#i have to lay bare one of my deepest darkest secrets
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not trying to sound rude or aggressive or anything i swear, but what exactly Is it abt like. eclipse and ruin in general that you have critiques of? i'm still trying to figure out exactly what i think of it myself - it wasn't ANYTHING like what i was expecting, and to be perfectly honest i was also one of the Book Doubters(trademark pending) so that was a huge culture shock to me as well. idk i go in-between being really impressed and really liking it, to being salty that it wasn't what I think a good chunk of ppl including myself were expecting? looks like there's gonna be more down the line as far as this SB storyline goes so i'm curious and cautiously optimistic. i'm not totally sold on the mimic yet but thats probably bc I haven't been reading the tales books. guess i should start now lmao
i should make it clear that i actually haven't finished ruin yet, which is why i've been holding back on talking about it -- i'm up to bonnie bowl! so i'll refrain from commenting on that, except to say that the gameplay is a massive improvement from sb and only has more minor design flaws vs the base game's... fundamentally broken, lmao. they listened to criticism, refined their ideas and executed them with the resources available, and they did it well! i have mostly positive things to say on that front, which is nice. :)
eclipse is harder to talk about because... like, to give you an idea of how badly it effected me: it pissed me off so bad i started dissociating for the rest of the night, gave me stress stomach-aches when I refused to stop playing and then woke me up at 6am this morning nauseous and in pain. and that's not me being a wimp, that's me experiencing somatization, which is a real thing that i struggle with a lot, so hopefully you can understand why I'm not exactly keen to talk about this? especially when literally every time i even try to someone gets mad at me for breathing. please keep this in mind as i go on to say: eclipse is ableist as fuck and completely inexcusable.
as presented within ruin's visit to the daycare, the dca is left in a state of disrepair after the earthquake and subsequent abandonment left the pizzaplex to fend for itself. they're trapped between their two personalities, with both of them insisting that they are the one who knows what they should do; sun wants to be a good boy and do arts and crafts and whatever, and moon wants to send everyone to bed, blah blah you know the drill. as you complete the segment sun and moon regularly argue with each other, with sun holding the upset moon back from attacking cassie as she reactivates the generators, turning the lights on and stunning moon long enough for her to whack him with the faz-wrench, forcing a system reboot... and he's immediately reborn as eclipse, a lovely and kind figure with no memories of anything that happened who gently escorts you out and wishes you well. he's fixed now, you see! you did it! you got rid of his evil split personality, you've made him normal again, and without the aberration that is plurality he has not a cruel bone in his body!
the implications of this are incredibly fucking obvious and deeply deeply upsetting, and why i'm gonna point-blank say i'm not entertaining further discourse over whether this is reaaaally ableist or if they reaaaaally meant for them to read as a system or... nope, it's done, we're not fucking going there. it doesn't matter what they intended -- what they intended is pretty obvious, actually; they've decided to tackle a subject they're incredibly ill-equipped to handle, and the result is a character -- descended from the visual language and cultural canon of tales like split and psycho -- whose arc concludes with the reveal that it was being a system that made them violent. and the boss fight was dumb and bad and ignored all the previously-explained mechanics of this character to do this. it is aggressively stupid fanservice that turns what was once simply "poor taste walking the line of good faith" into "actual offensive caricature with zero room for doubt", and the only thing more despair-inducing than this twist is the community of people gleefully eating it up as their yummy angst fuel for their ultimate comfort character. and i shouldn't be surprised, considering it's coming from the "how dare you ask me to examine why i find it scary when the dca experiences altered identity states" crowd, but i am, unfortunately, an idealist doomed to be let down by normies. huzzah.
as for the mimic: I'm perfectly fine with afton getting laid to rest (he deserves it!), I'm not one of those guys, but in its current iteration (and from my understanding of it) it suffers immensely from having literally zero reason to be doing any of this shit and being yet another rejection of the supernatural in favour of sci-fi bullshit. because it's from the novels and the novels are allergic to ghosts. and having your entire story drip-fed in mediocre spin-off novels filled with blatant fetish content marketed to naive twelvies is so obviously bad storytelling that i don't even think i need to get into the piss-poor prose and legitimately cruel messages to explain why i hate that one
#speaking!#discourse#asks#anon#ruin spoilers#long post#long long post#and i'm a fan of multimedia projects! i'm a vocaloid guy!#this is bad. it's a bad decision and we have the frights stannies to blame.#and also matpat can't forgive him#sorry this is so long again. promise i don't mean it#this shit just makes me see red#and i always lose the plot along the way#and like... requires so much emotional honesty#this isn't hypotheticals this is Me and my Personal Experience#i have to lay bare one of my deepest darkest secrets#for the examination of others#just to beg people to stop spitting on me#and they'll do it anyway.#because I'm just words on a screen.#I'm not saying you're a bad person for liking them#(although i have a low opinion of you for liking this twist. sorry)#but i am begging you to self-examine#and read into the issue. read some theory. it's good for you.#and read better fucking books
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I really liked the anonymous request about tmnt , I hope the guy / girl will not mind if I add something.
Yandere brother shredder and sibling reader, resigned himself to having to live with his brother and by his rules.
I will add a little 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵/𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵
The reader wraps himself in a blanket and sleeps
Tmnt 2014/16
hi!! i really enjoyed writing that one, so i totally will do this for you. also, i accidentally deleted an ask because im a dumbass so if you notice how i didnt do your ask please send it in again!!
☽ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰ ༵ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰
— blood bonds
yandere!shredder x sibling reader (platonic)
you found yourself resigned to living under the dominion of your brother, shredder. as the night fell, you retreated to your room, seeking solace and a momentary respite from the chaotic world outside.
with a heavy heart, you wrapped yourself in a cozy blanket, seeking comfort and warmth amidst the turbulent emotions that plagued your mind. the room exuded an air of unease as if it mirrored the conflicted feelings swirling within your troubled soul.
lying down, you stared up at the ceiling, your thoughts consumed by the complex web of emotions you felt for your brother. the line between love and fear had blurred, leaving you with an overwhelming sense of entrapment.
as you closed your eyes, you couldn't help but wonder how your life had taken such a drastic turn. you had always yearned for a close bond with your brother, but you never anticipated the depths of shredder's possessiveness and desire for control.
as you stared at the dimly lit room, the door swung open, and shredder entered without hesitation. the intensity in his eyes was palpable as he approached you, his mere presence sending a shiver down your spine.
"you know you're not allowed to lock your door, y/n," shredder's voice carried an edge, his possessive nature unyielding.
startled, you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, the vulnerability seeping into your bones. "i just needed some time alone," you whispered, your voice barely audible.
shredder's gaze bore into you, his expression a mix of concern and possessiveness. "alone? you know you can't be alone, not when i'm here to protect you."
your heart lurched as shredder's words sank in; this was not the first time he had addressed these concerns. you glanced down at your feet, averting your eyes from his penetrating stare. "i didn't mean to keep you waiting," you mumbled, attempting to diffuse the tension that filled the room.
shredder drew closer, his body looming over yours as he sat on the edge of your bed. "i'll never tire of protecting my younger sibling. i would lay down my life for you."
the tenderness in shredder's voice sent a wave of relief through your chest. you gave him a weak smile, unable to hide the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. "thank you," you murmured softly, unsure what else to say.
shredder leaned forward, placing his cold metal hand on your cheek. "are you alright?" he asked, his tone soft and soothing.
as shredder's cold touch grazed your cheek, a mixture of fear and an unsettling thrill coursed through your veins. the nature within him had grown stronger over time, blurring the lines between love and obsession. you had become entangled in a web of twisted affection, where shredder's desires and possessiveness held a macabre allure.
"i can't bear the thought of anything happening to you," shredder confessed, his voice laced with a strange combination of tenderness and possessive fervor. "you are my blood, y/n. no one else should have the privilege of your presence."
a shiver ran down your spine, a morbid fascination mingling with your apprehension. you were acutely aware of the dangerous game you played, trapped between the longing for your own freedom and the magnetic pull of shredder's obsession.
he moved closer, his fingers gently tracing the outline of your face. "no one will ever understand you like i do, y/n. i know your deepest fears, your darkest secrets. and i'll protect them with my life."
fear gripped your heart, a flicker of doubt and apprehension dancing in your eyes. but just as the darkness threatened to consume you, shredder's expression softened, his grip on your face gentling.
"yet, i would never cause you harm, y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and tenderness. "my violence is reserved only for those who dare to endanger what we have. i would rather suffer than see you hurt."
conflicting emotions swirled within you, torn between the fear of shredder's dark side and the twisted comfort his words brought.
in a sudden change of demeanor, shredder's fingers caressed your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. "you're safe with me, y/n," he murmured, his voice laced with a fragile tenderness. "i may be consumed by this darkness, but i will protect you from it. you're the light that keeps me anchored."
and so, in the confines of your shared sanctuary, you surrendered to the twisted love that bound you, seeking solace in the fragile balance between the violence that haunted your brother's soul and the comfort he found in your presence.
#y/n#reader insert#x reader#hurt/comfort#yandere shredder#shredder#shredder x sibling reader#platonic#ask#tmnt bayverse#tmnt 2016#tmnt#tmnt 2014#teenage mutant ninja turtles
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The Calm - Jack Hughes
“ I would not wish any companion in the world but you.” - William Shakespeare
Water. It’s seen as calming, comforting. Something that brings peace in madness. You used to think of it as that too. Letting the shower run or taking a bath when you’ve had a bad day. Listening to it or simply watching its movements. Right now you couldn’t help but think about drowning, letting it submerge you just for a second to block the noise. But it’s hard to block out something that is inside your own head. Constantly wondering if people were programmed to be their own demise because no one is as judging of you as yourself.
Life wasn’t supposed to be this way. You at least hoped it wasn’t because if this is how life is then you’d rather crawl into a dark hole and forget it ever existed.
Growing up is hard. All you hear are things that you need to achieve, things that need to be done, ways you’re supposed to act and it’s suffocating. The days seem to blend together after a while. Everyday the same as the last. Things that used to be fun suddenly feels like everything else. A chore.
Sitting on the cold tile of your shower floor you let the water cascade down. Drops falling on your eyelashes, down your face until it lands on the arms that are wrapped around your legs. You didn’t even bother to take your clothes off. The material of your pyjamas sticking to every part of skin it can reach.
It’s quiet except for the shower, every surface of the bathroom fogged up from heat. You don’t even notice the front door of the apartment open and closing. To focused on the noise inside you and the water. Phone laying discarded on the bedside table, it’s been turned off for almost a week. You just wanted to get away even if it was only for a short while. Everything just felt too much and you wanted to get out. Out of your own body.
You hear running footsteps down the hall before the bathroom door flings open. Then you hear it, the loud strangled sobs and you can’t place where it comes from. Until you do. The sobs are tumbling out of your throat and hands frantically pulling at your hair. You hadn’t even noticed that you’re no longer holding your legs but rather your head. The only sounds are your cries and the occasional word you can’t place.
It seems as if you come back to your body when Jacks eyes meet yours. They’re staring at you, wide open and full of panic. He’s blindly trying to turn off the shower while one arm wraps around you, tugging you closer to his chest. He gives up after a few seconds and just focuses on pressing you against him. One hand one the back of your head, fingers tangled in the strands of wet hair. His skin is warm, lips pressed to the top of your head as he holds you close.
You try to focus on that, focus on the feeling of Jack and his warmth, the smell of his shampoo and the soft material of his T-shirt against your arms. “Let it out. Just let it out and I’ll be here alright?” His words are muffled as he still has his head pressed against the top of yours. “I’m here.” He’s always been there, even when you barely knew each other and you were just someone that worked for the Devils organisation. Always the smiley guy that takes life in strides. Calm and collected, just like water. Then the same smiley boy became your best friend, someone you told your darkest secrets, happiest memories and deepest worries. Now he’s the love of your life but nothing has changed but the fact that he now is your best friend that you kiss, sometimes share a bed with and you love. You loved him before but this is different. It’s deeper.
It takes a couple of minutes but the sobs slow down and subside to hiccups, the tingling in your fingers have disappeared and you can breath better. “You don’t have to talk, just focus on my heartbeat and listen to what I’m about to say.” You muster up a nod in response so that Jack knows that you’ve heard him. “I love you baby, so much. I know it’s been a rough week and that you’ve gotten inside your own head. It’s okey. Just know you’ll never be alone in this, I’m not running away. Life is scary and unpredictable but we’ll take it on together. We became a team the day you first smiled at me and told me your name. It’s you and me.” He places a soft kiss on your hair and one of his hands are drawing circles on your back in a comforting manner.
Jack is soaked from head to toe but he doesn’t mind. He would move mountains if it meant that you would be okay and he knows that you will be. It will take some time but he will gladly wait if it means that you’ll still be here. You were the one to pull him down when you felt he needed to sit down and breath, always making sure that he was alright after a bad hit, cheering the loudest when he scores a goal, he needed you as much as you needed him. He was the storm and you were the calm that came after. Jack couldn’t be more thankful that you walked into his life when you did and he knew that you were his present and his future.
The ring hidden in his hockey bag just waiting but it would have to wait a little bit more. Just a little. Until you were okey.
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Could I please request a lady lesso X reader. R is hired as an English teacher cause after the merge they realised they should probably start teaching their students core subjects.
R is a complete nerd and will go on rants for hours about literature and their favourite books/poems however r has a very insecure side that nobody gets to see which has caused r to develop an eating disorder which has gone unchecked.
I'll let you have full creative freedom to figure out a romance plot for it so please feel free to absolutely destroy me emotionally with angst or make it as fluffy and soft to your hearts content :)
Hello my lovely anon. I hope this is okay for you and I apologise for the angst I broke my own heart writing this but it was a great release of a bad day <3
Words between the Pages
*Authors note~ I know I say this a lot here but I love this prompt, I feel like I really relate to R here. Also going to formally apologise here for what I'm about to do *
Trigger warnings ~ eating disorder relapsing not knowing what's happening to them angst angst character (hurt possible death ;)
Prompt~ see the ask^^^^
It had been a few years now, you had taken up the new English position at the school for good and evil. Since the merger they had decided it was time to introduce some core subjects that would benefit the students no matter what realm they entered. English was one of those. And you had a natural affinity for that. Your favourite part of the subject was anything related to literature. Novels and poems were your source of comfort on those hard days. For you, they numbed the pain like alcohol or drugs for others. You even wrote some of your own work, to express anything that was chipping away at your fragile heart.
After a year at the school, you began to realise you had feelings for the fiery dean. Not something you had planned on, and you knew you'd have no hope. She alluded a sexy confidence in her every move. You, remained shy and introverted, preferring the company of books to other people. You weren't even sure she would've noticed you. But she had. She loved how you'd get flustered in her presence and forgot your train of thought. It wasn't an uncommon reaction in her presence but with you it was different. You were enticing and addicting without even trying.
You began to write poems of your thoughts and feelings on the women, in a little black note pad that seemed to be glued to your hand. Where ever you went so did the book. It was your most prized possession and something you truly didn't want anyone else to read, personal thoughts and feelings lay bare in the book. So that's why you panicked when you couldn't find the book. All your secrets, littered through the pages hidden by words there. All it would take is a sharp mind to read between the lines and your heart would be exposed. You had to find that book.
Unfortunately for you, one of the Never students had found it and brought it to their Dean. The one mind you knew was more than capable of understanding the meanings. But one good thing came out of it, the first poem was based on your feelings for Leonora Lesso, which stunned the women and prevented her reading any further. Actually that one poem is what began your relationship.
You'd been together for two years now, most of your secrets were out in the open air, but one remained. The deepest and darkest locked away safely in your heart. Lesso knew you were extremely insecure about your body, it was obvious to everyone really, the way you dressed, the way you stood or sat and even the nervous flash in your eyes as food was mentioned. But Lesso knew more than others, it had taken so long for you to be comfortable showing her your body, and the night you did you broke down in tears. That hurt her heart truly, you seemed so small and broken and all she could do is wonder what caused such a reaction from you and how she'd kill them. No one would get away with making her girl feel like her own body wasn't anywhere near perfection. You were. True perfection, if only you could see yourself through her eyes then maybe this could've all been prevented.
It was one fatal accident that exposed you. During archery classes a arrow came hurling in your direction, seemingly from absolutely no where. You weren't able to react quick enough due to the weakened state of your body, not eating well the past few months was seriously affecting you, only now would you truly know just how much damage you'd done. The arrow hit a centre meter away from your right lung. The pain causing you to collapse on the hard surface below your feet. The fall and blood spilling from your body causing you to lose consciousness.
The pain was constant, unlike something you'd never felt before. You were in and out of consciousness due to the weakened state of your body and now the blood you were losing, you knew this wouldn't be good. The students around you panicking not knowing what to do, not wanting to touch you and make it worse. The fear of touching the Deans girlfriend battling the fear of not helping you. One of them must have ran to grab your girlfriend, as you came back around once more you felt her hand in your hair and her words being whispered in your ear. She was here.
"Dove, what on earth were you doing out here? We have a medic coming hold on for me. Don't leave me love. Open those pretty eyes for me, that's it good girl" she whispered the tears soaking her words as much as they were staining her cheeks. The drops were falling from her face onto your sunken in cheeks. "N-ora I, I'm sorry. I love you" you whispered out in broken sobs as you bled out through her hands that were tightly pressed over the wound. When had they taken the arrow out? You could feel the life slowly leaving your exhausted body.
"Dove, hold on please, you have the strength I know you do. Please! You can do this." She pleaded with you watching as your eyelids were fluttering shut "keep those pretty eyes on me love. Please. I love you don't leave me!" Her cries were breaking your heart. But in that shattering heart you knew this was not going to get any better, you were dying. Lesso screaming for medics as she felt your heart rate decrease dramatically. The beats dangerously spread apart now. You were dying. She was losing you. You both knew it too. The students seemingly turned to shield you from prying eyes, out of respect or fear you weren't quite sure but it gave you the chance for one last wish.
"Kiss me" you spluttered gasping for air, and she complied instantly. Your lips met hers as she poured every ounce of love she had in the kiss, tears spilling onto your closed eyes as more tears leaked from your eyes. Lesso pulled back for air noticing you weren't kissing her back any more and let out a gut wrenching scream. Her love, her life and future wife was gone.
Word count 1227
#fanfic#lady lesso#sfgae#leonora lesso#lady lesso x reader#lesso x reader#leonora lesso x reader#lady leonora lesso#lesso angst#angst#anon reply#anon request
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A Beautiful Voice
Summary: It's not bad to want things for yourself, right? Well, for Chrysos, it is.
Word count: 936
Warnings: intrusive thoughts, attempt at murder
A/N: interrupting your daily dose of ship fics with angst~ enjoy my un-proofread writing
Tagging: @thehollowwriter (i hope u like angst lol)
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Rielle has a hideout in the reefs a good distance away from the palace, its little alcoves and shelves half-filled. A thirteen-year-old Chrysos can easily spot the various trinkets and gadgets almost overflowing from the bottommost shelves, the treasures from all the times the prince would swim off to explore shipwrecks.
It’s not like this is the first time he’s been here. He remembers sneaking after the prince and his closest servant when Rielle first discovered it, and he’s watched over the years as the collection within grew to a ridiculous size. Even now he wonders how the entire palace doesn’t know yet, or how Rielle keeps adding to the collection despite getting closer and closer to high school.
Not that it matters. It’s probably going to keep growing, especially when Rielle inevitably goes to one of the big magic schools on land.
Chrysos frowns, hiding in the darkness of the entrance while he watches the prince dart around the cave. As always, Rielle has a strange fascination with rearranging his trinkets or just swimming around while holding them.
He’s so carefree. I guess that’s what it means to be a prince.
He watches Rielle for a moment more—
And then the idle singing starts.
Of course, Prince Rielle is notorious for many things, at least among the palace staff—a rebellious, wayward boy who’s always sneaking off on his own, leaving others to clean up his mess; and, of course, his beautiful singing voice. Some would even go as far as to call it enchanting, what with his almost supernatural talent for it.
Nothing in the world makes Chrysos more jealous than hearing it. Especially when it’s just a random melody, hummed by the prince as he lovingly sets his bits and bobs of shipwreck relics back in their places.
Chrysos has spent years trying to imitate it, training himself in secret. Still, after copying so many other voices, that singing is still the one thing he can never take. It’s like the universe is laughing at him: you can never be his equal.
He silently purses his lips, glaring from the shadows.
Rielle finally seems to have had enough of keeping his hands busy and lays down on a piece of rock that juts out from the wall about halfway up, his tail dangling languidly over the edge. His retainer watches for a moment, then a few minutes—the prince doesn’t move.
…Did he fall asleep?
Chrysos swims over, gently placing his webbed hands on the edge of Rielle’s perch. Sure enough, he’s fast asleep.
He doesn’t have a care in the world. He can just sleep in a totally open and dangerous place like this without realizing anyone could sneak in.
His eyes flit from the prince’s peaceful expression to his throat, bare and exposed to the open water.
Human-looking merfolk like the royal family don’t have usable gills. The only way for them to breathe is by taking water and oxygen through their mouths, then through their throats…
Chrysos’ hands twitch.
That’s the same throat that sings all the time. That produces his voice. It’s beautiful.
Once more, a selfish thought blooms in his brain. This time, though, it spreads throughout his mind and body in a manner akin to poison—
I want that voice.
Red-gold eyes flare in the depths of the cave. Like a ship about to release a fishing net or hook, a shadow passes over Rielle—Chrysos moving to lean over the prince from the side.
Take it, whispers the deepest, darkest part of his mind; violent and cruel from years of being suppressed. You want it, so take it.
Time seems to slow down around him. His hands move of their own accord, reaching out through the sunlit water.
You already know his voice by heart, right?
Slowly, slowly, fingers tensing into a clawed shape—
It can be all yours.
—he closes in, hands hovering over the prince’s throat, mouth opening by reflex—
Take it all from him.
—he wants something of his own so badly—
Take it. Take it.
—no one would notice, anyway, if he just stole it all and pretended—
Take it take it take it take it tAKE IT TAKE IT TAKE IT
—he’ll finally win for once—
TAKE IT TAKE IT tAKe iT TaKE IT taKe iT TakE It
TAKE IT
I WANT IT
I WANT IT
TAKE IT—
Rielle’s eyes flutter open groggily. “Huh…?”
Too late. That darkness in him recedes.
Struck by the horror of what he almost did just now, Chrysos immediately retracts his hands and shuts his mouth, hoping that the prince didn’t see anything in his sleep-addled confusion.
“Oh, Chrysos.” Rielle smiles. “Sorry, I fell asleep and couldn’t welcome you. Did you see all the stuff I added to my collection?” he asks, eyes eager and passionate.
Chrysos nods wordlessly. He clasps his hands behind his back tightly, afraid of what might happen if he doesn’t.
His prince sits up and immediately turns his back on him, swimming over to a shelf while rambling in an excited, still-melodious voice. “There’s something that reminded me of Dad, I wanted to show you…”
Whatever he’s saying is tuned out by Chrysos, who only thinks about every little lilt and inflection to that voice. Or the fact that, if Rielle had slept just a little longer, he would have never woken up and possessed that voice ever again.
Chrysos looks over at him, stomach churning with guilt, shame, and a twisted sense of dissatisfaction.
I wonder if you’d still turn your back on me so casually if you knew what I almost did.
#kai's writing#twisted wonderland#twst#twst oc#chrysos pendentif#prince rielle#tw intrusive thoughts
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Gavin Reed hears “I love you”
"Gavin thought: "Well, this is a curveball I didn't see coming. I never thought I'd find myself in a situation like this, tangled up in someone else's emotions like a damn fool.Her words, they hit me like a freight train. I mean, I knew there was something between us, but to hear her say those three little words... it changes everything.Part of me wants to believe her, wants to believe that what we have is real. But another part of me... another part of me can't shake the feeling that this is all just temporary, that eventually she'll come to her senses and realize she's better off without me.I've never been good at this whole love thing. Hell, I've never been good at relationships in general. But with her... with her, it's different. There's something about her that draws me in, that makes me want to stick around even when everything in me is screaming to run.I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm scared. Scared of messing this up, scared of hurting her, scared of getting hurt myself. But despite all that, there's a part of me that's willing to take the risk. Because with her, it feels like maybe, just maybe, there's a chance for something real."
Gavin’s reaction to “I’m not scared of your darkness, you can trust me”
"Gavin thought: "This... this is new. I'm not used to someone being so... understanding. Opening up like this... it's not easy. But she's different. She sees something in me that I've spent years trying to hide. Maybe... maybe it's time to let someone in. To let myself be vulnerable for once. But... can I really do that? Can I trust her with my darkest secrets, my deepest fears? It's a risk... but maybe it's one worth taking. She believes in me. And for the first time in a long time, I'm starting to believe in myself too."
