#rip bud spencer
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#guido de angelis#maurizio de angelis#piedone lo sbirro#my childhood#forever favorite#rip bud spencer#spotify
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PCOS
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader
100 Follower Celebration Request: "🤨 + 'You’re braver than you think and more beautiful than you know.' "
Premise: You've been keeping a secret from your boyfriend. At the most inopportune time, it thrusts itself into the light. He doesn't have the reaction you feared.
Warnings: mentions of Criminal Minds--typical violence, mentions of nausea, discussions of chronic illness, mentions of poor self-esteem
Word count: approx. 3,000
When the unsub impaled you with the knife, you gasped awake.
You blinked open your eyes to pitch black darkness, a pulse of 200 beats per minute, a stomach frothing with queasiness, and cold skin sticky with sweat.
Something velvety constricted your body like cling wrap. The suffocation was akin to being buried six feet under. Fortunately, the feather pillow cushioning your head and the soft foam squashed beneath your fingertips broke through your sleep-addled mind.
It was only a nightmare. You were still laying in bed next to Aaron Hotcher.
Your breath caught, and you went rigor mortis still. Once A’s soft snoring reached you, you relaxed.
Tiredly, you smiled at a ceiling you couldn’t see. You didn’t wake him. The last thing A needed after a horrifying case was to not only be woken before dawn but also be woken by his girlfriend gasping in terror.
Your boyfriend of six months, Aaron, was an FBI supervisory special agent. As a civilian, there was plenty of work information to which you were not privy, especially if a case went south. Often, Aaron didn’t tell you where he flew for work. All you knew was, he’d be away for days. However, sometimes you’d know where Aaron was flying back from once the case was handled. Either, he could tell you once the target was apprehended or you found out via news report.
Based on the news reports from New Mexico that featured the BAU's media liaison, Jennifer Jareau, a cult leader ended his sadistic campaign with an AR-15 shootout and a murder-suicide that caught the state police completely off guard. The FBI caught the scent of his plan, but by the time they sniffed it out, they were 5 steps too far behind. Thankfully, Aaron nor any of his unit members died.
Aaron returned to his DC brownstone to ceramic pans full of your best dishes— all piping hot— on his kitchen counter. You made sure to prepare enough food to last him a couple weeks; emotionally trying work events and tons of paperwork were the perfect recipe for Aaron to not eat enough, and you weren’t going to make it easy for him. The past work weeks had been a whirlwind for you as well; you’d billed 15 plus hours every day for the past week to resuscitate a major merger on its deathbed. You set the last dirtied spoon on A’s drying rack two seconds before he unlocked his front door.
Aaron left the details of his past case vague. He kept the details of his emotional state even vaguer. But you could tell in the extra tight grip of his hello hug that he was in need of grounding. You anchored him with a constant, comforting grip, on his calloused hands. You fed him your best mac and cheese; you even cut back on your beloved pepperjack for his spice sensitive taste buds. Later that evening, you took a soothing shower together and collapsed into bed. You broke your typical bedtime routine: instead of discussing the latest novel you’ve read or life realizations, you watched a so-bad-it's-good corporate soap and ripped it a part for its inaccuracies. That’s when Aaron laughed for the first time since he came home.
You were relieved you didn’t wake him. Even though food comas were “scientifically disproven,” a factoid Aaron passed on to you from his team's young genius, Doctor Spencer Reid, you hoped the welcome home dinner you made him helped sustain his deep sleep.
Your adrenal glands calmed. You closed your eyes, but, not a second later, you were rudely interrupted by a sharp pain three inches below your belly button--- right where the unsub stabbed you.
It was just a dream. With a quiet huff, you rolled onto your side and curled against Aaron’s back.
That’s when you felt it— a tacky liquid sticking your satin pj pants to your thighs. A swell of nausea overtook you, and you feared it was not a byproduct of anxiety alone.
Gingerly, you slid out of bed. With the nausea sliding up your esophagus and the sensation of the room spinning, it wouldn’t take Holmes to confirm the cause, but you refused to panic without irrefutable evidence.
Gently, you folded the covers back. Not daring to turn on your phone flashlight, you tapped your home screen and raised the brightness.
When you hovered the light over the bed sheet, deep red splotches of smeared period blood screamed against Aaron’s stark white sheets.
Something deep and cold coiled in the pit of your stomach. You clicked your phone off. Carefully, you took a few steps back from the bed.
Your stomach whirled. A shiver crawled up your spine. You hurriedly tiptoed across the carpet to Aaron’s ensuite. Even in your haste, you quietly shut the door behind you. As soon as the door was in its oak frame, you turned the lock.
You pulled the roots of your hair with an iron grip. Shit. Shit.
You collapsed onto the edge of Aaron’s bathtub. There was blood all over your pj bottoms. You stood in a panic. You looked back and, of course, in a matter of three seconds, you stained the white acrylic.
You went to his faucet and patted ice cold water on your cheeks. Get a grip. Stress would only make the inevitable worse. Why it was possible for your body to malfunction this severely, you’ll never understand.
If you’d only been blessed with a normal body, one that menstruated on a timely schedule and didn’t come with a laundry list of ugly, graphic symptoms, tonight would be nothing more than a minor embarrassment.
The guilt for waking Aaron on tonight of all nights would be strong, but all you would have to do is tap him awake, apologize, and attack your blood splotches with a hydrogen peroxide–soaked cotton ball and the night would revert back to a typical night with your boyfriend.
You wished you were well enough to clean his sheets. Unfortunately, for you, it wasn't possible. You’d get even more nauseated. Or too lightheaded. You already felt sick when you woke up, which meant you were menstruating for a few hours.
How did you not catch this? Your body at least has the decency of shooting some warning flares, and the new medication your OB/GYN prescribed three months ago was far from 100 percent effective at calming your PMS symptoms.
You ran a hand over your face and through your hair. You were two weeks early after billing unbelievable hours for that merger dispute. This was stress induced.
You forced a deep breath. You needed to find a way out of this.
Suddenly, your vision swam. With no other option, you sat on the stained portion of Aaron’s bathtub. You gripped your stomach as the pain twisted deeper into your abdomen. You hunched over yourself.
Tonight could not become Aaron’s baptism by fire into your PCOS. He was exhausted physically and emotionally. He shouldn’t have to deal with all the baggage that comes when you experience the most natural thing in the world for a woman.
The nausea crawled up your throat, and you forcefully swallowed it back with a groan.
You put your head in your hands. You didn’t bring enough pads. Or tampons. You didn’t have any anti-emetics. What if you got a migraine? What if you fainted and A woke to what appeared to be your corpse lying on his bathroom tile?
Your spiral was interrupted by the man in question. “Honey?” Aaron called, voice strung.
Before you could respond, he yelled. “Honey?!”
You stood, and Aaron’s bathroom tilted on an axis. You barely managed to stumble to the doorway.
Fumbling, you unlocked the door just as Aaron reached the it.
His brown eyes were wide blown and wild. You'd never seen that expression on him before. “Are you okay?” He held your forearms as if he were afraid you’d crumple with too harsh a touch.
“I saw the blood and I…” He swallowed. He scanned you from head to toe repeatedly. “I thought the worst.” He whispered. Your heart fell through the pit of your stomach to the soles of your feet.
He cupped your cheeks. “Baby, you’re really off color. I need you to talk to me. Where are you hurt?” The blood stains on the back of your pants were out of his view.
“I’m not hurt, A.” You said.
His eyebrows furrowed. “Your side of the bed is blood stained.” He said, his voice taking a sterner edge.
“I’m on my monthly.”
“Oh.” He released your arms. His cheeks dusted pink. “Sorry, honey, I…” He ran his hands over his bedhead. “I should’ve…I jumped to conclusions.” He sounded shocked with himself.
“You’ve had a long day.” You whispered. “Give me a minute. I’ll clean.”
Suddenly, everything went blurry. Your muscles slacked, and your forehead dropped onto Aaron’s pectoral.
A hand was back on your forearm, this time with a tighter grip. A calloused hand tapped your cheek. “Hey. Hey. Baby. Stay with me.”
Carefully, he walked you away from the door. “Sit.” Fully supporting your back, he sat you on the floor and leaned you against the bathtub.
As soon as your back was fully supported, his ensuite regained color. You could take a deep breath again.
Aaron knelt in front of you. “Honey,” Aaron said, his stare piercing through yours. He stroked your hair out of your face. “I need you to be honest with me. What’s wrong?”
“I told you.” More accurately, you began to tell him.
You shivered. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead and stroked down your cheekbone.
“I don’t have a fever.” You insisted. “It’s just my monthly.”
He pecked your forehead. He didn’t believe you. “Is it always this bad?” He asked with a mix of concern and skepticism.
“Yes.” You sighed. “I have polycystic ovarian syndrome.”
“PCOS?” He asked.
You were shocked. “You know what that is?”
He nodded. “I’ve heard of it.”
“It can make my time of the month super severe.” Stubborn tears leaked from your eyes. You wiped your cheeks with the cuff of your pajama shirt.
