.”

He scoffed.

“Don't hurt my feelings like that, bug.”

You grinned.

“Besides, if you need to be put in your place, Eskel and Geralt would gladly kick your ass. Though I know it will never be needed.”

“What about us kicking Lambert’s ass?” Geralt asked as he and Eskel moved towards you two.

“Y/N said she doesn't think you two could beat me.”

You elbowed Lambert in the side.

“How are you feeling today, Y/N?” Eskel asked you.

“Not too great, if I'm honest. Though today it doesn't feel like a rib has been kicked out of place.”

The three boys began to chat about something Vesemir was asking them to work on together. It was a fallen wall on the west side of the keep.

You weren't paying too much attention, shifting your weight from one foot to the other every now and again. You slipped your arm around Lambert’s holding the inside of his elbow. You didn't want to just excuse yourself and walk away. Lambert would follow you and not even finish talking to Eskel and Geralt. You figured you could endure standing just a little longer.

But then the pain between your hips sharpened and took your breath away. Your grip on Lambert tightened. There was a wetness between your legs that made you furrow your brows.

“Oh gods.” You whispered.

“What?” Eskel asked you. Lambert was in the middle of taking a sip of his ale and hadn't had the chance to ask first.

“I think the baby’s coming.”

The father-to-be choked on his ale, coughing and sputtering. He hit his fist against his chest, struggling to speak.

“What?!”

“I’m going into labor, Lambert.”

“The fuck you are.” His voice nearly cracked.

“Eskel, give me a hand, please.” You weren't too sure how Lambert would react so you needed someone you knew wouldn't freak out.

Eskel moved to your side, holding his arm out to allow you to use him for support. Lambert remained on the other side of you, one hand on your lower back and the other on your arm. His ale had been discarded, no longer important to the witcher.

“How-How do you-I mean, how do you know they’re coming?” Lambert stumbled over his words worse than you'd ever seen.

“I do believe my water just broke, love.” You met his gaze, smiling softly. Though you wanted to scream and curse at the gods for the pain you were feeling, you needed to stay calm for him.

With Eskel’s help, Lambert’s rambling promises that everything would be okay, and Geralt’s moral support from right behind you, you were able to make it to the room designated for this very occasion. You knew it would be wise to have a room on the main level just in case you weren't up in your room when the time came to deliver.

Geralt went to gather Yennefer and Triss while you carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. Eskel went to stand just outside of the doorway so that he was far enough away to give you both some privacy but close enough that if you needed anything, he'd be there.

“Should-Should you lay back?” Lambert asked you, brushing your hair back out of your face.

“No, love. I’m fine. I’m-I’m fine.” Your voice cracked as you softly shook your head, tears filling your eyes and blurring your vision.

“Why are you crying? Are-Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Is something wro-,”

“Lambert, I love you but please breathe.”

“I am breathing! Are you breathing?”

Your head fell forward, hands gripping your knees as the tears left your eyes. A surge of pain tore through your pelvis.

Lambert saw the way your strong facade was crumbling. He needed to be strong for you. He needed to swallow his fears and be there for you. You were doing all of the hard work. He was just there to watch and encourage you. He had no right to freak out.

It took the witcher a few minutes to gather himself, to tell himself over and over that you would be okay. Then he was able to elevate his heartbeat and focus on you.

“Hey, hey, bug.” His tone softened. He turned your head to him, his thumb stroking your flushed cheek. “I'm right here, okay?”

“Lambert, it-it hurts.” You whispered, turning your head to bury your face in his neck.

“I know, bug. ‘M sorry.” He rubbed your back, pressing kisses to the side of your head the best he could. “But you know what?”

He pulled back and you had no choice but to pull your head away from him.

“If there is anyone here in this keep that could do this, that could go through this, it's you.”

“That's-That’s not true.” You shook your head. “You-You’re strong. You survived the trials. You're a witcher for crying out loud!”

“And he's the biggest cry baby you’ll ever see.” Geralt spoke from the doorway. You smiled a little, wiping your cheeks.

“That’s debatable.” Lambert muttered.

Triss and Yennefer entered the room. Yennefer stayed off to the side while Triss came to you. Yenn was there for backup if Triss needed it.

“You ready for this, bug?” Lambert asked you, rubbing your knee.

You bit your bottom lip, nodding your head.

Eskel

You slammed one of the cabinets in the kitchen shut and turned to gather the rest of the clean dishes from the woven basket on the table.

“Y/N, you really should let someone else take care of that.” Eskel said.

“No one else knows how to put them away the right way.” You told him. There was no kindness in your voice, no peaceful tone to your words. You sounded bitter and angry.

“I don’t think there’s really any wrong way to put away dishes.” Lambert thought out loud.

“And that’s exactly why I’m putting them away.”

“Y/N, let me help-,”

“No!” You cut Eskel off, turning to face him. “Just let me do this! Let me put these away so they are done right.”

Eskel stopped walking towards you, brows drawn together.

“Eskel.” Geralt said his brother’s name and beckoned for Eskel to join him and Lambert at the table.

Eskel looked back at you once more before going to his brothers. He sat down next to Geralt, arms resting on the table.

“What is up her ass?” Lambert whispered low enough so you couldn’t hear.

“I don’t know.” Eskel shook his head, eyes finding you. “She’s been like this since she woke up.”

“Yeah, I know. She’s made the whole keep feel like hell today.”

“Is something wrong with her?” Geralt asked.

“She won’t tell me if anything is wrong. She’s just been an entirely different person all day.”

The witchers fell silent as Jaskier entered the room.

“Good evening, Y/N!” The bard chirped.

You were reaching a shelf that was probably a little too high up for you, so he decided to offer a hand.

“Let me help you, darling-,”

“Fuck off, bard!” You snapped at him, placing the plate down on the counter with enough force to nearly break it. “Just-Just leave me alone! What is with you men not understanding a gods damned word coming out of my mouth today?”

You stormed across the room, jaw locked and eyes set on the door you wanted to leave through. Well, to say you stormed through was a little bit of an exaggeration. With your enormous pregnant belly, the most you could do was angrily waddle.

The witchers and the bard watched you leave the room, the door slamming shut behind you.

“That was absolutely terrifying.” Jaskier put his hand over his heart. “What did I say to make her so explosive?”

“It’s not you, Jaskier.” Eskel shook his head, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m sorry about that. She’s…. She’s never like this.”

“I’ve faced bloodthirsty alps and I can honestly say I’d rather deal with them than an angry Y/N.” Lambert shook his head. “Good luck, brother.”

Eskel felt as though he’d need more than luck to deal with you.

He found you in the courtyard, resting on a stool by the goats’ enclosure. Your legs were parted and you braced your hands on your knees. Your eyes were closed tightly.

“Are you okay, doll?”

You didn’t answer him. This worried the witcher. He moved to kneel down in front of you. His hand slipped around your stomach, holding you tenderly.

“Y/N, my love, please answer me.” He begged quietly, brows drawn together.

Your eyes opened, glossy and red. You shook your head gently. You knew that if you spoke, you’d lose what control you had over the situation.

“Please, Y/N. Just-Just tell me what’s wrong.” Eskel reached up to brush a few pieces of hair out of your eyes.

“Nothing.” You shook your head, pulling his hand away from your face. You rubbed your face and tried to stand up but he wouldn’t let you.

“It’s obviously not nothing. You’ve been acting weird all morning. Is everything okay with you? With the baby?”

“I’m fine, Eskel.” You spoke through your teeth as a surge of pain drove through your hips. You removed his hand from your stomach, his touch burning in a way that made the pain worse.

“No, you aren’t. You’ve been avoiding me all day, Y/N, and-and you’ve been mad at everyone who talks to you.” He placed his hands on his thighs, feeling hurt that you’d push his hand off of you. So many thoughts ran through his mind and his stomach churned. Why had you pushed him away? Why were you avoiding him? Why were you angry at him and at everyone else?

“Did I do something?” His voice was weak and timid.

“No, Eskel.” You shook your head, rubbing your eyes once more.

“Then please, Y/N.” He begged, heart racing in his chest. “Please just tell me what is wrong so I can make it better. I-I-I feel so helpless. You’re angry and you’ve been harsh with everyone. You’ve never raised your voice at me, let alone the others. Something is wrong, Y/N, and I-I can’t leave you alone until you tell me what it is.”

Your head hung and your eyes squeezed shut tightly. He could hear how furiously your heart was pounding. Tears fell from your eyes as you brought your hands up to cover your face. You shook your head.

“I-I can’t- Eskel, I can’t do this. Everything hurts so bad.” You cried, finally leaning forward to rest your head on his shoulder.

“What hurts, my love?” He pressed kisses to the side of your head, one hand coming up to embrace you in a careful hug while the other rubbed the outside of your thigh.

“I’m so scared, Eskel. I-I can’t-I can’t do this. I can’t.” Your tears dampened his neck but he didn’t mind. Your breath was hot and your fingers dug into him so tightly he thought for sure he’d have bruises.

“You have to explain to me what is hurting, doll.” He pulled away just enough to cup your face and brush his thumbs over your flushed cheeks. “If I don’t know what’s wrong, I can’t help you.”

“I-I’m-I’m sorry I’ve been so angry and so mean.” You leaned into his touch. “The baby- It’s coming.”

Eskel’s brows drew together and he looked down at your stomach for a moment.

“What?”

“My-My water broke this morning.” You shook your head. “But I-I-I can’t do this, Eskel! I can’t do this! I’m-I’m so scared! I can’t!”

“Y/N, look at me.” He held your face between his large hands, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him. “Why didn’t you let me know when it happened? You’ve been moving around so much today. You should’ve been sitting down and resting until the baby comes.”

“I can’t do it, Eskel.”

“Yes, you can.”

Even though you were freaking out and crying, he was calm. He took your hand in his and tucked your hand underneath the neck of his shirt. He placed your hand directly over his heart and applied a little pressure, wanting you to feel his heart beating steadily.

“You need to calm down, doll.” His voice was gentle and tender, matching his eyes and his touch. “Everything will be okay. I know you’re hurting right now but it will be over soon. Okay?”

You nodded. He leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips and then your forehead.

“Let’s get you inside and to a bed.” He stood to his feet and held his arm out for you.

Geralt

You shivered a little, pulling one of the numerous cloaks you wore tighter around your body.

“Are you cold, dove?” He asked, his hand immediately finding the small of your back.

“Just my nose.” You explained. “The wind is terrible today.”

You had wanted to go on a walk around the grounds of the keep, feeling the need to stretch your legs. You walked alongside him, your arms weaved together.

“Do you need my cloak?” Geralt asked, starting to take his off.

“No, no, Geralt.” You shook your head, almost laughing at him. “I’ve got plenty of layers on. I don’t need anymore.”

The White Wolf had made sure you were wearing at least six layers before you both ventured outside. You were sure you had on one of his cloaks and maybe even Lambert’s or Eskel’s. You didn’t mind though. The cloaks were nice and cozy, and they smelled like Geralt, all musk and fire and steel.

Geralt’s arm slipped out of yours so he could go down the steps first. He held his hand out for you, eyes carefully watching your footing to make sure you wouldn’t fall down the four stone steps.

“Why thank you, good sir.” You grinned just a little, placing your hand in his.

“My pleasure.” His grin was a little less prominent than yours, but it still warmed your heart.

You began to lead the way to the little area the goats were kept. You wanted to check on them and make sure they’d be warm enough for the evening.

Before you could reach the goat enclosure, a sudden wave of heat came over you. You stopped walking and started desperately tearing at the cloaks in an attempt to take them off.

“Y/N?” Geralt furrowed his brows together. “What are you doing?”

“I’m-I’m just too hot.” You handed him the top cloak and then the next one.

“It’s far too cold for you to be in such little-,”

“Geralt, I am too hot for all those layers.” You told him firmly. Your heart started racing and a thin layer of sweat covered your skin. With the wind, this chilled you but at the same time, you felt like you were on fire.

You were down to your last cloak when you finally felt a little comfortable. The wind shifted and suddenly Geralt knew what was happening. He could sense the changes in your body, the chemical ones no one else would have been able to detect.

“Are you hurting?” He asked, furrowing his brows together.

Before you had a chance to answer him, you sucked in a sharp breath and put your hand on the side of your stomach. It was as if your body had waited for the perfect moment to start having contractions.

“We need to get you to the bedroom.” Geralt spoke mostly to himself. He handed you the cloaks and then, before you could object, he very carefully picked you up bridal style.

***

Geralt placed you carefully down on the bed.

You stayed sitting up, one leg hanging off while the other was bent. Your head hung as you tried to focus on your breathing, to listen to what your body was telling you.

The pressure between your hips didn’t seem to be growing, but it was there and it was bothersome.

You looked up to see where your dear husband had gone.

He was moving around the room almost frantically. He checked the windows to make sure there wasn’t a draft coming in. He checked all of the candles lit around the room for when the sun went down. He didn’t want them to run out and leave him in the dark with you in labor. He could see just fine without light, but you wouldn’t be able to see. He checked the chest at the foot of the bed to make sure clean blankets and linens were there should they be needed.

As he was moving across the room to check the fire in the hearth, you called his name. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face you.

Your eyes were squeezed shut and you were leaning forward, one hand on the bed in front of you and the other on your stomach.

“Y/N?” He wanted to move towards you but his boots seemed stuck to the wooden floor beneath him.

You didn’t realize until then that his eyes were glossy and he was fighting back tears.

“Why are you crying, my love?”

He looked away from you for a moment, trying to gain control of his emotions.

“I don’t like seeing you in pain.” He explained, clearing his throat. “I-I’m the reason why you’re hurting and there isn’t a damned thing I can do about it.”

Your heart melted hearing him sound so upset and concerned.

“Oh, Geralt.” You murmured his name. “Come here. Come sit with me. Please.”

Geralt didn’t hesitate to move to your side. Before getting on to the bed, he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. The mattress dipped beneath his weight behind you.

“Lean on me, dove.” He kissed the side of your head, his hands slipping around your sides.

You sunk back against him, eyes fluttering shut as the pain seemed to ease up. The new position didn’t put so much pressure on your back.

His hands, large and warm, rubbed the sides of your stomach. He tucked his nose into your hair, eyes closing as he breathed in and out, listening to your heartbeat and the one inside of you.

Whenever a contraction came around, you’d tense up and he’d rub your stomach. He’d whisper in your ear how strong you were, how much he loved you, and how happy he was.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, you spoke.

“Geralt? Tell me a story.” You rubbed his hand that rested on your stomach.

“What kind of story?”

“Of your time with Jaskier before I met you. I miss him, Geralt.”

“I know.” Geralt kept his lips against the side of your head. “He’ll be here soon.”

Geralt began to tell you of one of the many times Jaskier was the reason they were run out of town. He’d pause for a moment when a contraction came, hesitating to make sure you were okay.

It killed him that there wasn’t anything he could do to stop the pain or lessen it. This had to happen. Yes, it wasn’t fun and yes, he felt so useless, but soon, his child would be in his arms with you at his side.

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aphrodites-law · 4 years

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A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (12/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11]

A few minutes before closing time the next day, Clarke was waiting at the end of the counter for surprise customers. Gaia was already wrapping her scarf around her neck and Wells was pulling out ingredients for the next day. He had stayed much later today, going over resumes for their interviews tomorrow, but also reorganizing the kitchen.

After giving Gustus a call to offer him the job, Wells had realized that things would get crowded quite quickly. Gustus was a big man and the kitchen was on the smaller side, but it was workable with a different layout. Clarke thanked her lucky stars for her best friend's ability to adapt to situations, as she herself disliked big changes. Regardless of the possible growing pains ahead, it was an exciting time for the café.

Right after Gaia left with a tired wave, Wells found Clarke absentmindedly drawing the branches of the weeping fig. The last customers had left as well and the sun had already set. The mugs were clean, the plates drying, and the day's crumbs swept from the floor. It hadn't rained at all today; a small mercy given that Clarke couldn't stop thinking about her date with Lexa. She wasn't sure where they were headed, but heavy rain might've halted Lexa's plans and she didn't have the patience to wait another day.

Wells peeked at her drawing pad and sighed. "God, she's a beauty," he said dreamily.

Clarke snorted. His fondness for their Ficus was a running joke between them. "Weirdo."

Wells gave her a tired grin as he buttoned up his wool peacoat. He always looked so sharp in winter wear, whereas Clarke always felt like a bulky bear. She'd dressed up a little today - fitted dark pants and a knitted sweater with a nice scoop neck. Her boots were clean and if her hair's curls had loosened over the day, she had still clearly made an effort to look presentable.

“So, you had your vision," said Wells.

Clarke dropped her pencil. "Wh- I- what?"

"It was a few weeks ago, wasn't it? When you came in looking like you hadn’t slept a wink."

Shame gripped her. "Wells, I-"

“You’re looking more crimson than cranberry juice,” he pointed out with a laugh.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to bring it up," she said. She'd always felt guilty for keeping it from him, but it wasn't the easiest topic either. "Did Raven tell you?"

"Nah, she even deflected when I wondered aloud. You just started acting weird whenever someone mentioned visions. You hate lying, so I figured you didn't want to be asked if you'd had one."

Clarke closed her notepad. She should have known he'd catch on. "I didn't mean to be secretive. You know I would've told you the minute it happened, it just wasn't… family friendly."

"Yeah, I figured. It's good though? I mean, you're happy, right?"

It was a surprising question, though it shouldn't have been. Clarke hadn't really thought about it. It wasn't something she asked herself or even expected. For so long happiness had just revolved around the café. Finding the right name; the right building; the right theme. She'd judged her days based on their achieved goals and for a while it had been a thrill. And it still was - her work made her proud and it made her happy too - but it wasn't everything. She'd come to face that recently, and though the wake up call had been… unconventional, certainly, she was grateful for it.

"I am. I'm seeing her, actually. The woman from my vision. You'd recognize her - she's a regular."

Wells nodded as if he'd already put two and two together. “At Octavia and Lincoln's party I saw you talking to her. Then it clicked she wrote that article on Finn - I remembered checking her profile on the Gazette when it dropped."

"Yeah, she works there. She's writing a piece on the visions actually."

"So it's getting serious?" He asked hesitantly.

And really, Clarke couldn't fault his curiosity. She'd been so wrapped up in Lexa that she'd neglected their relationship and now he was unsure if he should gently prod or wait.

“It’s new and we’re taking things slow, but yeah, I'm hoping it'll work out. I really like her."

Wells looked over her shoulder toward the entrance and smiled. "Seems like she really likes you too."

Clarke turned around and saw that Lexa had parked her car and was just crossing the street toward the café.

"Are you coming in tomorrow?" He asked her.

Clarke whipped around, her cheeks flushed. "What? Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?"

"Dunno, you tell me." He laughed as he checked for his keys in his pocket. "Gaia and Harper have the early shift, in case you forgot. We just have those three interviews in the afternoon, but you already know that."

"I do know," she replied with a frown. "There's no reason I wouldn't be here earlier. I'm always here. What are you saying?"

He shrugged, entirely too proud of himself, and walked toward the back exit. "No one will fault you if you take a break. Enjoy your date!"

"I will! And I'll see you in the morning!" Clarke replied stubbornly.

"I'm sure you will!" he retorted, still snickering, before closing the door behind him.

A hand touched Clarke's shoulder and she startled.

"Sorry," Lexa said with a gentle smile. She'd put on her black coat today, the top buttons undone to reveal her sweater - a reddish brown this time, perfect for the fall. Her hair was down and her eyeliner perhaps more pronounced than usual. Clarke wondered if she'd applied it in her car. She looked beautiful.

"Hi, baby," she softened, forgetting all about Well's teasing. He didn't know what he was talking about. Tonight was just going to be a nice date. Some food, wine - whatever Lexa had planned. They were still going slow. Clarke didn't have any expectations other than enjoying their time together. She liked their pace. It was… frustrating at times, sure, but it was working. They had both opened up to each other.

"Hi," Lexa whispered before she inched forward so that she could kiss her over the counter. Clarke sighed into it, having imagined such sweetness all day long.

"Am I too early?" Lexa asked. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

Clarke brushed her thumb over Lexa's jaw. "No, I'm done. I just need to grab my coat and close up."

"Was that Wells who went out back?"

"Yes, he was being ridiculous."

"I thought he usually left earlier?"

"He does, but he's been rearranging the kitchen. I think he's worried Gustus will find it too small."

"Gus has an entire farm and acres of land at his disposal, but he sleeps in his shed because it's warm," Lexa said. "He won't mind."

Clarke beamed, delighted to hear it. "I'm going to give you Wells' number and you're going to text him just that. "

While Clarke left to grab her coat, Lexa worried her lip. "Oh but he doesn't really know me…"

"He will."

Clarke came out from the back with her coat and scarf on. She pulled out her set of keys. "He's my best friend and you're my-" she stopped herself. "I think you'd get along great. He loves theater, devours literature, and he already thinks you're amazing for taking Finn down. So don't worry about it."

"Well, that reminds me: Collins went ahead with suing the Gazette."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

They made their way to the front, where Lexa opened the door for Clarke. "No. It'll never stand, but he aims to waste our time and money."