Gavin is called “beautiful in and out”
Gavin thought: "Her words... they pierce through the armor I've built around myself. It's as if she sees straight into the depths of my soul, embracing every part of me without hesitation. The adoration in her eyes... it's intoxicating, almost overwhelming. I never imagined someone could look at me with such unconditional love and acceptance. But here she is, laying bare her affection, and I can't help but feel a surge of emotions welling up inside me.I've spent so long guarding my heart, keeping everyone at arm's length, but with her, it's different. She breaks down my walls effortlessly, leaving me exposed and vulnerable in the most beautiful way. And as she brushes my hair back, her touch ignites a warmth within me that I never knew existed.But amidst the rush of emotions, there's also fear... Fear of letting myself fully embrace this love, fear of opening up and risking hurt. Yet, despite the uncertainty, there's a part of me that longs to dive headfirst into this ocean of affection she offers. Because with her, I feel seen, understood, and truly alive."
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Scandal Ch. 4 - Loki x Reader
Summary: Nothing can stop the wrath of the God of Mischief, when he realizes he had been deceived by the people he trusted more than his beloved wife.
Warnings: Angst, Violence
Words: ~1700
"But what the world fails to realize is a villain is just a victim whose story hasn’t been told.” - Chris Colfer
I Story Masterlist I General Masterlist I
Taglist: @hi-there-x @haloangel391 @misssilencewritewell @babayaga67 @accioremuslupinn @mochimommy2002 @just-someone-who-likes-to-write @damalseer @bethanystan @loser-alert @star017 @nina1800 @queenariesofnarnia @n1fangirlsblog @vengefulsokovian @lunamoonbby @freyagallileaevans
A/N: This is a rather boring chapter, but we’re far from done!
“She already left several moons ago. It was her own wish, we did not force her.”
“Where to?”
“Midgard.”
Loki was long back on Asgardian territory, yet his mind couldn’t find peace. Well, how could he, now knowing what Laufey told him?
His world had already crumbled to dust when he left you behind - but if Laufey spoke the truth, his whole existence had been built on lies from the very start.
Not knowing where to search for answers, the prince sneaked into Odin’s forbidden chambers, walking in the shadows protecting him in the midst of night.
There it was: The Cascet of Ancient Winters - the very relic that doomed the fate of your newborn, revealing it’s shameful blood to all of Asgard.
It just urged him to try and see for himself, even if the truth would shatter his heart.
“STOP!”
Loki wouldn’t even flinch at the Allfather’s words, already tightly holding the cascet in both hands.
“Am I cursed?”
The God of Mischief wouldn’t even dare to turn around and look at the person he always ever thought to be his father - for as soon as he laid fingers on the cascet, he began turning into that same shade of blue your son did.
Panic began to rise in the young god, fearing to be killed by the people he loved so dearly shall they lay eyes upon what he truly was. His chest began to tighten, fastened breath turning into a cold mist.
“No” was Odin’s firm but unsatisfying answer, to which Loki only responded by putting down the cascet.
“What am I?”
“You’re my son.” His words came from the heart, not even faltering as Loki turned around to present his Jotun form to the Allfather.
“What more than that?!” he almost growled in between gritted teeth, appearance slowly returning to his usual self.
At that deepest, darkest day in his life yet, Loki would be too blinded by betrayal and rage to see his father’s true love towards his adoptive son.
“The cascet wasn’t the only thing you took back from Jotunheim that day, was it?” The prince took firm steps towards the man that he had known all his life, but had become a complete stranger towards him through that sole moment.
Again, only a “no.”
Loki’s mind was racing, thinking about what else may have been hidden from himself - and what kind of consequences that revelation had for everything he had done up until now.
“In the aftermath of the battle, I went to the temple -- and I found a baby” the Allfather continued, “Small, for a giant’s offspring. Abandoned, suffering, left to die...”
“...Laufeyson” Loki completed Odin’s sentence. So every word the King of the Jotunns had said was indeed a fact.
“W-W-why?!” he almost whined, voice weak and defeated. “You were knee deep in Jotun blood, why would you take me?”
“You were an innocent child-”
“No.” The God of Lies himself had become so sick of being fed those, starting to snap. “You took me for a purpose. What was it???”
For what felt like an eternity, there was only silence.
The image of that small, blue child in his arms had been painfully burned into his heart back then. But now that he knew the story behind all of this, it held a completely different meaning.
Just like he had been abandoned back on that frozen rock, he had abandoned his own child, as well as the love of his life.
Outcast, abused, left to die...and now, god knows what had happened to you...
That secret had destroyed more than just his own life. It had ruined the only honest happiness he was ever given - you, and his son.
“TELL ME!”
He just needed to know: The reason behind all the pain and suffering he had to endure - and caused to others as well.
“I thought we could unite our kingdoms one day, bring about an alliance, bring about permanent peace...through you.”
That was just too much for Loki to bear. “What?” he reacted with a barely-there voice, every word of his father shooting daggers through his heart.
“But those plans no longer matter.” No matter what Odin might want to explain, Loki wasn’t able to listen to any more, jumping into his own conclusions.
“So I am no more than another stolen relic, locked up inside of here until you might have use for me?!” he croaked, afraid of the answer.
“Do not twist my words.”
“You could told me what I was from the beginning!” he now yelled, furious at how virtuous Odin would still defend his own action. “Why didn’t you?”
“You’re my son” he repeated once again. “I only wanted to protect you from the truth.”
“Why, ‘cause I-I-I-I’m the monster people tell their children about at night?!” Loki clenched his fists, fingernails drawing blood to his palm.
“At least when my son was born, you should’ve dropped the charade!” Pure agony was dripping from every syllable, and for a mere second, his eyes were glistering bright red once again. “You’ve forsaken two innocent lives - the most important beings in my pathetic existence - and now you’ve burdened me with their suffering as well!”
That sure was a miracle - how a person so broken from the beginning wouldn’t collapse under pressure that huge.
“It all makes sense now, why you favoured Thor, all those years! Because no matter how much you claim to love me, you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!”
But who cares about the throne, honestly? Not him. Not anymore. Ever since he knew you.
It all dawned to him now: What he could have, if only he had put his trust in you like so many times before.
All his life, he only ever remembers a shadow. At first, he thought it to be the shadow of his brother, or never being enough for his own father. Maybe the other Asgardians looking down on him, making him feel like he doesn’t belong.
Yet in the end, that very shadow was inside of his own mind.
But you?
You had loved Loki with all of your heart, banishing the darkness from his mind through your bright affection.
It didn’t matter to you what anyone thought of him - or even what he thought himself to be.
Because you saw him for what he really was, and he found peace with that.
And he was certain that it wouldn’t matter to you whether he called himself Odinson or Laufeyson - as had you loved his child dearly, ever since he took his first breath.
He could never make up for that greatest of his sins, Loki knew that much.
Or...?
“Where are you going, my son?”
Reluctantly, Loki made his way past the man he now only considered a stranger. Still, when Odin tried to reach out to him, Loki immediately ducked away, startled and afraid for his true nature to hurt anyone.
More than ever before, the God of Mischief despised himself to the core of his being. He was lost, confused, shocked - and still, determined.
“Creating a Kingdom for my family.”
___
[Earth, 2 months later]
On times like these, you thought your mind was betraying you.
Especially when you catched yourself reminiscing sweet, innocent moments - far back in the past, before everything you ever held dearly got destroyed.
You still felt his touch, feather-light on your skin, as well as his scent haunting your memories. And sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder how life would have been, well...if things were different.
Frantically shaking your head, you clasped the book closed and threw it into a corner of the small one-room-flat SHIELD had provided for you.
Your magical pockets were always almost empty, except for a few necessities - and that book. It held the first flower Loki ever gifted you, and you had dried it in between those pages so it would never lose it’s beauty.
But now, remembering meant pain - because Loki Laufeyson would never come back.
For he is dead.
Fell of the Bifrost, as confirmed by Heimdall, who secretly kept in touch with you all this time. So you knew it all: Of his grief and treason, which slowly led him into madness.
And what did you do in the meantime?! Nothing at all!
You should’ve tried everything, anything to get back and help him go through that time of need, hel!
“Endure it, Y/N...you need to stay strong...for Liam.” After so many times of telling those words to yourself, you doubted them to have any effect on your broken heart at all.
Yet it would never fail to keep you going. For that wonderful child was proof of your love, and now your last memory of him.
Rocking the small Jotun to sleep, tears found their way to your eyes like so many times before, dropping to the baby’s face unnoticed.
So you tried to sing your pain away as you cooed that little wonder to sleep.
“Å eg lengtar så tidt dette landet å sjå,
Og det dreg meg så blidt, når eg langt er ifrå.
Med den våknande vår vert min saknad so sår, så mest gråta, mest gråta eg kan.
Å eg minnest, å eg minnest, å eg minnest så vel dette land.
Å eg minnest, å eg minnest, å eg minnest så vel dette land.”
*Translation:
“Oh I long so long to see this land,
And it pulls me so gently, when I'm far away.
With the waking spring host my missing so sore, so most cry, most cry eg can.
Oh I remember, oh I remember, oh I remember this country as well.
Oh I remember, oh I remember, oh I remember this country as well.”
#Loki#Loki x Reader#Loki x You#Loki / Reader#Loki / You#Loki Laufeyson#Loki Odinson#Loki Friggason#God of Mischief#Loki x Y/N#Self Insert#Writing#Fanfiction#Jotunn#Jotunheim#Asgard#Frost Giant
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andante
Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Reader
Prompt: oK so how about like?? Delia x reader and they're both in love af but they think the other has no feelings for them so they're both tripping over themselves to make the other love them and then madison comes in and she's just like 'stop being dumb' and they finally realise how much the other loves them.
I’m sorry but my ed crept back in and im not horny enough to put more thought into writing so just ignore the massive time skip at “---”. enjoy, you strange people xo
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*(*❦ω❦)*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
It's crazy. Falling. You see? We don't say "rising into love". There is in it, the idea of the fall. And it goes back to extremely fundamental things. That there is always a curious tie at some point between the fall and the creation. Taking this ghastly risk is the condition of there being life. You see, for all life is an act of faith and an act of gamble...
Between Cordelia Goode's ears were pretty brown eyes and a mind full of thoughts. Brown eyes were never really your favourite until you saw them on her. You knew yourself that somehow, over the years you got to know Cordelia; working with her, befriending her, carrying her home from the bar one night when she got far too drunk, letting her cry into your shoulder when her job became too real and she could feel her mother's words hanging over her head.
When you started falling for the woman with those beautiful brown eyes.
Somehow, her eyes were now your favourite colour.
Not brown- brown wasn't simply the word for the colour. Cordelia's eyes were the colour of aged whiskey. Sometimes they were the only two safe shots of tequila that you could see. Sometimes they were a beautiful milk chocolate dotted with exposed honeycomb. Once when she had asked you to help her decorate the garden for the Summer Equinox- she had given Zoe enough money to take the girls on a field trip for the day so she could give the girls a little party. You stood watching her in her denim shorts and her white button up. When she had stepped back and put her arm around you to admire both of your handy work you could have sworn her eyes were glowing like fresh magma.
Her hand lay on your waist a split second too long.
You had fallen in love with the Supreme.
"Yo, bitch!" Madison Montgomery's usual entrance phrase disturbed you from your imagination. You raised your brow and smirked.
"Yes, Madison?"
The blonde took her sunglasses off her face and closed them with a slight snap. "The girls want to know if you wanna come to play Pysch! with us," she said. Her lips were curled in what could almost be described as a friendly smile. You were one of the few honoured to know that under Madison's bitchy white girl facade there was actually a very sweet someone lurking under there.
You thought for a moment and put your pen down. "I won't be long- I just have to log these last few names and I'll be there," you tell her. Madison rolled her eyes and waved her hand, the pen lifted itself and wrote the last thirteen names within seconds. "You're done. Let's go, Y/N."
Madison didn't even give you a minute to say anything before she walked out of the room. "Come on, bitch. Don't make me use my powers!" she called from the hallway, finally motivating you to move.
The girls sat in a circle in Zoe's bedroom. Lights off. Candles lit.
Zoe, Queenie, Mallory, and Coco were indulged in their phones for the game. Madison turned to you and held up her phone to show you the question. "What is Zoe's deepest, darkest secret?" she read. "You gotta answer it and the person with the most votes wins. It lasts for ten rounds and it can be fucking hilarious."
Zoe's face was red with laughter at the answers. "She's not actually a witch- that's not even funny," she gasped through cackles. She then sobered slightly. "She likes to watch Danny Devito movies while masturbating and screaming 'I am a dirty man'."
Madison was the only one who chortled at that.
You joined the game and got your best answers ready in your head. "If Madison got arrested tomorrow what would it be for?"
Madison rolled her eyes and muttered something about knowing exactly what everyone was about to answer. You smirked slightly, sensing her slight apprehension.
Prostitution.
Murder. Third-degree.
Fucking up the brakes on a bus full of frat boys.
Public Nudity.
"Gosh, you're so original," she muttered, glaring right at Zoe, who just shrugged.
"It's the rules of the game, bitch. Go all in, don't get offended," she replied.
The game pinged for the next question.
"What is on Y/N's mind right now?"
Coco gave a loud "Ha!" and typed quickly, along with the other girls who were all typing as quickly as possible to get their answers in first.
A quiet knock came from the other side of the door and Cordelia poked her head around. "Sorry to interrupt, girls. Y/N, could I borrow you for a moment?" she asked, voice sweet and angelic. You bounced up as soon as she finished the sentence and obliged straight away. You were met with a sweet smile.
Madison flicked her brows. "Speak of the devil," she muttered, winking at Delia's slightly confused face. As you left, your phone pinged to announce the results just before you left the game.
Cordelia 🥵🥵🥵
Delia. I ship it <3
Getting knuckle deep finger fucked by the HWIC
French fries
You quickly shut off your phone screen before Cordelia could see.
"What's the matter, Delia?" You asked, practically skipping alongside her. There was a vibrant air of satisfaction between you.
Cordelia shook her head, her blonde hair bobbing with her movements. “I just wanted to know if you’d like to go out.”
You felt your heart stop. “Go out?”
Cordelia looked hurt by the confusion on your face.
“Yes. Would you like to join me in the garden?”
“Oh,” you realised, slightly disappointed. “I would love to.”
---
"For the love of Hades. Right, I don’t mean to sound rude or anything because I have some understanding that lesbians are fucking useless because of the fear of appearing to be predatory because the media is an asshole,” Madison continued. “But I don’t really think any of us can eat at this table anymore without choking on the fucking sexual tension between the both of you.”
Cordelia looked shocked. “It’s not that-”
“I’m a fucking mindreader! You do get that I can fucking hear the things that you say in your head about what you want to do to Y/N? I’m one gutter minded bitch and not even I’m creative enough to come up with that shit while I’m eating my fucking apple turnover!”
You blushed hard and chuckled.
Madison’s neck snapped towards you. “Oh, and don’t getting me fucking started on you! Do you know how fucking unsanitary it would be to carry out your little fantasies of fucking Cordy on the kitchen counter? Not even for us but the amount of fucking crumbs that would work into your nooks and crannies would be like trying to spring clean Myrtle's fucking hair! "
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cordelia chuckled nervously. Her face turning a shade of red. “I’m sure Y/N’s got plenty of better options.”
Madison dropped her face in her hands and rubbed her temples. “God, you bitches are going to put fucking years on my skin.”
“Oh, give me a break, Madison.”
Cordelia stumbled foward slightly, having been tripped up by some unseeable force and sending her tumbling into you. Her hands lay against your chest for that split second too long once more.
Your lips parted for a moment and your breath hitched as you both watched Madison smirk and leave the room. It felt like your heart was beating at a thousand miles an hour. You surroundings were unnoticable to you now; replaced by unidentifiable whirls of colour and light. Your hand rested flat on Cordelia’s cheek. It was different this time. Not the spark, that had been there every time you touched. It was the fact that you were both too slow to ignore the ignition that started in your chests.
You saw her eyebrows falter from their previously confident expression, like all of her preparation and barriers and walls had fallen down and she was too slow to replace them. Cordelia pursed her lips, presumably trying to figure out what she should say to you. Again, she was too slow as you inhaled sharply and thrust yourself forward to catch her lips.
Delia was quick to mould herself to the curves of your front, hands falling to the small of your back on a collision course as she backed you into the dining room table. You smoothed your hands over the contours of her jaw, her collar bones, breasts, hips like you were a master pianist playing a brilliant concerto. Her body was the only instrument you longed to play; her moans the only melody that you longed to draw from her.
As her lips glided across your own, everything came together like pieces into place. You thought back one of those late nights in the kitchen. The way Delia’s fingers had so enthusiastically laced through yours during the late night in the kitchen when you had both stayed up until the wee hours of the morning talking about life. How the witch had turned the radio on and taken your hand while you danced to some song by REO Speedwagon. Twirling you through the night. “Can’t fight this feeling” was the song. Ironic, now that you thought about it. It seemed as though fighting her feelings was what she had been doing the entire time.
She twirled you around in the light of the dim television and the refrigerator when the songs were upbeat, even going as far as dipping you and pulling you up again. Bare thighs against your own in her shorts and oversized shirt. When the songs that were played were slower, she was more gentle. Until eventually you swayed in a slow two-step, your head against her chest, and hers against yours. The air was thick with something pure. Something untouched.
You had no idea why you ever just thought this was something two best friends did. More so, you had no idea why you didn’t lean back and dip into her lips and allow your souls to dance the waltz that they were so clearly destined for.
Cordelia’s thumb and finger lay on either side of your jaw as she continued to kiss you as if her soul depended on it. Her fingers interlocked with yours against the table.
She broke away, tears had fallen down her cheeks and made your heart melt. “Oh-ho,” you chuckled, mouth agape at her sight. “Why the tears, my love?”
Cordelia laughed, wiping away her tears. “I’ve longed to do that for so long,” she replied. “So, so long.”
You chuckled at her sweetness and the display of pure love that you were so unaccustomed to.
“I fell in love with you, Y/N. I don’t think I will ever stop falling in love with you. You’ve created this storm of beautiful chaos in me,” she continued. “Do you remember that night where I was really sleepy, so you let me just stay in your room? How I had fallen asleep on top of you by accident and you wrapped your arms around me and hummed a lullaby?”
You nodded, remember the feeling of waking up with the Supreme in your arms.
“I was wide awake,” she told you. A delicate smile arose.
You chuckled into her touch.
“Oh, sweetheart,” you replied, drawing her closer, her blonde hair twirled in your fingers. “I know you were.”
#ahs#ahs imagines#cordelia goode#cordelia foxx#cordelia goode x reader#cordelia foxx x reader#wilhemina venable#wilhemina venable x reader#billie dean howard#billie dean howard x reader#lana winters#lana winters x reader#sally mckenna#sally mckenna x reader
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Call Out My Name || S.R
Word Count: 2.1K
Summary: being kidnapped was never easy and neither was being in love
Tagging: @doctorthreephds
Warnings: cursing, kidnapping, nightmares, mentions of being kidnapped.
Masterlist
Based off this post
I never thought it was going to be like this. To end up in the situation, in which a sadistic man kidnaps three federal agents, holds them hostage and makes them spill their darkest secrets. In which I also didn’t know that I was going to tell the only person I’ve ever loved that I loved him, in front of the girl he was in love with and, it is true I am completely and hopelessly in love with Spencer Reid. From the countless times we spent night on his or my couch watching Disney movies together or, when we would talk about stupid memories from our childhood, to times when he would cry to me about being scared of what his future would be like. I never in a million years thought I would be sitting on the floor hands tied together, feet tied together, tears spilling out of my eyes, and seeing Spencer and JJ sitting on the floor the same way. Broken glass and the numbing of my wrists were the only things I could feel right now. I wanted so badly to scream and shout. I wanted so bad to escape but being held at gunpoint won’t let me be able to do that. I wish I would’ve stayed with Emily, but I insisted I came with them. Is that selfish of me? It might be but it would be better than being here.
“Okay so who’s going to start. We don’t have all night agents.” his voice was harsh. “Hmm, you.” he points his gun at JJ.
“Start spilling or-” he takes a minute to look between Spencer and I. “He’s dead.” his gun pointed at Spencer. My eyes went wide, looking around for anything, anyway to get out of this.
“Doll, we don’t have all day. I’m starting to get impatient.” I look the guy in the eyes before taking a deep breath.
“My deepest secret is that I wish I never joined the BAU.”
“Hmm. Not good enough, elaborate.” he smiled a crooked smile. I look at Spencer as he furrows his brows at me wondering what she was talking about.
“I wish I never joined that BAU because I wouldn’t have fallen in love with someone I shouldn’t have.”
“Who.” he jabbed, I looked at Spencer, then at JJ, then right back at Spencer. The ringing sounded throughout the room. I hear Spencer let out a yelp, when the bullet barely missed his leg and went straight to the floor.
“Spencer. I’m in love with Spencer.” she cried my eyes rushing to look anywhere but his right now. My eyes went wide as I felt a few tears prickle. I sat there just looking between them watching Spencer just sit there and stare at JJ with so much disbelief in his face. I mean who couldn’t the girl he was in love with just told him she was in love with him.
“Good now-” before he could say anything another ringing sound was in the room. The smoke was filling the room, seeing it come from Spencer's hands, holding a gun.
“Come on let’s go.” JJ said, lifting up Spencer and walking out holding him up. I let out a long awaited sigh and stood up walking to the exit. I watch the swat team come into the building along with the medics. I take a step out into the cold winter air letting it hit my face.
“Y/N are you okay?” Emily walked up to me, putting her hand on my shoulder.
“Ye-” I watched them hugging tightly. “Yeah, sorry I’m fine. I just think I really need some sleep.” I sighed. It didn’t take long before everyone was walking back to the jet, happy that no one got injured badly. Everyone sat on the plane making small talk, trying to defuse the tension. I just sat there staring at the ground, trying to get my mind off of what just went on. JJ was in love with Spencer and I couldn’t tell. I mean she did tell me her and Will were having some troubles right now, and her and Spencer had been hanging out a lot, and the way she looks at him. I’ve seen it somewhere I just can’t pinpoint it. I’ve seen that look before. It’s the look of hope, the look of being in love with someone. It’s the look I’ve given Spencer a thousand times. I was supposed to be a profiler and I couldn’t even see this coming. I felt my eyes get watery once again so I lay against my hands and try to go to sleep.
After some much needed sleep, I feel someone trying to wake me up. I let out a loud yawn and meet the eyes of the one and only Luke Alvez.
“It’s time to get up. We’re home.” I nod, grabbing my to-go back and walk off the jet. I don’t say anything to the team but a wave goodbye and quickly walk to my car. I sit in my car for a second before I can’t stop the tears. They start coming out, letting out loud sobs, and whimpers. I felt hopeless, I had no chance of being with him. I start my car, my hands shaking as I get to the apartment complex. Starting a long and treacherous night. I get to my apartment and unlock the door before sliding against it and bringing my knees up to my chest, letting out loud sobs.
12:00 P.M
My head was spinning, my throat was dry, my heart was heavy. I sat at the table looking through all the team photos, the photos of Spencer and I. Everything seemed so off recently and I was never able to tell. Going through the photos made my heart hurt more and more. Photos of Spencer holding my hands, kissing my cheeks, and holding me. It doesn’t take long before the tears start up again, and I’m all alone in my thoughts.
1:00 A.M
I’ve tried to sleep, but every time I fall asleep I see him, and her, and that place and I wake up screaming, with no one to hold me. To comfort me when I need it. I think about calling Spencer but I decide against it. He probably has a lot going on too. So I’m trying to go to sleep again.
2:00 A.M
“Stop, please stop. I need him here.” my body was twisting in my sleep, sweat drenching off of me.
“Please, kill me. Not him, kill me instead.” tears we’re on my cheeks.
“I don’t think so, doll.” I jumped up, crying harder.
3:00 A.M
My neighbors checked on me. They said I woke them up screaming and needed to make sure I was alright. I told them I was fine, just a bad dream and I’m sorry for waking them. I didn’t want to chance that again so I sat at my couch and stared at my t.v. Nothing was playing, no sound was coming from the apartment. It was cold and irey and I didn’t know why.
4:00 A.M
My eyes are getting heavier, but every time I close my eyes I see him and the shop again. I see Spencer smiling with her. Everything just seemed to be about him, but now my eyes feel heavy and I’m fast asleep.
11:00 A.M
I woke up to someone shaking me awake. When my eyes do finally open then I look up to see a very worried Spencer looking over me.
“What- what are you doing here.” I groaned sitting up.
“We have a case, Emily tried to call you, so did JJ.” I winced when her name came out of his mouth. He didn’t say anything but it didn’t go unnoticed.
“I um-” I was looking around my room for my phone, trying to find it. “I don’t know where my phone is.” I sit on my table, trying to fully wake up.
“ ‘s okay. We all had a rough day yesterday. Emily said and I quote ‘I get it if you guys want to take some time off. That is understandable.’ but you never texted her back or me. I tried to call you. I was worried. I didn’t get to talk to you after… everything.” he looked at me.