You were supposed to be the woman who kicked ass in the boy’s club of corporate law by day and kicked ass as the perfect girlfriend by night.
He was not supposed to see you trembling before him, huddled in pain. He was not supposed to see you on the verge of throwing up from period cramps when he almost died in a hail of bullets less than twelve hours ago. He was never supposed to see how weak you truly were.
He took over wiping your tears with his thumbs. “Scale of 1 to 10—how bad is the pain?”
“Maybe an 8?” You said. It was a 9. If you could’ve managed without your head aching, you would’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. The one thing about dating a profiler is they always know when you’re fibbing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.
You sniffled. “About my condition or that I’m in pain?”
“I think those are a package deal.” He said gently.
You sighed. Your instinct was to lie, but you stopped yourself. Aaron could see right through you. He was one of the best behavioral analysts in the entire world. For the first leg of your relationship, you’d managed to avoid this confrontation which was a blessing in itself.
“I didn’t want you to see how sick I get. How sick I am.” You toyed with the ends of your hair. “I didn’t want you to know how weak I am.” You whispered.
His eyes softened. “Honey, you’re not weak because you have PCOS."
“There are months where I can’t even stand up.” You said, voice taught with tears.
“And that’s why I need to know." He smoothed your hair. "Have you been going through this every month by yourself?”
“Since I moved out of my mother’s place for undergrad, yeah.” You sniffled with a watery smirk.
He wrapped an arm around your back, then hesitated. “Can I hug you?”
“Please.” You whispered
He pulled you into a hug. His hold was looser than normal, but his embrace still filled you with warmth from head to toe.
“Darling, I love you so much.” Aaron said. “I would never look down on you for this.”
“It’s just…I’m not used to….”
“Being this vulnerable.” Aaron finished sympathetically.
You nod. “It’s just…I get so sick. It makes me so ugly.”
He shook his head. “Hey.” He made sure you were looking him in the eye. “You’re never ugly.”
You chuckled. “You’ll revisit that answer when you see me dry heaving at 3 in the morning.” You said, unpleasant nights resurfacing.
His lips don’t do so much as quirk upwards. Rather, he looked shattered. He squeezed your hands. “I won’t.”
“What can I do to help?” He pivoted.
“You can change the sheets.” You looked to the top corner of the ensuite door frame as more tears welled. “And go back to bed.”
“I won't ever leave you on the bathroom floor in pain, alone.”
“But you should.” You said. He cupped your cheeks with his homey hands. He gently pulled your chin back to level your gaze, but you resisted.
“Why should I?” He asked.
“Because you’re tired. And I’m sick. And I’m broken. And there’s nothing you can do.” You make eye contact and immediately are wracked with full body sobs.
Suddenly, every second of you’d spent building up your self-esteem went out the window as your deepest insecurities broke through. You were never supposed to be a burden to him.
He pulled you into chest and wrapped you in his arms..“Helping you when you’re sick is never a burden. I love you so much.”
“What if you get tired of me?” What if this made him stop loving you?
“I won’t.” He promised.
He pressed another kiss to your forehead. “We’ll return to this conversation when you’re feeling better.” He stroked your cheekbone with his thumb. “What helps? Do you have medication?”
“I have daily medication. I’m still working with my doctor to get a regimine that works.” You wiped your eyes. “Heat helps. I drink this peppermint tea to help my stomach when I’m at home.” You rambled.
“The one by that British brand?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“When I saw their tea in your apartment, I bought some to keep here. I might have some peppermint. I’ll be back, honey.” He left you with a kiss on the cheek.
The tailoring he did to his world to accommodate you would never cease to flutter your heart.
The pleasant moment was quickly halted by your stomach bubbling.
As A’s slippers padded down the stairs, you crawled across the tile floor over to the toilet. You forced your head between your knees.
About ten minutes later, you heard the clack of his slippers against the bathroom floor. “Nauseous?” He asked.
You nodded.
He sat the mug close to you. “Your tea to your left within arm's reach. I’m going to grab some blankets and pillows. I’ll be right back. Shout if you need something.”
You learned by “some blankets and pillows” Aaron meant an entire blanket set.
As you leaned your head back against the wall, Aaron began prepping your makeshift bed. In your peripheral vision, you laid pillows as floor cushioning.
“I won’t judge you if you go to sleep in bed. This gets ugly.”
“Baby, I’m an FBI agent for the BAU. Even if you threw up on me, it wouldn’t make the list of the top fifty gross things I’ve experienced by miles.”
You scooched onto a pillow. Aaron slipped the blankets around you.
Your head found the soft crook of his neck. He pressed his head onto yours, and the pressure instantly relaxed you. Unfortunately, your your uterine muscles corkscrewed. You squirmed in pain.
Aaron shushed you. “You need to breathe. This will pass, just breathe.”
You clasped his hand like a lifeline. What feels like hours later, when the pain begins to ebb away, you pant, “It’s alright if you need to go to sleep.” Aaron already relayed his plans to go into the office on Saturday morning to attack some dense paperwork.
He placed his free hand overtop of yours. “You will always be a priority for me. I hope I’ve shown you by now that I will always take care of you.”
You smiled into his shoulder.
“Also, the heating pad is charging in the bedroom, and, before you ask about the sheets, they’re already in the wash.”
You sighed in happiness. “I could kiss you right now.”
“What’s stopping you?” Gently, he pressed his lips to the top of your forehead.
You smiled again. You could count on your hand the number of times you’d smiled when you’re like this: on the bathroom floor, nauseous and dizzy.
You squeezed his knee with your free hand. “You promise you’ll stay with me?”
“Of course I’ll stay with you. I love you. And, just for the record…this may be tough, but you're not ugly and you're not weak. You're braver than you think and more beautiful than you know. I'm grateful to be the one holding you through this."
In the coming days, you’re certain you’ll have a laundry list of next steps from your boyfriend: call your doctor, check in with a dietitian, monitor stress, anything he could think of to lessen these symptoms. He’ll probably want to talk more about why you didn’t tell him sooner.
But, for now, you're both satisfied with sitting on the bathroom floor and riding this out. And in a moment where the pain could split you in pieces, you somehow felt whole.
Author's Note: I'm happy to say the 100 follower celebration fics are finally going live!
I hope you're having a good day or night! Thanks for taking the time to read my work! And, to anyone struggling with a condition similar to the reader's: you, too, are braver than you think and more beautiful than you know!
xoxo,
shewroteaworld
#aaron hotchner x reader#shewroteaworld 100 follower celebration#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch hotchner#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotch fanfiction#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fic#criminal minds#ssa aaron hotchner
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Debut
Summary: It's Spencer's first time going down on a woman. He’s a quick learner.
Request: Spencer’s first time going down on a lady, maybe she talks him through how to do it (originally requested to @imagining-in-the-margins)
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Category: Smut
Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) inexperienced Spencer, oral (fem receiving), fingering, coming untouched (Spencer)
Word count: 900
Masterlist
From the very first time you got to be alone with Spencer, he made it obvious how good he was at compensating for his lack of experience with his infinite eagerness. It was a perfect mix of his insatiable intellectual curiosity and his ambition to please you that left you gasping for air each night you spent together.
Tonight wasn’t any different. Spencer had almost ripped your clothes off before you even made it to his bedside. The hunger in his eyes was unlike anything you had ever seen before. His lips were almost burning when they touched yours, he was kissing you like a man starved.
Once the two of you lay down on his bed, he began trailing kisses down your neck and over your chest. He lingered for a few moments to caress your breasts before his lips moved over your stomach, nipping on soft skin, spurred on by the sighs falling from your lips.
You already had a hunch where he was headed when he descended further down your body. He confirmed your suspicion when he looked up to find your eyes, almost sounding desperate when he whined, “Can I taste you?”
“Eager boy,” you snickered. “You have never done that before, have you?”
He shook his head and begged you, “Please?”
His eyes were filled with wonder when you opened your legs to grant him access. It wasn’t the first time he saw you like this but he made it obvious that it was impossible to get used to the glory your body had to offer. Just like every time he had seen you completely bare before, he mumbled, “You’re so beautiful.”
“I’m all yours,” you encouraged him to bring to action what you both longed for.
Spencer began trailing kissing along your inner thigh, slowly getting closer to where you were aching for his touch. Just before his lips reached your center, he hesitated.
You didn’t let him voice any insecurities as you purred, “Just keep kissing me.”
And so he did. His lips moved along the seam of your core before ghosting over your folds.
Almost like an order, you whispered, “Taste me.”
Without wasting any more time his tongue began gliding through your heat to collect your arousal. He seemed to be mesmerized by your heady scent, moaning against you as he kept moving his tongue along you. When he heard your moans falling from your lips, he couldn’t help but begin to rock his hips against the mattress.
You noticed his enthusiasm and snickered, “My sweet boy, you’re really enjoying this, huh?”
“Yes,” he mumbled against your skin. “You taste so good.”
“Keep going,” you purred. “Focus on–”
You were interrupted by a moan escaping your throat as Spencer began focussing his attention on your bundle of nerves. Those sounds seemed to spur him further on, wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you in place while his tongue moved over your little bud.