"Waste of time and money - that's been his motto since birth."

Lexa wrinkled her nose. "Let's talk about something else."

"Please. So where's my carriage?"

Lexa laughed.

* * *

Lexa may not have found a pumpkin to turn into a carriage after all, but her car smelled like apples and she drove so smoothly Clarke could've closed her eyes and imagined they weren't moving at all. She had never thought 'great driver' would do it for her, but here she was eyeing Lexa's hands on the steering wheel and feeling hot.

"How's the writing going?" Clarke asked, clearing her throat when her voice started off slightly rough.

Lexa took a left, which would've surprised Clarke if she'd paid any attention to the road. But all she could think about was Lexa's razor-sharp focus and how she yearned to be the reason for it.

"Good, I finished a first draft. My writing partner is looking at it for now. I need it out of my sight for a few days."

"Partner, huh?"

Lexa smiled as she kept her eyes on the road. "Echo. She wrote most of the FC&B article."

"Did you write for other newspapers before?"

Lexa nodded. "Two. I've been lucky, professionally. Smaller papers have always been more interesting to me, so I stayed away from national ones. I was able to climb the ladder a lot faster than some of my old classmates."

"The Gazette must've been a change of pace. New city, new job - I don't think I could handle it."

"When they hired me I was so happy to be working I just threw myself into it," Lexa admitted. "I got the idea on the Mountain Men soon after, just from reading old archives about them. That kept me busy, so I didn't have time to worry about fitting in. It was nice. Exciting. It felt like falling in love with my job again. Then one day Echo invited me to grab drinks with other colleagues and… I realized things had fallen into place already."

"Costial is pretty magical like that," Clarke said with a smile. She loved it when Lexa talked about her time here. Sometimes it was easy to forget she hadn't even been here a year yet. Clarke remembered her first year in the city - how she'd felt like she'd always belonged here. How she couldn't wait to build her life here. And college had been fun, and sometimes she walked by the campus just for the nostalgia of it, but it was the years after that had really shaped her life into what it was today. There had been many tears and failures before the café, but she'd never once thought of leaving. She hoped Lexa felt the same.

One glance outside the window and Clarke finally had an idea where they were headed. They were quite far from the center of the city now, just a few miles away from Busy Moose Park and its lake on the outskirts. Lexa took the road that led to the park, but she didn't make the turn Clarke had expected and instead continued straight.

"Are we going to the factory?" Clarke asked.

The chocolate factory and its surroundings were certainly a sight to behold, and popular with teens because of its smells and aesthetic quality, but there wasn't much to do unless you brought a picnic. Which was unlikely to be comfortable anyway in this cold.

"Not quite," Lexa answered with a secretive smile.

A few minutes later she finally pulled over into a small parking lot, checking for Clarke's reaction as soon as they got out of the car.

“I know I said I’d take you somewhere more upscale, but I thought you might really like this place."

Because the factory was just a ways down the road and it was windy tonight, the bold smell of chocolate permeated the air. They had stopped in front of a rustic restaurant surrounded by a garden. Small lights glowed softly against the brick walls, complimented by the dancing shadows from a few lanterns. There was a patio with beams covered in twining vines, the plants and wisteria also covering the top like a ceiling. Powerful heaters kept the biting cold at bay, no doubt, making the entire place look like a winter fairytale.

It was the kind of romantic setting Clarke would have made fun of in front of friends while secretly hoping to experience it one day.

“How the hell have I never been here before?” She asked in astonishment.

With a hand on her back, Lexa led her toward the entrance.

“Did you know Icicle? Italian restaurant?”

“Yeah, that rings a bell.”

“This is it. The owner retired and her son took over - revamped the whole place from top to bottom and gave it a mountain lodge theme. He figured they should capitalize on the location more, especially the constant sweetness in the air. It just reopened a few weeks ago. Featured in the Gazette and everything.”

“Oh, that might’ve been when I was a bit angry at you," Clarke remembered and gave Lexa a teasing grin. "Deleted the app like it was some kind of statement."

Lexa scrunched up her nose, not too eager to remember that time. The hostess seated them inside at a secluded table for two. The light was dimmed and there was a candle between them; and even two squares of chocolate wrapped in gold foil.

After they took off their coats and sat, Lexa bit her lip. “It's not too much, is it?"

"Are you kidding? It's gorgeous." Clarke reached for her hand. "You're always surprising me."

A waiter gave them a menu and a basket of bread. They looked like mini baguettes and Clarke was temped to steal one for Wells.

“God, I almost forgot about this smell," she said, taking a deep breath. The chocolate from the factory still wafted faintly in the air, and mixed with the smell of food it had Clarke already salivating for dinner. "In college we used to hang out by the lake a lot. If the wind was on our side we’d always get a whiff from the factory. Not even edibles could beat that.”

Lexa arched a brow. “Edibles, huh?”

“Please, I know you’ve dabbled," Clarke scoffed.

“What makes you think that?”

“You have the vibe.”

“The pothead vibe? I thought I was unreadable.”

“Oh you have that vibe too," Clarke laughed. "But then there’s the tattoos, the plants, the way you write about nature. You’re curious, open minded, andyou went to a liberal arts college. You must’ve tried it at least once. I think that’s how you approach most things: don’t knock ‘till you try it. Am I close?”

Lexa looked away, slightly flummoxed. “It sounds like I’m more of an open book then.”

"Maybe that's a good thing…" Clarke offered with a hopeful smile, thumb caressing the back of her hand.

"Maybe it is," Lexa agreed.

They both picked the apricot glazed chicken with roasted potatoes, pairing it with a white wine. Throughout dinner Clarke felt such pleasant warmth, both because of the wine and Lexa's steady gaze on her. She was relaxed and unfairly charming; a great listener by all accounts, but also coming out of her shell when it came to her own past. Clarke knew it wasn't easy for her, which made it all the more special.

"In retrospect I should've figured politics weren’t for me when I started screaming at my television every time the news came on."

Clarke grinned, knowing the sentiment all too well. "Good thing you don't work for a newspaper or anything…"

Swallowing the last of her wine, Lexa gave her a playful smirk. "Local news. I can take the city hall drama. I actually enjoy it with my morning pastry."

"That I can believe. You always look so deep in thought when you read. Harper dropped a cup once and you didn't even flinch."

"Really?" Lexa asked. "Is there anything else I do that I should know about?"

The waiter stopped by with their desserts: molten chocolate cake for Lexa and a slice of pear tart for Clarke.

"It's not like I stare or anything," Clarke clarified as she grabbed her spoon. "Your seat just happens to be in my vicinity."

"Mm." Lexa smirked. "I guess I just pop up sometimes…" she trailed off, her tone heavy with implication.

She did this occasionally, but more boldly recently. Alluding to Clarke's vision seemed to greatly entertain Lexa.

"Ha, you're funny," Clarke deadpanned.

"Did I also crack jokes while I was kissing you - and I quote - everywhere?" Lexa goaded.

Clarke shrugged as she chewed on her tart. "Actually you were a lot more suave than you are now. Pity."

Lexa laughed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Please, you're very proud of yourself. And it's not fair all I have to go on is your distaste for coffee." Clarke remembered how frantic she had been after her vision, her mind firing questions every second. “Did you know I went to a vision reader right after?”

It had been an impulse and she'd regretted it, but she figured Lexa was familiar with them.

"Really?" Lexa asked, surprised.

“Yeah, the one by the market. Becca’s Reading or something. I bailed at the last minute.”

“I actually haven’t spoken to one. I was toying with the idea, but it might be an entirely different article.”

Clarke grimaced. “They’re just opportunistic money grabbers.”

Lexa offered a spoonful of her cake, which Clarke took before plopping a bit of pear on top of it. The warm chocolate melted the pear in her mouth and she sighed at the taste. Lexa smiled.

“It’s a different point of view. Besides, listening to so many stories might’ve given them some valuable insight even if they opened a shop for the wrong reasons. If my job’s taught me anything it’s to not judge a book by its cover.”

"Hmm you're good at it - your job. And I'm not just saying that because you're wining and dining me."

Lexa looked bashful. "You know, I remember when you yelled at me to get over myself."

"Not our finest moment…"

"No," Lexa agreed. "But it was needed. Before that there was so much I wanted to tell you, but… couldn't."

"I know." Clarke remembered that feeling as well. After the vision she'd look at Lexa and be so certain there was so much left unsaid between them, yet neither of them knew where to start, or if it was reciprocated. "I should've let you interview me - just ripped off the Band-Aid. It would've explained a lot."

"I would've never made it past the first question," Lexa said. "Can you share what you saw, Clarke?"

Clarke smiled cheekily around a mouthful of her tart. "Well, I would hope that kind of confession would score me a date at least."

"Oh I would have asked you out on the spot," Lexa replied with a smirk.

Clarke gasped. "How very unprofessional of you."

"If you hadn't noticed, my professionalism hangs by a thread whenever I'm near you."

Clarke let out a small laugh. "Well, that's one thing I'm glad for."

* * *

After their dinner, Lexa suggested they walk in the park before it closed. It was cold but their coats were thick and the wind was minimal. Clarke had no desire to part just yet, and so took Lexa's hand in hers as soon as they left the car by the park's entrance.

They had a little less than thirty minutes before it closed, but enjoyed every second as they strolled by the lake. The half-moon was reflected on the quiet surface, and though there were a few other people, Clarke felt like they had just stepped into a world of their own.

Clarke nudged Lexa toward one of the Beech trees, its autumn leaves still clinging bravely to its thick branches. They settled beneath it, lying down on the soft ground where leaves piled atop the grass. Between the branches they could see some stars, and Clarke wondered if maybe the park could close and leave them be. There was nowhere else she wanted to be.

She heard some rustling and then saw Lexa look down at her, her face framed by her wavy hair and the stars above. She took Clarke's breath away.

"You're so beautiful," Lexa murmured, struck by a similar thought it seemed. "You have the kindest eyes and the warmest smile. It's the first thing I ever noticed about you."

Clarke reached up to kiss her, parting only when she felt Lexa's hand on her stomach. Even atop her coat and thick clothing, she could feel its warmth.

"I think you're drunk on wine and chocolate."

"Then you'll be relived to hear I'm a very sincere drunk."

Clarke giggled, which made Lexa's smile stretch in such a fond way. She pressed closer to her, the tip of her nose brushing against her neck. She kissed the small spot, as if to apologize for her cold nose.

"I wonder so much about you, Clarke."

Clarke hummed. "What do you wonder about?"

“I’ve spoken with a lot of people. Heard the visions about reuniting with loved ones, getting over addictions, graduating. There’s been some romance of course,” Lexa said. “Aden’s first kiss, though he couldn’t see his boyfriend’s face. Echo celebrating a wedding anniversary with her husband. But so few - even online in anonymous circles - so few like yours.”

Now Clarke felt warm again, mostly from the blush on her cheeks. “I don’t believe that.”

Lexa lifted her head from her shoulder. “Have you personally heard of any?”

“Raven saw Wells naked.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Okay, so I'm a pervert, what can I say?”

“No,” Lexa replied, tickled by Clarke's little huff. “You’re a mystery. You intrigue me.”

Clarke cleared her throat. “Well I’ve had a bit of a dry spell. I had flings, but… I didn't allow myself anything more. The café was taking up all my thoughts and for a while it worked for me. Then the days got long again, and lonelier… Raven said it was probably just my body wanting me to snap out of it.”

“And what do you think?”

Clarke did wonder about it then, or at least differently than she had in the past. It wasn't so long ago she'd asked these questions herself. She'd been so frustrated she couldn't discuss them with the person she'd shared it with, and here she was, lying right next to her in a bed of leaves.

She touched Lexa's hand on her stomach, lacing and unlacing their fingers, gently playing with them as she tried to make sense of everything.

“Have you never fantasized about a stranger?" She asked quietly, catching Lexa's eyes. "Someone who knows nothing about you and yet knows exactly how to make your body soar?"

“That’s not what you saw though, is it?” Lexa murmured. “I wasn’t a stranger in your bed. I knew you and you knew me."

Clarke felt her heart beat faster. She wanted so badly to kiss Lexa again; to feel her body against hers like the night on her couch.

"Lex…"

Their lips were just a hair's breadth apart now. To anyone else, they would've looked like they were kissing.

"How was it different, Clarke?"

Clarke swallowed, trying to find the words. “How? The way you handled me - needy and possessive, but tender and attentive too. Like you were in charge of my pleasure and you had to remind me."

She saw Lexa swallow and so continued, eager to share everything this time: "You said my name and it almost sounded like a prayer - like you couldn’t believe we were together. I never heard my name like that before. I never thought I could make someone feel lucky."

"God, Clarke, you have no idea." Lexa exhaled before closing the gap and kissing her. It wasn't like any other kiss they'd shared tonight. It felt like a promise, almost. Lexa tasted so sweet on her tongue and Clarke could only wonder if all of her was just as heavenly.

She cupped the back of her neck and felt herself throb with desire, her mind filled with both the reality of Lexa and the last of her vision.

"I can even remember the smell of us," Clarke sighed between kisses. "How sticky my skin felt, like we'd been in bed for hours."

"Clarke - fuck."

Clarke pushed Lexa on her back and cupped her cheeks, claiming her lips quite quickly again. She licked into her mouth and moaned at the silky feel of Lexa's tongue.

"Sometimes I'd try to picture us again but you'd disappear," Clarke continued, eyes closing when Lexa started kissing down her neck. "I wasn't sure if it was you anymore. But then you'd come back. I'd feel your hands, your mouth on me… lower, and lower…"

Lexa let out a groan and pinched the bridge of her nose before falling back on the ground, the leaves rustling beneath her. Something in the way she set her jaw made Clarke frown.

"Baby…" she said, tracing a finger over her cheekbone.

"Did you call her that?" Lexa asked without thinking.

Clarke retracted her hand and paused. A grin spread on her face. “What? Are you jealous… of yourself?”

Lexa glared petulantly. “No.”

“You are."

Lexa remained quiet, so after a moment Clarke poked her arm. “Well what about yours?”

"Mine?"

"I wasn't even in it - how do you think that makes me feel?"

Lexa shook her head. "You were in it."

"You said you were just standing in a random kitchen making coffee."

"Yes."

"So?"

They heard the echo of a bicycle's bell on the pathway and turned to the sound, but the couple soon rode away. Clarke looked at Lexa again, finding her staring at the sky.

“What are you keeping from me?”

A small smile grew on Lexa's face - but she remained tightlipped.

"How was I there?" Clarke asked again, deeply curious.

"The doodles," Lexa simply replied.

Clarke remembered that she'd found that to be a strange detail before. She didn't put up her doodles on walls and she didn't frame them. These had to be important. Something that made her identity unmistakable in Lexa's eyes. Sure it could be that her style was recognizable, but Lexa made it sound as if it was something else.

“Lex…"

She lifted Lexa's chin to catch her gaze.

“If I tell you, I worry it might not happen," Lexa admitted.

Clarke bit her lip, finally understanding. It was almost like saying a wish out loud - fearing it might not come true if you broke that single rule.

“You want it to happen?” She asked instead.

A breeze passed as Lexa looked at her intently, leaving no room for doubt. “Yes.”

There was no waver in her voice. Not even an ounce of hesitation. The sheer confidence set Clarke alight. She’d forgotten how it felt to feel so wanted. Whatever it was in that frame… Lexa clearly hoped for it in their future. The fact that she wanted it with her, and no one else, made her desire swell.

She leaned down and kissed her right against the grass and by the slumbering tree, forgetting all about the doodles. Lexa believed it was her - that was all that mattered. After weeks of being unsure of where they stood, if her feelings were even shared, she didn't need anything more.

Lexa wound her arm around her waist, her mouth still as hungry against Clarke's. When they pulled away, she pressed their foreheads together.

“I wish I could see us like you did," she murmured wistfully.

"What would it change?"

“Maybe… maybe if I knew I was good enough for you… If I was sure that I wouldn’t- that I wouldn’t hurt you-"

Clarke shook her head. "Don’t fill your head with thoughts like that. Let's just be here, together, and worry about the rest when it comes. I know it's hard for you, but this - us - right now… it's good, isn't it?"

Lexa nodded. "It's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

Relieved, Clarke tucked her head beneath Lexa's chin. "Then just be with me. You can be happy, baby. You have a right to it. Don't let anyone or anything tell you otherwise."

Eventually they made their way back to Lexa's car, neither of them interested in picking up their leisurely pace.

"I'm sorry we ended up walking so much," Lexa said.

"You fed me beforehand, so it's forgiven."

Lexa smiled. "Good to know."

Before they reached the parking lot, Clarke decided to ask what had been on her mind: "I know you said Costial feels like home to you; that you found your place here, but… do you see your future here? Because this is it for me. And I'm… I like you, Lex. I like you a lot. I don't want to be an interlude. I don't think I could take it."

"Clarke," Lexa stepped closer to her. "You're not an interlude, you're - God, you've been in every act of my life here. I don't want to go anywhere. I- I want to be with you. That's what I know for certain. Is that alright for now?"

"It is."

Lexa kissed her softly and then smirked. "I may not have had erotic visions of myself entwined with a hot local, but I still want to stay here."

Clarke shoved her playfully. "I don't even like you anymore."

They laughed the whole way to the car.

* * *

It seemed like a tradition already; Lexa walking her to her door while Clarke racked her mind for a way to linger. When they finally arrived she leaned against her door and sighed.

"Tonight was amazing."

Lexa hummed. "I'm glad."

"I'm definitely taking you out this weekend," Clarke said.

"You are?" Lexa asked, tilting her head to kiss her again.

Clarke closed the gap as she wrapped her arms around her neck. The kiss was slow; amatory, but as always it could not go on for too long before hands wandered.

"I hope you have sweet dreams," Lexa said, her eyes hooded and her lips slightly redder.

"Oh I will."

Lexa glanced at her mouth. "If I pay you a visit again maybe you could keep a journal close by. I'd love some notes on my performance."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Remind me why I ever told you?"

"What? That we lasted hours?" Lexa husked.

Right. Clarke narrowed her eyes and let her hands slowly drag down Lexa's arms. Now, Clarke wasn't innocent. She knew fully what made her look good, even when her coat was buttoned up. She had let Lexa tease her and goad her about the vision all night, and she had kept her retort to herself. But no more.

She pressed her body closer to Lexa's, unmistakably provocative with the way their breasts touched.

“Make fun all you want, Lexa, but remember this: I’ve seen all of you while you haven’t seen an inch of me.” She felt Lexa’s hand tighten on her waist. “I’ve felt your body against mine. Your mouth on my thighs. I’ve felt your tongue inside me.” She glanced down at Lexa's lips and then back up, proud of the gobsmacked look on her face. “So you can tease me. You can push my buttons. I can take it. But you? You only have your imagination." She stepped back and gave her sultriest smile, "And trust me, it’s got nothing on reality.”

She turned around and quickly unlocked her door, then looked over her shoulder. "Thanks for the date, baby."

As soon as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, Clarke knew she'd just played a dirty hand. But Lexa had teased her at all night and all was fair in lust.

With a wicked grin, too pleased by the night's events, Clarke took off her coat and slipped out of her shoes and socks. And because she just couldn't resist one last look, she walked to her window and waited. Finally she saw Lexa walk out of the building. She seemed unfocused, going right and then left, forgetting where she'd parked.

But then she stopped and turned around.

Clarke's smile fell. Just watching Lexa like this, seeing the effect she had on her… it changed something. She had closed the door in the spur of the moment - because they were good at testing each other. Because she had thought tonight should end there, on another game of theirs.

But she didn’t want to play anymore.

And maybe Lexa realized it too. She looked up and found her apartment's window.

Their eyes met.

Clarke reached out for the curtain, gripping it so tight her knuckles went white. She couldn't look away from those eyes in the moonlight if she tried. Even if the ground started shaking beneath their feet.

"Lexa-" she started before stopping herself. It had to be Lexa's decision. Clarke had already made hers. She couldn't call out to her. Not for this. Lexa had to choose.

Clarke held her breath, unsure she'd even be able to leave this spot if Lexa did walk away after all. Until-

Lexa bolted back toward the building.

Clarke watched her disappear from view and then heard her intercom. She rushed toward it and pressed the buzzer, her heart in her throat. Still barefoot, she pulled the door open and waited. Footsteps thundered up the flights of stairs, closer and closer.

Tonight had not ended. Not yet.

#clarke x lexa #clexa #clexa fic #f: a bit of clarity #w

157 notes · View notes

kiwi-bitchez · 4 years

Text

You Can Bet On It

Summary: Your roommate drags you out to the club where she beets a tall, blonde, handsome brit. You hand back at the bar and happen to meet his roommate.

Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: smutttt, a little rough, spanking and light choking, use of vibrator, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 8k (got a little carried away with this one...)

Oh god, what is that horrible squeaking sound?

You are ripped from your trance to realize that the irritating noise was coming from you. Your bad habit of scratching off beer labels when you are nervous was starting to show, as your nail had worn completely through the thin paper, and had been obnoxiously rubbing into the glass.