“How are you doing.” his hand went to my arm. I sigh at the touch, I wanted so badly to be mad at him but he’s here right now.
“It was a rough night. I couldn’t really sleep without-” I cleared my throat.
“Without having this nightmare.” I looked into his eyes.
“What kind of nightmare.” he rubbed his hand up and down my arm.
“I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Y/N just talk to me.” he sighed softly.
“I had a dream... we were back in that place but it was just us and the unsub.”
“Us?”
“You and me.”
“He- he was trying to kill you, I begged him multiple times not too, but he didn’t care he shot you dead and told me it was my fault. All my fault and that I didn’t tell him a good enough secret.” I cried.
“Hey, Y/N. You’re okay. I’m here.” his hands wrap around my waist.
“I’m right here.”
“Then I- I had another dream.”
“Okay, tell me about it.”
“He made you choose.”
“He made me choose? Between?” I looked at him for a second. “JJ and I.”
“That’s crazy why would I have to choose-” he stopped mid sentence and looked at me. It was like everything from the past night had finally made sense.
“Do you love me?” his eyes snapped to mine. I looked down, his hand moving to my chin to lift it up.
“Y/N.”
“Yes.” it was barely audible. He let out a little smile.
“Why are you smiling.”
“I just- I never thought someone like you would fall for someone like me.”
“Are you crazy.” my eyes finally met his. “Spencer you are charming, caring, one of the sweetest people I have ever met. You care for everyone and anyone. You have one of the biggest hearts out there. You are so so smart, and anyone would be more than lucky to have you. Especially JJ.” my last part was quiet but I know he heard it.
“Why would I choose JJ.”
“Because she is so much smarter, prettier, can handle so much more than me. She is so much of a better person than I am.” I look down once again.
“Y/N I don’t ever want to hear that. You are one of the sweetest people I know. You always put someone else before yourself. You are so beautiful, and you are so strong. If you weren’t as strong as I know you are you wouldn’t be doing this job. Y/N please don’t ever doubt yourself because I love you. I know I don’t act like it sometimes especially yesterday but we all had a lot going on. I just needed to sort out my mind. Y/N maybe if you asked me ten years ago who I would choose you or her. I might choose her, but today if you were to ask me who I would choose it would be you. No hesitations. I’ve loved you for the past five years. Every time I needed someone who was the person by my side. When I needed a shoulder to cry on one who was there. When I was scared for what was going on, what was going to happen to me. Who was the one by my side. When I just needed some food and wanted someone to talk to, or what about when I wanted to watch Star Trek and everyone else said it was too nerdy and you sat there and told them how good the movie was. Who was there. Because it wasn’t JJ, it wasn’t Derek, it wasn’t Emily. No it was you. You are my partner in crime. How can I not love you. How can anyone not love you.” tears by now were streaming down my face, his thumbs wiping off every tear.
“I wish you would’ve told me sooner.”
“I was scared.” i laugh quietly
“Of what?”
“That you wouldn’t feel the same way.”
“Was it not obvious.” I look at him
“No.”
“Oh well in that case.” I grab his face pulling his lips to meet mine. After a few minutes we pull away.
“I love you.” I laugh.
“I love you too.” and his lips are on mine again.
#spencer reid#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#CRIMINAL MINDS FANDOM#matthew gray gubler#matthew gray gubler smut#mgg x reader#Luke Alvez#tara lewis#Jenifer Jareau#emily
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The Reward of Suffering
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Summary: A retelling of the events of season 12 episode 13.
Gif credit to the wonderful and talented @imagining-in-the-margins
A/N: After several months of contemplation, I have finally decided to post part one of my first ever fic on Tumblr! This fic will follow the event of Spencer’s prison arc, so needless to say there will be SPOILERS. This first part is super long, but I felt that it needed to be in order to set up the plot. I hope you all enjoy reading! If you would like to be tagged on future updates, let me know!
Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem! Reader
Warnings: no smut (yet), mentions of past frug use, cursing, typical CM case talk
Word count: 12.1k
“Reid is in jail.”
I felt the color immediately drain from my face and an intense feeling of dread began to wash through my body. I sat up in my chair, back ramrod straight. I briefly looked towards the faces of my teammates, Luke and JJ to my left and Penelope to my right. Their faces were all contorted, displaying varying degrees of shock and confusion. It was hard for any of us to process what we were hearing. The idea of Spencer Reid, the same Spencer who wore a mask to the office on Halloween and put on elaborate magic shows for everyone’s children, doing anything that would warrant being put behind bars was preposterous.
Surely, this is all just a big misunderstanding.
“Jail?” Penelope squeaked out. My eyes flitted to her, taking note of the way her eyebrows were drawn together in disbelief. She was thinking the same thing I’m sure we all were; that there was no way Spencer Reid had engaged in any illegal activity. Spencer was a well-educated, highly regarded FBI agent, for Christ sake. He knew the laws of the land better than any of us.
“In Mexico.”
My attention focused solely on Emily. In the few weeks since I had come to know her, I had begun to look at her not only as a sort of fearless leader, but also as a kind of fiercely loyal friend that I was incredibly lucky to have. Emily somehow managed to find the perfect balance between being accommodating and stern. She was the kind of boss you could have a drink and cut up with after a long day, but she also carried herself in a way that demanded the utmost respect in the workplace. Emily Prentiss’s bravery was unmatched, and I admired her for that.
It shook me to my core when her eyes met mine and I saw the pure, unbridled fear in them. If Emily was scared, then this must be leagues worse than we could have ever imagined.
“What the hell is he doing down there?” JJ asked, crossing her arms and shuffling from one foot to the other.
“I don’t know. I didn’t talk to him. The call came in to Cruz from their lead investigator.”
Luke was the next to chime in. “What’s he being held for?”
“Drug possession,” Rossi said, before taking on, “with intent to distribute.”
For the second time that day, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Images of Spencer sitting across from me in a dimly lit coffee shop, tripping over his words as he confided in me, spilling his deepest and darkest secrets in a voice barely above a whisper. His voice had grown stronger as he neared the end of his story and he had dug deep in his satchel, producing a small golden coin. We both had tears in our eyes as we looked at the writing engraved into the coin; unity, service recovery. Spencer Reid was ten years sober, and the pride on his face was as clear as day.
There was no way he would throw all of that away.
“What type of drugs?”
“Cocaine and heroin,” Rossi said, his voice shaky.
Rossi and Spencer had always had a good relationship. Spencer had admired his work long before he met him, having read and reread every book he had ever published. It had delighted Spencer that he and Rossi had managed to develop rapport so quickly. Rossi was the only one talented enough at the game of chess to even think of giving Spencer a run for his money, though many of us had tried. In one of many hushed conversations shared on the jet, he had once told me that he had begun to think of Rossi as somewhat of a father figure; he didn’t quite fill the role in the same way Gideon had, but Spencer was thankful just the same. One look at Rossi’s troubled expression was enough to tell me that the feelings were definitely mutual.
“Oh my God. This can’t be happening.” JJ was positively crestfallen, clutching a hand against her own chest in an attempt to ground herself. Her other hand came up to her face as she absentmindedly pushed her hair away.
“We need Lewis and Walker here, ASAP,” Emily directed her order and Penelope, who was quick to comply.
Everyone sprang into action, but I found myself unable to move, weighed down by the deeply unsettling circumstance. It felt as if I was no longer in my own body, like I was watching everything unfold from an outsider’s perspective. Maybe I am, I thought. Maybe this is all just some horrible nightmare. Any second now, my alarm will go off and this will all be over.
I waited and waited for my alarm to sound, but that never happened. Instead, Emily crouched down in front of me, grasping my arm firmly in her right hand.
“I know how devastated you must be. Trust me, I do,” she sympathized, her deep brown eyes boring into my own. “But Reid’s going to need you now more than ever. You’re his best friend and you know him better than anyone. Did he ever mention to you that he was going to Mexico?”
I shook my head numbly, my motions feeling alien and stilted.
“Never. He told me the same thing he told you; that he was going to Houston for a few days to meet with his mother’s doctor,” I whispered. I feared that if I raised my voice any higher, tears would begin to fall. Maintaining my composure was becoming harder with every passing second, and I wasn’t exactly privy to breaking down in front of my boss. “I guess I don’t know him as well as I thought.”
Emily sighed, letting go of my arm before straightening up.
“Apparently, none of us did. But I know damn well that this has to be a mistake. We’ll get him out of this.”
The apprehension in her voice told me that even she wasn’t sure we could pull this one off.
--
“This has got to be Scratch,” Tara stated, her voice wafting through the speakers of Luke’s laptop. Emily, Rossi, Luke and I were currently in the jet, on our way to the jail where Spencer was being held. All of us were huddled close together around the computer, listening on with eager ears. “He was laying low, and now we know why.”
“Crossing the border as a fugitive is a huge risk,” Luke pointed out.
“The reward is even greater. He’s been punishing the team, and now his target is Reid.” Emily’s voice was full of frustration and contempt.
“Peter Lewis dropped off the map after attacking Tara’s family,” Stephen chimed in. Not even his deep baritone voice could do anything to calm my frazzled nerves. “Maybe he’s been hiding in Mexico this whole time.”
“We also have to consider that it isn’t related to him,” I murmured. Several pairs of eyes locked on me, shocked. I had been uncharacteristically quiet since this whole ordeal began, limiting my responses to one word replies and hums of acknowledgement. On a normal day, I’d be throwing in my two cents any time I saw fit. Today, I was struggling just to keep breathing.
“Who else would it be?” Rossi asked.
“Drug cartels. Could’ve threatened Reid and used him as a mule.” Saying his name was painful, because it reminded me that we weren’t just talking about a victim with whom we had no personal ties; we were talking about our colleague and beloved friend.
“Agreed,” Rossi nodded. “This could simply be a case of bad luck. Reid was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Spencer’s mom is okay.” JJ’s announcement was like music to my ears. I let out an audible sigh of relief. “The home nurse he hired said all is stable.”
“How long did he tell the nurse he’d be gone?”
“Three days.”
“That sounds reasonable. After the Palm Springs case, Reid said he had to get back to Houston to talk to his mom’s doctor,” Emily interjected. I nodded along in agreement. He’d told me the same thing when I talked to him the night before last.
The fatigue in his voice had alerted me to the fact that things hadn’t been going so well with his mother. Her condition had been rapidly deteriorating in the recent months, prompting Spencer to make the tough decision to remove her from the assisted living facility she was at and into his own apartment. His main argument had been that no one could possibly take better care of his mother that him; that he was familiar with her condition and how best to respond when she had an episode. When I had asked him how he was handling it all, he was quick to reassure me that it was not anything he couldn’t handle.
Spencer’s loyalty ran deep; so deep that I knew he would do anything in his power to take care of Diana, but I’d never imagined that it would land him in fucking jail.
“Well, Houston is only a five-hour drive from the border,” Tara mused. “The question is, why did he go down there?”
“And why does he have narcotics?” Rossi was the first to speak on what was at the forefront of everyone’s mind.
“Yeah, exactly. He wouldn’t… He wouldn’t do that. Those drugs were planted on him,” Penelope insisted.
“Absolutely, but there’s something bigger in play. That’s why he crossed the border and kept it a secret. There’s something he didn’t want to share with any of you.”
I cringed at Stephen’s choice of wording. Spencer and I were as close as two people could be, and there was nothing I withheld from him. He knew everything about me, every dark and embarrassing thought that had ever crossed my mind; yet, he accepted me just the same. I had always assumed that it went both ways, that he was just as honest and forthcoming with me as I was with him. It hurt to know that there were things he kept from me, secrets that he felt he couldn’t trust me with.
But most of all, it absolutely gutted me to think that he was dealing with something so horrible that it landed him in jail, and he that he had to do it all alone.
“Okay, so what would make him risk everything?” Emily pondered aloud.
“His mom.” My answer was instantaneous.
A ping sounded from the other end of the video call, and we all leaning in, our interest piqued.
“Cruz just sent me the arresting report,” Penelope announced, clicking away at her computer before continuing. “It says here that Reid was involved in a high-speed chase.”
“What?” I choked out, my voice coming out several pitches higher than usual. “Spencer hardly ever drives.” I could feel my stomach begin to churn, bile threatening to force its way up my esophagus. This isn’t right, I wanted to scream. Our Spencer would never get himself involved in something that would put himself or others at risk.
“None of this sounds like him,” Penelope whispered, her thoughts mimicking my own. “It says he was wearing jeans and a baseball cap and that he was really confused. According to the arresting officer, he was really high on something.”
Unity, service, respect; ten years sober. All down the fucking drain.
I shot up from my seat, bolting down the walkway and into the bathroom. I immediately fell to my knees, barely managing to push my hair out of the way before retching into the toilet bowl. I continued like this for several minutes, only pausing momentarily when I felt large, soothing hands running up and down my back. Soft murmurings of reassurance alerted me to the fact that it was Luke who was sitting with me. I let out a strained ‘thank you’ before another wave of nausea hit me, rendering me speechless. Luke held my hair back, never once leaving my side.
When I had thrown up the entirety of my breakfast and all I could do was dry heave, I slumped back against the wall, relishing in how cool it felt against my flushed skin. A stretch of silence passed before he decided to break it.
“That was an extreme reaction,” Luke pointed out, still sitting in the floor with his legs crisscrossed. I noticed how closely he was watching me, his eyes focused on reading my expressions. He was profiling me, that much was obvious. It was an unspoken rule between us all that we would never profile one another, but any fight I had left in me had long since dissipated.
“He worked so hard to get clean, Luke. I wasn’t around when it happened, but he told me about it. He was so proud of himself,” I whispered. My throat was now raw and my voice came out more than a little bit hoarse.
Luke’s eyebrows came together, confusion clear on his face.
“Get clean? What are you talking about?”
I let out a shuddery breath. It felt wrong to divulge information on Spencer’s personal life; like I was betraying his trust. Given the circumstance, I supposed he wouldn’t mind, but it still felt treacherous and left a bad taste in my mouth. Sorry, Spence.
“Ten years ago, Reid was kidnapped by an unsub with DID. He kept him in a remote cabin for several days, alternating between beating him senseless and shooting him full of so much hydromorphone that he couldn’t remember his own name. At one point, he even,” I trailed off, hot tears spilling out of my eyes and running down my cheeks. Luke took my hand in his in an act of reassurance, his way of telling me not to rush. Luke hadn’t been with us for long, and our interactions thus far hadn’t gone much farther than conversations about work. Seeing the way he was offering himself up to me as a confidant and shoulder to cry on made me feel guilty for ever having written him off.
Thank God for Luke Alvez.
After a long pause, I managed to continue. “Spencer ended up having a seizure and he died for several minutes. The unsub’s more benevolent personality, Tobias, was able to resuscitate him. Eventually Spencer was able to take him down, but the trauma mixed with the exposure to such a highly addictive drug led to him developing a dependence on it.”
Luke swore and ran a hand through his hair.
“I never would’ve guessed it. The kid carries himself so well.”
A small, fond smile tugged at the corner of my lips.
“He’s amazing, really. He detoxed all by himself and started going to NA meetings. This past October marked ten years. We celebrated by going to one of those really fancy museums he likes and he insisted on taking the guided tour so that he could see how many errors the guide would make,” I let out a light laugh at the memory. “Every time they’d get something wrong, he’d lean down whisper the correct information so that only I could hear it. I don’t think I’d ever seen him that happy,” I reminisced, allowing myself to forget about the current situation for the tiniest of moments. I wondered if I’d ever get to experience a day like that with Spencer ever again.
“You two are close, I take it?”
I nodded. Luke had fit in with the group so seamlessly that I had forgotten that he had only been with us for a short time. He didn’t really know the dynamics of everything yet.
“He’s my best friend.”
Luke hummed, and I could feel his eyes looking at me inquisitively.
“And that boyfriend of yours, he doesn’t mind?” Okay, maybe Luke was a little bit more perceptive than he let on.
Gavin and I had begun dating at the end of my first year with the BAU. He and I had meet in the most cliché of ways; bumping into each other in the cereal aisle at the grocery store. Gavin was more than a little bit handsome, but what had reeled me in had been the way he taken one look at the box of cereal in my cart and immediately scrunched his nose up in disgust.
“Plain Cheerios? Are you some sort of masochist, or something?” he had asked, a playful lilt to his voice. Normally, if a strange man had approached me in public, I would’ve been quick to express my disinterest. If my job had taught me anything, it was that a woman being approached by a strange man was a recipe for trouble. But something about him seemed wholly unthreatening, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his forwardness, raising an eyebrow at him.
“As if your choice is any better. Lucky Charms? What are you, six?”
“Don’t even go there. Lucky Charms are magically delicious, thank you very much,” he sniffed, feigning superiority. “And if we’re touching on the subject of age, the only person I know that eats plain Cheerios is my eighty-six-year-old grandmother. You look a bit young to be worrying about heart health, and I refuse to believe that you actually enjoy the taste, so what gives?”
“First of all, I find it concerning that you are so familiar with cereal slogans,” I breezed, leaning against my shopping cart. “Second, I am curious; do you make it a habit to harass people about their cereal preferences?”
“Only if they’re cute.”
And that had been that. Several dates later he had asked me to be his girlfriend over a dinner he had attempted to make himself. I said yes and he kissed me, nearly knocking over his plate of burnt chicken parmesan in the process.
“We, uh, have an understanding. He knows that Spencer and I are just good friends.”
Gavin and I did have an understanding, but it wasn’t a very solid one. In fact, I was sure that he damn near despised Spencer’s very existence. He had done a good job at hiding it for a while, but after coming home one night from an impromptu movie night with Spencer, he had revealed to me that he had a jealous streak a mile long. I reassured him that there was absolutely nothing that he needed to worry about, but I could tell he didn’t believe a word of it. Gavin had out flat demanded that I cut all ties with Spencer, and I had laughed in his face.
“I’m not the kind of girl that likes to be told what to do. Either you learn to live with him being a part of my life, or you can find someone else to boss around, because I can tell you right now, that won’t fly with me.”
My threat had proven to be effective, and he had apologized, and that had been the end of that. He still wasn’t fond of the idea that Spencer and I were such close friends, but he hadn’t tried to proposition me with any more ridiculous ultimatums.
“That’s good to hear,” Luke hummed, squeezing my hand before rising to his feet. I could tell that he didn’t necessarily buy into what I was saying, but I was thankful that he didn’t press it any further. “What do you say we go back out there. We’ve got to be getting close by now.”
I nodded and he helped me to my feet. I bent down to the faucet, swishing some water in my mouth before spitting it out.
When Luke and I returned to our seats, I was immediately aware of the way Rossi and Emily were eyeing me; like I was a delicate thing that needed to be handled with kid gloves.
I absolutely hated it.
“Sorry about that. It won’t happen again,” I said, before turning my attention back to the video call and saying, “so, what did we miss?”
--
The police station was surprisingly small. The hallways were narrow and the light bulbs above me gave off an almost green tint, casting an eerie glow on the place. The sounds of disgruntled detainees calling out drifted through the hallways, sounding akin to the moaning of a ghost. My eyes darted around constantly as we walked, the uneasy feeling in my stomach growing with every step we took towards the heart of the precinct.
“Thank you for calling us.” Emily’s words were directed at the police officer, Chief Castenada, who was leading us down the hall. He was a short man with graying hair and a seemingly permanent frown etched into his face. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that he wasn’t happy that four federal agents were in his jail.
“A U.S. fed in our custody isn’t something we see every day,” the man said, his tone entirely unfriendly. I grimaced.
“Have you gotten any of his tox screen panels back yet?” I prodded, quickening the pace of my strides until I was walking alongside him. He looked down at me like I was a pesky gnat that he wanted to bat away.
“No.”
Color me unsurprised.
“You’ll need to expedite that. We have cause to believe that Doctor Reid was drugged.”
“He was definitely high and driving like a bat out of Hell. Not to mention he had $20,000 worth of heroin in his possession,” he sneered, ceasing to walk and staring down at me with distaste. “Both of which put my officers at risk. You’re in our jurisdiction. Don’t forget that. The rules are different here.”
I opened my mouth, ready to fire back with some smart-assery of my own, but a hand at my elbow stopped me. I turned and saw that it was Luke, who nodded his head to the left of us. I looked in the direction he was referring to, and I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces.
Just up ahead was a holding cell with several poorly constructed benches in the center of it. On the very first row of seats sat Spencer, who had seemingly retreated in to himself. He was hunched over, his arms wrapped pitifully around himself, much like you’d imagine a child might do to keep warm. Spencer’s clothes were tattered and dirty and a bandage adorned his right hand. His usually beautiful chestnut curls were flying around his head in a mess of tangles and dirt. Despite the fact that Spencer towered over most of us, I couldn’t help but notice how incredibly small he looked.
Even as awful as he looked in his current state, a direct contradiction of the way he usually presented himself, I’d never been happier to lay my eyes on someone in my life.
My feet carried me forward before my brain had time to catch up. I closed the distance between me and the cell, pausing and taking a good, long look at him before allowing myself to speak. He hadn’t noticed me standing there yet. His gaze was instead trained on something at the other end of the room, his eyes red rimmed and glassy and his face completely slack.
“Spence?” I called out, the nickname falling from my lips like a prayer. In a way I suppose it was; a prayer that he was alright, that the horrible things Penelope had told us about were nothing but a horrible lie. At first, I was worried that he hadn’t heard me or that he was too out of his mind to even register the sound of my voice. Just when I opened my mouth to speak again, he turned his head in way that I would have described as comically slow if the situation hadn’t been so serious. The spacey look in his eyes told me that my prayers wouldn’t be answered.
Spencer’s eyes locked with mine, but his face remained completely blank, devoid of all expression. I stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, until it hit me like a ton of bricks; he had no clue who I was.
I wanted to be mad. I wanted to scream at him, to ask him how could he forget me, of all people. My anger was irrational and unfair, but I couldn’t help it. While I understood that it was no fault of his own, that the drugs coursing through his veins were to blame, it didn’t make it hurt any less.
I swallowed down the emotions that threatened to spill out, pushing them down into the depths of my being. I couldn’t let my emotional attachment hinder my judgment. I needed to be as vigilant as ever, no, more vigilant. The fate of my favorite person in the whole world depended on it.
“It’s me, Y/N,” I explained, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage. “It’s good to see you, Spencer. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
He watched me for a moment before standing and making his way to where I was leaning against the bars.
“Y/N,” Spencer murmured when he reached me, as if testing my name out to see how it rolled off of his tongue. His stare was still vacant, but having him in front of me after worrying about his wellbeing for the last five hours was more than enough for now. I’d take him however I could have him. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course, we came,” I murmured, my eyes raking over every inch of his body for any signs of distress. Other than the bandage on his hand, he seemed to be in one piece.
Rossi was quick to join me, coming to a stop at my left.
“We’re going to get you out of here, kid,” he reassured, his tone more serious than I’d ever heard it.
“We need to work out some details with the locals, okay?” Emily said, waiting for a response but getting none.
“Who was your contact down here?” Luke asked.
Spencer was quicker to respond this time.
“Rosa,” he mumbled as he grabbed his shirt sleeve and pulled it up. On his inner arm, the name Rosa Medina was written in what was undoubtably his own handwriting. Spencer was notorious around the office for having the worst handwriting. I like to blame it on the fact that he was a doctor, which always elicited a laugh from him. “I think she’s a doctor.”
Luke pulled his phone out from his pocket, snapping a picture of the name.
“Where did you meet her?”
Spencer shook his head and a frown pulled down at the corner of his lips.
“I… I don’t remember.”
“If you saw her, would you remember her?”
Spencer nodded in affirmation.
“You’re missing time, aren’t you?” I asked, causing him to look at me once more. His brows furrowed together and he was nodding again, slightly surer of himself this time.
“It’s peeking out. It’s coming in flashes.”
“And you’ve been drugged?”
I didn’t know it was possible for his face to fall any more, but the look of shame that manifested itself when he registered my words was absolutely heartbreaking.
“Yeah, but I didn’t take it myself,” he insisted, a spark of life burning bright in the depths of his eyes. Somewhere in there, under the haze of narcotics, was the same Spencer that had fought tooth and nail for his sobriety all those years ago. My heart broke for him.
“Of course, you didn’t, Spence. We know that,” I said, almost reaching out to touch him before thinking better of it. “We’re thinking it might be Scratch.”
Just like before, when I had first spoken to him, absolutely no sign of recognition showed itself on his face.
“Scratch,” he muttered detachedly, much the same as before.
Luke’s phone rang then and he excused himself for a moment before stepping away. I looked to Rossi and Emily, who seemed to also be at a loss for words. The silence that filled the room was excruciating, and I once again started to feel like the walls were closing in on me. I wanted nothing more than to scream, to cry out in frustration. The whole situation was unfair in a way that I didn’t think was possible. I was a big believer in karma; put good in and get good out, or something like that. But now, standing outside of a holding cell that looked more like a dungeon than anything, I was ready to throw away that belief entirely.
Of all the people that I know, Spencer was the least deserving of something like this.