When his eagerness almost got too much for you, you whined, “Be gentle. Slow and steady.”
Spencer was a quick learner, immediately adjusting his movements until he found exactly what you liked.
“So good,” you praised him. “Just like that.”
Spencer got lost in the pleasure just like you did, involuntarily grinding his hardness against the mattress to find some much needed friction. Your ambrosial taste clouded his mind, unable to focus on anything else but your delicate folds against his tongue.
You danced along the edge of euphoria, still in need of more to finally find relief.
"Use your hand," you sighed and hoped he'd understand.
It took Spencer a moment to realize what you needed. Once his brain caught up with your words, he let his hand wander from your thigh to your center. He leaned back for a moment to find your face while he traced your tender skin with his fingertips.
When he let two of his fingers glide into you, you threw your head back into the pillows and closed your eyes. Your hand reached out for Spencer's hair, grabbing it to bring his mouth back to where it belonged. He whimpered when you tugged on his hair, obviously enjoying your harshness.
With his tongue against your most sensitive spot and his fingers moving inside you, he brought you closer to your breaking point. His moans against your heat added vibrations that made you feel light-headed. Just when you began pulsing around his fingers, Spencer found relief as well, blemishing his underwear as he fell apart.
After you came down from your high, Spencer sat up between your legs with glowing cheeks and his mouth agape. You opened your eyes and arms at the same time, inviting him into your embrace. He accepted the offer.
Once you noticed the mess he had made inside his underwear, Spencer wanted to apologize but you reassured him instead, "I love to know how much you enjoy bringing me pleasure."
With a smirk spread over your face, you pushed his body until he lay on his back. As you began kissing down his neck, you whispered against his skin, "Now it's my turn."
If you enjoyed reading this story you should check out the other blurbs in my Blurb Collection!
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You're Somebody Else
Flashback: 20 February 1998
Summary: It's Katie's 18th birthday, but Spencer gets a present too.
Warnings: smut, virgin!Spencer, dirty talk, cursing, slight angst at the beginning, mutual pining, third person, abrupt ending.
Word Count: 3.2k
Find parts 1 & 2 here!
taglist: @honey-on-my-lips
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Katie paced back and forth across her apartment. Today was her eighteenth birthday, which was meant to be a special day. And it would have been, if her mother hadn’t passed away just before Christmas, and if her best friend would answer the phone. She sighed and dialled Spencer’s number again. It went to voicemail, again.
“Hey, it’s me. Just wondering where you are, for the third time this evening. Call me back.”
She waited fifteen minutes and didn’t receive a call back, or an email. She tried again.
“Spencer – if you didn’t want to hang out, that’s fine. But at least call me and let me know. It’s the polite thing to do. Even your mom called me. Even your mom remembered it was my birthday. Jackson is at a stupid frat thing tonight and I really don’t want to be alone on my birthday. Call me.” Her voice was getting agitated. She was seldom annoyed with Spencer, their personalities moulded so perfectly together that there was rarely an opportunity for arguments.
“Hello!” She heard a familiar voice bellow as her apartment door swung open, she spun around immediately. Now blissfully aware of the tears rolling down her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Where have you been Spencer?”
“I was at the store,” he held up two gift bags. “These are for you.”
“You’re an hour late.”
“Yeah, I-uh, couldn’t get a cab.” She didn’t entirely believe him but didn’t want to argue. “I’m sorry I’m late, I just wanted to make your birthday special.” And just like that, she couldn’t help but return the wide smile he gave her.
“Don’t listen to your voicemails.” She warned as they sat together on the couch.
“Oh dear, you’re that annoyed with me, huh?”
“I was. You’re here now.”
“Where’s Jackson?”
“I don’t know.”
“What a great boyfriend.” He almost spits the last word out.
Katie can’t give a good reason for dating Jackson, he’s a sophomore majoring in communications at USC, and was a quarterback in High School. He’s the exact opposite of the type of guy she would see as her type – he looks like an Abercrombie and Fitch model, and he probably has never read a book unless he got class credits for it. But he told her that it's sexy how smart she is, and he held her hand when her mom died. And his frat brothers bring her booze when she hangs out at their place. A bottle of which, she stole for her evening with Spencer.
“I know you don’t like him.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You can’t even give me a reason why.”
“I don’t think I need to.” He shrugs and notices her confused look. “You can’t give me a good reason not to hate him.” He isn’t wrong, “enough about him, open your present.”
She opens the giftbags, and as suspected they are filled with books and VHS tapes of old Russian movies the pair had been planning to watch, but for some reason are rarely shown in Californian theatres, and a silver bracelet with a heart charm, which looks expensive. She gives him a look, she doesn’t need to say thank you for the gifts, they don’t need words this pair. He smiles and shakes his hand, as if to tell her not to worry about it. She immediately puts it on.
At the bottom of the bag is a card, which she rips open, as a card hoarder this is always her favourite gift to receive. Like her father, Spencer takes birthday cards very seriously. The front is a joke-card about the redistribution of wealth, he likes to joke that deep down, she’s a communist. She isn’t. But it’s what is written inside that makes her heart drop.
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
Happy Birthday,
Love, Spencer.
“Spencer.” She tries to say something, but she isn’t sure what to say. The poem is E.E. Cummings. She wonders if the verse he’s chosen is a message he hopes to get across, but she doesn’t get her hopes up. She has a boyfriend.
“I can give you a reason.”
“What?”
“I can give you a reason not to be with Jackson.” Spencer can barely get the words out, and when he does they only muster a whisper. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He contemplates stating the obvious, that Jackson is awful, but he’s reminded of something. Something Mr Miller told him before he died. To be bold. To always be bold, and not to be afraid of a bad outcome, if the possible good outcome could be the best thing that could ever happen to you. Katie is the best thing to ever happen to Spencer, and he knows it. He also believes he isn’t good enough for her, and he knows there’s no way she’ll say it back. Jackson looks like a jacked-up football player, who doesn’t know his ass from his feet. Jackson is a jacked-up football player who doesn’t know his ass from his feet, but maybe that’s what Katie wants. Maybe that’s what Katie is attracted to. Not a skinny kid, who at eighteen hasn’t even had his first kiss.
Katie had dragged him to a party the summer before, and Spencer knows he probably could have made out with a drunk sophomore. But he didn’t. Katie questioned him the whole way home why he didn’t make a move, he didn’t have the guts to tell her she was the reason why.
“Go on.” She presses.
“I love you.”
“Yeah, Spencer, I know. I love you too.” This is something they say all the time, whenever they hang up the phone, or leave each other’s apartments.
“No.” Be bold Spencer. “I’m in love with you. I have been for years, I just didn’t know that’s what it was. I’ve been so infatuated with you since we were kids. And I know that you’re my best friend, and I know you love Jackson. I don’t care if you don’t love me back, I just had to tell you. I had to be bold for once in my life because I never say how I feel or ask for what I want. I never do. But I am now. I am so irrevocably in love with you that it makes me feel sick. Your dad told me to be bold, so I’m being bold. I am in love with you, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop.” He feels like the oxygen has all but been taken from his lungs, he’s winded and out of breath and his cheeks have never felt this warm.
A long silence passes, and he’s sure he’s fucked up. She’ll probably never speak to him again.
“My dad?” Is all she replies.
“Yeah, your dad. He knew. He always knew I think.”
“I don’t love Jackson.” She sighs, an unrelated response, but one that makes Spencer hopeful.
“You don’t?”
“I only started dating him, because I thought it would make my feelings for you go away.”
“Your-your feelings for m-me?” Spencer stutters and raises an eyebrow, this seemed too good to be true. Katie shuffles closer to him on the couch, their thighs grazing one another. Spencer is desperately trying not to make it obvious that he’s holding his breath. She nods in response to his question, confirming what they now both knew to be true. Her hand moves to his thigh and feels the wind get knocked back out of his again, the reaction is a long sigh, a struggled, whimpering sound accompanies it. He’s immediately embarrassed but Katie doesn’t seem to notice.
“Do you know what I want for my birthday?”
“What?” His breathing is shaky, and he’s started to sweat – great.
“I want you to kiss me, Spencer.”
“I’ve never-“
“I know,” she cuts him off. “But, I want to be the first girl you kiss.”
“I want you to be the last girl I kiss.” She giggles at how quickly he shoots back, his unwavering need for his affection to be known.
“Then do it.” She’s hesitant as well, if they do this, they’ll never be friends as they had been. This is a line that shouldn’t be crossed, but she really hopes he’ll cross it with her. She was going to break up with Jackson tomorrow anyway.
Spencer doesn’t move and she’s worried that this is a sign of rejection, that he isn’t ready for this, that now the option is in front of him, he won’t take it. But when she meets his eyes, she can tell he’s nervous, he doesn’t want to get this wrong. Her heart swells.
Instead, she leans forward, cupping his jaw in her hands and brushes her lips lightly over his, to give him room to back away if he changes his mind. The opposite happens, and the boy she’s known for six years, her best friend, lunges forward pushing his lips harshly against hers. She moans at the pressure, she’s kissed a few boys – but has never felt this. This desire for more passion. They continue like this for a few moments, before she runs her tongue over his bottom lip, begging for entrance, he obliges, and the passion increases.