You had zoned out, letting your eyes land on the ground and drift out of focus, clearing your head for a moment or five. Bars weren’t your favorite place. Scratch that, this kind of bar wasn’t your favorite place. Watered down liquor, slurred speech, thumping music, and people who were drunk enough not to care that they were practically having sex in public.

One of those people being your roommate Madison. You loved her, but god you couldn’t be more different. She is wild, sparkly, loud, fun. You’re…not. Your squeaking had pulled your focus back up to the dancefloor of the club where she was swaying her body back and forth with some tall blonde stranger.

You had to give it to her, she had a way with men at bars. Barely even setting her stuff down before someone buys her a drink, uses a line, offers to dance. This was Madison’s cup of tea, or tequila rather. She loves getting dressed up and going out to the busiest clubs, finding some handsome stranger to whisk her away for a night.

You didn’t judge her, not at all. You actually found yourself jealous of her, wishing you had that kind of confidence. She had tried to help you on many occasions, being your self-proclaimed wing-woman and trying to help you pick up guys at bars, but you could never quite get the hang of the awkward small talk and rushed physical intimacy.

You did, on occasions like this, let her drag you out with her. It kept her off your back about being “antisocial” and a “hermit,” and you liked keeping an eye out for her, making sure no one was trying to take advantage. Not that she couldn’t take care of herself, Madison would snap if anyone tried to pull anything, but a more sober pair of eyes never hurts.

You had managed to grab a seat at the bar, facing outward to observe the bustling crowd. People-watching could sometimes prove to be an interesting way to pass the time, and truthfully you’d rather observe than interact most of the time. A few people had started conversations with you at the bar, and you weren’t a bitch or anything, you just clearly gave off the vibe that you weren’t interested in being bought some fruity cocktail and wooed onto the dancefloor.

Madison had her back pressed against the guy she was dancing with, his hands on her hips. The song was ending, and she made eye contact with you, nodding her head not-so-subtly towards the bathroom, signaling to you that she wanted to talk. Laughing to yourself at how un-smooth, yet totally smooth she managed to be at the same time.

“What’s up girl,” you ask as she pulls you into one of the single stall bathrooms.

“Y/N,” she grabs your shoulders, “he’s BRITISH.”

“Who?” you ask before registering that she was probably talking about that boy she had been grinding on.

“His name is Harrison, and he’s BRITISH, got the accent and everything,” she pressed her back up to the wall, pretending to fan herself off.

“Damn, going international now?” you joke, twiddling with the bottle in your hand.

“So, I need you to check him out, get a vibe, and let me know what you think,” she locks eyes with you, trying to be serious, unable to keep a few giggles from slipping out.

“I saw you two dancing, he’s definitely really good looking,” you tell her. She would always do this, try to make you feel involved, ask your opinion about the guy she was flirting with. She said she always wants your truthful opinion, but she always got the hottest guy at the place no matter where she was, so there wasn’t much for you to tell.

“Ugh, I’m totally gonna fuck him. Should I? I’m going to. I HAVE to. He’s British, and I can’t pass up an opportunity like that,” she was definitely talking to herself at this point.

You turn her towards the mirror, help her fluff her hair, straighten her dress, and give her some words of encouragement.

“You are hot. You are amazing. And you are going to have amazing hot sex with British Harrison,” you chant to her in the mirror, encouraging her to say it back to herself. Not that she needed the encouragement, but these little rituals you had in club bathrooms were always funny and sweet, it was one of the reasons you didn’t mind going out with her. You appreciated that she liked having your opinion, having someone she trusted around.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” you give her butt a tap as she exits the bathroom and shuffles back out onto the dancefloor, finding her man right where she had left him.

Your seat at the bar had been stolen, but you spotted an empty area over by a wall, somewhere you could comfortably stand and wait until Madison left with her suitor. Deciding to order another drink, something a little stronger than the beer you had been nursing, you make your way over to the bar.

Forearms leaning against the hard surface, you poke your head forward trying to get the bartender’s attention. She walks over, but immediately starts chatting up the guy standing next to you. Typical. If she pushed her boobs up a little bit he would probably leave a fat tip, so you couldn’t blame her.

You shift your eyes over to get a look at the guy next to you as he orders his gin and tonic, all you could see were his toned forearms and a glimpse of his profile. Not bad. You understood why the bartender was so eager to ignore you. She eventually stops fake laughing at his order, because what the fuck is funny about a gin and tonic, and looks your way.

“I’ll just have the same,” you say quickly, wanting to get out of there quickly and claim your spot by the wall.

“Are you copying me, love?” the stranger asks, leaning his bodyweight against the bar in the same position as you, “is that your move? Order the same drink to chat me up?”

“What’s your move, love” you quickly quip back, “being a dick to girls at the bar and hoping they’re into that?”

“You just didn’t strike me as a G and T type of girl, that’s all,” he puts his hands up defensively.

“Hmmm I see, be a dick and then tell me what kind of girl I seem like.”

You finally turn to him, allowing yourself to make eye contact. You hoped that he wasn’t taking your banter the wrong way, you weren’t trying to be nasty, you just found yourself in a particular mood.

He opened his mouth to say something back to you, but you cut him off before he could. In the two seconds you had made eye contact, you had realized that the stranger you were having your little back and forth with had an accent. A British accent.

“Are you here with that guy?” you gesture over to Madison on the dancefloor, “tall, blonde, striking blue eyes. English.”

“Harrison? Yeah, he’s my mate. If you’re interested in him you should probably have made your move a while ago, because he seems a bit occupied,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, occupied with my roommate,” you laugh back.

“Ah, I see,” he takes the two drinks from the bartender, handing you yours.

“Is he a good guy?” you ask, not sure why this man would tell you otherwise, “he’s not going to like, tie her up and murder her or anything like that?”

“Harrison? Nah, good guy, decent guy. He might tie her up, but he definitely won’t murder her.”

“Ha ha,” you sarcastically respond, “just looking out for my friend.”

“Why do you ask? You think they’ll go home together?” he asks.

“Oh, most definitely,” you tell him, “she dragged me into the bathroom a minute ago to gush about how she’s about to fuck a British guy.”

“Haz is a bit of a slag, so that won’t be too hard on her part.”

“Yeah, I see they are already well acquainted,” you turn to see Madison’s tongue down his throat. This night may be ending quicker than you had anticipated.

“I’m Tom,” he pulls your attention away from the public displays of affection and back to where he was seated at the bar, an empty seat opening up next to him.

“Y/N,” you stick out the hand that wasn’t holding your drink.

“It’s weird that you shake hands,” he says as he takes your clammy hand into his, his grip tighter than you had expected.

You shrug and take a gulp of your drink, abandoning hope of claiming the spot by the wall and deciding to camp out here with this strange British boy until Madison goes on her merry way.

“So how do you know him,” you nod back to where Harrison and Madison are.

“Oh, Haz is my best mate, we go way, way back,” he leans on his arm again, giving you a good view of his biceps against his black t-shirt, “we live in South London, but we’re here in the States for the summer. Work stuff.”

“Oh, so you two live together?” he nods at your question while sipping his drink, “so we can be sad and lonely at the bar while our hot roommates get it on.”

“Wow, I’ve never been told I’m lousy company before,” his humor met yours, “and I even paid for your drink you copycat.”

“You didn’t,” you give him a stern look but he shrugs back, a mischievous grin creeping across his face.

“Is this your ploy,” you smack the side of his arm, “the two of you find girls at the bar to lure back to your fancy apartment to have a freaky foursome with or something like that?”

“Now who’s being a dick and assuming things,” he says through broken laughs.

“Although,” you draw out your words, “your friend is pretty hot, maybe I’ll just go home with them.”

“Haz most certainly would not be opposed to that,” he jokes back.

You gesture to the bartender to make two more, and to put them on your tab. Tom gives you a look, but you give him one right back.

“Now I don’t owe you anything,” you explain.

“Hey, I’m not like that,” he gets defensive again, “I’m not quite as sleazy as my friend over there.”

“I’m just trying to help you out,” you narrow your eyes, “you’re the one who’s going to have to put up with the two of them all night.” You gesture over towards Madison and Haz.

“Pardon,” he coughs as he downs the rest of his drink, getting ready for the next.

“Oh, you thought they would be going back to our apartment?” you laugh sarcastically, “no, no, absolutely not.”

“Are you being serious? Or are you fucking with me? Cuz I honestly can’t tell.”

“Oh, you’re going to wish I was fucking with you. By the way she’s looking at him, I’m gonna give them, I don’t know, three, four solid rounds,” you try to make an empathetic face but can’t help the grin that creeps onto your face, “and Madison’s a screamer.”

“Too much information, thank you,” Tom covers his ears.

“Hey, I’m just trying to give you a heads up,” you cackle.

“Who’s to say he can’t convince them to go back to yours. I bet it’s closer.”

“She’s good at getting what she wants, and she “doesn’t shit where she eats”,” you make air quotes around the phrase, “in whatever twisted way that means she doesn’t like to bring guys back to our apartment. Weird personal rule, but I don’t question it cuz I always get to sleep peacefully.”

“You wanna bet?” Tom suggests, clearly not having thought this through, “My boy Haz is a smooth talker, and it seems like she really likes him. I say you’re the unfortunate roommate who’s going to have to put up with all that.”

“You’re on,” you set your drink down, extending your hand to him for the second time that night, “what do I get when they go back to your place?”

“If they go back to mine, I’ll cover your tab and leave you alone. And when they go back to yours, you’ll agree to let me take you out sometime,” he shakes your hand with a cocky grin on his face.

“Doesn’t seem like much of a bet, either way you’re buying me a drink.” He was growing on you, the accent, the floppy brown hair, the dimples. You were still wary of meeting strangers at bars, but something about him seemed genuine.

The two of you flipped around in your bar stools and faced the dancefloor. You liked that he never asked you to dance. Most girls would be dying to dance with a guy like Tom, but you liked just sitting at the bar, shooting the shit and sipping your drinks.

“Okay, okay, here they come,” you whisper and jab your elbow into his side.

Madison and Harrison stumble off the dancefloor and make their way to your place at the bar.

“Hey mate,” Harrison slings an arm around Tom’s shoulder.

You tune out their conversation as you notice Madison making a ridiculous face at you, eyes practically bugging out of her head.

“THAT’S his roommate?” she mouths to you, gesturing to Tom. You nod, trying to signal to her to be more subtle.

“Y/n, what the fuck?” she continues to mouth words silently to you.

“What???” you mouth back, trying to not let Tom and Harrison notice this awkward side conversation you were having. Luckily, they were occupied by their own.

“He’s fucking HOT,” She starts to whisper, you scrunch up your face, trying to tell her to stop making a scene about it. She gets the hint, but proceeds to point to you, point to Tom, and then do the finger going in and out of the hole gesture.

You slap her hand down as she starts to laugh, “Jesus Madison, cut it out,” you whisper, “you two are going back to his?” you change the subject.

“Yeah, obviously,” she says a little louder, “sooo, perfect opportunity for you…”

“Chill out, please,” you bring your hand to your temple, knowing she was being anything but subtle and Tom had probably noticed by this point.

“I owe you big time,” Harrison says to Tom as he starts to back away, taking Madison under his arm, “I’m serious bro.”

“Yeah, yeah, be safe you two,” Tom swats the air towards Harrison and turns back towards the bar, burying his head into his hands.

“Ha ha,” you poke his side, “told you that was a bad bet to make.”

“Know any cheap hotels around here?” Tom asks, looking exasperated.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you look at him seriously, “he kicked you out for the whole night?”

“I offered,” Tom sighs, “he would do the same for me.”

“Damn, you’re a good friend. Certainly a better roommate than me,” you turn to him, trying to be sympathetic, “but honestly, you probably didn’t want to be present for any of that anyways.”

Tom gestures towards the bartender with his card, telling her to charge for both your bar tabs.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” you say.

“Hey, a bet is a bet, and now I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.”

You grab his arm as he starts to get up. Something inside of you told you to help him out, to not let him leave.

“It’s no Four Seasons, but I may know a place where you could kill a few hours,” you tell him, his eyes wide with excitement that you wanted to spend more time with him.

“You sure? It’s really no trouble…”

“Yeah, I’m sure, it’s only a few blocks from here.”

The two of you exit the loud club, only a few minutes behind Harrison and Madison. The stark contrast of the freezing outside air from the sweaty atmosphere of the club hits you. You take a few steps out onto the city sidewalk. Suddenly your feet buckle out underneath you and you are slipping backwards rapidly.

Tom quickly grabs you, one hand catching your shoulders and the other grabbing your hand, helping steady you. You gasp from the fall, but are grateful that you never hit the pavement.

“Hey, watch out for that patch of ice,” he jokes.

“Thank you,” you were a little flustered, both from falling and from being in his arms.

The two of you continue down the street, his hand still tightly gripping yours. You look at him questioningly, raising an eyebrow.

“Just making sure you don’t slip again, love,” he squeezes your hand a little tighter. You roll your eyes at him but don’t let go.

Typically, you would hate the pet names, “love,” “darling.” That stuff usually made your skin crawl. But there was something about his demeanor, maybe it was the accent, that made you not mind it at all. You actually kind of liked it.

“So where are you taking me?” he asks.

“Secret.”

It actually wasn’t anything worth keeping a secret. You worked at a small bar a few blocks away from the club you had been at. It was very different however. It was small, and never crowded other than a few regulars who would take the same booths and order the same drinks every night. It was down a side street, relatively difficult to find, hence the lack of business.

What you weren’t planning on telling Tom was that this was also the building you lived in. Your apartment was a few floors up. You picked up night and weekend shifts at the small bar to help cover rent, plus it wasn’t a bad place to spend your extra time. You never had to work too hard, and you could read or do homework behind the bar when not tending to customers. Plus, you got the pick the music.

You stomped your feet against the doormat, scraping all the collected snow off your shoes. Tom didn’t seem to be bothered that you had brought him to another bar, he seemed happy even. You watched his face intently as his cheeks grew rosy from the warmth of the indoors. You liked how the tips of his ears turned pink.

“Voila,” you gesture to the generally empty room, “the Four Seasons.”

He smiles at you and offers to take your coat. He makes his way over to the bar, choosing one of many empty seats. His eyebrows knit together as you continue walking away from him, hopping behind the bar.

“I’m not sure you’re allowed…” he starts.

“Hey Ernie,” you yell into the back office. Your boss replies with something muffled that Tom can’t quite make out, “no, not working tonight, just here with a friend,” you respond to him.

“Ah, so we’re friends now?” Tom asks as you start to make two drinks.

“Oh sorry,” you respond sarcastically, “I’m just here with the roommate of the guy who’s fucking my roommate, my bad.”

“No, no,” he brings his hands up, “we can be friends.”

He takes a sip of the drink you’ve handed him, asking you what it is.

“Moscow mule, fresh ginger, extra lime.”

“This is great, I’ve never had one of these.”

“What can I say, I’m kind of a pro,” you lean on the bar across from him, folding your arms on the countertop.

He liked your sense of humor, how you always had a comeback or something snarky to say. He also really liked your casual attitude, how you seemed unphased by everything. Little did he know you were constantly screaming inside, completely unsure of everything you said and did. Completely unsure as to how you ended up making a cocktail for one of the most attractive boys you’ve ever met. You tried to keep your cool though, and so far, it had been working.

You faced one another, sipping your drinks. At first an awkward moment of silence settled around you, exposing that the two of you truly had just met and knew virtually nothing about one another. You quickly slipped into easy conversation. You didn’t talk about the typical important things like where you worked, where you go to school, how you ended up in the city. You didn’t ask him why he was in the states, or any details about his personal life.

The stuff you talked about was far more personal than that. You exchanged theories about the ending of Lost, debated what Ben and Jerry’s flavor is best, shared the local vernacular and slang you used. These are the things that are important. You didn’t care what he did for work. But you did care what his favorite sitcom was.

“Does this place serve food at all?” he asked when your conversation had turned to what shape of pasta goes best with what sauces.

“Nah,” you gesture to the bar, “this is everything, no kitchen.”

“Damn, I could go for something to eat. Any good places around here?”

“Unfortunately, no. Everything near us either closed at midnight or will for sure give you food poisoning.”

He ate the lime out of his drink, sucking on the pulp until nothing but the skin was left.

“Really that hungry huh?” you joke, taking his lime wedge and tossing it in the garbage, “cuz I can cut up as many of those as you’d like, maybe even find you some maraschino cherries.”

“Don’t bother, maybe I’ll just drink myself into an oblivion.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” you were going against your better judgment when you said this, but it just slipped out, “I can get you some food, follow me.”

You walked around from behind the bar and instructed him to follow you. You slipped through a back door into a spiraling staircase. The air was cold and musty, and the stairs were slightly rickety under your feet. This was the fastest way to get up to your apartment, and you realized now it was too late to turn back, he had joined you in the stairwell and you started making your way up.

“You were worried about your roommate getting murdered by Haz, but now I’m starting to think I should be the one worried,” his tone was joking, but you wondered if he actually thought you were crazy.

“Very funny,” you dismissed it as a joke, “I live in this building, smarty pants.”

You raced him up a few flights of stairs until you arrived at your floor. You started down the hall, not looking back to see if he was following. Your breath grew a little shaky as you searched for your key, realizing you were letting this stranger, this hot stranger into your apartment.

You were just going to make him some food, you remind yourself. Maybe if he’s lucky you’ll let him crash on your couch, who knows. You kept telling yourself you had no reason to be this nervous. He’s just a person.

A person with big brown eyes and strong arms. A person who held your hand and laughed at your jokes. A person who willingly followed you to your apartment door from the sketchy bar you brought him to. Oh god, maybe you did have a reason to be nervous.

“It’s a little messy, hope you don’t mind,” you open the door for him, taking off your shoes at the door.

Your apartment was small, but cozy. You and Madison had been living there for almost two years now, and the apartment was well lived in. Funny pictures donned the walls, fuzzy blankets were strewn around the couches, leftovers filled the fridge.

“What’s on the menu?” he asks, reminding you that he’s here for food.

“Hmmm,” you open the pantry, “we have supplies for stir fry, and… stir fry.”

“I think I’ll have the stir fry,” he laughs, comfortably taking a seat at your small kitchen table.

You quickly started gathering ingredients on the counter, preheating the pan.

“Any preferences?” you yell into the next room.

“I’m not picky,” he responds, “thanks again.”

You start chopping up everything in your fridge and toss it into a pan with some leftover rice. It doesn’t take you long to whip up a decent meal, as stir fry was a recurring meal in your life. You glide into the living room, two bowls in hand. He had found your speaker system and taken it upon himself to put on some music, not that you minded.

“Fuck,” he mumbles after a few mouthfuls, “either I’m starving, or you make a mean fried rice.”

“One of my many specialties,” you were glad that he liked it, glad that he seemed so relaxed despite being in a stranger’s home.

“You’re pretty cool, do you know that?” he took you by surprise

“Umm,” you weren’t sure how to respond to the compliment.

“I just haven’t really met anyone nice since moving here. Haz is really the only other person I know,” he says through bites of food, “and meeting random girls at bars isn’t really a decent way to get to know people, not really know them anyways.”

You were flattered that he was being so honest, but part of you wondered if he was buttering you up to try and get into your pants. You had let him pay for your drinks, taken him to a secondary location, and then cooked him dinner at 2 am, he really would have no reason not to believe you wanted to sleep with him. And you did, oh god did you want to sleep with him, but you were still trying to get a read, was he a flirt like this with everyone? Were you just the girl who happened to be in the right seat at the bar at the right time?

This was why you could never follow through with casual bar hookups. Your mind ran circles around the other person, who they were, where their motivations were coming from. You could never just focus on the fact that you thought he was hot, and you wanted his dick in your mouth.

“Thanks, I guess, you’re kind of cool too,” you avoided eye contact, “but you realize that I am a random girl you met at a bar, right?”

He laughed at your response, finishing his food and taking both of your empty plates into the kitchen. You tried to stop him, but he insisted that you had done the cooking so he would do the dishes, you chose not to argue.

“Yeah but most girls at the bar don’t make me dinner,” he retorts. He had a point, this was kind of an unusual situation you found yourself in. Would this have been easier if you had met him a different way? Rubbed up on him like Madison and Harrison and scurried off to the closest bed? Probably. They were probably already at least two rounds in by now.

“I’ve never taken someone home from the bar before,” oh god, why did you just say that. Why were you being vulnerable and honest, tell him you’re a pro, that you do this all the time.

“Really? I’m surprised,” his tone was nonchalant, so maybe your awkward outburst of truth hadn’t shaken him like you thought it would, “why not?”

“Why not?” you repeat his question to yourself, “I’m just not really good at this kind of stuff, not like you.”

“Are you kidding me?” He turns from the sink to see you leaning against the counter across from him, “You were the one who wined and dined me.”

“I hardly consider stir fry and a vodka mixer to be wining and dining,” you tried to cover up your embarrassment.

“Jeez, then I’d like to experience whatever you consider to be wining and dining, cuz I’m having a great time.”

“What’s your last name?” you ask quickly, suddenly changing the subject

“Holland,” he tells you, “why?”