Just when I began to consider ducking outside for a breath of fresh air, Luke returned.
“Hey, the team sent this. Is this the doctor you met?” he asked, pointing to a picture of a woman he had pulled up on his phone. The woman was of Mexican descent, with short, choppy gray hair. She appeared to be middle aged, from what I could guess.
Spencer stared at the picture before nodding.
“Her alias is Rosa Medina and her real name is Nadi Ramos. Garcia tracked her to a motel just outside of town. Does that sound familiar?”
Spencer’s brows furrowed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“No.”
“Okay, we’ll need to take Castenada and his officers with us,” Emily announced, before turning and heading towards the door.
“Do you want company here?” Rossi asked.
Spencer seemed to take a moment to process before answering with an almost imperceptible nod. He turned his head and focused his gaze on me.
“Can… Can you stay?”
Rossi turned to face me too, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘are you okay with this?’ I gave him what I hoped was a convincing smile. Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure that I could handle this; the this that I am referring to being a nearly catatonic Spencer Reid. I was used to the Spencer who regaled me with interesting tidbits of information whenever there was a lull in conversation. The Spencer that stood before me now was a shell of his former self, and that terrified me.
“I’ll be fine here. Let me know if you guys find anything,” I told Rossi. He nodded once to me before enveloping me in a tight hug.
“Resta forte mia piccolo colomba,” Rossi murmured in my ear. I hadn’t a clue what the phrase meant, but the words draped over me like a warm blanket. Suddenly the weight of the current situation didn’t seem so heavy, and I felt immensely thankful that a man like David Rossi was in my life.
Rossi pressed his lips to the top of my head before releasing me. He gave one last, despairing look to Spencer before hurrying off after Luke and Emily. It could’ve been the light playing tricks on me, or maybe the exhaustion, but when Rossi turned away from us, I swear I saw tears welling in his eyes.
And then there were two.
I took glance at my watch for the first time all day, cringing when I saw the time to be 8:17PM. Quantico was an hour ahead, meaning Gavin was probably losing his shit wondering where I was. I sighed, fishing my phone out of my back pocket and turning it on.
“Spence, I’m going to make a phone call really quick,” I murmured. He offered no reply, just as I had come to expect. He was watching me, standing stock still in the same place he had been the entire time. I moved to stand in the doorway, hopefully far enough away that he couldn’t hear me anymore.
As soon as my phone booted up, a plethora of notifications came through. Seventeen missed calls and twenty-four unread text messages, to be exact. I decided to forgo reading the messages, instead pressing the return call button and tapping my foot anxiously against the floor. Gavin didn’t keep me waiting long, picking up on the very first ring.
“About time you answer your goddamn phone,” he hissed out. “Do you know how worried I’ve been? I even called your office phone and no one would answer that, either. What the fuck is going on? Where are you?”
“I’m… In Mexico.”
A long pause followed and I held my breath, waiting for the onslaught to begin.
“You left the country without even bothering to tell me?” Gavin asked, his voice raising in volume. I could picture him now; probably sitting on our sofa, fists balled together and jaw clenched. “Would you like to enlighten me as to why you’re in Mexico?”
I closed my eyes, frustration bubbling deep inside me. Today was arguably the shittiest day of my entire life, and I certainly didn’t need Gavin harping on about how I hadn’t been in touch. Honestly, informing him of my whereabouts had been the furthest thing from my mind.
“It’s Spencer,” I began, trying to think of the proper way to word it all. “He got into some… trouble. We think he’s being framed by Scratch.”
“Isn’t that the guy that just went after Tara’s family?”
“Yeah, it is. He’s been laying low for the past few months, and I guess he was just building up to all of this. It’s really bad, Gav,” I whispered the last bit, hoping that Spencer couldn’t hear me. If he did, he made no move that indicated it. “He’s high out of his mind and can’t remember anything.”
“How long will you guys be there?” Gavin asked, completely ignoring the fact that I mentioned Spencer at all. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from saying something I might regret. I understand that he doesn’t like the guy, but he could show some common decency and at least pretend.
“I’m not entirely sure. Rossi, Emily, and Luke just headed out to go check on a lead. I don’t know how long that’ll take.”
“Wait, so, where are you?”
“I’m at the jail with Spencer, why?” I inquired, running my hand through my hair and absentmindedly combing out the knots that had formed. I was sure that I looked a right mess, but I couldn’t be too bothered to care.
“Let me get this straight. They left you alone with a guy who is wasted on God knows what, not knowing how he’ll react to it?” A bitter laugh flowed through the phone speaker. “Sounds like you don’t exactly work with the smartest bunch. What if he tries to attack you or something?”
I let his words hang in the air for a moment, unable to formulate a reply that wasn’t something like you’re being an absolute fucking dick bag right now. No, I was a grown woman and I was going to communicate like one, despite the fact that his ignorant reply was making me shake with rage.
“The first thing I’m going to address is the fact that this is not some guy. We’re talking about my best friend and teammate, and his name is Spencer. Use it,” I said through gritted teeth. “The second thing is that he’s not some wild animal. He’s not going to try to come through the bars and pounce on me. What he’s going through right now is traumatic, and he doesn’t need to be left alone right now. Show some compassion.”
“Yeah, okay, I’m sorry,” Gavin muttered. It was the most unapologetic apology I’d ever heard in my life, prompting me to roll my eyes. I don’t understand how I can love someone and want to throttle them simultaneously. “I’m just worried about you, is all. How are you holding up?”
“I’m as good as can be expected,” I sighed, bringing my free hand up to rub at my eyes. “I’m just tired of watching this guy terrorize all of my friends. First, he takes Hotch from us, then he nearly kills Tara’s brother, and now this. I’m beginning to think we’ll never catch a break.”
“I know you’re tired, baby. Just try to hang on a little bit longer. As much as I question some of their decisions, your team is good at what they do. You guys will catch him. I have faith in you.”
There it is. That’s the Gavin that I fell in love with.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “It’s been a long day and I needed to hear that.” I cast a glance back at Spencer, who was now staring down at his bandaged hand, an indiscernible expression on his face. He looked so lost, standing all alone in the grimy holding cell. The lights cast shadows on his face, making his already angular face look gaunt. The Spencer I knew was the human embodiment of light; filling up every room he was in with his delightfully idiosyncratic presence. The Spencer in the cell was so shrouded in darkness that the room seemed to be swallowing him whole, taking his brilliance and crushing it into smithereens.
“Gav, I think I need to get back in there.”
“Yeah, alright. Just keep me in the loop this time, please. I don’t like not knowing where my girlfriend is.”
“I’ll make sure to check in whenever I can,” I promised, before tacking on a, “love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I pocketed my phone with hands that shook, no longer from rage but from apprehension. I liked to think that I was good at my job. I had done well at the academy; not well enough to have graduated at the top of my class, but I did manage to be in the top ten. After lucking into the job of a lifetime, I had fully committed myself to learning to be the best profiler I could possibly be. Two years of piecing together the innerworkings of criminal minds had taught me more than I ever could have imagined about the human psyche. I had talked many a deranged psychopath down from the ledge, and I had saved more than a few lives along the way. Unfortunately, not all cases can end favorably. Those are the ones that taught me the most.
For all that I learned, nothing could’ve prepared me to deal with the shell of a man that stood before me.
I was standing in front of him now, fiddling nervously with my hands. When Spencer had originally told me about his battle with addiction, I had taken it upon myself to do some research of my own. I wanted to be able to identify the signs, God forbid he ever relapse. While conducting my research, I had read somewhere that the best way to support someone during a come down is by remaining positive and creating a calm, safe environment.
I was currently the antithesis of calm, but for Spencer’s sake, I was going to do my best.
I took a step forward and offered him a small smile.
“I’ve never seen you in jeans and boots before,” I said. I was proud of myself when the words came out sounding relatively casual. “It’s a good look on you, but I have to admit I prefer the academic look. I suppose it’s the sapiosexual in me.”
He gave no response, but the tinniest tug at the corner of his mouth told me that he found my comment amusing.
I let my eyes drag over him again and I fixated on the bandage on his right hand, frowning.
“Do you remember what happened to your hand?”
Spencer raised his hand up, absentmindedly flipping it over and inspecting it.
“I don’t know,” he murmured. Spencer’s usually high pitched voice came out gravely, no doubt a byproduct of dehydration related to the drugs. My eyes skimmed across the holding cell and I frowned when I saw no water fountain in sight.
“M’ gonna go get you some water, okay?” I turned away and pivoted on my heel, taking one step before a hand wrapped around my upper arm. I spun around so fast I nearly caught whiplash.
Spencer’s eyes were wide and full of panic, conveying more emotion than he’d had since we’d arrived. His eyebrows were drawn together as well, contorting his face into a pitiful expression.
“Don’t go,” he rasped, his hand still firmly grasping my arm. “Please.”
The hopelessness in his voice was like a dagger through my heart. I nodded fervently and placed my hand over his, prompting him to loosen his grip. He did, and I took his hand in both of mine. I rubbed my thumbs over his skin, haphazardly tracing patterns in an attempt to calm him.
“Yeah, okay. I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” I soothed, bringing his hand up to my mouth and placing a chaste kiss to the skin. “I’ve got you, Spence. It’s all going to be okay.”
The look of panic slowly washed away the longer we stood there. He held onto my hands like I was a lifeline, the only thing tethering him to the ground. While I longed for nothing more than to really embrace him, to pull all of him into my arms and hold on for dear life, the bars that separated us inhibited me from doing so. So instead I just relished in the feel of his hand intertwined with my own.
It would have to be enough for now.
--
Nadi Ramos was dead.
I didn’t have to ask Emily to know that the situation had gone from bad to absolutely fucking terrible. We knew Scratch was a horrendous individual; that much had been proved by his preferred modus operandi. We also knew that he had become fixated on taking down each of us one by one. He’d tried twice with Hotch, even going as far as to target his son, resulting in the two of them joining WITSEC for their own safety. The next blow had come when he had set his sights on Tara, or, more specifically, her brother. We’d gotten lucky with that one, having located and freed her brother just in the nick of time. After the incident with Tara’s brother, we all expected the next attack to come in quick succession. When several months passed with no sign of Scratch, we all became terribly on edge. No one was saying it, but we all were waiting to see which one of us would be next, crossing our fingers and hoping it wouldn’t be us.
I knew that none of us were exempt from Scratch’s wrath, but for some reason, I’d never imagined him targeting Spencer.
And target him he fucking did.
“We know you didn’t do this,” Emily spoke for the group, knowing good and well that we were all on the same page.
“How did it happen?” Spencer’s back was to us. His shoulders were slumped and his face downturned.
“She was stabbed multiple times. It looked personal,” Luke answered, his voice low and careful. It was obvious to us all that he was being extra careful with his wording, making sure to broach the subject carefully. We all knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Spencer was innocent; but that didn’t mean that Spencer did.
Chief Castenada trudged into the holding cell, the portrait of all things cranky and unpleasant. His presence acted as a proverbial storm cloud on an already shitty day.
“We got the results of your blood work. There’s cocaine and heroin in your system.”
“What else?” Emily asked, causing Castenada to give her a confused look.
“He was in possession of cocaine and heroin when he was arrested. I found what I needed.”
I felt myself bristle and before I knew it, my mouth was open and I was spouting out pure venom.
“Thanks so much for doing the bare minimum, but we’re going to need a full tox screen panel. We’re looking for scopolamine.”
Emily’s eyes cut over to me and if I hadn’t been fighting on Spencer’s behalf, I would’ve withered under the weight of the shut the fuck up look she gave me. Instead, I continued on, silently praying I’d still have a job after today.
“It’ll take longer, but we need it,” I explained in what I hoped was a slightly more accommodating tone. Castenada gave a curt nod in reply before exiting the room, grumbling something in Spanish that had Luke and Emily shooting daggers at his retreating figure.
“Do I want to know?”
Luke shook his head, shooting a small smile in my direction.
“Let’s just say he’s not your biggest fan, and we’ll leave it at that,” he offered, before straightening out his expression and turning back to Spencer. “You were given a speed ball. The opiates block the dopamine in your brain. That’s why things go from clear to hazy. The combination of the drugs causes a dissociative state and explains the memory loss. Are you coming down now?”
“I think so,” Spencer said. His cadence wasn’t as slow as it had been earlier, which was a relief.
“Do you think you could do a cognitive interview?” Emily’s voice was hopeful, and if Spencer was one thing, it was a people pleaser. It was obvious that he was overwhelmed; I had taken note of the fact that he was displaying one of his nervous ticks. Spencer was touching the pad of his thumb on the tips of his other fingers in rapid succession. Despite his obvious discomfort, he nodded his head in agreeance.
“I’ll try.”
Rossi took the lull in conversation as an opportunity to hold up the plastic bag in his hand. I narrowed my eyes at it inquisitively. There were five vials of a murky, dark brown liquid in the bag.
“There were five of these in your bag at the motel. Do you recognize them?”
Spencer’s eyes zeroed in on the bag and its contents, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t long until a look of partial recognition flashed across his face. It was so faint that if he hadn’t been in a room of profilers, it would’ve gone unnoticed.
“What is it?” I asked from my place at his side. He’d been somewhat clingy since the incident that had transpired while everyone was at the motel, gravitating towards me as soon as we all had been granted entrance to the holding cell. I knew that he needed familiarity right now; he was in a very vulnerable state and he needed something that made him feel safe and secure.
Butterflies erupted in my stomach when I had realized what he was doing, that I was that thing that made him feel safe and secure.
Spencer opened his mouth once before closing it, as if trying to put his thoughts into words was difficult. He did this a few more times before settling on,
“Whatever’s in those vials, I was giving it to my mom,” he said, his eyes darting around the room as he spoke. “That’s the only thing I’m sure of.”
“I’ll have them run it through the lab,” Rossi said, before leaving and heading towards the direction in which Castenada had retreated.
Emily and Luke were quick to hop into a rushed conversation, leaving only Spencer and I still in the cell. I looked up at him, at the way his forehead creased as he bit his lip in quiet contemplation.
“Are you sure you’re ready for a cognitive? I know the effects may be wearing off, but you’re gonna be cloudy for a while. If you don’t want to do it now, all you have to do is say the word,” I murmured, keeping my voice low so that only he could hear it. “I can tell that you’re a bit overwhelmed, and that’s okay.”
Spencer’s response came in the form of a shrug of his shoulders.
“I want to try, because I know it’s important. I just don’t know that it will be of much help,” he replied, casting his eyes down to me.
“Yes, it is important, but don’t put too much pressure on yourself. We’ll figure this out even if you can’t remember it all right now.”
Spencer nodded once before running his tongue across his chapped bottom lip.
“I don’t remember what happened, but I know I didn’t kill her,” he whispered, barely audible. Even though his words were quiet, I could hear the desperation in them; almost as if he was begging me to believe them, begging himself to believe them.
I made the irrational decision then to throw professionalism aside and wrap both of my arms around his torso, my grip tight and assured. Spencer’s aversion to touch was common knowledge amongst us all, but for some reason that never seemed to apply to me, and I could see in his eyes that the way we were all treating him like he was fragile was wounding him more than he would ever admit. I hoped to remedy that with my embrace, and the speed in which he reciprocated was so fast that I was certain he was thankful. He wrapped his injured hand around my waist, the other finding purchase in my hair. I felt his chest move as he let out a shuddering breath.
“I know you didn’t, Spence. Everyone on the team knows you didn’t,” I reassured him, my words muffled as my face was pressed against his chest. “And we’re not going to stop until everyone else knows it, too.”
I was well aware that our embrace had garnered the attention of our teammates, but Spencer’s hold on me hadn’t faltered in the slightest, so I didn’t let mine either. Instead, I gripped the fabric of his flannel shirt tighter in my hands.
--
When Emily exited the room in which they had conducted the cognitive interview, the look on her face was grim. I visibly cringed at the sight as I felt the sliver of hope that I had left die a miserable death.
We are so beyond fucked.
“How’s he doing?” Rossi asked, obviously taking note of the distress on Emily’s face.
“He’s made some breakthroughs, but I’m not sure how helpful they’ll be,” she sighed, running a hand through her jet-black hair. When none of us spoke, Emily’s eyes flitted around, finally noticing that our expressions were a direct reflection of her own. “What is it?”
“They just charged Reid with the murder of Nadi Ramos.”
Hearing it said aloud wasn’t any easier the second time.
--
While the rest of us had taken it upon ourselves to lean against the cement walls, Luke had begun pacing down the short hallway. After about ten minutes of unbearable silence, he decided he’d had enough.
“We can’t get him out of here, can we?” he finally spoke, his voice a mix of anger and desperation.
“I don’t know how.”
“He didn’t kill her,” I reiterated, speaking more to myself than the three of them.
“If all I had to go on was the evidence, I would swear he did,” Rossi sighed. I knew he was right; Spencer’s personal belongings were all over the hotel room, which was about as incriminating as you could get. “But knowing Reid, hearing the cognitive…”
“Yes, he said there was another person in that motel room, but,” Emily pressed play on the audio recording, and her voice proceeded to flow through the speakers.
“Who has the knife? Who is stabbing Rosa?”
“I don’t know. It’s in my hand.”
Emily pressed the power button and the screen went black.
“Right now, this is just more evidence against him.”
“So, what do we do now? Do we just sit and twiddle our thumbs until the consulate agrees to the extradition?” I asked. “There’s got to be more we can do. We can’t let them take him to jail, he won’t survive in there.”
“I called in some help from IRT. Clara Seger and Matt Simmons will be arriving at any moment,” Emily said, checking her phone after hearing it ping. “In fact, that would be them. They’re here.”
I breathed a sigh of relief as we all fell into step beside Emily. Having people from other areas of expertise that are willing to help is a good thing. Maybe they’ll be able to see something that we didn’t.
--
“We come bearing good news,” I announced, leading the group as we all entered the holding cell. Spencer was quick to turn around and the corners of his lips pulled upwards as he set his sights on all of us. “Back up is here.”
“Hey Spencer,” Matt greeted, offering up a small smile before crossing his arms across his chest.
“Hey,” Spencer replied, moving to stand up from his spot on the bench. He was still a little wobbly on his feet, but he was doing much better than he was when we had arrived. “Thank you for coming.”
“Yeah, of course. Jack and me are finishing up a case in Costa Rica, so we hopped on a commercial plane to get here,” Clara explained.
“We’re trying to stop you transfer to El Diablo.”
Spencer’s eyes darted over to me and he swallowed hard before speaking.
“Do you think it’s possible?” Hearing the hope in his voice tugged at my heart strings. The way that he could manage to stay optimistic at time like this was a true testament to his character.
“Yes,” Clara began. “Lab reports on the vials came back and some of what was in there hasn’t been approved by the FDA, but there aren’t any illegal substances.”
“That’s great news,” I sighed, letting out the breath that I didn’t know I had been holding.
“Is there anything else you remember about your time here?”
“I remember what happened to the vials at home. My mom threw most of them out.”
“So, that’s why you were here. To get more,” Clara said in an attempt to clarify.
“It must be,” Spencer murmured, shuffling anxiously from one foot to the other.
“Well, you’re off the hook for that. There’s no contraband involved,” Matt announced. Okay, this is good. One less thing to worry about.
“Yeah, but we’re still looking at the planted drug and the murder charges, which could keep you here for a long time.”
“Can we do anything to delay the transfer?” I wondered aloud. Clara took into account what I said and sighed, before turning towards Spencer once again.
“You said that you met Nadi, who calls herself Rosa, in Houston. Why didn’t she just give you the vials in the U.S.?”
“I don’t know,” Spencer said, running his uninjured hand through his hair. “I don’t know, but she helped us and I trusted her. I was right to. I still believe that.”
“Well, she convinced you to cross the border multiple times. She had you risk your life,” Matt argued.
“Because she must have something to lose, too,” I mumbled, eliciting a series of fervent nods from Clara. “Family, maybe?”
“We need to know more about her,” Clara said.
And then, something glorious happened. It was like a switch had flipped inside of Spencer’s head, and all of the sudden the lights were back on. I could tell that he had been struck with an idea, and it was a wonderous sight to behold.
“What was in those vials?” Spencer asked, only solidifying my observation.
Matt produced a paper with the lab results and began reading off the results.
“There are so nootropic compounds like Ampalex, uh, but also some more natural stuff; coral calcium, jimson weed, coconut oil, a variety of vitamins. B12, D3-”
“Where are we right now?” Spencer interjected.
“Matamoros, Northern Mexico.”
“Jimson weed, otherwise known as the Devil’s Snare, originated in Mexico but its natural growing region is further north or south of the border,” Spencer said, his words flowing out rapidly. I felt my heart soar and I didn’t even try to suppress the smile that fought its way to my face.
“Boy Genius is back,” I announced, and for just a moment, the mood in the room lightened for the first time all day.
“So, if it isn’t from here, then were did she get it?” Clara asked.
“Let me get Garcia on,” Emily murmured, dialing the number and tapping her foot as it rang. On the third ring, Penelope’s bright and cheerful voice filled the room, a sunbeam shining through on a cloudy day.
“Please tell me you’re calling to tell me some good news.”
“Garcia, I have some questions for you.”
“Hey, Penelope,” Matt greeted, earning a pleasantly surprised gasp from the woman on the other end.
“Oh my God, it’s the dulcet tones of Matt Simmons,” Penelope gushed. “Are you there to save the day?”
“I’m trying. Clara’s here, too.” A relieved sigh floated through the speakers.
“Knowing we have you guys as backup is providing me some much-needed hope, and I work better this way.”
“Hey, lady,” Clara greeted. “We’re trying to catch up on a few things. Where is Nadi Ramos from?” Before Clara even managed to finish her sentence, the sound of Garcia’s acrylic nails tapping away at her keyboard could be heard.
“Mm she lives with her family just north of Matamoros.”
“That must be where she got the jimson weed,” Emily pointed out.
“What’s weird in she crosses the border, like, a lot.”
“Why?”
“Well, she works in Houston at that clinic, but she also helps at a low-income healthcare center. I can’t find a visa on her, which is double weird. And, in finishing the weird trifecta, there’s a social security number on her W2 form.”
“Social security? She’s an American citizen?” I asked. Matt confirmed my suspicions with a nod of his head.
“Yeah, she had dual citizenship. She was born in Houston, and her family had to move back to Mexico. She lives with them and she works in the U.S.”
“This changes everything. We need to talk to the consulate,” Emily stated.
Just as things were beginning to look up, Chief Castenada decided to grace us with his presence once more; and this time, he had an entourage.
“It’s time for his transfer,” Castenada announced, looking pointedly in my direction.
“We’ve had a break in the case,” Emily argued, shaking her head at him. “The victim was also American, and that calls for extradition.”
Castenada merely shrugged before walking past us all.
“I’ve got orders, sorry,” he muttered, making Gavin’s apology from earlier in the day sound heartfelt in comparison. Castenada wasted no time in beginning to place handcuffs on Spencer, locking them in place with a definitive click. Spencer and I shared a look of panic before both of us looked towards Emily in a silent plea.
One of the men roughly grabbed Spencer by the arm and led him from the room. I watched in horror as they led him away, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. I barely registered the fact that Emily was now on the phone. I just stood there, staring blankly at the entrance to the cell.
“With the victim having dual citizenship, we now have concurrent jurisdiction. It was my understanding that the official order to extradite SSA Spencer Reid would be evaluated,” Emily damn near snarled into the phone. She paused for a moment, listening to the voice on the other line, before a look of relief washed over her face. “I understand, thank you.” She promptly hung up the phone before turning to face Luke. “They’re taking it to their brass. Go get him.”
Luke took off in a rush, not needing to be told twice.
I only wished I could be there to see the look on Castenada’s face.
--
“We’re working on all channels here. Matt Cruz is on with the consulate right now. We could get an immediate extradition, but it’s just the beginning,” Emily explained, her voice stern.
Spencer regarded her with a weary expression. The drug induced haze had finally lifted, leaving him painfully aware of how dire the situation was.
“I really screwed up and I’m so sorry,” he choked out, resulting in a crack forming in Emily’s hard exterior. I couldn’t blame her; it wasn’t easy to stay mad at Spencer Reid. Spencer’s eyes were like kryptonite to most; big and brown and full of emotion. I’m sure if you searched ‘puppy dog eyes’ in the dictionary, a picture of Spencer Reid would be found in example.
“It was for the right reason.”
“I can’t remember what happened, but I know I didn’t kill anyone.” It was obvious in the way that he kept repeating the words that he was desperate for us to believe him. No amount of calm reassurance from us could quell the voice in his head that was surely telling him that we thought him guilty.
“We do, too.”
Clara was first to enter the cell, immediately followed by Matt.
“Hey, they approved the extradition,” Clara announced, smiling brightly at the three of us.
“Effective immediately,” Matt added on.
We all exchanged relieved smiles before Matt and Clara led Spencer from the cell. Emily and I were quick to follow, right on Matt’s heels when we were stopped by Castenada.
“I must point out that I feel like justice isn’t exactly being served with this move.”