Spencer’s brain is in overload, he’s not quite sure how he got there, but he is acutely aware of how fantastic Mr Miller’s advice was. Be bold. So, Spencer moves his hands from where they were hovering lightly on Katie’s waist, grabs her thighs and pulls her onto his lap. She breaks the kiss away, and looks at him in shock, he isn’t quite sure why until he resurfaces from his heightened state and realises, his forming erection is pushing into her.
“I’m sorry.” He tries to apologise, even though he’s just confessed how embarrassingly he is in love with her, he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable.
“Why are you sorry?”
“Please don’t pretend to not know what I’m talking about.” He blushes, her pretend ignorance will only make this worse. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You haven’t.” He is shocked by her reply and looks up to meet her eyes. What he sees shocks him, the darkness in her eyes and the smirk across her face. This is a side to Katie he has never seen before. “Spencer?”
“Katie?”
“Have you ever touched yourself?”
“Ye-yes.” He stutters. What is happening.
“Have you ever thought of me?” She begins to lightly pull at the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck, he lets out a whimper which makes all the blood in her body run to her heat. “Be honest.”
“Yes.”
“What did you think about?” She smiles when he doesn’t reply, he gives her a knowing look. “Do you want to know what I’ve thought about?”
At this point, Spencer is sure he’s being pranked. There’s no way Katie, who’s had one boyfriend or another for the last two years, has thought about him like this at all. “You’ve thought about it?”
“Specifically? I’ve thought about your hands.”
“My hands?” This is odd, this isn’t in any textbook Spencer had read. Katie leans down and presses a light kiss next to Spencer’s ear.
“Yes, your hands. Do you know how many times I’ve watched you turn pages of a book, or skim over pages with your fingers? Do you know how many times I’ve watched you play chess, or shuffled cards? Do you know how much that’s turned me on?” She whispers, in a voice he has never heard her use. The tent in his pants is getting almost unbearable, he’s throbbing at this point, and she hasn’t even touched him yet. His hands tighten their grip on her thighs, if he was conscious of this, he would have been worried about hurting her. He doesn’t reply. “Do you want to know what I have thought about your hands doing to me?”
He nods.
“I’ve thought about your hands running through my hair, holding my hips down and begging me to let you fuck me. I’ve thought about your hands inside of me, inside of me, inside my mouth.” She’s still whispering in his ear, so she can’t see how bites down on his lip to prevent the groan from escaping his lips. What he doesn’t know, is that his hips are about to buck upwards involuntarily.
“Would you like that baby?”
Spencer has no idea who is on his lap right now, but she looks like Katie, and she sounds like Katie, and he has never been so turned on in his life. This is everything he’s thought about alone at night, but better.
“Yes.” He nods and she pulls away to look at him. “Please.”
She smiles for a second before it drops from her face, and he worries he’s done something wrong. “Are you sure you want to do this?” She only now fully takes stock of the fact that Spencer is a virgin, and she worries that she’s said too much.
“God, more than anything.”
She smashes her lips back against his, no longer suppressing their desire, they both begin to devour one another. His hands have moved from her thighs to her ass, gaining confidence from the noises she makes as he roughly grabs her ass, he’s sure he’ll leave marks from his fingernails, but he doesn’t suppose she’ll mind. His cock is pushed into her hard now, she can feel the throbbing through her yoga pants, desperate for some friction she begins to rock her hips into him. The whimper that escapes Spencer’s lips is the only noise she could hear for the rest of his life; she’s so turned on that by now she doesn’t care about crossing any lines. She must have him.
He pulls away from the kiss, and Katie’s worried that this was too much. Maybe he doesn’t want to go that far tonight.
“Can I take your clothes off?” Be bold Spencer, be bold.
“Thought you’d never ask.” She smiles and he gingerly begins to take the hem of her top in his fingers, playing with it a little before pulling it over her head. Spencer is a teenage boy, he’s seen porn – it wasn’t like he was getting much action elsewhere. But now, God, now he’s so grateful for his eidetic memory as he takes in her breasts which are bare and free. Her nipples are hard, and he so desperately wants to take them in his mouth. Spencer looks to the girl on his lap for approval and she gives a small nod, reaching down to palm his clothed erection.
Spencer moans into her skin, his tongue swilling over her pebbled nipples, leaving little kisses over the peaks. His hands have moved up to her back, and she can feel the strap of his watch against her skin as he stretches out his hand over the base of her back. He’s pushing her closer towards him, nuzzling his face into her breasts, satisfied by the moans, and panting he can hear which tells him this feels good for her as well.
Katie moves face down to his neck, leaving small kisses from his ear to his Adam’s apple, with each one she can hear his breathing quicken and the strain in his pants get worse.
“Spencer.”
“Uh-huh?” He eyes show his disappointment at being pulled away from her breasts, he had been suckling on her nipples intently for what seemed like forever and given the choice, he would never have stopped.
“Do you want me to help with that?”
“God, please.” He gasps in relief; she laughs at his response. The awkwardness had begun to dissipate, and after all their worrying this felt like truly the most natural thing in the world, the giggles and all.
“Okay, I’m gonna take your pants off. Alright?”
“Only if you take yours off too.” He smirks, cocky bastard.
She stands and they shimmy the rest of their clothes off, left in only their underwear. Spencer lies back down on the couch, stretched out and propping his head up on a pillow. He really hopes she resumes her place on top of him, and grins when she does.
“What do you want?”
“I get to choose?”
“Anything for you.” She says, and begins to kiss down his chest, stopping when she can feel his breathing get faster when she reaches his naval.
“Fuck me, please.” He groans, “if you carry on like that I’ll finish too quickly.”
“Sure you’re okay with that? Not exactly the most romantic setting?” She looks up to glance around at her shitty apartment.
“As long as it’s you I really could not give a fuck.” This makes Katie laugh, Spencer never curses.
“Okay baby, okay.” She removes her underwear and Spencer can’t help but stare, he’s never seen a girl naked in person before. She removes his boxers and watches his cock spring free, now that was not something she had expected Spencer to be carrying around. He notices her staring, and his boldness withers, he becomes self-conscious again.
“Sorry, I know you’re probably used to better.”
“Spencer, you are more than fine. Trust me, much more.” She assures him, and he believes her. She wouldn’t lie to him, this gives him the boost of confidence to pull her body down, closer to him so their chests are aching against one another. She lines his head up her slit, letting her arousal coat him. Spencer has never felt anything like it, his groans cannot be muffled, and his hips are out of control, he needs her more than anything. She’s whispering in his ear praises that only make matters worse, he is putty in her hands, and he’s elated.
She stops teasing him and lowers herself down onto him, both of them gasp as he enters her. Katie is slow, trying to adjust to him – Jackson is definitely nowhere near as big as Spencer. Spencer, well, he’s trying not to cum immediately. He knew sex was good, there was no way people made such a big deal about it if it wasn’t, but he didn’t know it could be like this. And she hadn’t even moved yet.
“Katie,” he whimpers, barely forming the word. “I need you to move.”
“Or what?” She teases, she’s ready to start but was waiting for a sign of approval from her best friend that this was definitely okay.
“Katie, I will come right now if you don’t move. Please.” He begs, his whimpering, the begging. She’s never had to take control during sex before, and she likes it. She likes it because it’s Spencer and this isn’t pretend, he is this innocent and honest. She knows now just how far his worship of her goes, beyond friendship and academia, put the fact he is hers. Completely.
She rocks her hips back and forth, quickening the pace and slamming her hips down onto his. With every move, Spencer is vocal – in fact, he’s loud. His whimpers are the most gorgeous sound she’s ever heard, and she refuses to shut her eyes even for a moment in case she misses a second of how his face moves and contorts with each motion. One hand is grasping at the cushion behind his head, the other is pulling her into him by her back. Wanting every piece of her.
#spencer reid#spencer x reader#dr spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid smut#criminal minds#Spencer reid x oc#spencer reid fanfiction#Spencer reid one shot#Spencer reid blurb
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You know, these GH writers really are on my last nerve since we wrapped up Greenland/Ice Princess storyline. There should’ve been a handful of episodes of Spencer and Trina acclimating to being back in their natural surroundings, dealing with what they just went through. I mean...Spencer basically worshipped Victor before all this and he had that rug ripped out from underneath him.
We deserved to see a scene of Spencer and Laura talking about how he’s dealing with seeing Victor’s true colors and what that means going forward. And maybe truly processing what he went through and the fact that his father is still nowhere to be found. Instead we still have to see him acting like a twelve year old with Dex for whatever reason and clinging to this stupid custody storyline with Ace Hardware.
Then we got Trina who I’m sure knew the Cassadines were nuts but maybe not to THIS extent. She had to be a spy on the fly to save the day in the midst of some traumatic shit but there have been no true scenes of her and Spencer commiserating in their misery from that.
Please for the love of god use the range that Nicholas Chavez has and DO SOMETHING!!!! I don’t need to see him acting like a heinous little child about Dex and Joss, i hate it too bud but let’s move on.