“I just figured I should know your full name, Tom Holland, if I’m gonna let you sleep in my apartment. You know, in case I have to report you to the police cuz you’ve robbed me or murdered my cat or something.”

“No offense but it doesn’t really look like you have anything worth stealing, and I’m pretty sure you don’t have a cat,” he laughs

“Both true,” you were laughing too. Still in the kitchen, you weren’t sure how to migrate somewhere else.

“You’re sure though? I don’t want to impose. I really can just go find a cheap motel, or go back to my place and crash the orgy that’s probably happening,” he didn’t want to stay if you weren’t comfortable.

“No worries,” you start moving to the living room, “you can make it up to me some other time. I promise you don’t want to be going back to whatever noises are happening in your apartment right now.”

You truly would have been content with him sleeping on the couch, slipping out the next morning, and never speaking again. Well, no. That wasn’t true. You wouldn’t be content, but you’d live with it. You didn’t want to assume anything, didn’t want to make a fool of yourself.

“So,” you start, obviously about to make a fool of yourself, “I can get you some blankets, and you can sleep out here. Or, if you want, we can share my bed. It’s up to you and I won’t be offended either way, I swear.”

Why did you always say things that made you feel so stupid. You winced at your own statement, not wanting to see his reaction. He took a few steps towards you, standing close, but not as close as you would have liked. You continue to look away, waiting for him to say something.

Eyes down on the carpet, you feel his hand grab your chin softly, angling your head up to meet his.

“And when we share your bed,” the breath of his words hitting your face, “are we just going to sleep, or are we...” Although his voice was cool and confident, he was genuinely asking. He had a hard time reading you, and wasn’t sure if you wanted him as badly as he wanted you, or if you were just being nice.

“The second one, definitely the second one,” you reply a little too quickly before he pulls your face to his, lips finally meeting.

His face was warm, and he smiled into the kiss, loving the way your round lips felt on his. He let his hands move to the sides of your face, cradling your jaw as his mouth moved against you. You pulled him closer to you by the grip you had on his t-shirt, the white fabric balled up in your nervous grip. You pulled him backwards with you, navigating your way down the hall.

Taking an intermission on the minute walk down to your bedroom, he presses you up against the wall of the hallway, shoulders angled above yours and mouth still hot against you. You reach your hands towards his, wanting to show him that he had control, that you wanted him to take control of you.

Getting your message, he takes your wrists together in one hand and pins them against the wall above you. His hips jut forward into yours as his wet kisses trail from the corner of your mouth down to your neck.

“Fuck, I-” you moan breathily as he sucks a spot below your ear, your hips rolling forward to meet his. All the while his grip remained tight on your wrists, keeping them steadily pinned above your head. You liked the feeling of letting go, having someone else control the situation. You were generally uptight and liked to take control in other aspects of your life, but this is one that you wanted to submit to.

“You what?” he responds with a steady voice, brown eyes burning holes into you. You knew your face was probably flushed red, hair a complete mess, and neck littered with splotches.

“I want you to fuck me,” you whisper shakily, “Please.”

Letting go of your arms and lifting you up by your thighs in one swift motion, he takes you by surprise as your face falls into his neck.

“This one yours?” he starts walking down to the end of the hall.

“Mhmm,” you mumble as you start to return the favor, licking up and down the base of his neck until you found his sweet spot. Suddenly you were falling back as he playfully tossed you onto your bed, sheets unmade, and blankets bunched up.

You land in a heap, quickly moving to take your shirt off. He moves quicker, practically tackling you down onto the mattress, causing you both to laugh a little.

“Hey,” he protests, “I wanted to do that.” He takes you hands and moves them as he had done before, and lifts your shirt off your body, you arch your back to help.

He slides his arm underneath you, causing your back to stay arched, pressing your chest into his. He slips his tongue back into your mouth, meanwhile he shimmies out of his jeans, letting them fall to the floor with your abandoned shirt.

Something between a gasp and a whimper escapes your lips as his other hand snakes its way into your damp underwear. Your hands lurch up into his hair, pulling his face into yours as he starts to draw slow circles up and down your lips.

He finally slips a finger into you, causing a guttural moan to stir deep in your throat. You bite your lip to hold the noises back, eyes fluttering shut as he slowly pumps into you. His face comes back into focus as he steadies your head, running his thumb across your lower lip, tugging it away from your teeth.

Instinctually you wrap your lips around his finger, letting your tongue drag itself across his digit. You open your mouth up from its pucker, letting him alternate his thumb with his index and middle fingers, letting those slip into your warm mouth as well. You match the movements of his hand in your pussy with your mouth, sucking down on his fingers every time he re-entered you.

“Fuck Y/N,” he groans, his cock throbbing in his boxer briefs, “I didn’t realize you’d be so dirty.”

You grew a little self-conscious at his comment, opening your mouth so he could remove his fingers.

“It’s so fucking sexy,” he drags the pads of his fingers down your tongue. He moves them down and drags the warm wetness from your saliva down your throat and onto your nipples that were now slipped out of the top of your bra.

You buck your hips into his hand and moan, loving the way he was above you, fucking you with his strong hand, fingers much bigger than your own. You felt his pulsing erection pressing into your lower thigh, and groaned at the thought of him filling you up.

“Tommy,” you didn’t mean to use the nickname, but it slipped out, “condoms are in the shoebox in my bedside drawer, if you want to fuck me.”

He removed his fingers from you, bringing them up to his lips to lick them clean. Your eyelids fluttered at the sight, grinding your hips up into his to show him how bad you wanted him. His shirt came off and joined the pile of your clothes that was slowly growing larger on your floor. You expected him to be fit based on his arms, but he was stacked, built, unreal.

He clearly liked the attention, a cocky smile creeping across his face as your mouth hung slightly open, eyes dragging across his perfect body. He tugs on the waistband of your pants, that were mostly slipped off at this point, to signal to you to remove them while he rummaged through your bedside drawer.

You maneuver your way into a comfortable position, now completely naked, head resting back on a pillow. He was taking a little longer than you expected, pushing and prodding things around.

“They should be right there, blue box? Probably unopened?” you chuckle trying to make light of the situation. The smile is wiped clean off your face as soon as you heard a faint buzzing, then it stopped, then it started again. Condom in hand, as well as your purple vibrator, he climbs back on the bed up to you.

“You are dirty,” he says, trying not to laugh, “I fucking knew it.”

“Hey, you were not supposed to find that!” You try to snatch it out of his hand but he pulls away too quickly.

“You told me shoebox in the nightstand! What were you expecting me to find? You have like eight of these!”

“I do not own eight! I own five, and they are all different and special in their own ways!” you argue back, both laughing now as he jokingly pressed the vibrating wand into your side.

“You keep all kinds of fun stuff in there, huh?” he was not going to let it go. So what, you kept a few…personal items in a secret box in your nightstand, condoms included. You didn’t think he would look around and take an inventory. Your lack of finesse with strangers in bars was made up for by your wide array of battery-operated boyfriends. It wasn’t your fault that the online shop you ordered from sent free gifts when you spent over $100…like fuzzy handcuffs and cherry flavored lube.

The two of you laughed for a minute, both in nothing but your underwear. You were laughing, but the idea of him fucking you with one of your toys quickly made a crimson blush flush over your face.

“Like I said darling,” he drags the vibrator down your stomach to meet your clothed pussy, “you’re fucking sexy.”

Your hips naturally buck up against his touch, arms snaking their way around his neck to pull his face down to yours. His strong fingers, much thicker than your own, re-entered you as he pressed the vibrator firmly against your clit.

You couldn’t help but moan into his wet mouth as he fucked his fingers into you.

“Please,” you whimper, “fuck, Tom, please fuck me. I need you so bad.”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he whispers into your ear, somehow making your pussy wetter than it already is.

He pulls out of you, causing you to groan at the loss of contact. He tosses his boxers off, revealing his rock hard cock that springs up to his lower stomach. You mouth practically started watering at the sight. He pumps his hand a few times and then rolls the condom on.

You manage to move your shaky legs enough to slip your underwear and bra off. You didn’t have the mental capacity to be self conscious about being naked in front of him, because you were far too occupied drooling over his body.

“How do you want me?” you ask innocently, not meaning to moan out the words as you did.

“Flip over,” he gestures for you to get on all fours, and your knees got weak at the thought.

You positioned your ass up in the air, open and ready for him. You let out a sharp breath as he slides the tip of his cock up and down your folds, teasing you before finally pushing inside. He only pushes in part way though, waiting for your reaction.

“Fuck, Tommy,” you try to roll your hips back onto him, but he firmly grips your ass and keeps you in position.

“You need to learn how to be patient, pretty girl,” he slowly pulls your hips back to meet his, agonizingly slow but so fucking good at the same time.

Your eyes began to water because of how good his cock felt pushed all the way into you, you wanted him to move so bad, but he wanted to torture you, make you wait for it.

“Please, will you please fuck me, I need it,” you sounded so desperate, but you knew he liked it, liked hearing how badly you wanted him.

He starts moving in and out of you, firm grip on your ass never wavering. Quiet moans left his mouth as he fucked into you, causing your eyes to practically roll into the back of your head. He leans down to place a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, despite how viciously he's pounding into you. His head cranes down to your shoulder, his hand coming up to brush your hair out of your face.

As his long fingers move your hair behind your ear, you push your head back into his hand, not wanting to lose contact. He tentatively runs his hands up into your hair, taking a soft grip on your roots.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers, “you like it rough?”

“Yes,” you manage to squeak out, “fuck, pull my hair, spank me, do whatever the fuck you want to me, please.”

He took that as a clear green light to yank back on your hair, causing your back to arch more. He keeps fucking you relentlessly, filling the room with sounds of skin slapping against skin. The obscene noises coming from your mouth only encouraged him to fuck you harder, pull your hair harder, grip your hips harder.

With little warning you feel him suddenly slip out of you, and before you could turn around to ask how he wanted you next, you feel his hands grab tightly to the back of your thighs, keeping you propped up exactly as you are. You feel his hot tongue enter your warm pussy from the back, quickly licking wide stripes up your folds.

“Holy shit,” your brain could not process the pleasure you were feeling fast enough.

He starts to feel your thighs shake under his grasp, knowing that you are close. He wanted to make you come, and hard, as a special thank you for inviting him up to your place. And that he did.

He sucked harshly on your clit, hips tilted all the way back for him, giving him perfect access. You couldn't even articulate to him how good he was making you feel. You were moaning so loud you were worried the neighbors could hear, so you take a fistful of sheets and bury your mouth in them, muffling your sounds. You legs began to violently shake as he lapped up your juices, bringing a harsh slap down onto your ass. Your hips fell to the mattress as soon as he let go.

He grabs your waist and helps you flip over so you lay flat on your back. He hovers over you, placing a gentle kiss to your lips. You feel his hard cock pressing into your core, begging for entrance.

“You good?” he asks as your eyes finally focus, your brain coming back down to earth, “do you want to keep going?” he asks genuinely.

“I’m so fucking good,” you bring him down into a more passionate kiss, pressing your hips up into his erection, “I want nothing more than for you to fuck the shit out of me.”

“Thank god, cuz I want to feel that pretty pussy of yours come all over my cock.”

His words sent shivers down your spine, more so as he pushed back into your sopping wet cunt, finding a quick rhythm fucking into you. He presses your thighs back with his large hands, hitting you at the perfect angle. Your mouth gapes open watching his perfect body thrust into you. How the fuck did you get so lucky? Is this a dream? Possibly.

You notice a smirk creep onto his face, he raises his eyebrows and gives you a look.

“You didn’t think I forgot about this, did you?” he grabs the purple vibrator from the side of the bed and flicks the switch on.

You all but explode as he brings it down to your throbbing clit. The addition of the vibrations to his cock hitting your g-spot perfectly sent you into one of the most body-shaking orgasms of all time. If that wasn’t enough, you open your eyes to see his perfect hand wrapping around your throat, applying exactly the right amount of pressure to your neck.

You can’t say anything other than his name over and over as your walls begin to contract around him. You throw your head back as you see stars. He lets his grip on your neck go and leans down to capture you in a kiss, wanting to connect with you as you reached your peak.

Making intense eye contact, you watch as he bites his lip, savoring the feeling of you coming undone around him. You frantically bring your hands to the back of his head, tangling them in his messy hair as you come down from possibly the most intense orgasm of your life.

“Holy fuck baby, feel so good around me, fuck, gonna make me come soon,” he pants between thrusts.

“Mmmm,” you were still fucked-out from your orgasm, “I want it in my mouth.”

His eyes practically fell out of his head at your comment, lips coming down to attack your breasts that had been wildly bouncing each time he pressed into you. In one swift motion he managed to flip you over. You slide down between his legs and start pumping his cock, not wanting to lose momentum.

You wrap your lips around his head, feeling his shaft twitch under your hand. Swirling your tongue around the tip while quickly jerking him off quickly pushes him over the edge, his come filling your mouth along with your saliva.

His hips jerk up as he comes, pushing his length further into your throat, but you don’t mind, in fact you kind of like it. You watch his expression as you swallow his come, making big doe eyes at him. You lick your lips a little and crawl back up to meet his face.

Flopping down next to him, you let your sweaty body fall into rhythm with his deep breaths.

“I-,” he starts, turning to meet your face, “I don’t even know what to say, that was fucking incredible.”

You turn your head away from him, pretending to act shy.

“I fucking mean it, you’re perfect.”

Your cheeks actually turn pink at this. You press your head to his chest, telling him you liked it a lot too. More than liked it.

“I don’t know if this is weird, if I should go…” he starts to move.

“Offer still stands of course,” you grab his hand, wanting to feel his chest against your cheek again, “couch or bed is all yours.”

“Bed please,” he flops back down next to you and lets you tangle up in his arms, “as long as we can do that again in the morning. You have all those fun toys, I need to try them all out on you.”

The two of you quickly fall asleep, naked and basking in your post sex bliss, a huge smile on your face.

The next morning you hear keys jangling in the front door. Opening your groggy eyes, you don’t have time to fully wake up and register what is happening before you hear Madison knocking at your door.

She barges in, wanting to tell you all about her night with Haz.

“Holy FUCK y/n, I-” she starts before seeing the figure next to you in bed.

You frantically grab the sheets to cover yourself up and make a wild gesture to tell her to get out. She silently breaks into a huge grin, waving her arms around and pumping her fists in the air. You keep gesturing for her to get out, but she continues to victory dance on your behalf.

You knew you would never hear the end of this.

#tom holland smut #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #marvel #smut #fanfiction #tom holland #smutty #marvel fanfiction #oof #i need a glass of water

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years

Text

νοσταλγία (Chapter 14)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: The usual, tho I should add mentions of polygyny

A/N: Hi!! Hope you like this chapter, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this!! Thank you so much for reading <3

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr

You catch up to Ivar near the main hall, waiting for him outside the room Prince Hvitserk told you he’d be in with your hands crossed behind your back.

He eyes you with suspicion when he sees you, but still approaches and starts walking at your side.

“You are not here to apologize.”

Why would I? You want to retort, but instead you just shake your head.

“No, but…” You shrug, “I have trusted my mother more than anyone on this world, I will trust she knew what she was doing. I’ll choose to believe maybe the Goddess she worships has a reason for this to happen.”

“So you have accepted it, you will not fight anymore.” He states, and you raise your eyebrows in response.

“If you expect to see me defeated, King Ivar, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

“I would never want that.” He replies easily, squaring his shoulders as he returns his gaze ahead, and something tells you he is telling the truth. You do not know what to do with that knowledge.

“What do you want, then?” You ask boldly, surprising even yourself, “You get nothing out of marrying me. You are a smart man; you know you might lose power by making me your wife.”

“Why?”

He knows the answer, he knows. You have an inkling he is testing to see if you do, with how much certainty you can speak of power and its intricacies.

“You could marry a woman with…land here, a princess or an heir.” You explain, but Ivar just shrugs.

“I could still do that, I could find a second wife.”

You stop dead in your tracks at the realization that he could, and sensing you stop walking Ivar turns to you, eyebrows raised and the beginning of a mocking smile on his lips.

But to a child born in the cult of Persephone, promises of unloyalty are not something to be simply accepted. You were told that the Goddess you dedicated your life to was loyal and true to her husband even if she was a victim of him; you saw many new couples at your temple there to bless them with faithfulness and prosperity. You refuse the humiliation of sharing the one you are bound with before the Gods themselves.

So you walk the few steps that separate you, back straight and posture that of a woman with a confidence you do not truly have. What you do have, though, is arrogance, is pride, is relentlessness.

No man has made your nature change before, and certainly no King can, no matter how cruel.

You tilt your head and look into his eyes, unwavering.

“A Hiereia of Despoina does not take lightly to marriage. Your people may do things differently, but my people don’t, my Gods don’t,” Your heart remembers your homeland, your mother’s smiles as your father passed by and left a gentle caress on her face, her empty eyes as she waited for weeks for the ships that never returned, the love that years after their deaths all the way in Laconia -even with the bitterness of having lost their heir to Sparta to an Athenian- your family spoke of how blessed were they to have each other as husband and wife. The bitterness and grief make your resolve falter for a moment, but you still continue, “Before your Gods and my own I will promise loyalty to you, I will promise faithfulness. I ask-…no, I demand the same in return.”

“You demand.” He repeats, clearly a mock, a bait that you choose not to bite this time.

You nod.

“Which brings me back to my question, Viking,” You lift your eyebrows, “What is it you want?”

“I want many things,” He replies vaguely, shrugging before turning eyes like Greek fire to your own. “But I demand nothing more than that.”

With a small sound of exertion, he turns his back to you and continues walking towards the main room of the longhouse, leaving you dumbfounded and partly impressed, leaving you with the realization you played exactly how he wanted you to.

It feels like those times you would run to cross the dangerous and wild stream near the temple, your hair wild and feet bare. It feels like the deafening noise of the current in your ears, the fear and excitement running through your veins, the possibility of failure or success.

You smile.

____

“Why am I not surprised?” Ivar starts from behind you, and you turn to him without removing your hands from your task.

“Because I am predictable.”

“Stubborn,” He corrects as he steps into your room, eyes on the small sapling you planted on a ceramic vase. “You know it will not grow here, it needs warmer and softer ground than ours.”

You nod before leaving the plant by the window, hoping it will absorb as much sunlight as it needs, as it can.

“I have to try.”

He remains silent for a few moments, before the rustling of him moving where he stands brings your gaze to him. The King extends a hand and motions with his head,

“Come with me.”

You frown, but still stand up and walk slowly to his side. Your eyes travel to his still extended hand, but you cannot bring yourself to take it, choosing instead to ask,

“What is it?”

He doesn’t reply, and his jaw clenches before his hand drops back to his side. Still, he insists with a gesture of his head that you follow him.

The paths through his home are familiar to you by now, and you follow blindly as you try scrubbing off the dirt from your hands. Selene’s chariot is high up in the skies, the people have already retired to their homes, the thralls are making quick work of the mess left behind after tonight’s dinner.

After crossing a doorway, you find yourself in a spacious room with only a hearth in the middle of it, and some chairs and lunges. Chairs where, expectantly, the sons of Ragnar sit.

Prince Hvitserk greets you with your name, and you smile faintly, and he smiles back as he states, “I’m surprised to see you.”

“Prince Hvi-…”

“What is she doing here, Ivar?” The older Prince interrupts, eyes burning on you with a distrust and a vitriol quite alike his brother’s but more contained.

And you know it is not a mere question. Years alongside mercenaries, alongside warriors and leaders, they let you know this is a public defiance, a test of both mettles.

The way Prince Ubbe speaks, with the same tone in his voice, the same carry of his loud words, that has made you fear before; it makes you stay frozen in the doorway for a moment too long.

The King only shrugs, walking ahead and taking a seat, absently using his crutch to move a chair at his side back so you can sit.

Before replying to his brother, he turns to you and motions for you to sit.

“She is my…advisor.”

His gesture may speak of nonchalance, but his words have that slight carry you have noticed before, the pride of authority and the will and strength to carry said authority.

But his brother still takes his words with a dismissive smile, shaking his head, “You take a Greek witch as an advisor?”

You bite your tongue to keep yourself from saying that better men have tried better insults, and that nor your blood or your gifts, and the titles they warrant, call for you to feel offended at their mention, even if he wills it so.

Instead, you grit your teeth and swallow your pride to keep silent as you take your gaze to the King, studying his façade as he lifts purposely falsely innocent eyebrows at his brother, his mouth curved in a small mocking smile.

“I never did things the normal way, did I?” Some silent conversation seems to flow between the two sons of Ragnar, and you catch Hvitserk’s eyes for a moment.

He smiles, an apology, a gesture that says you ought to get used to this; and you offer a small smile in return, one of the first honest ones you’ve given the Prince.

“Why?” Ubbe insists.

Stithulf’s disgust as you are caught in the tent where they discuss war, his demand for answers when he turns to the man that would be your husband, “What is the witch doing here?”

“She is to be my wife, I trust her advice.” Narses replies simply. It irks of too little when the Gods know you are the reason he won against the Saracens, but you are still grateful, because you have to be.