I pursed my lips together. In the short time we had been in Mexico, my feelings towards the man had grown from distaste to almost a full-blown hatred. That being said, I couldn’t help but understand where he was coming from. If Spencer hadn’t been a federal agent, he wouldn’t be granted the privilege of the extradition. Nor would he be allowed to fly home with us. I hated to admit it, but Castenada made a valid point.
“I understand, but I can assure you that this has gone to the highest ranks and there will be a full investigation,” Emily reassured him.
“Thank you for working with us,” I offered in an attempt to smooth over the rift I had created earlier. Now that my judgement wasn’t so clouded by my need to defend Spencer, I could see the error of my ways. I hadn’t been the most professional.
Castenada nodded once in my direction before turning his attention back to Emily.
“For our reports, I would like to have the recording of that cognitive interview.”
I felt my blood run cold. That interview would just add to the list of things that could be used against Spencer in court. He had openly admitted to holding the murder weapon in his own hands, an admission that would surely earn him twenty to life.
We cannot give him that recording.
Emily seemed to be on the same page as I was.
“I didn’t record it.”
Castenada’s face contorted into an ugly frown.
“But that was our agreement,” he squawked angrily.
“I determined he was still under the influence. Anything he said wouldn’t have clarified matters.”
Castenada’s gaze never faltered, eyeing Emily in an attempt to discern if she was giving him the run around. Luckily, Castenada was unable to find a hint of dishonesty on Emily’s face, and he nodded in resignation.
Years of profiling will teach you how to control your micro expressions.
“You’re committed agents. And I’ve worked with the IRT before. I trust you know what you’re doing.”
“We do. I promise,” I stated, my voice giving off more confidence than I felt. Yes, I thought to myself, there’s no doubt that we’re good at what we do.
But so is Scratch.
--
All was quiet on the jet, the steady thrum of the engine being the only sound that could be heard. Rossi had been the only one able to fall asleep, something that I would be sure to tease him about later. Next to Rossi sat Emily, who had busied herself with flipping through Spencer’s arresting report. Clara and Matt sat across from them, engulfed in their own hushed conversation.
Spencer had opted to sit on the couch, but he didn’t allow himself to sprawl out like he normally would have done. He was visibly exhausted, wiping at his eyes frequently in an attempt to keep the fatigue at bay. It was almost like he was punishing himself; like he didn’t feel he deserved the solace that sleep would bring.
“You should go talk to him. See if you can’t get him to lay down,” Luke whispered encouragingly from his seat beside mine.
“I have no idea what to say to him,” I confessed. I tore my gaze away from Spencer and turned my attention to Luke. “There’s nothing I can say that will make this any better.”
“You’re not wrong about that, but maybe just letting him know you’re here for him will help. Just go and sit with him, I’m sure he could use a friend right now.”
Luke was right. I let out a dramatic sigh before shooting Luke a pointed look.
“Since when did you get so insightful?”
A grin stretched its way across his face.
“Always have been, sweetness. It’s part of my charm. I’m more than just a pretty face, you know.”
“And on that note, I’ll be going,” I announced, standing up from my seat and walking the short distance to the couch. Luke’s chuckles sounded off behind me and I couldn’t help but smile; note to self, make more of an effort to get to know Luke Alvez.
I approached slowly, hoping not to startle him as he seemed to be lost in his own world. He didn’t notice me until I came to a stop in front of the couch. Spencer’s head shot up suddenly, the worry on his face melting away to form a small smile.
“Hi,” I greeted, returning his smile tenfold. “You looked like you could use some company. Do you mind if I sit?”
Spencer gave me a soft smile and scooted over, patting at the space next to him. I lowered myself onto the couch, angling my body so it was facing him.
“You’re tired,” I observed, leaning back into the soft cushions. Spencer shrugged in reply, opening his mouth to argue, only for a yawn to slip out. I let out a light laugh. “Don’t even try to argue. There’s no telling how long you’ve been up. Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”
Spencer’s eyes reluctantly met mine and I felt almost paralyzed when I saw the sheer vulnerability in them.
“Researchers from the University of Cardiff conducted a two-part study looking at whether people’s daily frustration or fulfilment of their psychological needs, such as feeling autonomous or competent, affects their dreams. The results from the first study showed that people who were frustrated with their daily situation tended to have recurring dreams in which they were falling, failing or being attacked,” he rasped out, his words jumbling together as they fell from his mouth in rapid succession. “The lead author on the study concluded that negative dream emotions may directly result from distressing dream events, and might represent the psyche’s attempt to process and make sense of particularly psychologically challenging waking experiences.”
“And you’re worried your dreams will reflect what happened today.”
Spencer bit the inside of his cheek before nodding in affirmation.
“I can’t promise you that you won’t dream about those things,” I began, my voice coming out soft. “But I can tell you that sleep deprivation can cause lots of very unfortunate symptoms like impaired memory, reduced physical strength, and inability to concentrate. Do you know how I know those things?”
A light flush dusted over the tops of his cheeks.
“Probably because I’ve made it a habit to bore you with my information dumps.”
I shook my head adamantly, reaching a hand up and ruffling up his hair. He batted my hand away, ducking his head to try and hide the smile tugging at his lips.
“Never a bore, Spence. But yes, I know those things because of you and that remarkable brain of yours. And we’re going to need that remarkable brain in tip top shape if we want to get you out of this mess, understood?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he relented.
I patted a hand on my lap, an invitation for him to use me as a pillow. He seemed hesitant, eyes flitting from my face before going back down to my lap.
“Don’t act shy around me, Pretty Boy. I know better than anyone that you’re a secret cuddle bug,” I teased, earning a snort from the man next to me.
“Am not,” he harrumphed, before deciding to take me up on my offer. He laid his head down on my lap before stretching his legs out across the expanse of the couch. My heart lurched pitifully when he nuzzled his head into my leg before letting out a loud sigh.
“Thank you,” Spencer whispered, voice thick with emotion. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, casting tiny shadows on his face. I smiled at the sight and began carding my hands through his hair.
“No need to thank me,” I murmured, raking my nails against his scalp and eliciting a pleased hum from him. “Don’t you worry about a thing, okay? We’re going to get you out of this. I know we will. And don’t worry about your mom, either; I’m going to check on your mom every day, I promise.”
Spencer’s breathing stuttered at the mention of Diana, and I worried I had crossed a line. He stayed silent for a moment, before moving his hand up and squeezing my knee.
“You’re entirely too good to me.”
“Yeah, well, you’d do the same for me. That’s what friends are for.”
No more words were exchanged, and within five minutes Spencer’s breathing evened out and he was asleep.
--
Several hours later, we were all filing out of the elevator and into the bullpen. I shivered slightly as the cool air hit my bare arms, but I tried not to show my discomfort. I’d shrugged off my sweater and offered it to Spencer the moment we stepped off the jet, draping it across his cuffed hands in an attempt to conceal them. Spencer had thanked me with a pitiful smile and I returned the sentiment, blinking several times to try and stifle the tears pooling in my eyes.
JJ was the first to greet him, with Stephen, Tara and Penelope following closely behind. I watched on for a moment before my attention was pulled elsewhere. Stephen’s phone had rung, prompting him to slip away from the group and retreat further down the hall. I furrowed my brow at this, taking advantage of my colleagues’ distraction as I wandered towards Stephen. I strained to hear his whispered words, but just as soon as I neared, he ended the call.
“What was that about?” I asked quietly. The look on his face told me that the news couldn’t be good, and I didn’t want to ruin the reunion going on just down the hall. They all deserved a few moments of relief.
Stephen let out a long sigh and ran his hand through his hair before speaking.
“I, uh, just got a call. Reid isn’t eligible for the bureau’s legal assistance.”
Stephen’s words sent a jolt of white-hot dread through me. “How is that even possible?”
“Spencer went without being briefed, and he wasn’t in Mexico on government business. They refuse to represent him.”
I let my wary eyes drift down the hall, towards the group of wonderful misfits that I had grown to think of as family;
Penelope, whose optimism never wavered, even in the face of the absolute worst that the world had to offer.
JJ, a devoted mother with a heart of gold and a fierceness that inspired me every single day.
Tara, one of the most intelligent and caring women I had ever had the privilege to know.
Rossi, a father figure to all with enough wisdom to create a legacy that would inspire generations of profilers to be.
Emily, a fearless leader whom I trusted with my life and would follow into battle without question.
Luke, a newcomer who took special care to comfort me when I was at my worst.
Spencer, a man too remarkable to even try to describe with words. A man that anyone of us would defend until our very last breath.
That undeniable truth gave birth to the tiny sliver of hope growing inside of me. Spencer Reid was innocent, and we are all hellbent on proving it.
I nodded once in affirmation, more to myself than to Stephen, before allowing myself to meet his gaze.
“We’re on our own.”
And if anyone could pull this off, it was this team. My team.
There is a point when facing the unknown stops being a longed-for adventure and becomes a terrifying reality.
-Storm Constantine
#spencer reid smut#spencer x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid x you#criminal minds#matthew gray gubler fanfic#mgg#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid self insert#criminal minds self insert#prison spencer#prison!reid
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Hello beautiful people of Tumblr! Wyn here with day one of White Rose Week 2021 to break my silence! I hope everyone enjoys, and I'll see you tomorrow with day 2!
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Love Bites
Summer Rose vanished, and Ruby suffered.
All her life, all Ruby has ever wanted was to belong. She tries so hard to fit in, first with her older sister's friends. But, they all told her to go away. That she's a baby compared to them. "Why would I want to bring you too?" Yang would always declare. "You're still just a baby!" Her friends would laugh with her, call her names as well, and leave her behind just like Yang did.
Her sister's words hurt her, and destroyed any chance of them having a sisterly relationship.
She tried so hard to be a good daughter. But, her father spent more of his time worrying about his troops, his responsibilities, his duties to Goddess and Country. "One day you will understand, Ruby." He would always tell her. "One day, you'll have to make the same sacrifices for a family of your own." His words never changed, nor his actions. He would be gone constantly, leaving her and Yang alone for weeks or even months at a time, meaning she had to grow up far too quickly.
Her father's priorities hurt her and robbed her of her childhood.
She tried so hard to be a good student. But, subjects like english, history, anything really to do with reading simply didn't make sense to her. She could stare at the page of a book for hours and all she could see is a jumble of letters. Everyone called her simple, stupid, a waste of time. "Oh look, it's little Stupid Ruby!" Cardin Winchester would declare every day at school. He and his cronies would torment and belittle her, and once even cut her long hair off. She suffered in silence, her arms the only evidence of her inner pain. Arms she always kept covered even in the worst heat of summer.
Her peers hurt her with their words, with their actions, and made her withdraw further into herself.
She finally stopped being a good sibling. She shut her sister out of her life first, Yang never noticing that Ruby stayed closeted in her room constantly. She was the bright shiny sun of everyone else's lives, with her outgoing and boisterous personality. Everyone's but Ruby's. If Yang is the bright sun, then Ruby has become the darkest moon of the family, and she likes it that way now.
She finally stopped being a good daughter. She did her chores without complaint and without needing to be told, save late at night when her father would already be in bed or Yang too preoccupied with her latest significant other. He never noticed that his younger daughter dresses in nothing but blacks and reds, or that she never let her hair grow back longer than above her shoulders. The career he chose to continue to support his family had a long ago casualty, and Ruby keeps it that way.
She finally stopped being a good student. She kept going to school, despite all but failing in everything. She went through the motions, ignored everyone when they called her things like Queen of Darkness or Salem's heir, or even worse. She ignored the shoves, the bullying, everything done to her until they all finally grew bored of it and her. She was finally left alone to sit in the deepest corner of all her classes, doodling to pass the time until she could return to her room and her solitude.
But then Ms. Peach, the choir director, invited the secretly shy and lonely girl to her class one day and encouraged her to sing. From the moment she heard the piano play, her soul became exultant, and her voice rose in response. Even Principle Ozpin, who was walking by at that moment stopped and listened as the shy, moody, rather dark girl who kept to herself was in possession of a voice that could bring even him to tears. Peach was enthusiastic in teaching her how to read music, how to project her voice, how to truly appreciate her hidden talent for music.
But, Taiyang finally noticed when he was forced to retire. He noticed the true state of his family, and decided to take firm control. He destroyed her growing dreams when he declared she and Yang both were to join Beacon Military Academy to finish school. That they needed discipline and not freedom to thrive like he once did. That neither of his children will follow in his long disappeared wife's footsteps, and lack the discipline needed to succeed where she obviously failed.
He was furious when Glynda Goodwitch admitted her as Ruby, allowing her to keep that one small bit of freedom.
She suffered like never before at Beacon. She was admitted two years early as a favor to her father, and she hated it. Her hate translated itself into her becoming a powerful fighter with her chosen weapon, a red and black fifty caliber sniper scythe she named Crescent Rose, and soon where she was once either dereided or ignored, she was now feared. Even her own sister fears her now, and that makes her happy.
She is the Darkest Reaper of Vale, and she hates them all.
But one person did not fear her. One person saw past her pain, her grief for her denied life. Weiss was from Atlas, a mysterious, inclusive land far to the north, where they say even the Grimm do not tread. A land of dark magic, of creatures even fouler than the enemy of the world. A land even the demiurge Salem has forsaken. Weiss did not fear the Darkest Reaper, and took an odd delight in hearing the whispers about her, about them both.
She has her own secrets, secrets Ruby will know all too soon.
She cannot help but to feel an attraction to the white haired girl from the north. Her porcelain skin is always smooth and cool to the touch. Her brilliant blue eyes are like the clear blue skies she would once sit under with her long departed mother while they laugh and imagine whimsical beasts and imaginary places. Her long white hair moves like the finest of silk curtains as she walks from class to class, her nose turned up to their peers as if they are all beneath her. All except for her. She treats the Reaper with respect, with courtesy, and after a time, holds out a hand of friendship to her, one she takes willingly.
She finally has a friend, a real friend. Someone who cares for her, Ruby Rose.
But certain things stand out to her as well. The way she barely eats anything but meat, and even then almost bloody and nearly raw. The way she approaches every mock battle with the cunning of a predator on the hunt. The skill with which she wields her rapier, a dust revolver styled weapon she has named Myrtenaster, with near lethal intent even during the simplest of spars against anyone willing to challenge her. She is the only one who can stand against her, her own formidable rage and loathing a match for the heiress's feral cunning and ferocity.
But one late night, during a restless night they both secretly shared, a truth is told, and their lives are changed forever.
She herself couldn't sleep. It was the one thing she could always count on being able to do. It was her refuge from the reality of her world, and she retreated to it every chance she could. But tonight, she tosses and turns, she begs and pleads with the treacherous brain that won't stop thinking, and finally surrenders and gets dressed. Taking up her scythe, she easily steals away into the Emerald Forest, the guards ignoring her out of fear. She runs deeply into the darkened woods, no fear for the Grimm that hide in the shadows as well as whatever other creatures may dwell within.
She never realizes that a pair of blue eyes follow her, belonging to the single person who doesn't fear her. The only person who is beginning to secretly adore her.
She finally stops near the old temple to the Brother of Light, which has been long abandoned when he left Remnant to it's fate. Sitting down, she begins to cry deep tears of pain and sorrow. She hates her life now, she hates being taught to kill, to end the lives of others. She despises the fact that she is good at it. She never wanted this. All she ever wanted was to be a good sibling, a good daughter, a good student. All she ever wanted was to belong, to love a certain white haired girl and be loved in return.
She almost screams in terror when the great white furred head lays in her lap, with sad blue eyes that reflect her pain.
She stares at the great beast, marveling at the fact that a wolf has appeared here. One of the few things she has managed to remember from her poor studies is that the Grimm killed all the wolves when they first came to Vale. None were spared, and somehow she knows this one knows that. To her surprise, she begins to pet the wild creature, smiling softly at the way it's tail begins to wag as it whines. And then she begins to talk to it. She talks about her mother, her father, her sister, her life. She is soon sobbing in grief at the sadness of her life thus far, and is surprised to see tears in the white wolf's eyes as well.
But she forgot that sorrow is a feast for the Grimm, and they soon gather around her and the white wolf both.
She makes her decision. She throws her scythe to the ground and gives in completely to her sorrow. She is so tired. She is so tired of being turned into someone she wants nothing to do with. She's so tired of hoping people will finally love her instead of hate her or fear her. She is so tired of dreaming of a pair of blue eyes that will never look lovingly at her. She is ready, and the Grimm will feed well on her. But she doesn't expect the snarling, the sudden sounds of battle. Opening her silver eyes, they widen as she sees the once four legged wolf has vanished, a naked Weiss snarling in her rage as she wields Myrtenaster against the foul creatures.
"YOU KILLED THEM ALL!"
She stares at the rage filled young woman. She's never seen her fight with this much savagery, this much hate. Even in battles in which she is outclassed or outnumbered, she is still controlled. She uses superior tactics, the icy calm she is infamous for, and her obviously hidden rage to still rip victory from the jaws of defeat.
"ALL THE PACKS OF VALE ARE DEAD!"
She picks Crescent Rose back up. The white haired girl is beginning to frighten her, and she does not frighten easily. She watches in growing terror as an Alpha Beowolf appears, howling in challenge, Weiss's answering howl frightening her to her very soul. She watches as the white haired woman tosses her sword to the side and begins to growl as she grows. She listens to the popping of bone and sinew as fur begins to spring from her bare skin. She stares on in horror as the one friend she has ever made turns into…
A werewolf. A creature from Remnant's darkest stories has come to life before her, and is defending her while taking vengeance for the long dead wolves of Vale.
"You will not hurt my Ruby…"
She screams as Weiss leaps towards the Alpha, her fangs bared and her still hand shaped front paws slashing at the creature of darkness. The Alpha charges her as well, it's own jaws wide open to bite and tear at the white werewolf, it's own claws slashing at her unarmored and exposed flanks. She hears her friend's scream of pain as the Alpha strikes harder than she can, and causes more damage than she can possibly manage in return, and she finally leaps into action. Weiss is the first person to be her friend. She is the first person to treat her like a person. She is the first person she's allowed herself to start having feelings for in her short life.
She may be ready to die, but she will not let Weiss die for her own selfish desires.
Crescent Rose strikes the Beowolf quickly, breaking the Alpha and the werewolf apart as the Grimm leaps back to avoid the deathblow Ruby aims at it. But Ruby is enraged now. She sees the bright red blood upon the moonlit ground, and it adds to her fury. She hears the whimpers of the injured wolf, and it increases her rage. She roars in her righteous anger as her scythe becomes a blur, the Alpha soon howling in pain before Ruby's final blow comes in her scythe hooking around its neck before she pulls the trigger, decapitating the beast with one final roar of triumph. It takes her a moment to calm herself, a long moment in which she has forgotten her anger, her sorrow, her self loathing. And then she finally remembers Weiss. In a panic, she begins to look for her friend, desperate to ensure that she is safe.
It doesn't take her long to find her, and her scream of anguish can be heard back at Beacon.
Weiss has managed to get back to a small cave, her clothes as well as some supplies stacked neatly in the back. She herself is panting heavily as blood flows steadily from her injuries. But her tail thumps on the ground weakly as Ruby slides to the ground in front of her. She doesn't hesitate, but begins to treat the slashing wounds, bandaging them carefully while doing her best to ignore the pain filled shrieks from the badly injured werewolf.
"Oh Goddesses, I'm so sorry, Weiss. I'm so so sorry!" Is her litany as she keeps at her work, until the blood finally stops. Until the white wolf goes silent save for her panting.
The sun rises, then sets once more, but Ruby has yet to leave the white werewolf's side. Weiss has slept the entire time, but she has stayed awake. She is too scared to close her eyes, terrified that if she relaxes her vigil for even a moment, she will lose the most important person in her life. But her body's needs will not be denied, and she finally falls asleep, the large canine head still in her lap and her grip firm on Crescent Rose's handle.
She dreams of white fur and sky blue eyes. Of days spent watching the skies and laughing. Of feeling loved once more, and being confident in being able to return that love.
She moans as she feels the urgency of the lips on her own. Of the feeling of cold skin upon her own now bare skin. Of cold hands exploring her body and her own hands wandering across smooth, uninjured skin in return. She moans in longing as lips caress her skin with feather light kisses. As her own fingers discover places on the other willing body that bring moans of pleasure from a voice she has come to adore since beginning at Beacon.
But she moans loudly as teeth sink into her collarbone, a tender, almost loving bite from the woman she knows she loves deeply.
"Ruby…" Her voice is husky as she releases the love bite, full of longing and need. She can feel a certain heat against her leg that is foreign to the cold that the rest of her skin belies. She herself feels so hot, so needed. She has never felt like this before, and she wants more. She needs more. But her eyes widen as she catches her lover's hands as they grab at the hem of her panties, her face full of fear once more.
"Weiss… I…"
"I know, Ruby." Weiss smiles softly at the Reaper. "I know what you are. But I have wanted you for months now. Since I saw your strength for myself. Since I got to know the real you, and not your mask of anger and self loathing that you hide behind."
"Weiss…"
"Ruby, I am the last of my pack." The werewolf informs her sadly. "I came to Vale seeking the packs that once roamed here, hoping to join them and be safe." She sighs sadly, her blue eyes dimming. "I am beginning to fear I am the last of my kind."
She sits up and pulls the werewolf into her arms. She knows all the signs of sorrow, being well acquainted with them herself. "I… Weiss I'm damaged. Why would you want someone like me?"
Their eyes meet, quicksilver staring into sky blue. "Because I have been alone since I was a child. But you make me feel like I am home now." She cuddles deeper into the Reaper's arms. "I feel safe with you, and I know I can trust you with my secret."
Ruby takes a moment to think, to gather her thoughts while considering everything she has been told. But her thoughts always return to a pair of sky blue eyes she loves to look into. Coming to a decision, she lifts the werewolf's face by her chin with a single finger and kisses her deeply, while her free hand pulls her even closer.
This may be a mistake, but it is going to be the best one she ever makes.
The cavern is soon filled with their moans, their cries of pleasure, their whispered words of love, their need for one another. Their lovemaking is tender at times, frenzied at others, and intense throughout. Morning found them once again asleep, this time in each other's arms and in a tangle of limbs, a part of Ruby still inside the white werewolf, who smiles as she sleeps deeply. They wake upon that glorious morning and decide that Beacon has nothing left for them, and decide to seek their fortunes elsewhere. Someplace where no one knows either of them.
Someplace where their future children can grow up safely…
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Weiss declares her love for her, and for the werewolf, she will throw everything away for a future with her...
Ruby opens one silver eye, smiling at the blue eyed pup staring back at her eagerly as she whines. Sitting up, she yawns as she stretches, her mouth opening wide as her fangs gleam in the light of the morning sunlight. Bowing her head down low, she nuzzles the white haired silver eyed pup tenderly before the two of them leave the comforts of the small, modest home she and Weiss have built together. It has been a decade since she and the white werewolf left Vale far behind and traveled to Mistral. To their surprise, as they explored the deepest parts of the wilds of Anima, they encountered a village full of others like Weiss, led by a lioness named Pyrrha Nikos and her own mate, a human woman named Nora.
She had heard of Pyrrha, who had been reported killed in a massive battle at Haven Academy. A report fabricated by the woman herself so she too could escape with her own mate and their hard won freedom...
They had met so many others, who had fled the destruction of their own packs and prides, their own groups and hutches. They met Velvet, who was a kind and gentle soul of a wererabbit and her mate Coco, who was the heiress of Mistral's largest corporation and their secret benefactor. They met Blake, a panther who loves to read, and her chameleon mate Ilia. There had even been a tearful reunion between Weiss and her older sister Winter, who had also barely survived the destruction of their pack and had also fled. They even met a pair of birds who squabbled constantly, an overly violent Raven and her dusty, drunken Qrow of a brother.
But the biggest shock comes when they reach one small cabin in particular, where a lonely woman lives. A lonely woman long thought vanished by the young woman, but who in truth had been forced to leave by the man she thought loved her.
Ruby sobs as she rushes into her mother's arms, Summer Rose holding her tightly as she too weeps in joy. A mother and her daughter are reunited to their eternal joy, and Weiss cheers in her happiness for them both.
They talked late into the night, the white werewolf asleep in her mate's lap as mother and daughter catch themselves up on years of their lives. Summer is livid at how Ruby has been treated, how she has suffered for so long because of her absence. Ruby had been furious to discover that her mother had been driven off due to a twist of fate, as she had been bitten by another werewolf during a mission. She had been bitten to save her life, and had been punished for it.
Ruby made her own decision that same night, and smiled as her beloved sank her fangs into her skin in a love bite that would change her forever. She turned willingly, determined that Weiss, her sister, and her own mother will not be the last of their kind.
She quietly cheered her mother onward as she found the courage to move on with Raven, who adored her and treated her with kindness, respect, and love. She had happily held her baby sister when she was born two years later, Weiss still at her side and a smile on her own face to match the look of peace in her eyes. She and Weiss had themselves celebrated the birth of their twin pups a year later, naming them after both their mothers.