And let me see Trina up in Portia’s face some more. I’m sick of her crying behind that desk at GH, let them go back and forth!!
I’m begging for the drama at this point
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Chapter 0 - A Bit of Backstory
Middle School is quite the awkward year, you arent a kid anymore, but you are not an adult just yet. which brings us a group of kids, Billie Joe Armstrong, and his friends, Frank Edwin Wright III, and Michael Pritchard, though those two instead called themselves Tre Cool and Mike Dirnt. This trio of kids were troublemakers to say the least, often pulling pranks on teachers and school faculty. They found it odd that the school would be funded not by a board, but by a pharmaceutical company of all things, so they chose to no longer give a shit.
One day, hanging out in the lunchroom, a few hours before school normally starts, Tre comes in with a large box full of stuff.
"This dude I know, his name's Spencer, he brought me this, a whole music kit!" he said, revealing a drum kit, some microphones, a guitar, a bass, and few amps, "I call dibs on the drums!" Tre said, getting them set up, Billie choosing the guitar, and Mike choosing the bass. They plugged in, and noticed the amps were full of stickers of all sorts, all of which were strange and different, but all of them were green.
"I'm gonna sing too, fuck it." Billie said, setting up a mic stand for himself. The trio would soon play, it started off sounding a bit reckless, but soon, transformed into something of value.
They called it, Welcome To Paradise
Though as they rehearsed the song one more time, faculty members came in, apprehending the three. Billie remembers being taken home and not going to school that day, he cant recall the rest of the day, though he came back the next day, and before class, he would come see Tre.
"Hey, Tre! What's up?"
"Uhm... I don't know you? And my name isn't Tre."
Billie frowned as his friend had forgotten him, he went to find Mike, though he too had forgotten him.
Billie would never see his once-friends again, and as he grew, he would unfortunately forget he had friends. As the medicine he had to take after the incident, unbeknownst to him at the time, would make him soon forget them too. Though years later, now older, would look out the window of his apartment, soon, he would see in the alleyway, a group of people in masks spray painting messages on walls, displaying messages about how Better Living Industries, the company who made Battery City, are controlling people, it made him realize, those pills he had to take since the incident were from BLI, and it made him think, he never really had a girlfriend before, and he was told he needed to prioritize that. But he didn't know if that was what he wanted.
But seeing this enlightened him, the message was clear, this life, in Battery City, was suppressing his full potential. He got a red t-shirt, a marker, wrote "FUCK YOU" on it, switched into it, ripped a jacket into a vest, put it on, put some tape on both for decorative purposes, and began his escape.
He didn't know where the exit to battery city was, so he went in with the masked people vandalizing the alleyway, one of them noticed he had no mask on.
"DUDE! PUT SOMETHING ON! THEY'LL FIND YOU!" she whisper-yelled, getting a helmet from her backpack and putting it over his head, she chucked, "Hehe, suits you well, I don't remember you, what do we call you again?"
"Uhhhh... Jim Dickman." Billie said, making the name up on the spot, before sighing, lifting the visor up, "Look, I saw your messages, so I came down and wanted to join you guys."
She smiled, "Hey, bud, y'know, I can set you guys up, I know a guy in the zones- er, the zones are sorta the outskirts of Battery City, anyway, so, I know a guy who can deck you up with a better look, you look like a fish learning target practice right now, they'll fix you up."
Once the group was ready to return to the zones, Billie went with them, the girl, calling herself Cassiette, brought him to a place where he would get a new outfit, to which he used a bit of what he got, and a bit of what he knows will shock any exterminators, this included wearing a skirt, leggings high enough to be presumed to be pants, and lots of funny penises, on his new ray gun, on his new mask, and as a patch on the back of his vest, once he was all ready, putting on some makeup just for fun. Billie Joe Armstrong was no more, now, he is Jim Dickman, and Cassiette loved him, she thought he looked super cute and sexy, so, she brought him into the restroom for some, private time together...
This would be a first, he was lead to believe he should be on the giving end of these kinds of things, but receiving it was way more fun, this would be a beginning for him. He would go on from there blasting Draculoids and flirting with fellow zone runners, he would not be able to be friends with Cassiette forever, as one time she was captured, and/or killed, he didn't want to figure out which. Despite this, Jim Dickman did meet some other friends in the zones, the Fab Four, the most well known, a mystery by the name of Psycho Beauty, and a trio of misfits named Fresh Salters, Jaxxy Jupiter, and Voxel Purple.
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Sub!spencer + titty sucking Right I’m now going to bathe in holy water
Actually I think I’m the one who needs holy water 😳
I hope this is everything you dreamed!
(And here’s a pic to go with it)
Pretty Boy
Spencer is Y/N’s pretty boy
A/N: Loved, loved, loved writing this. I’m always down for a lil sub Spencer!
Warnings: Smut, titty sucking, hand job, praise kink, slight dom/sub dynamic, soft domme reader
Word Count: 1.1k
They’d been seeing each other for a while now. Not that anyone on the team knew that. They tiptoed around in secret, dodging questions about their dating lives, stealing glances at each other while no one was looking.
As cliche as it sounded, the sneaking around almost made it hotter. Especially on the nights that they’d sneak into each other’s rooms.
This was one of those nights. Spencer didn’t think it was going to be, given that the whole team had gotten rooms in the same hallway, as a rule, that was usually too risky.
But Y/N didn’t care, or she couldn’t bring herself to.
When he heard the soft knock at the door he shot upright in bed, like some kind of desperate Pavlovian response he was already turned on before he even made it to the door to let her in.
She doesn’t say anything until she’s in the room with the door softly closed behind them.
“I didn’t think you’d come?” He asks, grateful
“I couldn’t wait, I missed you so much to today baby” she pulls him into her arms, holding him close for a moment before pulling back and catching his lips in a hungry kiss.
He surrenders to it right away, letting himself get washed away in her taste, her touch. He missed her desperately on the nights that they couldn’t be together, on the nights that he knew she was only a few doors down, thinking of him.
“But the others?” He asks when she pulls back and she runs her fingers through his hair reassuring and soft.
“It shouldn’t be a problem if you can keep quiet for me baby?” She coos, and he melts, he would do anything she wanted. So he nods excitedly, and it forces her lips to curve up in a smile.
“You’re so good” she places another sweet kiss on his lips, “Take off your clothes and go wait for me on the bed” she instructs in her commanding yet soothing voice, and he can do nothing but oblige.
He waits patiently, naked and sitting with his back up against the headboard. Just where she wants him. When she feels like she’s given him enough time to work himself up, and she can see his cock, hard, flushed and leaking at the tip from the anticipation alone, then she joins him.
“So so good for me Spence” she whispers, coming to sit on his lap, a leg curled on either side of his own, her hands braced on his shoulders with his cock nestled in between both of them, it was leaking onto the fabric of her nightdress now, but she didn’t care.
“I think you deserve a little something, don’t you think?” She leans down close to moan it against his ear, and his eyes roll back from the feeling of her hot breath against his skin.
“Yes” he whines out, desperate already. And she loves that she gets to see this version of Spencer, aching for her.
She takes her hands off his shoulders so that she can slip the straps of her nightdress down, without the support it slips down her torso, pooling at her hips so she’s exposed to him.
And his eyes got straight to where they always want to. Lingering on her breasts and the way they stand up off her chest. Her nipples already hard from the anticipation.
His lips part softly, his mouth hanging open at the sight. But he knows better than to touch without being asked, without being told.
“Why don’t you put that mouth to use pretty boy?” She hums, and that’s all the permission he needs.
He leans in close to her and leaves kisses all throughout the valley between her breasts, cupping one of them in each hand and pushing them together around his face. Burying himself between them for a few moments.
Her head lols backwards at the feeling, his hands are warm, and far softer than they have any right to be. When his grip grows harsher, his kisses do too.
They move up further sloppily kissing the tops of her breasts, his mouth is open on them, his tongue occasionally slipping out to lick and suck along the delicate skin.
“Fuck, baby” she has to stifle a cry, and she can feel him moan at her approval, his cock twitching in between them from the praise.
His lips move down further, his hands moving around to her back now, pulling her closer against him, his hands digging into her.
He wraps his lips around one of her nipples, taking the hard bud in his mouth and gently teasing it between his teeth before taking it into his mouth completely.
And it’s warm and wet around her, his lips and tongue running over the sensitive skin, coaxing moans from deep within her that she has to actively suppress so that they don’t get caught.
But that only seems to turn him on more, his mouth turning its attention to the other nipple and giving it the same treatment.
Once she’s hit a point where she can barely take it anymore she slips her hand down, between their stomachs, gently grabbing his cock.
It’s wet with precum, and it twitches in her grip.
He lets out a tiny moan but his lips stay focused and wrapped around her, sucking and teasing.
“You’re doing such a good job baby” she comforts, and his cock twitches again. She squeezes it again before staring to move, her hand pumping up and down his hard length. She starts off slow, teasing and deliberate long strokes, running her tongue over his slit every so often.