“She is a smart woman,” Ivar replies, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, “I trust her judgement when it comes to Stithulf more than yours, brother.”

Before he can taunt his brother into throwing an axe to your face, you decide to intervene, voice low as you lean closer.

“Ivar…”

“Dublin is being hounded by Stithulf’s forces,” He explains without a second thought. He leans on the table before him, not turning to you as he speaks so you are left studying the way the light draws his profile, “We are leaving in two days.”

“We?”

“Hvitty will stay here with you.” He reassures, or attempts to at least, yet all he manages is to make you frown.

“Why are you going?” You hiss, and as he turns to you the King furrows his nose in annoyance, the beginning of a snarl starting to curl at his lip.

“Afraid the cripple can’t defend himself?”

“Stithulf couldn’t care less about Dublin. He wants your head, Viking.” You insist instead of replying to the obvious taunt. He opens his mouth to retort, clearly surprised by your revelation, but is interrupted before he can speak.

“Ivar, witch,” Ubbe calls out, startling you out of your conversation. He raises his eyebrows, “Share with the rest of us, will you?”

After a breath, you explain, “Stithulf is after the men that killed his King. He doesn’t care about cities, or land, or…fame. He wants the sons of Ragnar.”

“So you think he is trying to draw us out.”

I know so. You want to say, but you bite your tongue, you swallow your pride, your arrogance, even if you know that if you were a man they’d call it confidence.

“He reached my homeland searching for an edge over your armies, and found it in Arab and Greek forces. I doubt he will waste them destroying buildings, my Prince.” You answer with a nod, not missing the way Ivar’s eyes remain glued to you as you speak. It thrills you when it should make you want to crawl out of your own skin.

They continue talking to each other, discussing what they ought to do, how they are to approach the city. You doubt the reinforcements from Ivar’s army will hold the same element of surprise as they did the last time Stithulf readied his army near Dublin; and it seems they have the same idea for they don’t plan on being subtle about Kattegat’s navy supporting Dublin.

And as the moon travels through the skies, when you should be exhausted and ready to sleep; you are thrilled and beyond interested. The song of war, Athena’s boardgame, it all wraps around you like a familiar cloak.

So you soak in their talks about formations, about ways they can approach, you rejoice in listening to the way Dublin can be defended. With your elbows on the table and your head in your hands, you listen and observe, for once without fear of being told you are out of place.

____

And before you know it two days have passed. On the last night, when the ships are readied for the journey, the warriors celebrating their last night in Kattegat; you sit with Freydis and other women from the apothecary, exchanging laughs and stories as the feast goes on around you.

More than once during the night, your foolish heart makes your eyes roam the hall in search of the King, and you find yourself smiling like a fool at the sight of him drinking and laughing with his brothers, with his men.

The times where you look for him only to find him already with his eyes on you, those times make your foolish heart beat faster, but you will deny it if anyone asks.

You swirl the mead in your cup as you lay back on your chair, taking in the ongoing celebration and trying to remember the last time you felt this comfortable and safe and…

“You feel at home, witch.” Freydis states quietly, almost by your ear, interrupting your thoughts.

Wide eyes find hers, but she only smiles calmly, with that hint that she knows a secret you don’t.

Before you can ask her to kindly be a bit less cryptic for once, she looks at someone behind you, and a hand gently calling for your attention when it rests on your shoulder stops you.

You turn to meet the warm eyes of Prince Hvitserk, who offers you a silent greeting and a small smile.

“My brother calls for you.” He whispers, eyes on yours and the promise of what is to come written on them. You wonder how much of how you have come to become his brother’s wife is known to him.

Ivar stands before his throne and your heart lurches when you see another seat arranged besides it. You find his eyes, and he extends a hand.

“I will not sit there.” You hiss at him. He grits his teeth, the annoyance at how you are unwilling to follow even the simplest of commands clear in his expression.

“You will be at my side, get up here.”

Your eyes travel to his still extended hand, palm facing upwards, fingers open and vulnerable expecting the touch of your own. Rationally, you know there’s a feast going around you, you know there’s yells and songs and laughs, but you cannot hear anything but the ringing in your own ears.

You cannot see anything but his hand expecting the touch of your own, and his eyes searching yours.

And though you know it is the tug of the invisible binds set upon you what makes you take the steps necessary and hold his hand, the chains don’t feel as heavy as you thought they would.

Calloused but warm fingers close around your hand, and Ivar stands taller.

He calls for the attention of his people, and when the hall quietens and you feel all their eyes on the pair of you, it is you that grips tighter onto his hand on yours.

“My people,” He starts, proud and confident and infuriatingly performative, “Most of you already know of this fine woman I have at my side since our return from Dublin, Greek by birth but a daughter of one Sieghild Vorsdottir,” You hear the mumbled replies, the hushed whispers at the mention of your mother, and you narrow your eyes. Ivar continues, “You will all soon know her as your Queen, for when we return from Dublin again, she will be my wife, and Queen of Kattegat.”

You hold your head high as the Varangians lift their cups and horns and hands and voices in celebration and congratulations. Ivar thanks them with a smile and a gesture of his hand, and aside from a few men that approach to give their congratulations face to face, soon enough the aura of calm -or what calm has come to mean in these strange lands- returns to the room.

You eye the chair they set for you at the side of Ivar’s throne cautiously, but you will not lie to yourself and say it feels constricting to sit up there.

You make a point of letting go of the King’s hand as soon as you sit, though, and based on the way his jaw clenches and his head moves to the side in clear anger, you can tell he’s obviously noticed.

The feast lives on, and a few times -repeatedly, actually, which you will blame on the mead and ale- toasts arise to wish for the Gods’ favor on the incoming battles across the sea, to congratulate the King and his foreign bride, to celebrate the death that is to come and the death that might escape them.

It is all incredibly strange to you, painfully foreign. You have no choice but to remain at your seat, facing the loud and boastful warriors, listening to foreign tongues, trying to understand strange customs.

It makes you think of what Sieghild would make out of this. She always accused you of being too arrogant, too proud, too ambitious for a Greek woman. Boasted about it being her influence what taught you to stand straight and never bite your tongue.

What would she make out of her daughter being fated to become wife of one Ivar the Boneless?

“My mother,” You start, and almost startled the King turns to you. “You brought up her name twice now, as if she is…”

“Famous?” He supplies, beginning of a smirk in place, “She is.”

“Sieghild?”

“Women with hair and eyes like hers are not easily ignored. Doesn’t help she is taller and stronger than many men,” He shrugs, looking ahead, “King Rorik had to fight a bear to get her hand, or so the Danes say.

You have heard that name before, only once in your mother’s lips. It doesn’t cease to make disgust and hate churn at your stomach.

At your silence, Ivar insists,

“You know of him, don’t you? The only madman before my brother Bjorn to take sail to your Mediterranean.”

“He didn’t reach the Mediterranean,” You offer quietly, “His ships docked in a land colder than this one, many died because of cold or hunger. And though he and the warriors that were left founded Aldeigja, it is still a long way from the Mediterranean.”

“Did you ever meet him?” He asks, and your eyebrows raise in surprise. The King only shrugs, “You mentioned travelling a lot.”

You shake your head, “Sieghild…she was betrayed by him. She would never let him close to me.”

“But she told you of him.”

“To warn me of what men in power are capable of.”

“A woman made Anassa,” He retorts, the word still foreign on his lips but you find it oddly endearing that he tries speaking your tongue, using your titles, “wouldn’t have much to fear from men in power, now would she?”

You only raise your eyebrows in response, “You think I had any real power back in Greece?” Before he can answer, you shake your head with a chuckle, “Ivar, my own people didn’t take me as a leader until I died for them. Even that wasn’t enough, Anassa is only a title, it wouldn’t change their hearts. I am a woman that refuses to fight like a man to achieve my goals, I had no place being queen in their eyes.

He stays silent, one of his hands by his mouth and his eyes intent on yours, and you let your lip curl in anger as you lay your back once again on the backrest of your seat, looking ahead.

“Because of me and what I learned they managed to fend off the Saracen raiders, because of me and my blood Laconia came to their support with the finest warriors in the Mediterranean, because of me they had time to escape Eleusis when the Christians came,” You grit your teeth, and if it is bitterness and anger and hunger all that’s left within you once the veil of nostalgia is gone, then so be it. “And yet I had to prove myself more than any man, more than-…

More than Narses.

You stop yourself, stealing a glance at the Viking that still keeps unwavering interest in the words that leave your lips. You shake your head, and reach for the cup a thrall refilled a few moments ago.

“It doesn’t matter. Most of the free Attics are dead somewhere near Aneridge, the rest will perish when winter comes. It doesn’t matter.”

The King touches his own cup with yours, and you eye him carefully, wary of what the outburst might mean for you, but Ivar only smirks.

“If you say so.” He mocks, drinking from his own cup but with his expression still dripping mirth and skepticism.

You roll your eyes, and settling better in the undeserved seat, you let conversation between the two of you go somewhere else.

And so it does, because frustratingly enough the Viking will never cease to be fascinating to you, and no matter what the two of you talk about it always manages to fill you with curiosity and warmth.

The ruckus of the feast eventually dies down, although not that far from the time the sun will rise over the sea, and you shake off your drowsiness as you watch people take their leave from the main hall.

Ivar stands up from his throne and gestures the mock of a bow your way, mumbling his goodnight. You watch him leave, reminded of the ships that are to depart over the horizon soon.

So, stealing a glance at the few remaining people and guards around you, you stand up and follow.

____

A bit of a cliffhanger, ik, I’m sorry. If I continued the last scene till the end this chapter would be a 10k word beast, so cliffhanger it is.

Also yes Rorik (Rurik) as in Igor’s father, as in the King that sailed East and started the Rus dynasty is in my canon a Danish King and Sieghild’s former husband, whom she followed in that adventure to wherever-the-fuck. Then they parted ways, and she found herself in the Mediterranean. I will probably go in more detail about this in Sieghild’s PoV, which should be the spinoff chapter uploaded next Tuesday.

Anyway, hope you liked this chapter, I hope you don’t completely hate where the story goes after the Sieghild revelation and all that. But yeah, would love to hear back from you, thank you for reading, and have a nice day/night!!

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #vikings #νοσταλγία masterlist

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hiraemy · 3 years

Text

Lumine and the Goblet of Fire [part 2]

[part one]

word count: 2.7k

Act Two: Lumine and the stupid rumors

For some reason, it seems like Hogwarts students liked to gossip. A lot.

Really. It hadn’t passed a single week since the champion announcement, but it seemed like they had already traced a rough profile on all three competitors.

According to rumors, Albedo was the incredible handsome prefect of Ravenclaw. He was nothing but polite to teachers and creatures that lived in the school, however, he didn’t seem to be interested in anything that didn’t catch his attention, and liked to keep himself at a safe distance from other people. He did have a little sister named Klee, a Gryffindor first-year infamous for her pranks and for being at detention constantly. Also, some people claimed that Albedo was secretly Miss Lisa and Miss Jean’s secret love child(?)

In contrast, the rumors surrounding Childe were more… Disturbing, per say. Everywhere he went he attracted a bunch of girls who thought that could stalk him without anyone noticing— including the guy himself. Those girls, in turn, were the responsible for telling the whole school that Childe had some scars in his arms and back and trained his body a lot (not the magical kind of training though), and that he was part of a delinquent gang. Also, he apparently had at least three siblings, all of them taking their studies in Durmstrang and visiting Hogwarts for the time-being. When asking other students from their academy, it was confirmed that Childe’s best subject was the Dark Arts. Not the classic Defense of the Dark Arts, the one that was teached in Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, but the Dark Arts itself.

How reassuring.

However, when it came to rumors about herself, Lumine was lowkey salty. Not that she wanted to have a bunch of creepy stalkers following her into the Beauxbatons chambers, like Albedo and Childe probably had to deal with, but it was some kind of disappointing that the only thing that people could gather about her was her name, Paimon and Aether’s names, the fact that Aether was her twin and that Paimon was a half-fairy. Not even her favourite subject was discovered! How... disappointing.

“As cute as you are when you’re upset, stop pouting.” Aether shoved a finger in her cheek playfully, a teasing smirk gracing his lips.

“I’m not pouting!” Lumine glared at him, pretending to bite at the offending finger pettily.

“Yes, you are,” Paimon chipped on her twin’s other side, stuffing her mouth with the delicious breakfast offered by the school. “Shouldn’t you be more upset? Paimon is really glad that you’re not angry about the Tournament anymore, but—”

“And who said I’m not angry?” Lumine bickered, narrowing her eyes and chewing the bread with a pissed look. She gathered all the sarcasm she had in her body to rant. “I’m the only one in this group that has the brain cells to actually know that getting angry with you two will take me nowhere, especially that now I need to beat down god-knows-what fucking creature because certain someone made me enter this shitty competition and now I need to win against the genius of the century, which coincidentally, comes from the Hogwarts house that is clearly known for being full of prodigious geniuses, not to mention the smiling psychopath that comes from a school who teaches the uses of Dark Magic and also specializes in that same art, so the chances that he could curse me to the point that I drop dead in the blink of an eye makes me really confident that nothing could ever go wrong—”

Aether shoves another loaf of bread into her mouth, interrupting the stressed rant and earning himself a hateful glare from the blonde.

“Just go and say that you’re jealous” He said nonchalantly, Paimon nodding along. Lumine felt her cheeks flare up in anger, her eyebrows shooting upwards

“What? No! I’m not upset about that! Why the hell should I be mad about not getting enough attention for my skills?” Immediately after the words escaped her mouth she regretted them, Aether sending his best deadpan look.

"There you go. See? Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Lumine sighed.

Two weeks passed in a blink. Really. At some point, Lumine learned that she was terrible at controlling her thoughts— even more when she went to sleep. It was like a switch was flicked on her head, allowing her brain to go downhill with each possible way things could go wrong. An Abyss Mage invading her exam and burning her to death, a Whooperflower blooming out of nowhere and killing her with ice spikes or the air currents suddenly blowing her off her broomstick while in air. She felt like she woke up breathless too many times in those last weeks.

A bit too soon for her liking, the day of the first trial came.

The three Champions were led into a tent at the back of the arena with Mr. Alberich. No visitors were allowed, meaning that Lumine didn’t have Aether or Paimon to soothe her nerves— even if outside her face was still as stone, she felt like screaming on the inside. Albedo and Childe didn’t seem nervous, although she could notice Albedo messing with his fingers like a nervous tick. The Durmstrang student, however, seemed more bored than anything else.

At some point, there was a reporter trying to make her give a statement about how she felt about the tournament and what she did think about her peers— no, no way in hell she would ever admit being intimidated by them, thank you—, but her quiet answers probably made her quickly uninterested, so she went to snoop on Childe and Albedo. Did she feel guilty? No, they had seen it coming. That’s on them for being attractive, right?

“Enough talking, let’s take our draws for now.” Mr. Alberich interrupted the woman with a sigh, saving Albedo from his torture and showing a dust bag in front of Childe. “We’re going in the order decided by the Goblet—so, Mr. Childe, then Mr. Albedo and then Miss Lumine.”

The reporter left the tent after being shoed away and Childe put his hand on the bag. The way Kaeya held it made it impossible to see what was inside. His arm went deep until his elbows, and then he pulled something in his closed fist. Opening his fingers dramatically, it revealed a pretty heart-shaped crystal that was slightly transparent as water itself.

“Mr. Childe, your opponent is going to be Rhodeia of Loch, also known as Oceanid of Qingce. I’m expecting a good demonstration from you” He stated with a slight smirk, moving quickly so he was in front of Albedo. Lumine didn’t miss the satisfied look from Childe, but she preferred to not overthink too much.

Albedo repeated the same action from the ginger boy, pulling a dark blue fang from the bag. Kaeya’s eyes darkened slightly, before announcing, his shoulder tensing slightly.

“Mr. Albedo, you drew the Wolf of the North, Andrius. While I wouldn’t underestimate your abilities, I must warn you that this one is a particular feral beast. Wish you the best of luck” Lumine furrowed her eyebrows. The difference between Childe and Albedo’s speeches were so strikingly obvious that she knew that besides the magical abilities, the trial had a luck factor. She wasn’t happy with that.

Her luck nowadays was... Abysmal.

“Miss Lumine,” Mr. Alberich stood in front of her with the bag open, and she nodded, not wasting any time before shoving her arm down.

Her fingers brushed at the bottom, her mind providing that the bag probably was enhanced by a space spell, and she could feel various objects at the fingerprints, but wasn’t able to recognise any of them. Deciding to rely completely on her luck, she pulled the southwest one, rectrating her arm with a light-blue feather on it. Mr.Alberich’s eyes went wide at the sight before quickly recomposing himself, his shoulders heavy and lips pressed.

“This… Miss Lumine, this is Dvalin’s plume. Your opponent will be the dragon Dvalin, also popularly known as Stormterror, the Erstwhile King of the Skies. Good luck”

She shivered. Luck was never on her side, wasn’t it? Kaeya shifted, making the bag disappear from his hands with a flick of his wand, properly turning so he could address all of them with a professional tone.

“The goal in this first test is simple. You need to obtain those objects you drew from your opponent. It could be easily achieved when the beasts are dead or unconscious.” He explained, face stern. “Any questions?"

"Is it really necessary to defeat them?" Albedo asked, receiving a raised eyebrow from almost everyone in the tent.

"Not exactly, but I wouldn't count on that. I really doubt you convince the Wolf of the North to give you a fang, genius or not. However, if you can manage to collect, the trial will be considered a success even if you don’t take Andrius down. Is that all, Mr. Albedo?" When he didn’t protest any further, Kaeya proceeded, nodding to himself. "Okay. Now, we will shortly begin the preparations. There will be a screen on here so you can watch each other’s performances, but you won’t be allowed to leave the tent until the last champion completes her test, understood?”

“Yes!”

“Great. Now, give me a second. I’ll come fetch Mr.Childe shortly.”

"Hey, girlie"

Lumine flinched. A loud laugh came from behind her and she felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment, immediately correcting her posture so she could at least pretend that she wasn't daydreaming. Yeah, it didn’t fool anyone, but who cares?

"Calm down a bit, wont'ya?" The man, who she registered a bit too late as Childe, shot her a teasing smirk. "You look like a scared rabbit trying to gather their guts. It makes me uneasy, like I’m throwing you into the fire pitch or something,"

"Shut it!" Lumine glared at him, making the ginger haired man let out a laugh. From that angle, she almost could forget that he exhaled some dark vibes. Almost. She liked to think that she was a rational woman, not one to be allured by some good looks, and she trusted her gut enough to suspect when things were shady, even if it came from a pretty boy like him.

Yeah. She wasn’t going to be charmed by a smirk. Even if Childe was handsome.

Yeah, no way.

"You shouldn’t worry too much." He continued, obviously ignoring how Lumine glared at him.

"And why do you say that?" She crossed her arms in her chest, her hand palming the wand hidden in her clothes. Just by precaution.

"Because I heard of you, Lumine. I know who you are, a rough profile of your brother and your strange fairy. I also know a lot about your habits, the subjects you like the most, your strengths and weaknesses, the things you’re allergic to, and even some psychological analysis."

"...you realize how disturbing that sounds, right…?"

"I'm a kind of a bad guy, but I won’t give you that kind of trouble" He laughed again, ignoring the way she squinted her eyes.

"So you admit you're suspicious." Lumine deadpanned.

"Let's say that I just happen to have a really good network. Naturally I know a lot of things, especially from you and from that other Hogwarts champion." Childe dismissed smoothly, waving his hand.

"That doesn't help at all"

“Hm… What about this? It seems like Albedo has something like a girlfriend. Or not. Everyone knows that they like each other, but for some reason, they aren’t together yet. Also, his little sister is a little terrorist who goes around the castle bombing everything, so the teachers are pleading for him to do something about her—” He mindlessly rambled with a shit-eating grin, making Lumine raise her eyebrow in confusion.

“And why you’re telling me that?” She interrupted Childe before he could go on something more personal about the blonde boy.

“If I prove myself to not be interested in you in a creepy way, just a professional, rival-like way, would you cut me some slack? I mean, you always look at me like I’m going to cut your head or something, so—”

“Can you blame me? This is the first time we’re talking and you admit you have been stalking me— or at least you made someone do it for you. That’s not a good first impression”

"Well, I—"

"Not to mention that you probably sent someone after Albedo's little sister. Isn't she in her first year? Yikes…"

"Now you're just making me feel bad…"

"Yeah, you should—"

"Mr. Childe, it's time to go." Mr. Alberich entered the tent, interrupting Lumine. She sent Childe a look, expecting him to just turn and go, but he stood there with a glint in his eyes. She raised her eyebrow questionably.

"Aren't you going to wish me good luck?" He tilted his head, smirking.

"Why should I? You're my opponent." Lumine pressed her lips stubbornly.

"You got me there" Childe giggled unaffected by her dismissal, turning around and giving her a lazy wave.

"You probably don't need it anyway." Lumine muttered, not expecting him to hear it. The ginger haired man smiled.