But the biggest surprise is still to come.
She still checks her scroll from time to time, she and Pyrrha both agreeing that they cannot remain ignorant of the outside world. There is still danger out there, both from the humans and faunus as well as the Grimm, and all while quietly offering safe haven to others like them, as well as their families. They as well as Raven and Nora are the defenders and leaders of their small community, and they take their responsibilities seriously. But Ruby had been surprised to find an email waiting for her one day, when she had travelled far to the south before turning it on, a feat she can accomplish with ease thanks to her semblance and now enhanced senses and superior stamina.
She never expected to hear from her sister ever again.
Downloading it, she returns to the village and her mate, asking her to read it for her. Weiss of course does so, having been the one who finally helped the Reaper figure out that she was not stupid like everyone in her life claimed, but struggled with severe dyslexia. She and Summer have been helping her learn to finally read and write, but it is a slow process, one she still finds herself getting frustrated with as well as embarrassed. Opening it, she soon stops to summon Summer, the two of them sobbing at the state of the brawler's life since they fled. Tai has placed his blame on his eldest for her disappearance, and she has suffered greatly for it. Her life is a disaster now, and she has already been in a failed marriage. She begs Ruby to at least reassure her that she is alive, that she is at least doing well, that her suffering is worth it if it means that the sister she long ignored is finally happy.
That they have traded places, and that her sister is finally whole in spirit and at peace.
Pyrrha does not hesitate to give her permission to bring Yang back. To allow them to reunite, so that she can see for herself that her wishes are indeed true, and that Ruby is happy and thriving. She goes and meets Yang at Mistral's airship port, where the two of them meet in a long overdue hug between sisters, and not the strangers they have been all their lives. They return together, where Yang is also overjoyed to be reunited with her own mother, Raven. Ruby herself nods in satisfaction that her sister is on her way to a peace of mind she now enjoys, and is grateful that she too settles into life in their village, calling it home as well.
Only she and Weiss bear witness to Winter sinking her fangs into Yang's flesh, the two of them falling in love in this place they too call home.
Summer and Luna play happily with the other children, who include their cousins and their aunt. They are gentle with their younger brother, and fiercely protective of their newborn sister. Ruby and Weiss have slowly become the leaders of their still growing safe haven, and lead both by excellent example as well as with hard learned wisdom and knowledge. They share a deep, beautiful commitment to one another that many envy, one forged in mutual understanding and undying love.
Weiss Schnee came into Ruby's life, and she has prospered...
#White Rose Week 2021#white rose#ruby rose#weiss schnee#Day One#werewolf Weiss#Trans Ruby#here we go!
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Geraskier prompt- geralt is in deep denial, and goes to a brothel and finds a mage who offers to give him a vivid vision his mind conjures up with his deepest desires for a few more coin. Geralt, intrigued, accepts and is blessed with none other that Jaskier and romance ensues. When geralt wakes up there’s major angst, then eventual fluff and smut :)
Despite what he always tells Jaskier, he really does enjoy the bard’s company. Sure, he never entirely shuts up, and if he does, he’s either humming or singing or tapping his fingers. It’s loud, and it’s annoying, and it took a long while for Geralt to get used to it, even longer for him to appreciate it. At some point, a few years ago, though, he realized he’d come to miss the bard whenever they’re apart.
Of course, that doesn’t stop him from parting ways with Jaskier every winter, Geralt going to Kaer Morhen to spend the coldest season with his brothers, Jaskier most often going to Oxenfurt. And while, yes, he does miss Jaskier during those long, dark months, he has his brothers to keep his mind off the bard - repairing the run-down parts of the keep, training in the courtyard, bickering and nearly beating each other up from time to time - so the winters aren’t too bad.
It’s those weeks in between that are the worst. Those weeks when he leaves Kaer Morhen and heads to the south-west, in search of Jaskier. It’s those weeks when it’s almost too quiet for his mind to bear, the silence sneaking up on him, making him feel lonely and slightly jumpy, making him wish he just had Jaskier back already, someone to keep his thoughts from spiralling downwards into self-hatred.
Jaskier’s always been good at that: keeping Geralt sane.
A few weeks after setting out from Kaer Morhen, he passes through a large town in Redania called Inerith. He decides to check the notice board for any contracts - after all, he’ll probably need the money, at some point; he can’t live off his supplies from Kaer Morhen forever. It’s empty, which is a bit strange for such a large town, but he figures it’s just a quiet neighbourhood.
Well, the notice board is empty, save for one sheet of paper. It’s an advertisement for the brothel, at the corner of the main street. It offers the reader their ‘deepest, darkest desires’. ‘For only sixty crowns more!’ it announces cheerily. Geralt scoffs at the notion, though there is a certain curiosity stirring in his stomach. He thinks for a second, about how it’ll take another few weeks until he reaches Oxenfurt, until he’s no longer alone.
He sighs, and heads to the corner of the main street. Sure, it won’t chase away his loneliness completely, but a warm body next to him might keep him from getting stuck in his own head for at least one night. And, admittedly, he is a bit curious to find out what his ‘deepest, darkest desire’ is. Probably a good talk with someone he trusts, or a nice ale. Jaskier crosses his mind for a fleeting second, but he pushes it away, nearly laughing at his own ridiculousness. Sure, the bard is a good friend of his, but nothing more than that - just a friend.
He stops in front of the brothel. It’s a very nice building, with white walls and a purple door, large windows tempting passerbys to look inside, yet there are purple curtains blocking everything from view. He sighs, heading inside, and is greeted immediately by the madame. She looks him up and down, head tilted slightly in curiosity.
“I will not allow permanent harm to be done to any of my girls or boys, Witcher. And hurting them costs extra.”
He frowns. “I’m not seeking to do harm to anyone. I’m merely seeking someone to keep me warm.”
She nods, face relaxing slightly. “I believe you. Forgive me for being so direct, but the rumours, you see...” Geralt nods. He knows about the reputation Witchers have, has had this talk with plenty of madames before. “So, a boy or a girl, tonight, Witcher? I might have to see who’s willing to bed you, but I think either can be arranged,” she continues, as she leads him to a spacious living room, filled with couches the same colours as the curtains, prostitutes lounging on them, casting curious glances in his direction.
It’s a good question, and he’s not really sure - he doesn’t really prefer one over the other. He looks at the covered windows, sees a hint of blue sky peeking out between two curtains, and without thinking twice, he says: “Boy.”
The madame nods. “Have you read about our special service, on the notice board?”
Geralt nods. “I have. What does it entail?”
She smiles at him. "A Mage will look into your mind, and conjure up a vision of your deepest desire, one you might not even know about yourself. It could look like an older person, or a younger person, or the hatefuck you’ve always wanted, or the person you’ve been too afraid to confess to. Of course, it’s just a vision, the whore stays the same underneath the glamour, but it’ll look and sound and feel like the real thing. Costs only sixty crowns extra, on top of the amount you already have to pay, of course.”
He stares at the wall behind her for a few seconds, biting the inside of his cheek, as he thinks. He’s not really sure what to expect, but he’s got the money and the curiosity, and he figures that if he doesn’t like it, he can always leave, so he turns his eyes back to the madame, nodding once.
She smiles. “That is arranged, then.” She snaps her fingers at a man with blonde hair and warm, brown eyes, laying on one of the couches. “Adrian, are you up for a Witcher, tonight?”
The man- Adrian, stretches out, looking Geralt up and down for a few seconds, and the Witcher can smell a hint of lust trickling through the heavy perfume of the room. “Certainly am,” Adrian says, before standing up, sauntering over to Geralt, laying a hand on his chest. “He’s a fine one, this Witcher,” he mutters to the madame, and she nods in agreement. “So,” the whore whispers, leaning up a bit to meet Geralt’s eye, “did you take the special service?”
He swallows thickly, then nods, earning him a soft chuckle from Adrian.
“Curious to see what the big, bad Witcher desires most,” he purrs into Geralt’s ear, before stepping back, extending his hand, which Geralt takes. “Come on, big boy, let’s get you upstairs, shall we?”
Geralt follows Adrian up the stairs, towards one of the rooms. It’s spacious and quite luxurious, painted white, with a bed the same purple as the curtains downstairs, but Geralt doesn’t really pay attention to it too much. Adrian lets him in, but keeps the door open, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes hungrily taking Geralt in. “Just a minute, Witcher. Have to wait for the Mage, first.”
Well enough, a few seconds later, Geralt hears footsteps approaching them, a middle-aged man appearing in the doorway. The Mage rubs his hands together, pulling his eyebrows up at Adrian, who nods in confirmation.
“Alright,” the Mage mutters, extending his hand towards Geralt, palm flat, fingers slightly spread. “Ready whenever you are, master Witcher.” Geralt frowns, but steps closer, letting the Mage touch the side of his head with his fingers, before the man reaches out and holds on to Adrian’s shoulder.
Suddenly, Geralt feels dizzy, and he squeezes his eyes shut, resisting the urge to empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor. He gasps for air, his vision going white for a couple of seconds. The hand on the side of his head disappears, and he hears footsteps, before a door is closed softly.
He feels a gentle hand against his cheek, callouses on the fingertips, and it grounds him back into reality, calms him down.
“Geralt, are you alright?” a familiar voice asks, and his eyes snap open. The Mage is gone, and so is Adrian. Instead, he sees Jaskier, blue eyes staring at Geralt with concern, his familiar scent of roses and lemon tingling in the Witcher’s nose.
“Jaskier?”
“If that’s who you want me to be, then yes.”
He frowns, thoroughly confused, until he remembers what the madame had said. Sure, he may look, feel, and smell like Jaskier, but it’s not him - it’s still Adrian. But fuck, if it doesn’t seem so incredibly real - if it doesn’t seem like Jaskier is right there, in the room with him, like they never parted ways for the winter at all. He hadn’t expected the bard to be his deepest desire, but now that he’s here - now that it looks like he’s here - smelling of himself and arousal, Geralt can’t deny that he wants this, more than anything.
He contemplates running for the door, getting the hell out of here before he complicates the friendship he has with Jaskier, when Jaskier- Adrian, steps towards him, plastering himself against Geralt’s chest, lithe arms wrapping themselves around his neck. “How long, Witcher?” He even fucking sounds like Jaskier.
“Months,” Geralt replies, hands settling on Jaskier’s- Adrian’s hips off their own accord, and he feels warmth seeping into his skin. “It’s been months since we last saw each other.”
Jaskier- Adrian, godsdammit, tuts, nose brushing against Geralt’s. “Not what I meant, darling. How long have you wanted me?”
His breath catches in his throat when Jaskier’s lips brush over his. “Years,” he manages to choke out, before he pulls the bard closer, kissing him like he’ll die if he doesn’t - because it certainly feels like he will. Years of tension, of longing looks he wasn’t even aware he was casting, of secret dreams of the bard’s body against his, shattering as Jaskier softly moans into his mouth, opening his lips and inviting Geralt to deepen the kiss.
It’s everything he’s ever wanted and more, as Jaskier moves one hand down, palming Geralt’s already hard cock through his trousers, making the Witcher gasp slightly.
“Gods, you’re so big, Geralt,” Jaskier- Adrian- Jaskier mutters, nipping at Geralt’s lower lip. “Wonder if that’s all going to fit, darling.”
“I- you... you don’t have to,” he whispers, shivering slightly as Jaskier runs a soft finger along his cock, rubbing the head gently through the fabric, barely more than a tingle.
“I want to, darling. Want to split myself open on your cock, see if I can come on it untouched.” He bites his lower lip, lashes fluttering slightly in excitement. “Have been waiting for this for years,” he whispers.
The illusion breaks for just a second, then, as Geralt remembers that this is not really Jaskier, this is not his dearest friend who he’s known for decades. This is Adrian, a whore who he paid to fuck. He’s about to pull back when Jaskier- Adrian- Jaskier drops to his knees, tongue hot and wet against the fabric of Geralt’s trousers, and he groans at the sensation, threading his fingers through brown curls - Gods, they feel as soft as they look.
“Please, Geralt,” Jaskier whispers, looking up at him through thick lashes, “want to suck you so bad, feel you come in my mouth.”
He has to choke back a needy sound, and nods, lets Jaskier unlace his trousers, lets lithe fingers pull out his painfully hard cock. Jaskier gives him two long, languid strokes with just the right amount of pressure that it leaves Geralt’s head spinning, nimble fingers catching beads of precum, smearing it out across his skin.
“Fuck,” he utters, fingers tightening in those brown curls. “Please, I need you-” He groans, deep and guttural when Jaskier wraps his lips around the head of his cock, sucking harshly - bordering just on the right side of painful - before letting go again.
“Gods, Geralt, I love hearing you beg.”
He chuckles, wiping some stray hair away from Jaskier’s forehead, as those familiar, blue eyes look up at him, pupils blown wide. “Of course you do.” He sighs softly as Jaskier kisses the tip of his cock, lips catching a bead of precum. “Fuck, please, Jaskier, need you so bad, please-” His sentence is choked off again, as Jaskier takes him in his mouth, sinking halfway down, before moving back, taking Geralt’s cock deeper with every slow bob of his head.
He doesn’t know what’s worse: the soft pressure of Jaskier’s mouth, combined with his slow movements, not enough to bring him closer to the edge, but enough to drive him insane; those searing, blue eyes, continuously staring at him, even as tears glaze them over whenever Geralt’s cock hits the back of his throat; or the knowledge that this is all just a beautiful illusion.
It’s the last realization that makes something in him snap, and he grabs the back of Jaskier’s- Adrian’s- Jaskier’s head, stilling him. “Tap my thigh if you want me to stop,” he says, and Jaskier nods obediently, clearly aware as to what’s coming. Jaskier lets himself go slack, hands holding on to Geralt’s thighs but doing nothing more - just holding on - spit starting to drip down his chin, as Geralt starts moving his head, up and down his cock.
The hands around his thighs clench a bit, the first time Jaskier chokes, but he soon relaxes again, lets Geralt fuck into his mouth, blue eyes falling shut, his own cock straining against his trousers.
“Fuck- feels so good, Jask,” Geralt mutters, cock twitching at the soft moans Jaskier lets out, at the wet sounds that come out of his throat every time the Witcher thrusts deeper. Way too soon for his own liking, he finds himself near his climax, and he pulls Jaskier’s head back, off his cock, ignoring the needy little sound the bard lets out.
“Jaskier, I’m going to-”
“Please, Geralt, come in my mouth, please. I want to taste you.”
“I- alright.” He lets go of Jaskier’s hair, and the younger man moves forward again, taking Geralt’s cock in his mouth with renewed fervor, sucking eagerly, and before soon, he feels himself hurtling over that edge, coming with a strangled “fuck!”
Jaskier gently sucks him through his orgasm, before eventually pulling back when the pleasure starts to border on pain, making a show of swallowing, blue eyes staring up at Geralt intensely.
“Fuck,” Geralt mutters, softly petting Jaskier’s hair, who grins at him. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.” He moves his hand under Jaskier’s chin, and the bard stands up, letting Geralt pull him into a searing kiss.
It isn’t long before Jaskier (not Jaskier) starts palming at Geralt’s cock again, though. “Need you, Geralt,” he whines against the Witcher’s lips. “Want you inside me.”
Geralt can’t help but grin at that, reaching down to put his hands around the back of Jaskier’s thighs. Jaskier seems to get the message and jumps up, wrapping his legs around the Witcher’s waist, pulling him in for another kiss while Geralt carries him to the bed.
He lowers Jaskier onto the soft sheets, the bard quickly undressing himself as Geralt does the same, settling between Jaskier’s legs afterwards. “How- how do you want...”
Jaskier sits up, pressing a soft hand against Geralt’s chest. “However you want.”
He swallows thickly. “Well, I don’t- I don’t know...” In all reality, he’s dreamt about this moment a billion times and now that he’s here with Jaskier (not Jaskier), he doesn’t really know what to do. All he knows is that he just wants to please the bard, in whatever way he can.
Jaskier sighs softly and rolls his eyes, though smiles anyways. “Alright, fine, I’ll decide, then.” He chews on his bottom lip for a second, contemplating his choices, arousal spiking in his roses and lemon-scent, before he turns around, his knees on the soft, purple sheets, head on his forearms. “Like this,” Jaskier whispers, looking over his shoulder. “I want you to fuck me like this.”
Geralt can’t help but smile, though softly, as he runs his palm along Jaskier’s spine, earning him a shiver. After a few more gentle strokes, he moves his hand towards Jaskier’s ass, resting just on top of it, the other pulling his cheeks apart. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, as he sees the round end of a wooden plug. “Oh, prepared, aren’t we?”
Jaskier grins over his shoulder, wiggling his ass softly, invitingly. “Couldn’t wait.”
“Hmm,” Geralt hums, taking the end of the plug between his fingers, tugging softly, earning him a sharp hiss and a spike in the scent of arousal, hanging heavily around them. “You’ve always been impatient.”
“Yeah, well, still am,” Jaskier huffs, attempting to move his hips, only stopped by Geralt’s hand, keeping him still. “Please, Geralt, I need you to fuck me, and I swear to all the gods, if you don’t do it right now, I won’t talk to you for a week.”
He chuckles softly, though a distant part of him wonders if the Mage planted Geralt’s memories of Jaskier into Adrian’s head, because good gods, does he sound exactly like the bard - from his accent, to his impatience, to the way he words his sentences. It’s uncanny, and he strains to fight the blurring of the lines between the whore in front of him and the real Jaskier.
“Geralt?” He looks up at Jaskier’s- Adrian’s- Jaskier’s voice, soft and concerned, meeting searing blue eyes. “Everything alright?”
He nods. “Fine,” he grunts, tugging at the plug, pulling the thickest part past Jaskier’s rim, to distract both himself and the bard- whore- bard. It works, and Jaskier lets out a breathy moan, Geralt’s cock twitching against his stomach in interest. “Fuck,” he mutters, pushing the plug slightly back in again, before completely pulling it out, just to hear Jaskier moan.
“Sweet Melitele’s tits, Geralt. Please, please, just-” He keens, high and sweet and more beautiful than any music Geralt’s ever heard, when he pushes the head of his cock past Jaskier’s rim. “Oh, fuck, feels so good, please, pleasepleaseplease-”
His begging dissolves into breathy moans and soft pants as Geralt pushes in further, until he’s completely seated, sparks of pleasure shooting through him as Jaskier twitches around him. He stills for a second, lets Jaskier get used to the size of him, forces himself to move back from that edge a bit, before he pulls his hips back, slamming back in. It earns him a loud moan, so he does it again, and again, and again, angling his hips differently every time, until he finally finds the spot that makes Jaskier scream.
“Oh, gods, oh gods, ohgodsohgodsohgods-” Jaskier (not Jaskier, dammit) mutters, body shaking with pleasure, cock steadily drooling precum on the purple sheets. Slowly, Geralt increases his speed, thrusts growing more and more shallow, until he’s barely pulling out anymore - though he finds he doesn’t need to, when Jaskier comes with a strangled shout underneath him, painting the sheets and his own chest white with cum. He clenches around Geralt, and the pressure is enough for the Witcher to come as well, groaning softly, stilling completely.
After a while, he pulls out, collapsing next to Jaskier, who has rolled onto his side, facing Geralt. He closes his eyes for a second, lets himself revel in that post-orgasmic haze, in the feeling of someone next to him, in the soft patterns long fingers without callouses trace into his chest. He frowns, the sleepy, content haze suddenly gone, and he looks to his side, finding Adrian looking back at him.
His heart shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, it really shouldn’t.
He gets out of there as fast as he can.
---
He told himself it didn’t mean anything. He told himself it wouldn’t change the way he looked at Jaskier. He told himself everything would be fine and he could go back to the way things were, as if nothing had happened at all. He told himself he could forget all about it.
He now knows he’s wrong, as Jaskier pulls him into a tight hug, grinning into Geralt’s shoulder. “Geralt! It’s so good to see you!” The bard pulls back, holding the Witcher at an arm’s length, blue eyes sparkling. “Something the matter, Witcher?”
Geralt blinks, tears his gaze away from Jaskier’s lips, forcing the memory of how they had looked wrapped around his cock to the back of his mind. He shakes his head. “Been a long journey, is all.”
Jaskier grins at him, looping an arm thought Geralt’s, dragging him to an inn at the corner of the main square of Oxenfurt, near the university. “I understand. Kaer Morhen is a long way away, my dear Witcher, so how about we get you some rest and a nice bath? I bet that’ll make you feel better.”
He knows it won’t, as he looks at Jaskier, and can’t stop his mind from wandering to that one night, a few weeks ago, but he lets himself be led to the inn, anyway.
---
He sits in the bath obediently as Jaskier dumps bucket after bucket of clean water over his head, chattering excitedly about all the taverns he played in during the winter, all the people he’d had drinks with, all the classes he gave at the university. Geralt lets himself be near-manhandled as Jaskier scrubs at his back, pointedly ignoring the proximity and the warmth radiating off the bard.
He closes his eyes for a second, breathing in roses and lemon, trying to push away the memory of how it had smelled with arousal mixed into that scent. He breathes in again - roses, lemon, and... pine trees. His eyes snap open, and his hand snatches Jaskier’s wrist, bringing it to his nose, ignoring the bard’s confused protests.
There it is, again, as Geralt pushes his nose against Jaskier’s pulse, breathing in deeply. There’s a lingering hint of pine trees and musk beneath those familiar roses and lemons, but it’s barely there, almost as if Jaskier desperately tried to scrub the scent away.
He lets go of the bard’s wrist, as Jaskier keeps staring at Geralt, confused. “You were with someone else. Not long ago. A man.”
Jaskier blinks, then blushes furiously, looking away. “Alright, yeah, maybe I was.” He looks at Geralt again, shrugs. “But what I get up to during the winter isn’t exactly your business, Witcher.” He sounds defensive, and quite honestly, Geralt doesn’t blame him. He knows full well he has no right to comment on the company Jaskier keeps, has no right to demand an explanation.
Has no right to feel so jealous.
So, he turns back around, letting Jaskier scrub shampoo into his hair, a little bit more harshly than usual - but still softer and kinder than Geralt deserves. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? He doesn’t deserve Jaskier, doesn’t deserve his friendship, his company, his kindness, his sparkling blue eyes. He doesn’t deserve Jaskier, and Jaskier deserves better than him - deserves someone to keep him company during the cold, long months, when Geralt’s fucked off to Kaer Morhen, someone who smells like pine trees.
“Was he good to you?” The question is out of his mouth before he knows it, and Jaskier’s hands still in his hair for a split second.
“Who?”
“The man you were with. Was he good to you?”
Jaskier hums softly, arousal spiking in his scent, which is answer enough to Geralt. “Yes, he was. He was very good to me, but...” His voice trails off, and he gets up to grab another bucket of water, dumping it over Geralt’s head, who wipes it out of his eyes.
“But what?”
“Well, he was...” He hears Jaskier sitting on the stool behind him again, feels a comb through his hair, teeth lightly scraping against his scalp. “He was nice, and comfortable, and safe.”
“Those are all good things.”
Jaskier sighs softly. “Well, yes, they are, but it’s not... what I want. For some people, comfort and safety is what they want in life, but not for me. I want- need something... more. So, being with him was nice. But only for a while.”
“And what do you need, then?”
It’s quiet between them for a while, Jaskier still combing Geralt’s hair, though there are no longer any knots left. “Adventure,” Jaskier says, eventually. “The thrill of danger, the feeling of adrenaline in my veins, travelling around the Continent, never truly settling down.”
It explains why Jaskier’s still around him, he supposes, explains why Jaskier always joins him on the Path, even after spending an entire winter apart. But it doesn’t explain why Jaskier sticks by Geralt’s side, specifically. Hell, the bard could walk the roads alone, and he would get exactly what he wants. Maybe he keeps close to Geralt for safety, maybe for songs, maybe for the Witcher’s hunting skills. He doesn’t know. And he’s too afraid to ask - scared that if he does, Jaskier will realize he doesn’t really need Geralt and leave him on his own.
Jaskier chuckles softly behind him. “What? No scathing remark? No telling me that I’m romanticizing danger? Not even a hmm?”
Geralt smiles softly. “Hmm.”
Jaskier laughs, patting Geralt on his shoulder, before standing up, drying off his hands. “Alright, then, I guess that’ll have to do.”
And with that, he’s gone, presumably to go get some food downstairs, and Geralt gets out of the bath, drying himself off, pointedly ignoring the lingering feeling of Jaskier’s hands against his skin.
---
They continue travelling after that, heading east on Jaskier’s request. Everything is back to normal - or at least, it should be, but Geralt can’t stop the memories of that one night resurfacing every time he looks at Jaskier. Hell, sometimes he forgets it was all an illusion, a vision created by a Mage. Sometimes he forgets that it wasn’t Jaskier at all, and it makes him slip up a few times, the boundaries they’ve created between them over the years suddenly unclear and slightly blurry. It gets worse the longer they travel together, Geralt slowly letting his guard down too much.