Soon enough he can concentrate on nothing else but the way her hand feels around him. His mouth can do nothing else but moan into her soft chest, hiding his face between her breasts to stifle the desperate whines that rip thorough him. He continues like that, Holding her close, his face pressed right up against her until he’s cumming, spilling all over her hand, coating his stomach and her nightdress.
“I’m so lucky to have you baby, you did so good for me, so perfect” she works him through his high, bringing her other hand to his back face and pushing his curls off of his sweaty forehead.
And he can nothing but look up at her, his eyes so absolutely full of love.
#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader smut#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid blurb#sub!spencer#sub spencer#mgg imagine#mgg blurb#mgg smut#Matthew gray gubler smut#Matthew gray gubler imagine#Matthew gray gubler blurb#imagine#blurb#blurbs
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#layla ashworth#ashworth legacy#ts4 legacy#ts4 gameplay#ts4mm gameplay#ts4 mm legacy#ts4#her husband just got killed#(aka shes having triplets and she has so many pets i had to get rid of him to be able to have all the kids)#(soz bud)#rip spencer#I MEANT BOYFRIEND#NOT HUSBAND
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This is for humor, not wet Wednesday, or to be used as a fic. You and Matt are best friends and joke around a lot. When you find out he is expecting his 5th child you give him a box of condoms. LOL
Team Simmons
Platonic!Matt Simmons x Reader
Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, alcohol and mild consumption of, pregnancy jokes
Category: Fluff
Word Count: 1.5k
Author’s Note: I lovedddd writing this :)
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Jake ran over to you as you walked through the door. “y/n!” he shouted as he hugged you.
“Hey buddy! happy birthday!” you hugged him back and handed him a huge gift bag that had his birthday gifts in.
“Someone went overboard with the gifts again, didn't they ?” Kristy smiled at you from the living room. “Hey pretty lady” you made your way over to give her a hug.
“How’s the bean?” your hand rested on her belly, “good” she smiled.
The rest of the team had already arrived, JJ and Emily were outside with the kids as Luke showed them the tricks Roxy could do. Penelope took this moment as her chance to take some pictures, ones you were sure would be sent out to everyone in the morning. Tara, Spencer and Rossi were having a conversation about something you couldn’t hear at the moment. You and Kristy had made your way to the kitchen when Matt came down with the girls, one in each arm.
You took Chloe from him, holding her on your hip. “Not even here for 5 minutes and already stealing my kids ?” Matt asked you
“Haha Simmons, very funny. You’re just mad cause she loves me more, isn't that right kiddo ?” you tickled her side, she let out a loud giggle before you put her down.
Everyone made their way to the backyard. The kids ran around as Roxy chased them through the yard, JJ yelling for them to slow down before they fell over or trample the girls. Rossi stood by the BBQ because he refused to let anyone else cook, although Spencer told him using the BBQ doesn’t exactly count as “cooking”
Emily had found Matt’s wine stash and opened a bottle which her, Penelope and Tara were working on. You were sitting beside Luke as you looked around the yard.
You really did find a family with each other.
David chased his brother to the pool, the boys jumped in which only further caused commotion, as Micheal and Henry jumped in after them. Kristy and JJ both looked like they were about to lose their patience, there were now 4 very hyper boys splashing in the pool.
The noise and laughed had caught Roxy’s attention. Her head perked up from beside Luke’s leg and before he could grab her collar, she made a run straight into the pool.
“Boys! Get out of there!” Kristy told them, all of them laughing and ignoring her.
“If you don’t get out, we’re gonna go home right now” JJ gave her boys a stern look, hoping if they got out, so would Jake and David but again, they just ignored the two woman.
“Matt, will you come get your children ?” Kristy looked over at Matt who could barely move with two very comfortable looking girls sitting on his lap.
“Babe, I can’t” he gave her an apologetic look.
“I got it” you got up and walked over to the pool, Luke followed you. “Rox, c’mon girl” Luke whistled, Roxy too, ignored him. You chuckled as you watched the boys and Roxy in the pool, they all looked so happy.
“Boys, c’mon” you crouched down in front of them, the 4 of them swam up to the edge of the pool.
“Kristy worked hard to put together this party and it’s only fair that we be good for her, right ?”
The boys looked at each other and smiled. “Okay” Jake said, smiling at you. You stuck your hands out to help them get out of the pool, Jake grabbed one hand and Henry grabbed the other and they both tugged.
You fell right into the pool, you swam back up to the top, “are you kidding me?!” you laughed, wiping the water from your face.
Kristy sighed, walking about from the pool, leaving you and the boys in the pool. JJ shook her head, “you’re all in trouble, you too y/n” you laughed as she walked away.
“Rox, come here girl, come on” Luke was still trying to get her out of the pool. “Alvez, come here. I’ll push her to you, you help her out” he crouched down and you did get Roxy to the edge of the pool, and out of the pool. Luke was still crouched down as Roxy shook the water off and all over Luke.
“Hey, help me out” you stuck your arm out to Matt, who made his way over to the pool after giving the girls to Kristy. He grabbed your hand only to be pulled into the pool.
“Y/n are you serious?!” Matt shouted as he splashed the water towards you. You laughed, the boys clung onto their father as JJ’s boys clung onto you. One by one, you helped the kids out of the pool and then got out yourself. You and Matt had a close relationship, he was your best friend, basically like your older brother.
Once everyone had dried off, the boys got their fair share of yelling from their mothers, you got yelled at from Rossi after he saw you encouraging the boys and their nonsense rather than getting them to listen to their mothers. Everyone had settled down and had dinner, Kristy and Matt wrangled the kids together to cut Jake’s birthday cake and attempt to get one decent picture before they all ran off to do their own thing.
Jake and David were in the other room with Henry and Michael while the girls were upstairs. “Y/n, you gotta stop buying so much for the kids. They have a million and one things already. Between you and Penelope, we can stop buying stuff for them” Matt chuckled, you smiled at him as Penelope let out a gasp.
“Matt, I'll have you know that’s my job as the cool aunt! I must- it’s my duty to spoil them” she stated, taking a sip of her drink. You nodded in agreement, “what she said”
It was always nice to have the team together outside of work. Matt and Kristy sat together, her legs rested on his lap. Tara, Spencer and Penelope sat on the other couch, Luke sat on the armrest of that couch beside Penelope. JJ and Emily were on the two seater and Rossi was on the recliner, you sat on the floor beside him.
“Oh!” you looked around for your bag. Rossi looked down at you, “what’s wrong kid ?”
“I have something for Matt” you pulled your bag over to you, digging through the contents of the bag and finding what you were looking for. Everyone was now looking at you, you pulled out a little wrapped box with a bow on it. Tossing it to Matt, he catches it.
“What’s this?” he shook the package
“Open it” you smiled, your head resting on the chair behind you.
Matt ripped the paper off the box, Kristy let out a ridiculously loud laugh when she saw what you had given Matt.
“Are you serious ?” Matt asked you, holding back a laugh.
The wrapping paper on his lap had covered what you had given him. “What is it ?” Luke asked him, Matt held up the box of condoms you had just gifted him. The whole room erupted in laughter.
“As much as I love you guys, and I really do. My wallet can't handle all the birthday and Christmas gifts.” you laughed.
“You're telling me” Matt laughed as he tossed the box to the other side of the couch.
“But seriously, it would be nice to give your wife here a break. She's literally always pregnant Matt, I don't even understand where you find the time”
“I know right!” Luke piped up, Penelope smacking his side “be respectful!”
“Yeah, thanks for these” Matt laughed as he tossed the gift paper at you, making you laugh.
“You’re welcome”
David had wandered into the living room after getting a glass of water, he picked up the box as he sat beside his father.
“Dad?”
“Yeah bud?”
“What are these?”
Matt looked over at him to see what he was referring too, you held back a laugh. Matt took the box from him, “nothing bud, grown up stuff” Matt told him, giving you a look after you let out a stifled laugh.
David shrugged as he made his way back over to the other room.
“I’m gonna kill you l/n” he stood up as did you.
“Only if you can catch me Simmons”
-----
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#matt simmons#matt simmons x reader#matt simmons x y/n#matt simmons x you#platonic!reader#ssa matt simmons#matt simmons oneshot#kristy simmons#cm#cm imagine#cm imagines#cm oneshot#cm fanfic#cm fluff#cm fic#criminal minds#criminal minds imagines#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds oneshot#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fic
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Suit & Tie
MASTERLIST
The inspiration for this fic totally goes to @teamkiall because she brought up this scenario in a conversation we were having and I was like “hmm I NEED to make this into a fic somehow.”. She also said the line dealing with facial hair and I felt it appropriate to add into this, so thank you Kalyn. Also, thank you to the lovely anon who quoted the tiktok “you look becoming” line in my ask, turns out it worked perfectly in this. Plus it added some humor, I think. Sit back, relax and enjoy some lovely almost-Friday-Spencer-smut! Happy reading!
Spencer Reid/Reader
Rating: M (smut)
Word Count: 2,314
Spencer fidgeted in place, willing the elevator to move faster.
It finally reached the desired floor and the doors squeaked open. He dashed out of the elevator, opening the doors into the BAU. He was already late.