A sincere one.

"What is this…?" Lumine frowned, looking at the suspicious looking vase. Kaeya gave her an amused look, raising his visible eyebrow.

"Never seen an abode portkey before?" He smirked, standing in front of the vase. "It's an adeptus technology, Miss Lumine. It allows the existence of a pocket size alternative dimension, with different laws regarding time and physics. We can watch you from the outside, but you can't see us from the inside. The ministry provided these portkeys exclusively for the Tournament, so each Trial could be held safely, without any risks for the viewers and reducing the collateral damage."

"That's lowkey terrifying." She deadpanned, earning a laugh from the older wizard. "So, how do I use it?"

"Touch the vase and you'll be pulled into it. The abode will reveal it's exit once you defeat Stormterror and collect his plume. Worst-case scenario, you'll be teleported outside if you forfeit the challenge." He explained cooly, crossing his arms above his chest.

"And what if I can't forfeit?" It was Lumine's turn to tilt her head, golden eyes analysing carefully the older man's face. He narrowed his eyes and his lips pressed together.

"Let's hope it doesn't reach that point, right? As stated in the Triwizard Tournament's rules, outside interferences are not allowed, even if it is to guarantee the Champion's safety. So, unless you give us the go to rescue you, there's nothing we can do about the trial."

"... got it." She grimaced, ignoring the mental images the warning gave her. Kaeya gestured to touch the ceramic, guiding her hand so her fingertips touched the ceramic.

"Good luck, Miss Lumine."

She opened her mouth to thank him, when everything spun. She felt her hand glue itself into the vase, the sheer force of it sucking her limbs into a dark hole until all of her body parts folded into each other and flew into oblivion. Lumine felt her insides shake, wanting to puke her lunch, but as fast as it came, the sensation left.

When Lumine finally felt her toes touch the ground, she builded the courage to open her eyes(when did she close them?). Instead of the tent she was before, now she stood on a stone platform that seemed that it could be destroyed with a few hits. She couldn't see the ground from there, a lot of clouds and fog covering her view from how high it was. The winds blew aggressively, making her hair whip in her face leaving a bit of a sting in her cheeks, and her clothes couldn't be tamed on her body. She was suddenly glad that she chose a more practical outfit for this trial instead of the blue skirt from Beauxbatons uniform.

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by a roar. A loud, excruciating cry that echoed in every bone she had in her body. She couldn't exactly place it, but somehow… It was familiar. A painful and lonely sound that fell deaf to the void. From the deep bottom of the abode, Stormterror charged upwards, his wings cutting through the clouds and leaving behind harsh currents of pure power. Lumine covered her eyes with her arm, but even so, it was impossible to ignore the sheer beauty of the King of the Skies.

Fuck. She had to fight it.

#genshin #genshin impact #childe #lumine #aether #paimon #chilumi #albedo #kaeya #hogwarts!au #tartaglia

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recollins · 4 years

Note

Okay but imagine Spencer with a 4’10” girlfriend, though. When he brought her to family dinner for the first time and the jokes that would ensue (most of them from Morgan of course). Bonus father lecture from Hotch if she happened to be a survivor of an unsub the BAU put away. She would be so jealous of JJ if it was before Will came along.

Okay but this was super adorable and I loved it! I was going to add in the Hotch and JJ stuff, but honestly this is over 1300 words (oops) and I had to force myself to stop 😅I hope you like this!

Pairing: Spencer x Female Reader Words: 1,318 Content: Fluff Warnings: Teasing/mocking Masterlist

Dating an FBI agent wasn’t something you’d ever seen yourself doing, but Spencer Reid just wasn’t a man you could resist. You’d been drawn to him the moment he’d walked into your bookstore. It wasn’t his striking eyes, or the sharpest jawline this side of the Rocky Mountains, or the sweater vest that insisted on fitting him illegally well. Hell, it wasn’t even the breathtaking smile he’d fixed you with the moment you’d met his gaze.

It was the way you’d seen him admiring the books along the shelves as he walked by, his slim fingers dancing over the spines, soft pink lips fluttering as he read the titles to himself, smiling at a few he apparently recognized. A man with an appreciation for good literature was your weakness, and you’d fallen for him instantly.

He’d been there working the recent string of murders – local small business owners that had been tortured and killed all over town. He and his partner, Morgan, had spent almost twenty minutes asking you about anyone that might fit the description of their profile. It sounded a lot like Kevin, a shifty worker you’d had to let go a few days back, and after they got his information they’d left on their hunt.

When it turned out you had unfortunately been spot-on about Kevin – confirmed when he broke in that night to get his revenge for you firing him – it had been Spencer that’d pulled you to safety. He’d stayed with you all that night, even driving you home once you’d been cleared to leave the scene.

And then a week later, it’d been Spencer you found perusing the aisles of your bookstore again under the guise of a “post-case welfare check”. That had been almost two months ago, and now that you’d officially become a couple he insisted you properly meet his team. Not that you’d been putting it off or anything, but… there were a few concerns you knew they’d have with your relationship.

“There’s nothing against dating someone involved in a case,” Spencer told you for the hundredth time, giving your hand a squeeze as the two of you headed up the sidewalk towards the restaurant. Though it looked like a romantic gesture, both of you knew it was just to keep you from bolting the opposite direction.

“Okay, but won’t it be weird to them?” you pushed back, also for the hundredth time. Spencer shook his head and said simply,

“No, (y/n), it won’t be. I promise you. They’re all dying to meet you, and I really want you to get to know them. They’re my family.”

Which was the only reason you’d finally relented to dinner. You sighed and murmured, “yeah. I know. I just… I’m already awkward as it is and I really want them to like me, Spence.”

“They already do because of how happy you make me,” he promised, tugging you to a stop. When you turned to look up at him – quite a feat for your 4’10” self – his gaze softened. “If you really don’t want to go, we don’t have to. I’d never force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

With a sigh, you gave him a sweet smile and said simply, “I want to meet them, and this is important to you. I’m fine, really. I’m just nervous.”

“I’ll be right beside you the whole time,” he promised, giving your hand a squeeze, looking more excited now that you’d assured you were okay with this. How could you deny him anything when he was this adorable?

“You’re lucky I like you,” you teased, allowing yourself to be lead inside the restaurant. Spencer looked down at you and said honestly,

“I really am.”

Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy. Having (y/n) laughing and enjoying a meal with his team – his family – was something he never knew he needed until now. There’d been a small ripple of surprise when the others recognized her, but it had only been temporary because almost immediately Garcia – who hadn’t met her – wanted to know the story of how they’d met.

And that’s how Morgan had gotten started.

At first it was just a quip of, “don’t know how she even saw us, standin’ behind that counter”. Spencer had caught the jab at her height, but if (y/n) noticed she didn’t comment. Spencer hadn’t at first. When the waitress asked about drinks and Morgan threw out, “you gotta be this tall to order from this menu,” Spencer had given him a pointed frown, but stayed quiet.

When she’d asked Emily to pass the salt and Morgan had teased, “you want me to grab you a booster seat, (y/n)?” Spencer had sighed, “Morgan.” His best friend looked up, gave him a mischievous grin, and threw a wink before asking if (y/n) needed him to cut up her chicken for her.

Thankfully, Morgan had to stop talking in order to eat, and Rossi had gotten the table on a heated discussion to keep things interesting. Unfortunately, everyone had a few drinks by now and things were starting to take off.

“Pineapple does belong on pizza, Derek Morgan, and I will fight you on that,” Emily threatened, waving a fork precariously in his direction as Morgan made a face and shook his head.

“Right, like I’m gonna take that from the woman who doesn’t think pickles belong in peanut butter,” he scoffed, getting another wave of protest from Emily, Rossi, and – to Spencer’s surprise – (y/n).

She shook her head at him and laughed, “Pineapple pizza is one thing, but I’ve gotta draw the line somewhere. Why would you even put pickles in peanut butter? That’s disgusting!”

“Ay, uh-uh,” he mumbled around a bite of potatoes. He held his hand out a few inches over her head and teased, “you gotta be this tall to have your opinions count!”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, and though she laughed with the others, Spencer had had enough. Morgan caught his glare and raised his brows in question.

“Morgan, enough. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mock my girlfriend –“

“Oh come on pretty boy! Don’t go gettin’ short with me –“

“Morgan I swear to god –“

“That’s (y/n)’s job!”

The others laughed and irritably Spencer tossed his fork down, his patience gone. To his surprise, though, (y/n)’s small hand settled comfortingly on his knee beneath the table. She gave him a reassuring smile, and then then winked unexpectedly before turning back to Morgan.

“It’s alright, Spence. Don’t get mad at him. Morgan wouldn’t know what to do – he’s got no experience with hairy situations.”

Hotch snorted into his wine and the rest of the table dissolved into laughter at the look of shock on Morgan’s face. He gaped at (y/n), who smirked at him smugly as she took another bite.

“Did you just – did she – she made a bald joke!” Morgan gasped, jaw hanging open as the others laughed harder.

“I did. I know that was a little hard to see coming with the blinding reflection your head gives off…” (y/n) teased, and for a heartbeat, Spencer thought he was actually upset.

In the next moment, though, Morgan was just laughing and shaking his head with the others. He gave Spencer a grin and told him honestly,

“Alright, kid. You picked a good one, so you better hold onto her.” There was a pause, and Morgan snickered as he added, “I mean, we don’t want her getting lost in some tall grass…”

The table dissolved into laughter and Spencer finally joined in. His hand came to rest over the one (y/n) still had on his knee, and she glanced up to meet him with a happy grin. She fit seamlessly with his family and again, he couldn’t believe he’d managed to find someone as amazing as her.

Yes, he was very lucky she liked him. Very lucky indeed.

#rea writes #rea replies #eideticprettyboydrreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fan fiction #spencer reid x reader #i seriously have no self control #this was not supposed to be this long #female reader #spencer reid x female reader

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angelswithcigarettes · 3 years

Text

[If you know me - you don’t.]

“Becoming one”

Summary: Spencer sleeps with both Hotch and Morgan, both of them are aware that he does with the other too.

This is the first time they have a threesome.

Warnings: Sexual Content

Relevant Tags: Light Sub/Dom

Word Count: 3077

Ao3:

[This is the first time I have ever written something like this - my insecurity is kicking in ]

First Chapter:

Giving up control this is what this is about,at least that is what the profiler inside of him thinks. Giving yourself in someone else's hands, not thinking,just doing what you are told.

The first person who ever makes Spencer feel like he isn't in control but not spiraling was Hotch. Hotch who had taken him in his motel bad, gently thrusting into him, while Spencer whines underneath him.

He had never felt something similar, the handjob he got ones from a women five years ago was something totally different than what Hotch was doing. Hitting the spot that makes a shutter spread throughout his body, mumbering sweet words into his ear. His arms next to his head, protecting him from everything bad in the world.

They didn't stop after that, whenever Hotch gets frustrated with Haley,whenever something goes wrong on the job he will come to him, pressing him into the mattress of his wide bed, his bedroom dark, it had always been at night.

The first time with Morgan was different, Morgan had been ruthless at first but the times after that had been gentle. Oh he hadn't known someone could be this gentle and loving with him. Spencer could cry at the warm feeling inside of him that spreads by Morgan's actions. By Morgan's words. It isn't all about sexuality with Morgan as it is with Hotch.

He had told Morgan from the start. The second time he recognised what was about to happen he had stopped him and Morgan could see the fear in his eyes, and stopped immediately, sitting down on the bed and pulling Spencer's legs on top of his now laying next to his waist as he carefully runs his hands up and down while Spencer stumbles over his words. "I am sleeping with Hotch."

"Excuse me?" Morgan had stopped moving his hands.

"I said I have been sleeping with Hotch over the last months."

"But you aren't-"

"No! No- No I wouldn't do that he just- he just likes to- likes to- you know- be a little bit harsher sometimes." Morgan had a hard time not to chuckle at Spencer's innocent way of telling him how Hotch fucks him senseless.

"And you okay with that?"

"Very!"

"And you are okay with sleeping with me too?"

"Yes. Hotch wouldn't mind."

"Alright, then I don't see any reason why we shouldn't do this."

Hotch had been a little bit more unpleasant about it. "How long?"

"Only three times over the last two weeks."

"And you are only telling me now?"

"I am sorry- I- I- I didn't think you would mind." Uncertain if he fucked up, Spencer had looked down on lap playing with his hands until Hotch lifted his face by his chin and then had started kissing his neck. He would never kiss him on the mouth. Spencer assumes it is because of Haley. He hopes he never has to look her into the eyes. But he could feel the possessive touch the sex had after he had told him,how he marked him up, leaving hickeys like a horney teenage boy at his collarbone and bite marks on his tight.

The two man never spoke to each other about it. It had been four months of both of them sleeping with Spencer but never bought it up in a conversation but their actions tell each other the unspoken fight they have over who has the upper hand when it comes to Spencer.

It was a wonder no one on the team had noticed yet.

Morgan would tease Hotch by subtitle touching Spencer whenever he can, it doesn't draw anyones attention,they are close friends and the touches are innocent. Sometimes firmer like moving Spencer to the side with both hands on his hips or putting an arm around him while they look at a file.

Hotch doesn't have the luxury, if he would suddenly start touching Spencer,it would cause suspicion and was also unprofessional.

What both of them see is how Spencer melts in their attention. How he leans into the touch and how he crumbles under Hotch's firm hand.

The first time they talk about Spencer is when he doesn't show up for work, eventhough they both excuse it with their relationship just being sex, their both have a close relationship to him, and care deeply for him.

"Have you seen Spence he was supposed to be here? Has he called in sick?"

"No,he hasn't called. I will check in on him,close the door." Morgan steps into Hotch's office closing the door behind him. They always had the tendency to edge on. To easily break out into a fight but that doesn't stop either one of them from trusting the other when it comes to the job. When it comes to working as a team. And in the end, no matter how much teasing there is,Spencer is, in both of their eyes,the one that is suppose to be the one being happy. "Mailbox. I will try again later it's still early maybe he over slept."

"Alright, tell me if he calls?"

"Of course." Morgan was just about to leave when Hotch asks him to stay back.

"We don't have to talk about it-"

"We do. We should have a long time ago."

"You want to do that here?" Sceptical Morgan looks around the room.

"If you are comfortable with that."

"I am." Morgan sits down in the chair in front of Hotch's desk.

"I think we should be more open to each other about this. I think we should talk about thinks."

"Not above his head. With him."

"Of course." As if they summoned him the door opens and Spencer freezes in his place.

"I am sorry sir I didn't knock. Just wanted to let you know, that I am sorry for being late."

"Apology accepted why don't you come in and close the door behind you?"

"Sir?"

"That's an order." Morgan watches Spencer submit to the request and then sits down in the chair next to Morgan's. "We were just talking about you."

"Why? Did I do something wrong?" Wounded Spencer looks at Hotch and then at Morgan his eyes alerted at the possibility of them ending things.

"No,god no." Morgan suppresses the urge to physically comfort him. Since they started this, whenever Spencer even looks the slightest bit upset he wants to hold him, to kiss him,to protect him.

"We- or at least I thought that it would be nice to have things more communicated between the three of us." Hotch explains leaning forward on his desk and folding his hands.

"What is there to communicate?"

"Nothing you don't want." Morgan gives in to his urges and gently strokes the hair out of Spencer's face. "But I think Hotch means trying thinks with the three of us? And in generally me and Hotch talking more instead of just ignoring the fact that both of us sleep with you."

"The three of us?"

"Only if you want." Hotch assures him. "Nothing will happen that you don't want you know that."

Second chapter:

The first thing that gets changed is the fact that he and Morgan don't have a safeword. Hotch nearly rips Morgan's head off when he finds out but Morgan and Spencer just didn't to stuff before were he thought that was required but they decided on a safeword and the colour system just like Hotch and him use it.

And Morgan takes it seriously, when he learns that it makes Spencer feel a lot safer. "You good?"

"Yes?"

"Colour?"

"Green." Green means he is okay and that they can continue. Yellow means to slow down and maybe move on to something different and red means stop. He starts moving inside of him, making him moan ones.

"Don't be quiet."

The second thing that gets changed is that the other knows when Spencer is with one of them.

But the third thing, and that makes Spencer the most nervous is trying things with all three of them.

While Hotch would just ring at the door and then quickly move things into the bedroom, Morgan normally takes his time with him first, making sure he isn't interrupting Spencer with anything, spending time with him that isn't just sex and they had talked about it and Spencer after a lot of nudging from both of them gave in and shyly said how he wanted it to go down and that he would be more comfortable spending time together first and Hotch, against Spencer's believes doesn't mind at all.

They go to a football game. It wasn't anything that both of them had expected but Spencer had asked for something that completely rules out the possibility that they start things early and it pained both of them to see how self consciousness Spencer was about voicing his needs.

Hotch is having the most guilt when he leaves Spencer's apartment late at night, Spencer bruised up in his bed, fast asleep.

Morgan's guilt hits the most over the day when he sees Spencer failing miserably at tasks, doing things like a child would do them, he sometimes thinks he takes his innocence away.

Spencer is sitting in Morgan's lap, being erger about understanding the game while Hotch isn't sure if it isn't just a facade to cover up his anxious mind about what will happen later. Morgan has one arm wrapped around him, holding him in place.

"Spencer breathe." Hotch reminds him in his ramble and Spencer looks at him and for a moment he can see the how frighten he us and he knows Morgan had seen it too.

They don't try it that evening the moment when they come home instead when they arrive at the apartment they sit down at the table in the kitchen and Spencer tells them how he is afraid because Morgan and Hotch are as different as people in bed can be.

"Why does that scare you?"

"I don't want one of you to- to feel left out."

"That is what scares you this much?" Hotch asks his face softening even more.

"I don't want to have to chose."

"You won't have to."

"You promise?"

"Yeah." Hesitant Hotch puts his hand above Spencer's. "Is there something else?"

"No."

"Are absolutely sure?" Morgan questions, he has the feeling Spencer isn't telling them everything that is on his mind and Hotch had too but Spencer assures them he will be fine.

Third chapter:

Spencer and Morgan are the first ones to be naked. Morgan sitting against the headboard and Spencer between his legs while Hotch still strips in front of them, Morgan's hand moving up and down Spencer's inner thigh calming him down while he slowly gets hard and then he giggles ones, at Hotch stumbling over something on the floor and Morgan didn't think he would ever see the day his boss makes himself look redicules just so Spencer relaxes.

He moves onto the bed, pressing a kiss to Spencer's lips, shocking the younger Agent and then starting to move down his neck while Morgan's hands with ever stroke up and down moves closer to his crotch until the first time a finger touches his length and he whimpers ones in Hotch's mouth who moves his knees up nudging Spencer's cock ones and then moving it back again but pressing him more into Morgan's chest and Spencer can feel Morgan's erection against his back and a little moan escapes Morgan's lips as he feels the man pressing against it. And for a moment it was just that, Hotch kissing him, while he tries to find out what makes Morgan feel good in the moment and then he remembers how he can't also help Hotch and he starts spiraling again. The thing that this should help him with acts up and he moves his hands up to Hotch's chest to push him off, gaining space but the man doesn't react and his heart is pounding, skipping a beat and then luckily Morgan catches Spencer's distress. "Hotch stop." He does, moving back from Spencer and Morgan pulls his leg away from him closing them so Spencer isn't feeling his erection anymore and Spencer sobs ones. Trying to catch a breath and Hotch leans forward pulling him into a hug.

"It's okay, you are okay."

"I don't want it anymore."

"That's okay,you are okay,no one is mad at you." He pulls Spencer in his lap, and Morgan takes a blanket wrapping it around Spencer before he leans down against Hotch's chest, calming down slowly while Morgan gets dressed. "You did nothing wrong, it's okay." Hotch presses a kiss to Spencer's forehead. "Its okay."

Since Hotch is the one he clinches too,he is the one staying the night,making sure Spencer is okay and he can see the relive on Morgan's face when Spencer walks into the bullpen next morning.

Fourth chapter:

It takes two months for them to try again. "Breath baby boy." Morgan tells him pulling him closer to his chest, this time Morgan is still wearing sweatpants, as he hold him. "It's alright, we will stop anytime and we will tell you what to do." Erger and afraid at the same time he nods, biting down on his lip and Morgan presses a kiss to his cheek and Hotch moves in again, kissing him on the mouth but quickly going down on him, placing kisses all over his tight while Morgan kisses his neck and cheek, until Spencer squirmes between his leg and both man stop. "Colour?"

"Green." He presses Morgan's hand ones and then brings out:"Feels good. It feels nice." And Morgan can see the bulb in Spencer's underwear that was the only thing keeping him from being completely naked. "Please keep going?" He more asks then tells Hotch and the man laughs ones, kissing him again and then moves down again.

"Can I?" Passionate but agitated Hotch looks up to Spencer, his hand at the waistband of his underwear.

"Yes." Ones the underwear was gone Morgan moves his hand down, stocking the length and Hotch moves from the bed getting rid of his clothes and then moves back into his positions starting to kiss his inner tights again till his mouth meets Spencer's hard penis and he first only takes the head in his mouth. Playing with his tongue while Spencer grabs Morgan's hand harder turning his head and buring it in his neck,panting when Hotch stops asking for his colour. "Green."