One time, Jaskier sat down next to him after a performance, gulping down two cups of ale before basically inhaling the plate of food Geralt had gotten for him. The Witcher had put his hand on the bard’s thigh under the table, had told him to take it easy or he would choke on it. Jaskier had simply nodded, and Geralt’s attention had strayed to the rest of the tavern, making sure there were no potential threats coming their way. It was only when he had noticed Jaskier staring at him, that he’d realized his hand wasn’t just still on the bard’s thigh, but that it had strayed up a bit. He had snatched his hand away, cleared his throat, and excused himself for the night, getting the hell out of there as quickly as he could manage. Jaskier hadn’t mentioned it.
There was also that one time that Jaskier was reading something, and Geralt had looked over his shoulder to see what it was. Without thinking twice about it, he had turned his head, brushing his nose against that sensitive spot under Jaskier’s ear, inhaling roses and lemon. Jaskier’s stuttering breath and skipping heartbeat had shaken him out of it, and he’d gone to brush Roach, scolding himself for what he’d done.
And then there was the staring. He couldn’t stop his eyes from straying to the bard every time they were in the same room, couldn’t stop the memories from resurfacing, along with a suffocating wave of longing. It had come to a point where even Jaskier was a bit freaked out about it, it seemed, furrowing his brow in confusion every time he caught the Witcher staring. Hell, he even asked about it a couple of times, asked if there was something wrong. Geralt didn’t have the heart to tell him, so he merely grunted something noncommittal and turned away.
---
He doesn’t realize they’ve travelled so far to the east, until Jaskier one day closes the door to their room at the inn after a performance and says: “Can we go to Inerith, next?”
There’s something familiar about the name of the town, something nagging at the back of Geralt’s mind, but he ignores it. “Why?”
Jaskier clears his throat, looking both excited and a bit embarrassed. “Well, there’s a brothel there-” Geralt snorts. Of course it’s about sex, it almost always is with Jaskier. The bard ignores it. “-where they offer a special service, I’ve heard. They can show you your deepest, darkest desire and project it as a vision. Heard it really works, as well.”
Oh. Oh no. So that’s why the name had sounded so familiar to Geralt, it’s the town with... where he... He squeezes his eyes shut for just a second. “No, not going back,” he says. After all, he can’t face what he’s done, can’t risk anyone recognizing him, can’t stop himself from going to the brothel again, if they were to pass through the town.
He doesn’t realize what he’s said, until Jaskier asks: “What do you mean, going back?”
Geralt freezes in the middle of cleaning his swords, the only sounds in the room the crackling of the fire in the hearth, Jaskier’s rapid heartbeat, and his own faltering one. “Nothing,” he says eventually.
“Oh, nonono, you don’t get to say something like that and not acknowledge it,” Jaskier quips, standing in front of Geralt, hands on his hips. “You’ve been to Inerith, haven’t you? You went to the brothel.”
Geralt sighs, putting his sword to the side, wiping a hand over his face. “Hmm.”
“Did you- did you see your deepest desire? What was it?”
He swallows thickly. “No, I didn’t see it.” he lies. “I didn’t have the money. It was just a normal fuck.”
Jaskier purses his lips, something mischievous and gleeful shining in those blue eyes. “I know you’re lying, Geralt. Come on, what did you see?” His eyes widen slightly. “Or who did you see? Was it the sorceress, the-” he waves his hand a bit “the scary one with the purple eyes?”
He looks at Geralt for a second, gaze intent, and the Witcher looks away - he can’t bear the heaviness of those eyes on him.
Jaskier gasps slightly. “It wasn’t the witch? Oh, now you have to tell me.”
“I don’t have to tell you shit,” Geralt snaps, and moves to get up, pushed back into the chair by Jaskier’s surprisingly strong and firm hand against his chest. “Really?”
Jaskier grins at him, a wicked edge to his smile. “Really. You’re going to tell me what you saw, Witcher.”
“I will do no such thing.” He stares at Jaskier, who stares right back, unyielding, unrelenting, curiosity and glee in those impossibly blue eyes. Eventually, he can’t take it anymore, the memories resurfacing again, Jaskier’s gaze too intense to bear, and he looks away, guilt creeping up on his mind.
“Oh,” Jaskier whispers, and Geralt looks back at the bard, sees his eyes widening in realization, face going slack. “Oh. It was me, wasn’t it? You saw me.”
He can’t hide it anymore. The truth has already been threatening to spill over, these past few weeks, the realization in Jaskier’s eyes the last drop. “Yes.” Jaskier’s hand is still on his chest, his entire mind narrowing down to the heat and the weight of that one point of contact, only distracted when Jaskier leans forward, crowding his vision, forcing Geralt to look at him.
“Oh, you bastard,” Jaskier whispers. Geralt resists the urge to close his eyes, resists the urge to get the hell out of here. This is what he’s been fearing, these past few weeks - that Jaskier would find out and hate him for it.
He startles when the bard climbs into his lap, knees around Geralt’s hip, heels under his own ass. Surprisingly strong hands tighten around his shoulders, as Jaskier bites his bottom lip. “You bastard. You got what you wanted, you got to fuck me, but I didn’t get to fuck you? I can’t believe this.”
Geralt frowns, tries to blink away his confusion. “I didn’t think you wanted to.”
“Haven’t I flirted with you for years? Haven’t I offered several times?”
Jaskier has offered to keep him warm, to help ease his tension and stress, but- “I thought you were joking. I didn’t think you meant it.”
Jaskier laughs, a bit bitterly. “Gods, you’re so stupid.” He smiles at Geralt, something hot and heavy mixing with his scent of roses and lemon, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Tell me,” he whispers. “What did he do for you? What did he do while looking exactly like me?”
Geralt’s mind shortcircuits, and he finds himself unable to put the memories to words, to tell Jaskier, though the sight of the bard’s pupils dilating, of his cock straining against his breeches desperately makes him want to. He swallows thickly. “I- he...”
“Can’t find the words?” Geralt shakes his head, and Jaskier’s grin only widens. “Alright. Show me, then.”
That’s all the encouragement he needs, and he hooks his hands under Jaskier’s legs, holding him up as he gets out of the chair, walking to the bed. He tries to gently lay the bard down, he really does, but his own excitement and nerves make his hands falter, dropping Jaskier down unceremoniously. The bard yelps as his back hits the sheets, but giggles soon afterwards, fighting to kick off his boots.
Geralt kneels at the foot of the bed and helps him, before moving up, untying the laces of Jaskier’s breeches, as the bard watches him, pupils dilated, teeth worrying his bottom lip. Finally, the laces are undone enough for Geralt to pull the breeches down Jaskier’s legs, discarding them somewhere behind him, leaving the bard in his underclothes.
Jaskier yelps again when Geralt pulls him towards the edge of the bed, positioning the bard’s legs over his shoulders. He looks up at Jaskier. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he whispers, and Jaskier pushes himself up onto his elbows, carding a hand through Geralt’s hair, tugging slightly, eliciting a soft groan from the Witcher.
“I’m not worried about you not stopping, I’m worried about you not goddamn starting, Geralt,” he mutters, pulling one eyebrow up in challenge.
Geralt doesn’t respond. Instead, he dives down, closing his mouth around the head of Jaskier’s still clothed cock, earning him a soft moan and another tug at his scalp. He looks up as he licks a few stripes up the shaft, slowly wetting the fabric, and meets Jaskier’s intense gaze, the bard’s lips parted as he pants slightly.
“Gods, you’re gorgeous like that,” Jaskier mutters, loosening his grip on Geralt’s hair in favour of running his fingers through the strands. If the Witcher could’ve blushed, he would’ve, but he decides that he’s teased Jaskier enough, and pulls away slightly, earning him a soft whine that turns needier when he tugs Jaskier’s underclothes down far enough to release his cock.
He wastes no time wrapping his mouth around Jaskier’s cock, licking away beads of precum before he swallows him down completely, basking in the bard’s moans, in the soft tugging at his scalp as nimble fingers tighten in his hair again.
Jaskier’s cock hits the back of his throat, and he closes his eyes for a few seconds, fighting the urge to gag, as he holds still. He only starts moving again when Jaskier pulls him up, letting the bard guide him as he sucks.
“Fuck,” Jaskier mutters when Geralt hollows his cheeks around the head before moving down again. “You’re perfect- so fucking gorgeous...” His whispered praises turn into soft babbles, and Geralt knows he’s getting closer to that edge. He looks up at Jaskier again, stroking one hand up and down the bard’s hip, trying to convey his message with his eyes.
“You-” Jaskier gasps softly, panting for air. “You want me to come in your mouth? Is that it?”
Geralt’s hum of agreement is enough to send Jaskier over the edge, back arching off the bed as he comes, legs spasming slightly. Geralt diligently sucks him through his orgasm, swallowing every drop Jaskier has to give, only letting go when the bard twitches away from him, overstimulated.
He sits back, letting Jaskier’s legs fall off his shoulders in favour of tugging the bard’s breeches off, before undoing the buttons of Jaskier’s shirt. The bard sits up, lets Geralt tug the rest of his clothes off, before he starts pulling at the Witcher’s shirt, as well. “Not fair that I’m the only one naked,” he mutters, and Geralt can’t help but smile. “I want see you.”
Geralt lifts his shirt over his head, tossing it away, before standing up, fumbling hands working on the laces of his trousers, eventually managing to push them down and kick them off. He stands there sheepishly for a couple of seconds, as Jaskier gapes at him, lips parted slightly, hungry eyes raking up and down Geralt’s body. He can’t stand the intensity of those blue eyes for long, and steps forward, leaning down to kiss Jaskier, the taste of the bard’s spend still on his tongue, relishing in the soft, content sighs Jaskier lets out.
“Did you fuck him?” Jaskier eventually whispers against Geralt’s lips, and the Witcher frowns, slightly confused. “The whore that looked like me. Did you fuck him?” Jaskier clarifies.
Geralt had forgotten about that one night at the brothel in Inerith, in all honesty, too occupied with the real Jaskier, right in front of him, to remember. “Yes,” he manages to choke out.
“How?”
“On his knees.”
Jaskier sighs softly, biting his lip, eyes suddenly uncharacteristically insecure. “I... I don’t want that. I understand if you do, but not... not the first time.”
Geralt ignores the slight whooping feeling in his stomach at the insinuation that there will be more times to come, and nods. “I understand. I don’t want that, either. I want to see you.”
Jaskier smiles at him, pressing a soft kiss to the Witcher’s lips. “May I?” he asks, hands softly pushing against Geralt’s shoulders, and he nods, letting himself be gently pushed and pulled until he’s the one sitting on the bed, Jaskier in his lap. His hands fall on the bard’s waist like it’s second nature, and he can’t help but press soft kisses against the side of Jaskier’s neck, breathing in roses and lemons and the salty tang of sweat.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers against Jaskier’s skin, the words too heavy to say them to his face. “You’re beautiful and you’re perfect and I- I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Jaskier whispers, hands softly petting Geralt’s hair, the gesture so tender it’s almost overwhelming.
“Oil?” he asks, and he feels Jaskier nod above him, pulling back a bit to reach down for his bag, at the foot of the bed.
“Good thing I left this here,” he mutters, and Geralt smiles softly. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to let it all sink in. The fact that Jaskier loves him back, that he’s right here with him, his warm body pressed against Geralt, that he’s showering the Witcher with soft touches and softer kisses and even softer words. It’s almost too much, his chest not able to contain the happiness and love that he feels, but he resists the urge to take off, to run away from all this. For Jaskier. He’ll do anything in his power to make sure Jaskier never gets hurt again - especially not by Geralt himself.
“Hey.” Jaskier’s voice is impossibly soft and tender, his finger gently tilting Geralt’s chin up, and he opens his eyes. “Everything alright?”
He nods, ignoring the stinging in his eyes. “Yes, it’s just... a lot.”
Jaskier frowns softly, cradling Geralt’s face in his hands. “We can stop, if it’s too much. It’s alright, I understand.”
He shakes his head a bit. “No, I want to keep going. I want you, Jask. Now and always.”
Jaskier smiles, kissing the tip of Geralt’s nose softly. “You’re so cheesy,” he whispers, earning him a chuckle from the Witcher. “Alright, we’ll keep going then. I just need to open myself up, first.”
Geralt smiles up at Jaskier. “May I?” And by all the gods, he’ll never forget the sight of Jaskier blushing softly at his request.
“Well, if you really want to. Most people just prefer that I do it myself, get it over with-”
“I want to.” He holds up his hand, and Jaskier puts the vial of oil he got from his bag in his palm, looping his slender arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt, in turn, pops open the vial, pouring some chamomile oil into his hand, spreading it around and between his fingers, before reaching behind Jaskier, pressing two fingers against his rim.
Jaskier hisses softly, pushing his hips back. “Gods, yes, just like that.” Geralt smiles, pressing soft kisses against Jaskier’s jaw, as he pushes one finger in, slowly but steadily, basking in the soft whimpers the bard lets out. “More,” Jaskier demands, almost immediately, and Geralt can’t help but chuckle at that.
“You’re so needy,” he whispers, but obliges anyways, pulling the finger out, before pushing two back in. Jaskier moans softly, arching his back, pushing his hips back against Geralt’s hand. He slowly works Jaskier open, only adding a third finger when the bard is practically begging for it.
“Do you need a fourth finger?” he whispers and Jaskier frantically shakes his head.
“No, just need you. Please, Geralt-”
He chuckles softly, taking the vial of oil again, slicking his cock up, Jaskier’s hungry eyes following his movements. “Alright, alright, no need to get impatient.”
Jaskier rolls his eyes at him, but bats his hand away, giving Geralt’s cock a few firm strokes that leave the Witcher’s head spinning, before positioning himself just above the tip. Gently, slowly, he lowers himself on Geralt’s cock, eyelashes fluttering softly as he pants, the Witcher’s hands settling on his hips just to have something to hold on to.
Once Jaskier’s fully seated, he stills for a few seconds, hands on Geralt’s shoulders, breath coming out in shallow bursts, red-kissed lips parted slightly.
“Alright?” Geralt asks, wiping Jaskier’s sweaty hair from his forehead, fingers trailing down to the bard’s lips. Jaskier smiles at him, kissing his fingers softly.
“Better than alright.” Geralt can’t help but smile back.
Slowly, Jaskier pushes himself up, before dropping down again, impaling himself on Geralt’s cock, moaning softly. “Fuck, Geralt, feels so good...” He does it again and again and again, and Geralt lets him take the lead, his hands only tightening around the bard’s hips and helping him fuck himself on Geralt’s cock when he senses that Jaskier’s getting tired.
He forgets about his own pleasure, as he watches Jaskier’s unfold across his face, watches the bard bite his lip, watches his eyelashes flutter, watches his mouth fall open, losing himself in the scent of roses and lemons and sweat and lust - committing every little detail to memory, just in case. He’s sure that if there’s a paradise, then he has found it right here, in Jaskier’s arms.
“Geralt, I’m close,” Jaskier whispers, and he realizes with a small start that, he himself, is as well, so lost in the man he loves that he’d forgotten about his own body.
He reaches between them, taking Jaskier’s leaking cock in his hand, giving him a few firm strokes. “Come for me, love,” he whispers, and Jaskier cries out, his head tipping back, spilling all over himself and Geralt. A few more thrusts later, Geralt comes as well, choking out Jaskier’s name.
They sit there for a while, softly panting, until Jaskier pulls himself off Geralt, collapsing onto the bed next to him. The Witcher, in turn, gathers all the strength he’s got, and pushes himself off the bed, walking to the wash basin with wobbly knees, wetting a cloth. He walks back to the bed, cleans the spend off the bard’s stomach and from between his legs, before cleaning himself.
He lies down on the bed, Jaskier scooting up until he’s got his head on Geralt’s shoulder, his arms around the Witcher. “So,” he eventually mutters. “Was I better than what you had in Inerith?”
Geralt smiles, pulling Jaskier closer. “Yes. You were perfect. You will always be perfect.”
“Hmm.” He hears Jaskier’s smile more than he sees it, feels lute-calloused fingertips tracing patterns into his skin.
“I meant what I said, earlier.” It’s important to him that Jaskier knows this, knows that he means it more than he’s meant anything in his life, that he didn’t just say it in the heat of the moment. “I love you.”
Jaskier smiles up at him. “I love you, too.” Geralt nods, feeling slightly relieved, looking up at the wooden ceiling.
He slowly lets himself get comfortable with the feeling of being happy. It’s strange and unfamiliar, and he still has to fight the thing in his gut that tells him this can be snatched away any moment - this might be snatched away any moment, but he slowly sinks into it, like a comfortable, soft bed after a long day.
He notices after a few minutes that Jaskier’s fallen asleep, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the bard. He really is beautiful like this - hair tousled, skin sticky with dried sweat, lips and cheeks rosy - and he’s more than Geralt can ever deserve. He leans back in the pillows, closing his eyes, eventually, and lets sleep overtake him.
Lets himself get used to the feeling of being happy, everything he’s ever wanted right here in his arms.
#m-hm#squish answers#geraskier#geralt of rivia#jaskier#the witcher#smut#this isn't even a drabble anymore#the witcher fanfiction#it's 7.5k whoops#geralt is overwhelmingly in love with jaskier#don't convince me otherwise
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After they’re done and Yennefer’s eyes have raked over the expanse of his sweat-dappled skin, her fingers find the raised teeth marks gouged into his thigh. She sits up, tracing along scarred edges. “Ooo, nasty. This one’s new.” Leaning over, she lightly bites on top of the healed wound and drags her teeth over his skin, drawing a twitch and a warning growl from Geralt. With a satisfied smile on her lips, Yennefer slinks back up the length of his body, tweaking the nipple closer to her along her way before settling into the mattress next to him. Geralt rolls into her, playfully catching her earlobe between his teeth in retaliation. He bites gently at her collarbone and presses a kiss to her bare chest just above her sternum. She lets him nuzzle in close to her, tucking his face into her neck, the tip of his nose brushing her jugular. Geralt breathes her in, burrowing past that familiar perfume of lilac and gooseberries to the rich yet earthy scent of cloves and another similar scent with just a hint more salt that takes his mind to both loam and luxury.
He’d looked at her and thought she should smell of sweet plums and rich wine, and instead she smells like the wildest depths of the forest.
“I think I saw my mother recently,” he says into her skin and her hand pauses where she’s playing with a strand of his hair.
She winds the white lock around her finger. “I don’t know what that means, Geralt.”
“She’s a sorceress.” Yennefer pulls sharply on his hair, but he ignores her request for a name, continuing, “I came close to dying, while I was still searching for Ciri, and I think it was her, my mother, who healed me. It seemed like dream, but I’d be dead if it truly was one.” Geralt is quiet for a moment, unsure if the ache in his chest will steal the words from him. “She looked nearly the same as the day she abandoned me on the road outside the witcher’s keep.”
He can hear the rage in the lungs beneath his ear as Yennefer breathes deep, once, twice, before she speaks. “Some people don’t deserve to be mothers,” she says loftily and she means it to sound callous, like there isn’t pain running through every word of that statement, but the fingers stroking through his hair are a little rougher than maybe she means them to be. Geralt does not mind. He is not delicate; the tugging soothes an itch he wouldn’t have known to scratch.
There are moments, where you can tell someone something with a few words and in that instant hand them a huge chunk of who you are. Because not only does it tell them something about how you came to be, it reveals every lie, every excuse, every silence that you have ever used to hide that truth away from them.
Geralt breathes in Yennefer’s skin. Breathes out, “I was… most witchers are children claimed by the Law of Surprise.”
Again, she stills beneath him as she takes in the information, lets it run its course through her mind. He wonders what moments she’s thinking of, what conversations (arguments) might be revealing themselves to her under a new light. Yennefer goes back to picking apart a tangle she’d either found or created in his hair. “That makes a surprising amount of sense.” Her voice is softer than he expected. “No wonder you were terrified of your Child Surprise.” Her fingernails scratch against his scalp as she cradles him close to her. He has exposed a vulnerability, given her something that can be used against him, and she would not be her if she does not exploit it. Yennefer doesn’t hesitate to put this new tool to the test, a single question all she needs to carve him open and expose his deepest fears with her usual uncanny precision. “Would you kill to stop what happened to you,” to us, “from happening to her?”
“Yes,” he snarls into her throat, bared teeth against her jugular that know the taste of lifeblood, know that biting into a neck just right releases a flood like ripping the cork out of a wine barrel, and all she smells of is satisfaction. The answer comes to him as easy as breathing and he wonders if this feeling in his stomach could be fear. Geralt thinks he may be holding on to her too tight and part of him wants to let go of the body in his arms, to crush the bedsheets in his fists instead as something he does not know how to name shudders through him. But this is Yennefer in their bed and she abhors it when he tries to protect her, even if it’s from himself. So instead he moves to spread rough hands wide over the smooth skin of her back and clutches her closer than he should dare. This is Yennefer, and she will forgive him bruises before any implication that he thinks her weak.
She pulls him from where his nose is buried in her pulse, thumbs nestling in that tender place behind his ears, and her eyes are shards of amethyst. She asks of him, “Would you kill Vesemir?”
He’s staring at her because he doesn’t think he’s ever given her that name, but also because it’s a question he has asked himself in the time since Ciri’s arms wrapped around him in that forest, one he has pondered only on the deepest, darkest nights. Geralt hopes it will never become more than a what-if, because he believes the old man has changed, believes the apologies always buried in his eyes; he does, he believes him, he does… but there’s a shattered little piece of him that used to be an innocent young boy and it can’t trust anything, anymore. And that’s why he knows his answer.
Geralt meets Yennefer’s frigid gaze and begs with golden irises for her to understand, to know what his reply is. He doesn’t want to-
“Say it. Out loud.”
Gods, he’s missed her. Missed this. She’s ruthless, makes him honest where it counts, and her ambition burns into him. She expects him to make hard decisions, to be perfect and unfailing and better than he would be for just himself. It’s ice, and familiar, and Geralt can finally breathe.
“Yes,” he gasps into the air that hangs between their lips.
She nods, satisfied. “Good.” She’s studying him now, a molten softness warming her crystal gaze, one hand sliding forward from the back of his neck to caress his cheek. Geralt feels flayed open and he wants to close his eyes, so he does. Fingertips gently trace along his jawline, the swirled etchings unique to her skin rasping over his stubble. Yennefer’s thumb drags across his bottom lip and Geralt tries to snag it between his teeth, breath catching in a quiet whine as it slips away from him. She guides his face back down to her throat and he takes it for the offering that it is, biting along the line of her collarbone towards her shoulder. As he soothes reddening marks with his tongue, Yennefer hums contentedly under him, her hands twined into his hair.
“Aretuza bought me,” she tells him, because Yennefer of Vengerberg pays her debts and she thinks she owes him something, now. And. It’s a piece of a cypher that makes her up, but it doesn’t reveal her as Geralt’s confession did him. He’s still missing too much to see her clearly, to know how to decipher what he’s looking at; she’s offered him merely a taste of what lays deeper, the tiniest secret sip of her given like she’s daring him to try and steal a mouthful more. She tells him nothing else and Geralt does not have the breath to drown in the past tonight; he is content to drift towards sleep beneath the quiet and her gentle touch.
If Yennefer were someone corny like Jaskier, Geralt might have fallen asleep to a whisper of, you’re important to me. He doesn’t need her to say it, though; her fingertips tracing his features are enough of a full circle for him.
#hello welcome to one of my favorite things i've written#i just. love geralt and yennefer's dynamic sm#explore! their! relationship more!! cowards!#that scene in bed in rare species....#i am a firm believer that yenralt have most of their emotional conversations as pillow talk#it's simply. their style#also i know it's contested that geralt was a child of surprise#but if u think abt it it explains SO much abt netflix geralt and all his fun unexplored trauma#what is witcher canon anyways i do what i want#yeah but this is part of a whole bunch of wips i have in the show universe w a twist of the books#but it's the most standalone-ish and i reread it while procrastinating last of us au and thot oh i can't keep this one to myself anymore#the witcher#geralt of rivia#geralt#yennefer of vengerberg#yennefer#yenralt#yennefer x geralt#the witcher fic#writing#my writing#mine#btw if ur wondering what else yennefer smells like#it's truffles
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prompt fic
Prompt from @hilarychuff - pick one of your fave movies or tv shows and shamelessly force jonsa into the plot
I have *technically* done this twice already - once with my Supernatural AU we’ve got crosses on our eyes and once with my Secret Garden AU signs but really, can one ever get enough of shamelessly forcing jonsa into other media? No.
And since I’m not actually a big movie person (almost all my fave movies are from my childhood, like the Secret Garden or Howl’s Moving Castle or Labyrinth), I went with TV show for this drabble/ficlet. It was super fun to write, so thank you for the prompt!
.....
“He's staring at you.”
Sansa tries not to react, keeping her fingers on the fountain soda press, watching the cup fill up with Coke.