He skidded to a stop when he saw Luke and Matt at the tiny coffee corner, both sipping on a cup.
“Well look who graced us with his presence!” Luke beamed, clearly teasing him.
“You’re only,” Matt paused, glancing at his watch, “Fifteen minutes late today. Least it’s better than the half hour from last week.”
“What’s up with you? You’re never late. In this month alone, you’ve been late almost a dozen times,” Luke said, “What gives? And don’t say it’s the traffic. If me and Matt can beat you here when we deal with some crazy ass traffic, then I know you’re lying.”
Spencer sighed, looking at his coworkers and friends, exasperated.
“You really want to know?”
•
It was barely light out when your eyes opened. You yawned, rolling over to catch a glimpse of the alarm clock on the nightstand.
Its bright numbers read 6:55 a.m.
You heard the shower running and knew Spencer was awake and getting ready for work. You had to use the bathroom, so you forced yourself to get up, grumbling about having to leave the comforts of the bed.
You padded into the bathroom to do your business, still half asleep.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he called in a playful tone.
You mumbled your response causing him to laugh.
“Someone isn’t fully awake yet.”
You sat for a little longer, rubbing your eyes, forcing yourself to wake up before you got off the toilet. You might as well stay up to see him off to work now.
“It’s a little early for you to be awake isn’t it?” he asked.
Your eyes moved to the partially see through, clear shower curtain.
“Yeah,” you yawned.
Your eyes trailed his figure. It wasn’t a clear view through the shower curtain, but you knew his tall, lean frame well. You watched his shoulder blades appear and disappear as he washed his hair. Water slid down the length of his back. Your eyes slid to his ass next.
“Why don’t you go back to sleep babe?”
“Nah, I might as well stay up,” you said, your focus still on his body.
He wasn’t one of those guys that had an amazing ass, in fact in comparison to some, it was flat. But you loved it. You often teased him that he had the cutest booty, which in your eyes, it really was. Many times you had grabbed it as he thrust harder and deeper into you.
It was amazing. It was barely sunrise and you’d only just woken, but your libido was already skyrocketing. So was the blood to all the right places.
Your eyes flickered to his arms. He may be thin, but he wasn’t a twig. He worked out, giving his arms some slight muscle. You’d felt them plenty of time under your fingertips as you gripped them, usually when your orgasm completely wrecked your body.
You took your time, cleaning up and brushing your teeth while you were in the bathroom. When you were finished, you called over the shower water to Spencer.
“I think I’m gonna lay back down after all.”
“Okay, baby. I’ll try not to wake you.”
You slipped back into the bedroom, silently grateful that you’d chosen to sleep in one of his old button down shirts last night. It was big on you, but it was flowy and comfortable, coming down to the middle of your thigh.
You laid back down, opting to scroll on your phone, instead of going back to sleep. At this point, there was no need to deny it; you were too horny to go back to sleep.
It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes when he walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets falling onto his shoulders and chest from his damp hair.
“I thought you were going back to sleep?” he chuckled, seeing you awake.
“Well, I’m wide awake now.”
You turned back to your phone, sneaking peeks as he dropped his towel and got dressed. First, he put on his boxers, then his socks. Always mismatching, you loved that quirk about him.
His suit pants came next.
All this while you tried to talk yourself out of the idea forming in your head, but the more you thought about it, the more you were tempted to act on it.
You were incredibly lucky to have a boyfriend like Spencer. Not only was he sweet, caring, intelligent and attentive, he was also a dreamboat.
Having a career in the FBI meant he wore a lot of suits to work. That was a blessing and a curse for you. He was sexy as hell without the suit, but adding the dress attire into the equation and you really suffered.
You suffered because all you wanted to do was tear them right back off him.
It was currently what you were debating trying to initiate. You tried to convince yourself that you wouldn’t do this again, but dammit, it was just something about those suits.
Spencer had already pulled on a dress shirt and buttoned it up, a tie hanging loose around his neck, ready to be tied. He stood from the edge of the bed where he had been sitting and walked to the closet to get the matching suit jacket for the outfit he was going to wear today. That’s when you decided the urge you were feeling just wasn’t going to go away.
“Spencer?”
“Yeah?”
“That outfit looks becoming on you,” you said casually.
“Thank-”
You interrupted his thank you, with the rest of your thought.
“And if I were on you, I’d be coming too.”
He looked at you, jaw dropped for a moment as you smirked at him, your hand propping up your head.
“That...that was smooth,” he chuckled, “I think I’m at a loss for words.”
He sat back down on the bed, pecking your lips.
“You get points for that one, Y/N.”
You tried pulling him back towards you and succeeded only temporarily as he gave you two more, longer kisses.
“Y/N, I gotta go to work,” he chuckled, pulling away from you.
He resumed fixing his tie as you sat up, moving towards him before kneeling behind him, wrapping your arms around him.
You could smell the musky, earthy scent of his favorite soap on his skin. It was making you want him even more. His curls were still damp, but you ran your fingers through them, knowing it was something that drove him crazy.
“You still have time to spare,” you whispered, placing kisses up his neck.
Your hands slid over his chest, over his shirt and grabbed a hold of his tie, trying to still his hands. Your lips ghosted over his neck, to the area where his jaw and neck met. You sucked gently; it was one of his favorite spots.
You felt a groan rumble deep in his chest as he tried hard to resist you. You weren’t going to give up that easily.
“I can’t be late again,” he murmured, “The team is starting to get suspicious.”
“So?”
You moved away from him, climbing off the bed so you could stand in front of him.
“Sex is a natural thing. Besides, I can’t help that you in a suit gets me hot.”
You stood between his legs, unbuttoning the dress shirt you were in.
“That and the new scruff you’ve got going on, doesn’t help things,” you bit your lip, the seductive lilt in your voice making him swallow hard.
“It’s because facial hair makes a male appear more manly. You have eggs that want to turn into babies. Studies say facial hair makes a woman think their partner is more masculine and more likely to produce and provide for them.”
His voice was husky now as his eyes watched your fingers undo every button until they finally reached the last one. You let the garment fall to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your panties.
Your nipples were already hard, the most apparent sign of how aroused you were. Poor Spencer’s mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water, staring at you.
“Wanna test that theory out?” you challenged.
“Fuck it.”
He gave in, pulling you by your hips towards him, his lips crashing against yours. Your mouth moved hot against his, eager for him. Your hand tangled into the back of his hair as you kissed him heatedly, extremely thankful he gave into you. You weren’t sure what you would’ve done if he hadn’t.
You ripped the tie off his neck and attacked the shirt buttons next. His lips found your neck, kissing it and lowering his mouth to your breasts. He cupped them in his hands, fingertips flicking over your nipples, pinching them slightly.
A whisper of a moan came from you, your body inadvertently arching into his touch. Your teeth sunk into your lip hard when his mouth closed around one of the hardened buds, tongue flicking over it.
You momentarily had lost yourself to the bliss of his mouth and had paused your undressing of him. When you realized your hands hand stilled, they got to work once again, even more urgent this time.
“God, I can’t get this off you fast enough,” you groaned.
“Just don’t rip it,” Spencer chuckled, aiding you.
Your hands ran along the smooth plane of his chest, your hungry kisses letting him know just how much you wanted him. His hand parted your thighs, cupping you through the thin fabric of your underwear.
“Yes, touch me,” you moaned, your hand running along his neck.
“Fuck, Y/N, you really do get turned on by the suits,” he breathed, wide eyed, the lines between his lust and awe blurring.
“And you,” you purred, reaching for the waist of his pants.
Thankfully he hadn’t put on a belt yet because you didn’t have the patience for it at the moment. You had them unbuttoned and the zipper pulled down in record time. Your hand reached in, pressing against the growing bulge in his underwear.
His forehead fell against yours, his moan of approval encouraging you.
“You like that?” you teased, “Just think, you almost missed this.”
With a low growl, he’d picked you up by the back of your thighs, depositing you on the bed. He quickly ridded his lower half of the pesky clothes getting in your way, then moved over you.
His lips captured yours again, his hands tugging your underwear off with a quick yank. It was surprisingly provocative, the fact he could do that so well.
He wasted no time to be inside you. His soft, pleased hum, vibrated against your lips as he moved back and forth.
You’d pulled this same stunt just last week—not that you could honestly help it—but you didn’t feel ashamed. It was always good to be sexually compatible and besides when the sex was as good as it was with Spencer, you craved it like it was your favorite dessert.
“You just. Had to do. This today.”
His sentence was broken by his thrusts. They were anything but gentle. He was giving you what you’d been craving practically since you woke up.
Spencer saw the dark twinkle in your eyes, your response to his challenge.
“Mhm,” you answered, clawing at his back, pulling him closer.
“Fuck,” he groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck.
Your movements were hot, fast and needy. You lived for this animalistic side of your sex life with him. Sometimes you just wanted him to screw you senseless.
“Baby, yes, fuckfuckfuck.”