"You promise?"

"Yes- yes keep going." Hotch does eventhough normally he is the one commenting him around. And Spencer feels Morgan's free hand guiding down his ass cheeks until one finger strokes his hole and he flinches, his knee jerking up almost hitting Hotch in the face.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay. You are doing good." Morgan promises him, not taking his hand away but leaning down to the mean clinching to his arm, having his face pressed against Morgan's shoulder. "Breath in and out what is wrong?"

"I don't know." Gently Hotch opens his legs again, pressing his knees down into the mattress and starts again while Morgan gets him used to his hand before he puts one finger in and Hotch is still going down on him and he doesn't know if he can hold much longer. "I am gonna cum."

"That's okay."

"No."

"It is, cum for us." Morgan tells him moving his finger up and down knowing that this is still all Hotch's work.

"Aaron-" Spencer's hand moves up to Hotch's hair. "I am gonna- Please-" Morgan uses the moment and adds a second finger and when he comes, with a loud moan and Hotch moves back he flips him over, still panting from the orgasm and Morgan moves his fingers up and down his hole while Hotch starts jerking himself off, both of the other man painfully hard but wanting to make sure Spencer gets the most pleasure out of this. "Colour?"

"Yellow." Morgan slows down a little bit giving Spencer time to get used to the two fingers and then eventually moves them. Opening them causing Spencer to moan and then he moves in a third and finding Spencer's sweet spot making him jerk but Morgan presses him down again.

"You think you can take Hotch already?" Hotch makes a mental note to remind Morgan to not call him that in bed.

"Please." Morgan leans down pressing a kiss to Spencer's cheek and hits the spot a few more times before pulling out and moving away from him, getting out of his clothes while both men make Spencer wait, who is moving against the sheets wanting to please the erection that is forming again but Hotch stops him and when Morgan was back on the bed, he pulls Spencer up by his hip. "Please Aaron. Please- Please ." To Spencer's surprise the moment Hotch's top meets his hole Morgan grabs his cock, stocking up and down and Hotch pushes in carefully,making Spencer whimper.

"It's okay, breath." He let's him catch his breath and Morgan slowly starts moving his hand up and down again while Hotch gives him more time. "You okay?"

"To much." Morgan stops and moves between Spencer and the headboard starting to kiss him while Hotch starts to move and then guides Spencer head down to his own penis and Spencer gets adjusted and starts sucking him off, moaning around his length whenever Hotch hits his postage and eventually gags when he hits harder and they slow down for a moment making sure he is okay and then Hotch continues and Morgan comes first and Spencer swallows most of it looking up to him with cum dripping down from his chin shortly before he cums himself and then places his head on Morgan's tight while Hotch continues thrusting into him till he comes inside of him.

"Come here." Morgan pulls Spencer up kissing him on the mouth, pulling him closer into his lap and Hotch stands up, walking into the bathroom were he let's a bath running to place Spencer in who tiredly lets Morgan wash him while Hotch holds his head.

"Don't fall asleep." With foam on his hands he wipes hair out of his face, making him look up to him with big and slightly red glassy eyes and gets why Morgan finds so much comfort in taking care of him.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #derek morgan #ao3 author #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #moreid #heid #smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic

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millenniumpuzzle · 3 years

Text

a flaw in the code

Kaiba runs his Twitter more or less automatically, including a function to mass-block people who interact with Tweets he has blocked. Unfortunately, this sometimes means that he blocks people he doesn’t mean to block. When he gets confronted over this, how will he respond?

my introduction to canon x oc (the oc being kazuko kubota, the child of me and @duelistkingdom ) and it’s from kaiba’s pov (feat unrequited rivalship), because of course it is. enjoy! read on ao3 here

“Kaiba.”

Kaiba’s spine stiffened at the familiar voice. He clutched his books to his chest, their reassuring weight giving him the courage to spin on his heel. As he expected, Yugi Mutou was behind him. Or, not Yugi, but the other Yugi. He was wearing the uniform jacket properly, unlike his tendency during Battle City, but he was no less imposing.

Kaiba swallowed, hoping his voice came out naturally. “Yugi. What’s this about?”

“My partner was discouraged this morning. When I asked him why, he pulled up his phone instead of actually talking to me. So, I will do the same to you: care to explain this?” With all the flair he usually saved for revealing a Spell card, the other Yugi flipped his phone towards Kaiba. Kaiba had to squint—he wouldn’t be caught dead in his reading glasses at school—but when he finally made out the text, he frowned.

“So you’re blocked by somebody on Twitter? Please, Yugi, this isn’t something to get worked up about. It’s not like it’s a personal attack.” He ignored the voice in his head reminding him that he had written a program for his own Twitter that would block anyone who associated with certain tweets. Tweets that featured Yugi boasting about his beautiful, talented, clever girlfriend in particular.

“Just somebody, huh?” The other Yugi fixed Kaiba with a stern look. It should have seemed out of place on Yugi’s round, friendly face, but Kaiba couldn’t help but feel suddenly small. “Try again.”

Kaiba sighed, but took Yugi’s phone in his own hand, finding the appropriate position where he could read the text with the least amount of eye strain. And— “What is this?”

The other Yugi was right; he wasn’t blocked by just any random loser on Twitter. The screen was on Kaiba’s own Twitter page. Instead of the Kaiba Land promos and Duel Disk news he had most recently retweeted, however, the screen was gray, apart from a block of tiny letters. “You are blocked by this user,” the website proclaimed, though as Kaiba met the other Yugi’s piercing eyes again, it felt more like an accusation than a simple statement of fact.

“I’d think you would know,” the other Yugi replied, voice startlingly cool.

To his horror, Kaiba found himself at a loss for words. “I don’t—I mean—” He cut himself off, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a couple deep breaths. As he did so, he searched his memory, but he couldn’t recall hitting the block button on Yugi. At least, not of his own volition.

“Use your words, Kaiba.”

Kaiba growled, but forced his eyes back open. “I didn’t block you.” At the other Yugi’s raised eyebrow, he rushed on, words running into one another in his haste to get them out. “At least, not on purpose. In fact, my account is more or less completely run automatically, using programs that I wrote specifically for that purpose. Some of these scripts do involve blocking users, so it’s possible that your account got caught in some filter accidentally.”

The other Yugi frowned, crossing his arms and tapping his fingers against his elbows. “So what you’re saying is, your computer programs blocked my partner by mistake?”

“Exactly.” Kaiba couldn’t help but feel a jolt of envy at how quickly the other Yugi picked things up. “It was a quirk of the system, nothing more. Tell Yugi that he can stop moping about it.” He felt ridiculous asking someone who, for all intents and purposes, was Yugi to pass along a message to Yugi. Ever since Battle City, though, he’d found himself a bit more amenable to the ridiculous, implausible things that happened around Yugi Mutou.

The other Yugi, for his part, perked up substantially at the mention of his own name. “I can do better than that!” A genuine grin spread over his features, drawing Kaiba’s attention to his plush lips, the dimple on his left cheek. “I can bring him out so you can tell him yourself!”

He continued speaking, but aside from a few mentions of the word “partner,” Kaiba was no longer listening. Ice had shot down his spine, while paradoxically, heat bloomed in his cheeks and sweat formed on his hands. “That won’t be necessary,” he snapped, interrupting the other Yugi’s joyful monologue. “Just tell him what I said. Goodbye.”

With that, he turned on his heel and fled the hallway, books still clutched close to his chest. He could feel his heart hammering in his ears, even as he turned into the men’s room and locked the door behind him. The wooden door was cool against his back as he sunk to a sitting position against it, letting his school supplies fall from his arms.

God damn it. Kaiba exhaled sharply, dragging his hands down his face, before pulling out his phone and opening Twitter. A rare occurrence, as of late; there wasn’t much that he needed to keep up with online, and he rarely wanted to check the inane tweets his contemporaries made. When his profile opened, he navigated to the “Blocked Users” page. There was quite a bit to scroll through, but eventually, he was face-to-face with Yugi’s smiling profile picture.

Almost immediately, he turned his phone off, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his face in his crossed arms. He really did block Yugi. Prevented from interaction with one of the only people he actually wanted to interact with by his own programs.

He allowed himself a moment of despair, before pulling himself back together, unlocking his phone once more. Even so, he still flinched at the reappearance of Yugi’s picture. Keep it together, Seto. You’re just seeing what triggered the block. Think about it like a programming error.

One of the benefits of Kaiba’s auto-block program (nicknamed “Crush Tweet Virus” by Mokuba) was that if Kaiba blocked a tweet, not only did it block the person who made it, it also hid the profiles of anyone who interacted with it. What’s more, it allowed him to see the blocked tweet a given user had liked or retweeted. This was a nominally useful feature. In Yugi’s case, however, the reason for the block made Kaiba’s blood run cold. God. Anything but that tweet.

Unfortunately, no matter how much he tried to blink it out of existence, the proof was there. Kaiba opened the blocked tweet in question, and his stomach immediately turned over. He didn’t have a name for the emotions burning in his gut. All he knew was that the image of Yugi pressing a kiss to Kazuko Kubota’s outstretched hand, the caption declaring “These two are couple goals,” threatened to overwhelm him with discomfort. He had blocked it for a reason.

In fact, there was a theme to the posts he had blocked. They all contained some reference to Yugi Mutou, Kazuko Kubota, and/or the fact that they were currently in a relationship. As much as he wanted to lie to himself, he knew what irked him so much about the reminder that Yugi was dating somebody. It was the fact that he wanted to be the person whose hand Yugi was kissing—the reminder that Yugi clearly didn’t have the same feelings toward Kaiba.

His face was burning. If only he could take his uniform jacket off, splash water on his face, anything to calm him down without ruining his composed appearance. Instead, he navigated back to his “Blocked Users” page, once again making eye contact with Yugi’s smiling headshot. If his fingers trembled at all as he hit the “unblock” button, Kaiba certainly wouldn’t admit to it. He would have to reprogram “Crush Tweet Virus” to exempt Yugi entirely, as he would almost certainly interact with other tweets about his girlfriend. Girlfriend—the word made Kaiba’s stomach do another unpleasant flip.

He thought he was done with the whole endeavor. In fact, he was almost at peace, comfortably eating his lunch on the roof a few days later. Part of that had to do with the fact that he hadn’t interacted with Yugi in all that time, but nobody needed to know that. Unfortunately, things couldn’t be so easy for him.

“Hey, Kaiba! They told me I could find you up here.”

Kaiba nearly spit out his mouthful of rice. Surely, his ears were playing tricks on him. Kubota went to Rintama, she wouldn’t have time to make it onto the roof of Domino High during her lunch break. Yet, as he craned his neck up from his lunch, his stomach dropped. Those baby-pink hair buns could belong to nobody else.

He jumped to his feet, uncomfortable with looking up at the much-shorter duelist, then cleared his throat. “Kubota. What are you doing here?”

Kubota just grinned at him, though it looked more like a hostile baring of teeth to Kaiba. “I was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d drop by and thank you for unblocking Yugi.”

“You knew about that?” Kaiba said, keeping his gaze fiercely locked with her lavender eyes.

“Of course! Yugi and I don’t keep things from each other,” she responded, sounding hurt. “He was really upset when he realized you blocked him, so finding out that it was a mistake made him feel way better. So, uh, thanks.”

Why was she thanking him? He and Kubota didn’t speak much, but when they did, she was usually admonishing him. The lashing she gave him at Duelist Kingdom flashed through his mind; he suppressed a shudder. Yet, analyzing her body language, he didn’t think she was being sarcastic.

She cleared her throat, then, and gestured towards him. Right, she had said, “Thank you.” What was the right response to give? He settled on a curt, “You’re welcome,” and a brief jerk of his head, an abridged bow. Yet, she didn’t turn to leave. Instead, she glanced up and down his form, hands on her hips. One side of her face twitched—a suppressed smile?

“So, the stowaway tells me your Twitter account is basically automated,” she said casually, slipping one of the straps of her bright red bag off so that it hung from one shoulder instead of both.

“Stowaway?”

“Right, you don’t hang out with us much. That’s what I call the other Yugi.”

Kaiba flushed with embarrassment at the memory of the prior conversation. “I see. Yes, he’s right. That is how Yugi got blocked.”

Kubota leaned in, one eyebrow raised. “So, what program blocked Yugi? ‘Cause Stowaway tells me that he didn’t think you were lying about it being an accident, but I haven’t heard of anything that blocks people so liberally.”

“What do you mean?” Kaiba asked, frowning. “One person getting blocked by my program doesn’t mean that I’ve blocked everybody.”

“Are you sure about that?” Kubota wasn’t looking at him anymore, instead focused on her own phone. She scrolled for a moment, fingers moving in time with the rhythm she chewed her gum, before turning her screen towards him with a cry of triumph. “This thread says otherwise.”

Again, Kaiba was forced to squint at someone else’s phone screen, and almost immediately, he regretted ever signing up for Twitter in the first place. The first tweet was from Mai Kujaku, reading, “Lmao, guess I pissed him off somehow!” It was accompanied by a familiar screenshot: Kaiba’s own profile, with the text “You have been blocked by this user.”

The next tweet was from Kubota herself, remarking, “Lol, I’ve been blocked since Duelist Kingdom.” After that, the replies were full of Yugi’s friends, all posting similar screenshots and complaining about (Mazaki) or rejoicing (Jonouchi) being blocked by Seto Kaiba.

Damn him for forgetting that Kubota was an excellent strategist in her own right; he shouldn’t have let his guard down around her. He would never admit he had been thrown off, though. Instead, he straightened his posture, using the extra inch of height to sneer down at Kubota. “So my program kept the dweeb patrol from interacting with me. Seems like it’s working as intended.”

“But you didn’t want it to keep Yugi out, right?” Kubota said, a confident gleam in her eye that he recognized from when she dueled. She was right, of course, but he kept his mouth shut rather than admit it. “Whatever your program does, it obviously has a chain effect, since I haven’t interacted with any of your tweets. Maybe it doesn’t involve your tweets at all? I can puzzle this out all day, Kaiba.”

“Fine! If I tell you, will you stop talking?” Kaiba growled, frowning all the harder when Kubota grinned in response.

“Sure.” Her voice was as bouncy as the curls escaping her buns. Kaiba hated it.

Kaiba paused, trying to collect his thoughts. All the while, Kubota rocked on her heels, humming a melody he didn’t recognize. Finally, he happened on a good starting point.

“I thought I was aromantic.”

To his dismay, Kubota appeared to choke on air, coughing hard before breaking into disbelieving laughter. He crossed his arms, glaring at her, until she finally collected herself enough to say, “I’m sorry, I just— That is not what I expected you to say.” At Kaiba’s silence, she sighed, putting her hands up in a placating gesture. “Fine, I’ll be quiet. I guess you’re not aromantic?”

Kaiba thought about saying something in response to her air-quotes, but thought better of it. “I thought that I was above all of that. I didn’t have time for romance anyway—I still don’t. But then, you and Yugi got together, and it made me feel...ill.” Kubota’s face twisted, but he didn’t address it. “At first, I thought I was having romantic feelings towards you—”

“What?” Kubota’s horrified cry was a bit much, in Kaiba’s opinion, but he felt the same way.

“Calm down, that wasn’t the case.” He narrowed his eyes at Kubota’s exaggerated exhale, but continued. “After some thought, it became clear that… I was experiencing romantic attraction, but not towards you.” The other words on his tongue died once that horrifying revelation was out, and he snapped his mouth shut, letting his confession linger in the air.

Kubota’s brow was furrowed, however. Why was she confused? Kaiba had told her everything she needed to know! He was about to accuse her of taunting him when she gasped, eyes widening. “Are you… Coming out to me?”

Kaiba’s already-pale face became even whiter. “No?”

“Yes, you are! You’re coming out to me! And you started your coming out speech by telling me my boyfriend was your gay realization?” With every step, she advanced on him, until she was close enough that when she pointed her finger for emphasis, it brushed his chest.

“That’s—a blunt description, Kubota.”

She just shook her head. “I mean, it’s fine, I’m bi, but it’s a weird way to tell somebody you’re gay. And this relates to Twitter...how?”

Kaiba scoffed. “I could be bisexual.” When Kubota’s brow raised, a familiar irritation began coursing through him. Better than embarrassment. “I could! You don’t know that I’m—that I don’t like girls.”

Kubota scoffed right back, undaunted by his bristling. “Whatever you want to tell yourself. I just want to know what this has to do with blocking Yugi on Twitter.”

“It has everything to do with that,” Kaiba said, but his mouth dried up as he realized exactly why Yugi and the rest of his friends were blocked. He cleared his throat, then balled his fists and looked away from Kubota. The words felt like venom in his throat; the only way to alleviate the burning they caused was to spit them out. “I set up a program to block anybody who liked certain posts. Posts that talked about yours and Yugi’s relationship.”

A raised eyebrow. “Just talked about? That’s kind of a broad net, even for you, Kaiba.”

“Fine. They were posts which included photographic or video evidence of you being a couple. Usually with highly supportive comments. Those were the kinds of things I blocked, and the virus associated with it blocked anyone who interacted with a post I blocked using this system.”

Kubota shook her head. “Even your weird Twitter bots are like Duel Monsters cards. I’d say to get a hobby, but it seems like you’ve got your hands full already.”

“Are you challenging me? Because I’ll wipe the floor with you in a Duel, we both know that,” Kaiba growled.

“No,” Kubota said lightly, “but not because I think I’ll lose. You’re so predictable, Kaiba. I should have seen this coming, though I didn’t think you would be this weird about me and Yugi. Guess I was wrong!”

Arms folded, Kaiba surveyed his adversary. Five-foot-nothing, blowing a bubble of gum at him while she rocked back and forth on her booted heels, skateboard underneath one arm. Her Buster Blader cards came to mind, and he cringed internally. He made a mental note: find a copy of her Battle City deck and run simulations against it, to discern ideal counter-strategies.

But, he needed to respond to her before that could happen. “Hmph. As long as Yugi doesn’t forget who his true rival is, I suppose I don’t need to make a fuss about his romantic decisions.”

Kubota’s shoulders shook, but she looked him in the eyes and nodded. “Thank you, Kaiba. Are you...sure you’re okay?”

“Of course I am,” Kaiba said, more off-kilter than he’d ever been. “Now, the bell’s about to ring, and I haven’t finished my lunch.”

Checking her watch, her glossy lips parted in surprise. “Shit, you’re right. I gotta get back to Rintama. Don’t be a stranger, Kaiba!” With that, she ran toward the stairs, waving at him over her shoulder before the door slammed behind her. Kaiba exhaled slowly, and looked at the remains of his bento. He wasn’t very hungry, all of a sudden.

What had he done?

#my writing #yugioh fanfic #oc: kazuko kubota #anyway!!!!

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

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chapter fifteen: nightshade, hemlock, mistletoe, and oleanders

"you raise up your head and you ask, 'is this where it is?' and somebody points to you and says, 'it's his', and you say, 'what's mine?' and somebody else says, 'well, what is?' and you say, 'oh my god, am I here all alone?' but something is happening and you don't know what it is, do you, mr. jones?" -"ballad of a thin man", bob dylan

At some point, during Sam's absence, Scott had spoke with Charlie over the phone over the course of a few days. Apparently, the marriage was on its last legs while neither of them paid any attention whatsoever. It all happened in one fell swoop and without a shred of remorse to boot: he was asked to leave and move somewhere else in Queens. Scott ran his finger over the rim of his water glass and propped up the side of his head in the palm of his hand. Every so often, he took a glimpse up towards the front door of the restaurant: near there was a nook in the wall in which the maitre d' suggested they keep their instruments safe at.

“How you feeling in the meantime?” Belinda kindly asked him.

“Like I'm ready to just—faint,” he confessed. “I thought Marge was it for me. Like there was no one else for me in the world.” He sighed through his nose and Belinda reached over for a pat on his shoulder. He showed her a friendly little smile, albeit a sad one.

Sam and Joey sat right across from the two of them there at the table. She glanced over at him and he raised his eyebrows at her.

“I'm sorry I hit you,” she told him, to which he shook his head.

“It's okay—if anything, I deserved both of those,” he assured her. “I've had far worse injuries, too, playing hockey and whatnot. I'd get hit with pucks and smacked with sticks—you don't walk away from a hockey rink to be a full time musician and not have problems with your teeth.” He showed her another lopsided little smile and she returned the favor. “So you're down—where?”

“Santa Catalina Island. Twenty two miles off the coast. But then again, I still have a place in New York City. You know, the apartment in Hell's Kitchen.”

“It's an island, though,” Joey pointed out. “An island, Sam! You're currently based off of an island.” He then bowed his head and cocked his mouth to the side. “Not to brag or anything,” he started again, that time in a false pompous accent, “but due to the amount of wealth I've gotten, I can buy an island at no rhyme or reason at 'tall!”