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” she sighs and finally looks at Jeyne, who's draped over the counter to whisper to her. “When did he get here?”
“He's been here for an hour,” Jeyne says, which startles her.
“Dickon's been here for an hour?” She absolutely had not seen Dickon today. The Crashdown isn't really that busy, a few tourists, a few locals, she thinks she would have seen him.
“Not Dickon,” Jeyne huffs. “Jon Snow.”
With that, she almost does drop the cup she's holding, but she manages to place it on Jeyne's tray instead. “One Cosmic Cola and an Abtuc-tea, table 2,” she gestures at the tray, which already had the tea ready.
“You're not even a little curious?” Jeyne doesn't take the tray and leave like she's supposed to. She's still bent half over the counter, sly smile on her face. “He's been like, staring at you. He's always staring at you.”
“Jon Snow is not staring at me,” she hisses, though she can't help when her eyes flick up to the table where Jon Snow has been sitting for the past hour with his friends (and sure enough, he's looking at her, though his eyes dart away the minute she looks up). “I barely even know him. I don't think I've ever talked to him.”
“Well,” Jeyne slides back and down onto her feet, straightening her apron, hands smoothing over the silver alien face, “that doesn't mean he's not staring at you. And I doubt he wants to talk.” She giggles and takes the tray over to table two – two men who must be tourists because Sansa has never seen them before. She's glad Jeyne has that table because the men had been fine when they came in, but over the past half hour, they've gotten progressively louder, like they're arguing about something.
When she hears Theon call out order up from the back, she sighs and takes her own tray and loads it with the Comet Chili and a Sigourney Weaver and she tries not to think about Jon Snow as she takes it over to another table of tourists, a man and a woman who she knows she can wrangle a great tip out of.
(She doesn't need to think about boys, she's had just about enough of them, thank you very much. Last year she'd briefly dated Joffrey and over the summer she'd gone on a few dates with Dickon Tarley that weren't terrible, but just so boring. Even his kisses were boring.)
“Have you ever seen an alien?” the male tourist asks, looking over her uniform (she wants to think he's eyeing the alien apron, but most men seem to use it as an excuse to stare at her legs under the short skirt. Why her parents picked this uniform, she'll never know).
She slips into her believer persona and bites her lip and looks around suspiciously before giving a shaky “no”.
“You have!” the woman falls for it immediately and Sansa makes a show of shifting from foot to foot. “You have to tell us!”
“I don't know anything,” Sansa hedges, drawing it out because playing with tourists always makes boring days at the diner more fun. She knows Jeyne is likely watching, too.
“We aren't government,” the guy reassures and she wants to laugh. No shit, she thinks. If they were undercover CIA or FBI or MIB like in those Will Smith movies, they'd be the best undercover agents ever. No respectable human would ever wear what this guy is wearing.
“Alright, but you can't tell anyone,” she breathes, eyes going wide like she's sharing her deepest, darkest secret. Then she slips her hand into her apron and pulls out a photo and hands it to the tourists. “My grandmother took this photo of the crash site before the government cleaned it up.” She lets them stare at it in awe and they don't notice as Jeyne passes by with an exaggerated eye roll. “Don't tell anyone,” she whispers and takes the photo back and leaves the table, suppressing a smile when she can hear them furiously discussing the photo behind her.
When she's near the back at the refill station, she begins to shove more straws into her apron so she always has one handy when someone inevitably asks for another because they have magically lost theirs. Jeyne comes by to grab a pot of coffee and lowly sing-songs “he's staring at you again!” before heading back out. Sure enough, when Sansa looks up, Jon is just looking away from her and she feels something twist low in her belly that she tries to ignore.
She's technically still dating Dickon and sure, he's boring, but he's nice enough and has done nothing to offend her and-
Shouting snaps her out of her thoughts and she looks up just in time to see the two men who had been arguing stand up from their table. Their shouts are louder now, a full fight, and she watches in what seems like slow motion as one of them pulls a gun out of his jacket. She distantly hears screams and all she can think is good, Jeyne has ducked down, that's safe before there's a sharp crack and it feels like someone has punched her in the stomach.
“Sansa!” she thinks it's Jeyne calling her name and she should respond, but she can't seem to.
“Call an ambulance,” a voice she doesn't recognize is saying and then suddenly there's a dark figure over her and she realizes she's laying on the floor. How did she get there? “Sansa,” the voice says and she can't quite focus on the person kneeling over her, but she thinks it's a him. He does something, his hands moving near her stomach, something jostles her body, but she feels sort of numb and so she can't tell what's happening. She turns her head a bit and Jeyne is on the phone, looking paler than Sansa has ever seen.
“Look at me,” the voice says and then a hand is on her face, turning her head away from Jeyne. She blinks to try and clear her vision and the blurry shape turns into Jon Snow. A very worried looking Jon Snow. “Sansa, you have to look at me, ok?”
She does, she keeps her eyes on his because she can't seem to not and then his hand moves down and she feels a vague pressure on her stomach and then the diner is suddenly gone and she's in the desert and she's walking and she's so tired and she's scared and hungry and naked and alone. Then she's in a trailer with a large man who smells like alcohol and cigarettes and he's yelling and throwing things and she's still scared and alone. Then she's at school, but not the high school, the elementary school and she's watching herself play tag with Jeyne and Beth on the playground in that horrible dress Aunt Lysa had bought her and mom had made her wear because it was polite. She hated that dress, but watching herself now, she doesn't hate it. She thinks it's cute.
Suddenly she's back in the diner and Jon Snow is leaning over her and he sits back and she doesn't feel numb anymore. She props herself up on her elbows and notices two things at once – one, Jon's hands are shaking and covered in what appears to be blood, and two, her uniform is unbuttoned and open down to her apron.
She watches Jon look around and grab a ketchup bottle that he smashes against the floor and then he dumps the rest of the bottle onto her. “You broke the bottle,” he says like he's trying to keep his voice steady. “When the gun when off, you tripped and fell and broke the bottle and spilled it on yourself.”
She nods dumbly, and he gets up and when she looks past him, she can see his friend Aegon standing by the door gesturing wildly for Jon and they both head out of the diner and get into a Jeep that she can see Rhaenys is driving and it speeds away the minute they're all in.
“God, Sansa, are you ok?” Jeyne sobs as Sansa stands. “I thought you got shot!”
Sansa holds her uniform together with shaking hands and tries as best she can to button it up.
There's chaos in the diner until Sheriff Tarly arrives and she answers his questions as best she can. The men were arguing, no she doesn't know who they were, they must have been tourists. They were fighting and one pulled a gun and it accidentally went off. She got scared and she tripped and she broke the ketchup bottle she'd been holding. Yes, she's ok. No, she doesn't need medical attention. (The whole time Jeyne stares at her, but she doesn't say anything with the Sheriff around.)
Her parents arrive and send her home to get cleaned up as they handle everything and when she's in the bathroom, she pulls off her uniform and holds it up and finds the small bullet hole in the fabric and she manages not to cry until she's in the shower under the hot water. She calms down by the time she's done and she steps out and puts her hair up in a towel and instead of grabbing a second, she goes to the mirror and wipes the condensation off because she needs to make sure there's no bullet hole in her stomach like there should be. And there's not.
Instead of a bullet hole, there's a large silver handprint spanning her stomach, right where Jon Snow had touched her.
#jonsa#jonsa fic#jonsaff#roswell au#because why not#mostly because i feel like buffy has already been done#although i did almost choose twin peaks#prompt
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31 + Buddie ¡!
Thank you for the prompt! I really hope you like it :)
Celebrate my 100 followers with me and send me a prompt!
I adjust the spring for you to follow me with your eyes.
read also on Ao3
Some poets say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, while others say that the darkest secrets can fit dark pupils. A few writers would agree that there is more intimacy on looking someone eye-to-eye than doing any other thing, and a few more would say that that's the biggest mistake someone can dare to make.
If being honest, the first thing Buck notices about someone is not their clothes, neither their smile nor the lack of it ― there's something about their eyes that attracts him a whole lot more than anything else. Although he would never say that out loud because he is sure no one would really believe him.
Yet, it's something he has ever done since he was a kid. It was something curious, even profound, to see how people look at things and life around them. Some would stare with a frowned face, narrowed eyes, clenched teeth. Kids would always have wide, shiny, happy faces while discovering the very same things every day. Some people would always look down, with tired eyes, ghost smiles on their faces.
With the absence of his parents in his life, Buck learned to be quiet when trying to understand things that were out of reach ― and out of touch when it comes to someone caring about him. As a boy, he learned to observe how people look at the world and how this vision makes them take steps forward or backward.
His mother looked at him with a cloud over her eyes, and it always made her take steps to get farther from the boy. His father looked at him with frowned face, as if there was something he could never say, and yet he wanted to. It took Buck almost thirty years to realize that none of them ever looked him in the eyes.
The teachers looked at him with narrowed eyes as if he was a challenge given to them; they all lived and talked around Buck but never tried to get close, to make questions, or to see him as something more than a problem, a lost cause, and a hopeless child. There was never a teacher that looked him in the eyes.
As the years passed by, Buck was happy that no one ever dared to look him in the eyes, though. He would agree with Shakespeare and his words about eyes being the windows to someone's soul, and that was the last thing he wanted anyone to have: a panoramic view of the pieces, the chaos, the loneliness. At some point, he would be the one to avoid eye contact ― but never the one not to look at the eyes first.
Sometimes, he would think that maybe it affected the relationships he had had in his life. There was never enough trust, intimacy, even love from both parts for him to trust this broken shiny part of himself ― his eyes, his observations, a free ride to his deepest despairs and conclusions.
Sometimes he would think that keeping it a secret was why he had had any relationship so far.
There were times he would simply not know anything. That night was one of those unknown times.
Buck was lying down in the grass on Eddie's backyard, arms crossed behind his head as a support while he occupied himself looking at the sky. He wasn't able to see too many stars ― it was almost impossible to happen in LA ― but something about the darkness above them could always make Bucks soul a little bit lighter to carry around. Eddie was by his side, quiet, and Christopher was fast asleep in his room after the Buckley-Diaz movie night.
"Anyone ever tells you that you've got the prettiest eyes in the world?" Eddie asked suddenly. They've been in silence for the most part of the time they've been there, even if none of them know why they ended up lying on the grass.
Buck turned his head to the side, seeing that Eddie wasn't looking at the sky ― but at him. Eddie had one of his hands over his stomach, the other stretched on the side of his body, and the softest expression on his face while staring at his boyfriend by his side. The moonlit night made sure to cover Eddie's face with a silver glow, and Buck couldn't help but feeling his stomach twist inside of his body.
He knew they were pretty much in love, they've discussed it, but just the fact that Eddie would look that way at Buck only was enough for the blonde's heart to stop racing.
Oh, God; he loved that man.
The question had gotten him off-guard, though. It wasn't something he had ever expected to hear, much less with someone staring at him the way Eddie was doing ― a so pure kind of admiration that left him speechless.
Buck moved, laying on his side and putting one of his hands under his head for support. He was face-to-face with Eddie, but his gaze was on a random spot on the grass under his nose. His answer was quiet.
"No, actually," he said, and there was an inch of sadness that, of course, Eddie couldn't avoid noticing. The man frowned a little and then copied Buck's position before analyzing his face.
"Never?" Eddie asked again as if trying to prove something to his gut. Buck kind of shrugged, then, an almost unnoticeable movement.
"No one ever looks me in the eyes," was Buck's answer, barely a whisper. "I don't think they want to know more about me than my job or my body."
Eddie frowned, and then his face was a mix of pain and disbelief. He knew what Buck was talking about ― Buck 1.0 times ―, and he knew that Buck was also thinking about Abby and Ali.
"Idiots," Eddie said instead of making questions, and Buck frowned, still not looking at him. "But I think I'm lucky, then," the wrinkle between Buck's eyebrows grew, and Eddie chuckled a little. "If they've ever looked into your eyes, I doubt they would ever dare to let you go."
"Why do you say that?" Buck asked, his voice in complete confusion. Eddie reached Buck's hand with his, tangling their fingers together since his boyfriend didn't wash him off.
"Because there's no way," he brought Buck's hand to his lips, knowing that the pair of blue eyes would follow the movement. "Someone could look into your eyes and ever want to breathe out of the blue again."
Buck didn't answer, a little bit confused, half amazed with what he'd just heard. Eddie was never good with words ― God knows that ―, and saying something like that, beyond poetic, was an upgrade. Definitely an upgrade.
He felt his heart racing, and he knew Eddie knew he'd caused something like that. Buck also knew Eddie had a soft smile on his face, and he couldn't help but smile a little bit. With an impulse of curiosity, he looked up, just to find Eddie's eyes glued to his in the next second.
Something about that was weird, and something more was barely divine. Buck's heart raced, and his stomach twisted as a warning to step back, to stop staring, but his lungs inflated, and his lips curved as in an incentive to stay as they were.
Eddie's eyes were dark, dark amber with fossilized secrets he never shared with anyone, but almost as soft as honey under the moonlight. His pupils were wide while staring at Buck, and he wasn't sure if the darkness of the night was the only reason behind it.
The silver glimmer of the moon that surrounded both men suddenly wasn't the only shiny thing over Eddie's pupils and neither over Buck's. There was something soft, barely touchable, and quite palpable that Buck couldn't reach, but Eddie could hand him easily. In Buck's eyes, there were unshed tears.
"I love you," Eddie said, smiling and letting his fingers wander over Buck's cheeks to stop the tears he knew the blonde man would let fall. "And your eyes are the prettiest ones in the world. It's almost ridiculous how blue they are, and even more how, still, you see the world with such joy."
Buck couldn't help but throwing his body forward to capture Eddie's lips in his. Eddie chuckled, holding his boyfriend's waist and bringing him closer, letting Buck say what he couldn't find the words to. His eyes, so blue and pure, were closed, but Eddie could tell that they had the same glow they always had when Buck found something new about the world.
When they parted the kiss, Buck reached Eddie's lips again, not wanting to get any farther than he could get closer to the man. Eddie only laughed again, knowing that it was something new to Buck to see himself through somebody else's eyes ― he'd been there before, and Buck was the one to show Eddie his interpretation of him.
They stood there for a while more ― only the stars they couldn't see would know how long ― with Eddie whispering how much he loved Buck and Buck curling himself against Eddie and showering kissed over the skin he could reach. There was a future amid all of that that both pair of eyes could see.
Shakespeare was right when he said that the eyes are the windows to the soul.
Buck was even more when he thought they were the doors to reach a broken heart ― and mend it back to whole.
#buddie#dialogue prompt#eddie diaz x evan buckley#evan buckley#eddie diaz#evan buckley x eddie diaz#my fic#my writing#911 show#911 fic#buddie fic
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The Intern - 2
Andy Barber x Reader
Summary: Being Andy’s intern meant you got to spend more time by his side more than anyone. This was fine, however, until feelings got in the way and made things complicated
Word Count: 2.4k (can you tell I get carried away? ‘cause I get carried away)
Warnings: Age gap, technically cheating, swearing and stuff, mention of rape
A/N Contains spoilers from episodes 1-4.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5
Andrew Stephen Barber was a good man by all means. A good citizen, a good father, an exceptional defense attorney, trying his best to be a good husband, Andy Barber believed he was a good man. Standing in the line to grab a cup of coffee, however, made him question his entire belief system. He had tried to ignore the hushed whispers, the pointed looks, the way whenever he entered a room it would all go very silent for a second; he had told Jake and Laurie to ignore them, that they didn’t know anything. That that’s what people do, gossip. He was now really understanding how hard it was to simply ignore when people were so blatant with their gossiping. With their cold stares.
He never had friends, not proper ones where he could grab a beer with after work or talk to them about whatever was going on in his mind. He thought he did, but these past couple of weeks proved how much of his supposed friends were mere acquaintances. It never bothered him anyways, he never felt the particular need for that sort of closeness in his life. He was used to being alone, that’s how he had grown up, not needing anyone and learning how to survive on his own. He had his son and his wife, though latter feeling as far away as any stranger would at that point. They simply had stuff to take care of together, Andy could feel that Laurie was itching to finally get away once the dust settled. So, when the inevitable papers arrived finally, Andy would be left to his devices one more time..
But then again, there was you.
His gaze turned to you, watching your movements as you waited in the passenger seat of his car, your head laying against the window. He watched you fiddle with the ends of your hair, clearly lost in thought, and it took everything in him to not smile. Poker faces, Joanne had said to them, they had to keep their cool and not lose their composure, not with so many eyes around them. Waiting to catch a mistake, a single slip of the tongue, the smallest of gestures.
He thanked the barista quietly after grabbing the two paper cups of the coffee placed in front of him, pushing the glass doors with his feet as best as he could without sending the cups in his hands flying. No one in the relatively packed coffee shop made a move to help him. He hadn’t expected them to anyways.
His movement grabbed your attention at last as he made his way towards the black car parked towards the back of the lot, a smile spread on your lips then. It was the same one you gave him when he wasn’t looking, that shy, small smile seemingly lighting up your face with adoration. This time it wasn’t when he was unaware though, and even that thought was a whole another thing to make you happy even amidst everything going on. This time Andy couldn’t help it as a smile matching yours very closely appeared on his face as well upon seeing the look you gave him.
Many things in Andy Barber’s life was royally fucked up and it had been for some time now, but a tiny voice in his head quipped up to remind him that not everything was bad, not the young woman smiling up at him. Andy felt a surge of gratefulness fill his chest.
That night at the park he had acted on his impulses, he tried to chalk it up to him being tired, confused, what with everything going on. You were a friendly face he had stumbled upon on a night filled with desperation. His excuses didn’t last however and when he woke up the next morning, Andy knew he had to stop lying to himself. He tried to deny the fact that he had been wanting to kiss you for some time now, to hold you close but he had kept it all locked away in the deepest corner of his heart in the name of being professional. That, and he wanted to protect you. He knew any move on his part could very possibly lead to a mess of problems with his family and even more so with your work. Andy was well aware of how much you loved your job and the career plans you had told him that one night, and he couldn’t dismiss all of that just because he couldn’t keep his feelings under control.
That night at the park however, was the night where he decided he was done with keeping his feelings under control. He could do it in a courtroom in front of a judge, he could do it with the people of his once loved town scrutinizing his every move, he could do it under the cold stare of his wife, but not you. Not anymore.
So, under the dim light of the street lamp above and the shadows covering everywhere the light didn’t touch that one late night, he had kissed you. And even more surprisingly, didn’t regret it one bit. Not the way he thought he would have. If he had known before how easy it was to kiss you time after time in that cold night, Andy was sure he would have done it way earlier.
“Hi.” You said as you carefully grabbed your cup out of his hands, your eyes meeting his while your fingertips slightly grazed each other for a split second. You wished to reach over the seat, to get closer, you had waited enough for this moment, and he was so close, looking at you with that same deep softness in his eyes- you let out a shaky breath.
You had met the next day after the park, knowing damn well there was a lot to discuss. After kissing you, resting his forehead against yours and holding you close for a moment that felt too short, Andy had told you to go home and get some rest. He had insisted on dropping you off at the house you lived with your friend, the ten-minute car drive filled with silence save for the quiet tunes of the radio. He had placed the gentlest of kisses on your lips before giving you a tired smile, and only driving off once he saw you safely go in. It was another restless night with no way of sleep, but for the first time in a while, it was because of something good.
Finding an empty corner of the park was easy, even in the daylight the park didn’t host many visitors during that time of the year. You both were awkward at first, acting like high school lovers unsure of what to do or say to one another. After minutes of hushed conversation and reckless, stolen kisses you had come to a decision about keeping things extremely low-key. You and Andy were well aware that even though whatever this was between you was exciting and new, the top priority was defending Jacob and making sure he got his innocence proven. So, you had to keep things seemingly strictly professional, not allowing space for even the smallest of rumours.
It hadn’t been easy however, both desperate to see each other as soon as possible. Thus, here you were, sitting in his car drinking mediocre coffee, trying to avoid prying eyes.
“Hi yourself.” The twinkle in his eyes seemed to return in the past week, maybe not entirely but he was getting there. You talked about the case for a while, discussing other possible suspects and who could have done such a thing, when the fat droplets of rain started to fall and roll down the front window.
“Y/N, I want to tell you something.” The tone of his voice made you look at him carefully, you noted how his burrows were not furrowed with his lips cursed in a small scowl.
“You know you can tell me anything, Andy.” You replied, meaning every word. He sighed at that, clearly struggling with how to start.
“I never told this to anyone, and only told Laurie and Jacob vert recently because they had to know. My father, you see,” he trailed off, blowing on his still steaming coffee a little before taking a careful sip, doing everything he could do delay what he was about to tell you. He was scared of you hating him or being afraid of him or even worse, pitying him once he revealed his darkest of secrets, but he knew that sooner or later it would come up in the case. He thought at least he could be the first one to let you in on the skeletons he had deep in his closet. He sighed again, his gaze following the rain droplets, he couldn’t bring himself to face you in that moment.
“He wasn’t a good man. When I was about five years old, he raped and murdered a college girl, she was barely nineteen. I, I struggled with that throughout my entire childhood even though I didn’t exactly understand what was going on. And when I was old enough to get it, it didn’t make things easier. It fucked me up and still, after almost forty years, the whole thing still haunts me. Haunts my thoughts, my dreams, and now with Jake’s case it all came rushing back. Like the dam I had built to keep it repressed broke suddenly and all of it just, flooded right in.” There it was. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was afraid of the reaction you would give, Andy wasn’t sure how he would take it if you acted the way Laurie had when she found out. He instantly regretted that he even made that comparison however when he felt your warm hand wrap up his, not quite being able to cover it all. He raised his eyes to yours.
“You are not alone anymore, Andy. Thank you for sharing this with me, and please know that from now on, you’ve got me in your corner. You no longer need to pretend everything’s just great; you have me. Talk to me, and we will get through it, okay? No matter what.” One hand wrapped around his big one, you placed another hand on his thigh, all you could do in that moment to reassure him that everything was fine.
He felt it again, that rush of warmth spreading in him as he stared at you in disbelief. How had you known those were the exact words he was internally dying to hear? His gaze traced your face, your eyes burning bright with determination, your lips, those beautiful lips he craved oh so much giving him a reassuring smile. He ran a ginger hand over the hair falling down your face, barely touching, hesitant to go too far that he couldn’t hold back. Painstakingly he had to remind himself that you were still in a public parking lot, where it was so easy to get caught even with the pouring rain outside of the car as he drew his hand back, resting it on top of yours, hidden completely from the view.
“I have to go see him in prison, and I don’t know if I can do it.” He confided in you, finding it so easy to talk about whatever was bothering him, scaring him… He had never had that kind of a connection before, not even with Laurie.
“Do you want me to come with you?” You didn’t think about the technicalities. You didn’t think about why that was probably a bad idea, there could be press around, how would you get the time off, what if people saw you and many more reasons why you shouldn’t didn’t even cross your mind for all you could focus on at that moment was how small Andy had looked when he uttered those words to you. This man with broad shoulders, well-built physique who commanded whatever room he entered had looked so small in that moment. Your eyes never left his, worried that if you broke the gaze the whole moment would shatter all around you. He nodded once. Twice.
“I would like that.” He looked around, his eyes scanning the surroundings for people, but the rain that had picked up its speed was acting as a curtain drawn between you and the rest of the world.
Satisfied with what he saw, Andy turned back to face you, cupping the sides of your face between his big hands. He leaned in without any hesitation holding him back, he had been waiting for an opportunity like this and heaven knows you were in the same position as him. Your lips met in the middle and immediately sent tingles down your spine, the gentleness of the kiss conveying so many words between. The kiss was different from the heated, passion filled ones at the park that night, and different from the secretive, exciting ones of the day after. No, this kiss was sweeter than them, so sweet you thought you could get drunk off of Andy’s lips, both of his hands still cupping your cheeks.
It was over in a moment, not satisfying the need as you hoped it would, instead it seemed to make your craving even harder to ignore.
You knew you would have to leave soon, before Neal started questioning why your coffee run had taken so long and Andy would have to go back to his house, trying to fend off the occasional reporters still waiting around his house to get one more statement from him. You both were uncomfortably aware of the pressing issues in your life, almost working together on purpose to keep you apart after a year of pining and dreaming.
“Soon”, Andy reassured you after placing kiss after kiss to your lips, to the corner of your mouth, on top of your nose. “Soon, this whole thing will blow out and we will be free to do whatever we want.”
“Together,” you kissed the palm of his hand still resting on your cheek, not wanting to let go, “we will figure it out together.”
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I had to get this in writing before sleep so guess who went to bed at 5 a.m? I wanted to wait and watch episode 5 before writing some of the more important scenes, so here have whatever this is. My inbox is open for requests, asks, feedback or just to talk about Chris!
#andy barber#andy barber x reader#andy barber x you#andy barber x y/n#andy barber fanfiction#defending jacob#defending jacob fanfiction#steve rogers x reader#Chris Evans#chris evans x reader#chris evans imagine#andy barber imagine
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