She burst out laughing at that, and she had forgotten that Scott and Belinda were still right there across from them. She turned to them right as he fetched up a sigh and looked away from them, and thus she stopped right in her tracks. Sam returned to Joey as a result: he ran his fingers through his inky black curls and he tilted his head back a bit so as to show off a bit of his throat and his Adam's apple. Not as prominent or sharp as Alex's, but still one for her to look at for a little more than a few seconds.

He then gave his hair a little toss and he turned his head to the side, and he showed her his side profile. She had left her journal back on Catalina, but at least she knew she was headed back there soon enough.

“You know what I feel like doin'?” he asked her.

“What's that?”

He glanced over at the far side of the restaurant, past the front room and to the doors next to that big front bay window.

“You have to use the bathroom?” she asked him, and he returned to her with a smirk on his face. “Oh, no, Joey.”

“What? Why not?”

“I'm not going into the men's room with you.”

“I never said we were goin' into the men's room,” he pointed out, “but I do wanna—” He gestured to her body and he showed her that smirk once again.

“Well, we can't really do it in this place, though.”

“We can go outside,” he suggested.

“It'd be cold, though.”

“Nonsense. If it's cold, it gets the girls nice and pointy and it gets the channel below the equator nice and damp, too.”

“Here's a challenge for you,” she started with a raise of her finger.

“Okay. I'm up for a challenge. I'm an athlete, thus I'm always up for a challenge.”

“You go over to that woman whom you've just met and break it off with her 'cause I'm bored.”

He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Joey, if you really feel things with me, I want you to prove it.”

He never moved or said anything.

“I want you to prove it and that I'm not just another fuck toy to you,” she continued.

Without any moment's hesitation, he clasped his hands on either side of her face and kissed her right on the lips. Those soft dark lips as smooth as molten chocolate. Right in front of everyone. Right in front of Scott and Belinda.

“Jesus, Joe,” he remarked with a chuckle.

“Yeah, Sam!” she declared to which she clapped her hands. Sam brought her hands down to his slender knees as they lingered close to her own. She was so close to the space between his thighs, so close to his belt, such that she could let her fingers find their way there.

But she kept her fingers upon those delicate knobby knees, right upon that snug rich black denim. Joey let his tongue slither right into her mouth a little bit: such a strange feeling to feel him inside of her mouth once again. His grip on either side of her face was soft and he slid his body closer to her. Even only a few inches between them and she could feel his warmth.

For a fleeting moment, she thought about when Alex leaned his body against her own back at the house on Catalina as he climbed out of that stool. But this was a different warmth, a different feeling. The softness and slim gentleness of Joey.

“French it up, why don't ya, Joseph?” Scott cracked. Sam squeezed Joey's knees as she slipped her tongue into his mouth a little bit for a taste.

Belinda whispered something to Scott, and he chuckled at that.

Sam then let go of his mouth and she gazed right into his big brown eyes as if she stared into her own. She then ran her fingers through his black curls and he closed his eyes. His curls, while soft and clean, felt a lot more coarse than usual. Coarse and fuzzy with the dryness that surrounded them there in California, the dryness despite the marine layer overhead and the rainfall from the night before.

She could smell him again on her clothes. She knew that she would never forget the taste of him on her lips and her tongue. She caressed the side of his face and she kept her eyes locked onto those soft brown irises as they swallowed her whole. As dark and full as the bottom of the ocean. As venomous as the very deadly nightshade he crawled out from onto the cold earth around them.

He parted those dark lips as he was about to say something, but no sound came out.

“Hey, love birds,” Scott called out to them, and they both broke out of it, and they turned their attention over to the waiter who brought the four of them their drinks to kick things off. Sam picked up her glass of lemonade and took a quick large sip of it; Joey blew on the surface of his coffee before he took a drink.

“You're not even gonna add sugar to it?” Belinda asked with an unsure chuckle. Sam turned her attention to Scott as he held his mug of Irish coffee to his mouth.

“Doesn't need sugar,” he assured her with a shake of his head. “It's already got the whole package.” He took a sip with his eyes closed.

“I've had Irish coffee before,” Sam recalled. “How is it?”

“Damn rich,” Scott replied, and he coughed. “Whoa. That'll put some hair on the chest.”

“Right back in where you shaved the word 'not' in?” Joey teased him, and Belinda laughed at that.

“Yes, Joey!” Scott laughed along with her.

“Wow!” Chuck's voice carried in right there, and the four of them turned their attention to the left side of the room. He stepped into the room at that moment and he showed off a big sheet of thick paper to them. It was a drawing of him with his arms curled out before him and his head bowed a bit. All along his arms were jagged points, all done in big bold but soft colors.

“Holy shit,” Scott declared.

“Beautiful, Chuck—” Belinda said, and her voice trailed off at the sight of it.

“It's all crystals,” he said, “at least that's according to Marla.”

“Marla made you that?” Sam asked him.

“Yeah, I was just gonna say, that looks like her style,” Belinda added.

Sam turned her attention to Joey.

“I left my journal on Catalina,” she admitted to him with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Damn. I really wanted to see what kind of art you've been up to lately.”

“It's been—I want to say autobiographical. On the next boat ride over, I'll make a note to show you.”

“Next boat ride over to visit yo' mama,” Joey cracked as he took a sip of his black coffee.

“Visit Joe Mama?” she joked.

“Visit Joe Mama, exactly!” He drank down a bit more of his coffee before Scott passed that drawing of Chuck over to them for a better look. Marla had sketched him out with some bright pink colored pencil and then she outlined him with thick lines of black ink, while the crystals where shaded in with those fine points. Down at the bottom of the page, she had signed her name “Marla Taylor” in large curly penmanship.

“Who needs to buy someone something when you can make 'em?” Sam proclaimed.

“Right, right,” Joey said as he took yet another drink of coffee. He still hadn't let things go with Testament, but she dared not let that interfere with her appreciation of her best friend's artistry. Those clean lines and Sam wanted to make some more pieces of art, all for Testament themselves. But she knew that someone on their end would recognize it, especially if she did something as obvious as sign her initials at the very bottom. Something more, something different.

An eager Chuck returned to them to fetch that piece of drawing and Joey then tapped on Sam's shoulder.

“Come with me,” he whispered into her ear, even though she was hungry and she wanted to stay there to see what Scott had in mind for brunch. But Joey insisted, and thus she followed him over to the bathrooms. They passed under a sprig of mistletoe pinned up to the wall over the entrance to the front of the restaurant; it was there she stopped right in her tracks when she realized where he was taking her.

“Joey, we're not doing it in the bathroom,” she scoffed.

“We won't,” he assured her; instead, he took her hand and he led her to that narrow hallway which led to the bathrooms. He kept on walking past the men's room and to the narrow little nook right around the corner from there. He pressed his back to the wall and he unzipped his little black leather jacket, and he showed off his chest to her.

“Oh, I see,” she breathed.

“Yeah—c'mon, Sam I am,” he begged her, to which he slid down the wall a bit so he was eye to eye with her.

“Where do you—um, want me to start?” she asked him.

“I'll start things off, actually,” he told her and he lunged for the button on her jeans. Sam held still with her legs spread out as he undid it for her. Butterflies danced about in her stomach as he ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. He had such a fierce twinkle in his eyes: they shone brighter than the fire opals on her bracelet.

He brought his dark lips to the little bit of skin right under her belly button, to which she gasped at the feeling.

“Oh—!”

“Yeah,” he growled as he gave her another kiss there. She realized that he was going all the way down from her waist to what lay below. She had given it to him while in England and so it made sense that he returned the favor to her. His lips were warm and silken, and far more than the feeling of molten chocolate.

“Joey?” a woman's voice caught them both off guard.

He stopped. Sam froze in her tracks. He lifted his head and he fixed her jeans, but he never buttoned them back up again.

“What're you doing?” Sam demanded.

“What're you doing?” the woman laughed, and he clambered to his feet. He ran his fingers through his black curls and stood right before Sam so she wouldn't have to see her. The woman chuckled at him.

Sam peeked out from behind him to the woman across from them. She was about Joey's height, but she had a full head of frizzy but neat golden blonde hair down past her shoulders. She did in fact look older than Sam herself, but not too much older: her milky white skin had not a single blemish or crease on it, but her deep eyes aged her more than a piece of gray hair ever would for her. She was slender but with that classic hourglass figure, much like a model: it also didn't help matters that she wore big black stiletto heels on her feet to go with her fitted dark denim jeans.

“What're you doing?” she asked him with another chuckle.

“She—” Joey gestured back to Sam. “—had a spot on her jeans and I was just—checking it.”

She froze and she looked back at Sam, whose mouth had gone completely dry and whose mind had gone completely blank. Nothing to say and nowhere to begin. The woman then chuckled again, and then she shook her head.

“You're funny!” she told him, and he sank down a bit so she could Sam in full for herself.

“Krista, this is Sam—better known as Sam I am.”

“Sam I am?” Krista echoed him.

“Also known as Sammich, Samantha, and—my personal favorite—Sam hill.”

“Sam—this is—this is Krista,” he sputtered. “My new friend.”

“Friend?” she demanded from him. She gaped at him complete with a raise of her eyebrows.

“Y-Yes,” Joey stammered; even with his sun kissed skin, the blush in his face was all too obvious. Krista flashed her an unsure smile and she shrugged in response. He cleared his throat once, twice, four times and he bowed away from them so they wouldn't have to see his face; Sam lingered closer to him.

“H-H-How'd you know I was back here?” he stammered some more to her.

“Scott told me he saw you run back here,” Krista explained, and Sam frowned at the sight of the blush on his face and his heavy breathing.

“Are you okay?” she asked him, concerned, and he coughed a bit.

“Yeah—I just—got a—a—” He patted his chest and straightened himself upright. “—a—a li'l—um—”

“Joey,” Krista said.

“Joey,” Sam echoed her.

“Huh?”

“You don't—look good,” Krista told him with a shake of her head.

“Yeah, you look like you're about ready to pass out,” Sam added.

“I'm fine, I promise,” he assured them, but then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he fell onto his back. Krista and Sam glanced at one another in complete amazement, and they both stood over him as he lay there on the linoleum with his arms out on either side of him.

“What should we do?” Sam asked her in a small voice, to which Krista nibbled on her bottom lip.

“Good question.” She stopped and then she looked over at Sam with a tested look on her face. “Was he—actually checking your jeans?”

“Do you want the truth?” Sam asked her.

“Always.” She smelled faintly of peppermint, an aroma that Sam hadn't smelled in what felt like forever; Sam herself shook her head and Krista fetched up a sigh and rolled her eyes.

“Don't worry, I'll take care of this,” she told her in a low voice and with a wave of her hand

“Okay,” Sam replied with a nod of her head, and she stepped away from there. Her face felt so hot right then: it felt rather obvious in that hallway that Joey had kindled up a new flame there with another woman, and yet she still wanted him. She still wanted him even when she realized that her jeans were about to fall right off her hips.

She caught herself before anyone else caught her with her pants down.

Sam stopped right there, right underneath the sprig of mistletoe and she adjusted the zipper on her jeans. Krista's laughter floated out from that hallway and Sam sighed through her nose. Unless he really made it obvious to her, then she wouldn't have gone through with that with him. Or maybe he wanted to play the field, but there were too many questions she had already at that moment.

She straightened her shirt out and gave her dark hair a little toss back with a flick of her head. She could only hope that he was playing the field. That was the only hope she had right then.

“Hey, Sam!” Scott called out right then.

“Brunch is here!” Belinda added.

She turned to those tables right behind her and she joined them both for some French toast, sausage links, and biscuits and gravy.

“Where's Mr. Nightshade?” Belinda asked her.

“He's—He's—He's—” Sam could hardly speak herself. She sipped on her lemonade a bit so as to clear her head. “He's having a moment,” she spoke right then.

Scott chuckled at that. Even from a momentary glimpse, Sam could tell that that mug of Irish coffee had already left its mark on him.

But she shrugged and she dug into her biscuits and gravy, the former of which were light and fluffy and fresh out of the oven; the latter of which was pale but peppery and even soft in texture. She took a glance to the left and the booth that Testament had packed into for themselves.

Chuck and Eric were both still very much in awe of that drawing that Marla had made; if only there was a way in which Sam could find her way back to Catalina just to fetch her journal, but alas she could not, not with brunch at the helm. Meanwhile, Alex leaned his back to the wall there in the booth and he kept his cup of tea close to his chest. He took a glimpse over at her with those deep eyes, as they looked as deep as ever at that moment.

If Joey could play around with another woman, why not play around with other men? If he really wanted her that bad, then she would have to act.

Scott cracked a joke to Belinda and she almost choked on her bite of sausage from laughing so hard. But Sam had her attention fixated upon the young buck across the floor from her. The shirt that her mother had bought for her fit him rather snugly, all around his waist and his chest, such that he had undone the top two buttons and showed off a bit of his chest. He said something to Greg who then nodded at him: he leaned past him and flashed Sam a wink. She returned the favor with a pretty little wave.

Alex picked up his tea and sauntered across the floor towards her. For a second, she swore that he had a bit of a sway to his hips as if he knew what was going on.

He took his seat next to her but he never bunched up closer to her than the single couple of inches that the seats allowed them.

“By the way, I should tell you, that wasn't me who was rubbing your butt last night,” she promised him.

“I think you told me that and I wasn't able to say something about that,” he recalled, “to that I say—” He gaped at her. “—oh, no.”

“Yeah. But if it's any comfort, though, my mom had the hots for Joey when I brought him home.”

“Wow.” He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Yeah. If it's any further comfort, I'm nothing like that.”

“Is your mom like—always like that?” He lowered his voice a bit on that last part.

“Not really,” she admitted with a shrug of her shoulders. “It's like—something woke her up when I brought Joey home for her to meet him.”

He paused for a second.

“What exactly does she do?” he asked her.

“She's a writer. No clue what she writes, though, but she's got a good deal with it, such that—you know, she was able to move to Catalina and spoil us for a few days.”

Alex glanced behind him.

“Where even is Joey?” he wondered aloud.

“I have no clue.”

“Well, I saw you kissin' him,” he muttered to her.

“And?”

He held his hands on either side of his tea cup and he pursed his lips together.

“And? Alex?”

“Thought you guys were really gonna go there,” he confessed with a lean of his head towards her.

“We didn't, though,” she assured him in a low voice. She mopped up a bite of biscuit in gravy.

“How is it?” he asked her.

“Delicious.”

“We haven't gotten ours yet.”

“Are you serious?” She was stunned by that.

“Dead serious. Hope it comes soon, too—it smells divine.”

He took a sip from his tea and she ate up that bite of biscuit in unison with him.

“That was good pie, though,” he told her.

“The pie we had last night?”

“Yeah. Nice li'l slice of your mom's pie right in my belly.”

She giggled at him.

“Kinda wish we had some more of it,” he confessed.

“More of that plus the spag Bol from the first night,” she added.

“Oh, my god, that was unreal. So simple and homey but god—it just warmed me up so much that I fell asleep right when I lay down on the couch.”

He sipped on the tea some more and that time he closed his eyes to nourish the feeling. Sam took another bite of biscuit and gravy and she, too, closed her eyes so to relish in the lush pepper paired with the light and fluffy biscuit.

“Hey, you two guys wanna hang with us for New Year's and my birthday?” Scott offered them.

“Oh, yeah, that's right!” Sam declared. “Your birthday's New Year's Eve. Um—well, I was planning on coming to see you guys on New Year's but I dunno about afterwards, though.”

“Yeah, me, neither,” Alex confessed.

“Come on—it'll be fun!” Scott declared. “Metallica will be there, too. I talked to James just yesterday—they're gonna be with us.” Sam was reluctant however, given she had a hunch that Joey had his heart in Krista rather than her even with the kiss he had bestowed on her. Charlie called to Scott from across the room right then, and he raised a finger to them, and then he strode away from there. Sam turned to Alex and he looked on at her, puzzled and with both hands still around the base of his tea cup.

“Alex—will you hang with me on New Year's Eve?” she asked him.

“You're asking me to hang with you?” he echoed her.

“If you don't mind,” she told him with a shrug of her shoulders. He shifted his weight and flicked his black curls back from the side of his neck. The hair dye still held up but she could see it fading away from his hair. Those grays were persistent in how they didn't want to be hidden away.

“You know what?” he said. “I'd love to. Are we going back to Catalina or somewhere else?”

Sam hesitated for a second. That house up in Reno was empty but the memories still remained there.

“Let's go somewhere else,” she told him. “Has Testament ever toured Reno?”

“Uh, we've toured in Vegas. But—not really, no.” He gazed on at her, those deep eyes so deep and soulful. “Why?” He squinted at her.

She brought the tines of the fork to her lips but she never said anything to him. His face then lit up and he snapped his fingers.

“That reminds me,” he said.

“What's that?”

“I have something to give you,” he told her.

“More and more gifts each and every time,” she joked.

“Well, it's because we love you,” he declared. “You don't give gifts to people when you don't love them.”

He took another sip of tea and then he gestured for her to follow him into the front part of the restaurant, right to the front room and back in the direction of Joey and Krista.

“Careful with the mistletoe there,” she noted, to which Alex leaned his back towards the wall and let her go ahead to the other room. He then bowed after her, right underneath that little lush sprig of mistletoe. He joined her right by her side all the way back to the front door.

There was that small space right next to the door: near the front of the whole stack stood his guitar case. He crouched down to the floor and he nudged it to the side: Sam lingered next to him with her hands pressed to her hips.

“Let's see, I think—Eric had it stashed with him,” he said aloud, “like I showed it to him right before our second night in Reseda and he was like 'yeah, I'll keep it safe for you, Alex.'” He then lifted his gaze back up to her.

“Seeing as you just have your little purses,” he started, and he took out a large red wine colored handbag with a small five petaled flower comprised of large mismatched beads sewn to the front: a flower that reminded her of the oleanders there in the south land. It was obviously handmade but the sight of it made her gasp.

“Oh, my god, Alex—this is beautiful.”

“I just think of the glorious guitar strap that you and Belinda made for me for my birthday last year,” he confessed, “and I decided to make something of my own for you. I just see you with your purses and all the stuff you put into them, and at one point, I thought, 'man, Samantha could use something a little bigger, but I'm not finding anything larger, though.' It was actually an effort from me, my brother, and both my parents—I don't know the first thing about beading. But I suggested it to my mom and she goes, 'okay, honey, I'll give it a shot.' My brother and I picked out the color and the fabric, and my dad pieced it together—”

Sam threw her arms around him before he could finish his sentence, and then he returned the favor. Those long spidery fingers caressed over her back and her hair.

It was going to be the first New Year's Eve in which she would have no one to kiss especially if Joey was going to tease like that. But then again, Alex stood there next to her with his body close to her. The warmth of his body. The softness of his white skin and his jet black hair.

She looked right into his round boyish face and he showed her a little grin, albeit one full of imperfect teeth.

“So where do you wanna take me?” he asked her.

“I'll take you to the place I know all too well,” she told him. “It's a long drive, though.”

“I'm up for it,” he promised her. “As long as we get to see Anthrax in Long Beach the night before.”

“Of course! And that's Zelda's birthday, too.”

He gaped at her.

“Oh, shit, really?”

“Yeah. I just now remembered it, too. She threw it at me during the Stormtroopers of Death tour. I can't believe I still remember it, too.”

“Wow,” he said in a hushed voice. He adjusted the collar of his shirt and she slung the bag over her shoulder.

“Does it fit?” he asked her; and she brought the bag itself close to her hip.

“Like a glove,” she promptly replied.

“Excellent!” He flashed her a thumbs up.

“We have to go back to Catalina, though,” she told him. “Just—you know. Tell my mom what's up and whatnot.”

“Day after Christmas, though.”

“Of course,” she told him and with a nod of her head, “of course, of course, Alex. If she rubs your butt again, I'll tell her about it. Don't you worry.”

He fetched up a sigh and then he bowed his head a bit. He stepped back for a better look at the handbag under her arm. She brought it up before her thighs: the bud of the oleander was comprised of five small black onyx beads, much like the ones on the bracelet Chuck gave her, as well as one large wooden bead. Light pink and white beads meanwhile made up those five petals for that familiar poison flower.

“It almost looks like a book bag,” he noted. “Like something you take to school.” He froze right then. “By the way, are you even still in school?”

“I don't think I am,” she confessed. “I never got any pieces of mail from there—no grants or anything. As far as I know, Bill ended the whole entire career for me.”

“That greasy bastard,” he proclaimed. “Talk about not practicing what he preaches.”

“Right?” she laughed. “Although if I'm honest, Alex, I almost felt restrained while in school.”

“Well, I'm gonna relay the same thing Eric told you earlier—if it feels right, you're probably right.”

“Hey, Alex!” Eric himself said right behind them. “Biscuits are here.”

“Oh boy!” Alex rubbed his hands together, and Eric spotted the handbag under Sam's arm.

“Oh, hey, you found that in my case!”

“Sure as hell,” Alex replied.

“Thank you again, too,” Sam told him and they embraced one last time before Alex hurried back to the table with Eric. The warmth stayed in her face as she walked back to Scott and Belinda.

It was only fair to herself and Joey after all.

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