Your words came out in a slur due to the building orgasm you were feeling, quickly mounting to the point where you knew you were going to explode. He was close too, you could tell. He always was his loudest the closer he got to falling over the edge. Your fingers circled your clit, desperate for your release now that you knew he wasn’t far behind you.
Like a balloon filled with too much air, you burst, your loud moan of his name being cut off. Your vision went white as the intensity overwhelmed you, your body arching further into his.
With his own string of curses, he let himself go, releasing deep within you. You were out of breath and your entire body was hot, heat wise from the quick exertion you’d just put it through.
But it was so fucking worth it.
His movements slowly stilled, a long kiss upon your lips following. He groaned against your mouth.
“Who can pass up a start to a Monday morning like that?”
•
“So let me get this straight,” Luke said, the arched eyebrow the main indicator of his amusement.
“You can’t leave the house to get here at a decent time because half the time your girlfriend rips off your work clothes the moment you put them on?”
“Basically,” Spencer said.
Luke looked at him, dumbfounded, then looked at Matt to gauge his reaction.
“Hey, don’t look at me,” Matt chuckled, “I’d be lying if I said me and Kristy weren’t guilty of doing the same thing occasionally.”
“Why doesn’t this kind of thing ever happen to me?” Luke asked, still in awe, “Like damn, Reid’s got better game than I thought.”
Spencer rolled his eyes, more amused than annoyed.
“My piece of advice for you? Burn your suits,” Luke said.
This time, Spencer actually grinned. If it meant he got to to start the day in bed with his girlfriend, then it was definitely worth being late every now and then.
“Nah.”
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breath play
the spencer fic I've been talking about for weeks lmao
Warnings: dom!spencer, breath play, degredation, being tied up, praise, dirty talk, (this ended up being a lot less intense than I anticipated lmao my b I guess :/ )
Pairing: spencer x fem! reader
Word count: 3.2k (3,203)
○•○•○•○
A sexualsadist serial killer in Wisconsin fulfilling his ‘bdsm’ fantasies by foreplaying with his victims and unfortunately asphyxiating and stabbing them. How fun.
Reid had been suspiciously uninvolved in this case. Well.. as uninvolved as the most intelligent member of the team could be without ruining the operation. Quick blurbs of information only adding general details to the case; nothing to narrow anything down. No constantly working on the case. When Reid wasn’t needed it’s almost like he wasn’t even there. Oddly distant; his mind was always somewhere else. Something about this case in particular bothered him. It was so unlike the doctor to be so uninterested in a case. Normally, he let the case swallow him whole; engulfing him in his entirety. Mind, body, and soul set on finding the missing pieces and solving the puzzle… but not this one.
“Something on your mind, Spence?” I ask, sitting down opposite him on the jet; finally able to relax after a long day in the field.
“Did you know the average person only has sex about two times a week. Things like culture, health, and social status all effect how as well as how often people have sex. But still, just about twice a week on average.”
“There’s a lot to unpack there, so I’m just gonna say ‘no.’” Spencer chuckles, and I join in.
“Seriously though. You’ve been so distant lately. Like something about this one in particular has been bothering you.”
“I mean.. Murder cases aren’t something I often enjoy, so yeah, this whole ordeal has been kind of bothersome.”
“You know that’s not what I meant, Spence.”
“It’s just that-” he contemplates for a moment before patting the seat beside him for you to accompany him. You do so, and he leans toward you, so he can whisper. “I really, really hated this case… as you could tell- obviously. I- I’ve been thinking about how the unsub used aspects of foreplay before killing his victims - you know, the tying-up and the asphyxiation stuff - and about the stuff I’ve been kinda interested in.”
You mull over everything Reid’s just said. It’s not such a longshot surprise to you. I mean with the degradation on the first encounter and the handcuffs the second, you weren’t really taken aback with what he was hinting at. “I’m gonna ask again. What exactly is bothering you, pretty boy?”
He sighs and closes his eyes; brown knitted together tightly. Whatever he’s about to say is going to come out really fast, and you prepare yourself to catch and process it all. “I’ve been thinking about how I fantasize about choking and degrading and tying up my partner and all that stuff, but with this case - this- this monster using that to inturn kill people - what if that’s me? What if I take things too far? You know my mother’s schizophrenic; what if I’m dangerous?-”
“Woah, Spence, calm down. There’s nothing wrong with being a li’l’ freaky. Just because someone used things like that to fulfill their murderous fantasies doesn’t make you a bad person. And just because there’s a possibility that you’re carrying schizophrenia, doesn’t automatically make you dangerous; you know that. There's nothing to worry about, Spence. I promise.” You put your hand on his thigh for reassurance. He places his hand a top yours, lightly tapping his fingertips on the back of your hand.
“Can we try something?” he asks quickly, making and holding eye contact with you for the first time since this conversation started.
“Doctor Spencer Reid, are you asking to choke me?” I ask fake flabbergasted. “Are you really asking to-”
“You know what, nevermind. At this point, I’d rather choke myself.”
“That was a joke, Spencer,” you say rolling your eyes. “But when? Now?”
“Wow, eager are we?... I was thinking more like when we land and head home for the night. We wouldn’t want to risk the rest of the team waking up to sounds of you being a pathetic mess for me, now would we?”
“N-No, sir. Of-of course not,” you gulp, taking notice of how his dominant personality is already taking shape before you.
“Perfect. We land in thirty.” He pats your thigh and turns away from you, returning to the book he was reading prior to. He motions for you to return to your seat across from him, and as you do so, he looks up at you sending a wink your way before he returns to his book indefinitely; allowing the anticipation and excitement to course through your veins for the next thirty minutes.
The landing comes soon, and the team moves to grab their stuff; eager to get home and relax for the night. You grab your bag and hurry off the plane, dragging along behind emily.
“What were you and Reid talking about?” Prentiss turns around suddenly, taking you by surprise.
“I, un, I thought you all were asleep..”
“Eh, I was in limbo I guess; you know. I just heard him rambling and hoped he was okay.”
“Oh yeah. He’s fine. Just uh- just something in the book he’s reading.”
“That’s good,” she smiles and continues off the plane.
You turn around when you feel a hand drag down the curve of your ass. You glare at Reid and mouth ‘you fucker’ to which he chuckles and holds up his hands in surrender.
“Hey, y/n/,” Derek says walking over to your desk as you put your files away and zip up your go-bag. “Garcia, Emily, and I are goin’ out tonight. You wanna come?”
“I’d love to.. But I’m exhausted. Maybe next time?”
“Yeah forsure,” morgan replies before looking at Spencer, silently asking if he’d like to join them.
“Yeah I’m gonna have to pass, too. I think I’m gonna memorize a book instead.”
“Whatever, boy genius,” Morgan replies with a laugh. “We’ll be missing you guys.” He fake frowns before heading out with Emily and Garcia.
“Wait for me!” JJ calls in a sing-song voice as she rushes to catch up with the rest of the group, slinging her arm around Garcia’s shoulders. “To the bar!” she exclaims and they all laugh before finally leaving the office.
The clicking of a pen catches your attention and becomes even more prominent in your senses the closer it gets to your desk. You look up from your desk to see said pen held in none other than Spencer’s very attractive, fidgety hands.
“So,” he drags out, tossing the pen onto your desk with a light clank.
“Is there something you need, Doctor Reid?” you pry, looking at him innocently through your lashes from your seat at your desk.
“You.”
“Well,” you begin, standing up out of your chair to stretch. “Lucky for you I just declined the amazing offer to go out, all so I could spend tonight with you.”
“Mhmm.. Lucky me,” Spencer replies lowly and looks you up and down, drinking you in. Absorbing your beauty. Somehow after two long days of working in the field, you managed to be drop dead gorgeous. Absolute perfection in his eyes.
“Your place or my place?” you ask, maneuvering from behind your desk to in front of it.
Spencer looks at his watch. “It’s only.. Ten thirty. I’d say we have time for both.”
“My house it is,” you chuckle and turn around, earning a firm slap on the ass from Spencer. A shockwave of pleasure runs straight to your center, and you gasp. Closing up your currently case file, you turn back around and your eyes lock with Spencer, who’s smiling back at you innocently.
You throw on your jacket and toss your go-bag over your shoulder. Spencer laces his fingers with yours as you walk out of the building and to your cars. You feel the excitement swell inside your belly. Racing back to your house to let none other than your colleague ravage you like a wild animal. Desire and lust driven, taking your clothes off followed by his; hands grazing up and down your sides, raising chill bumps in their wake. You can feel it now. His touch. The wetness pooling beneath you, soaking your underwear through. The arousal bumps already beginning to slowly creep down your arms and up over your chest. There was no way in hell you could get home fast enough.
You finally arrive at the parking garage that accompanies your apartment building; Reid quick in tow, parking right beside you. He clambers out of his car before you get the chance, and he comes to meet you at your car door. The two of you race up tp your apartment, eager to rip each other’s clothes off.
The door shuts, and it's game over. Spencer's hands travel to the bottom of your shirt, peeling it up over your head and tossing it on the floor. Your back meets the cool surface of the door, goosebumps rippling down your back. Reid's lips attach to yours as his fingertips dance around the bumpy terrain of your back. Your hands travel up and into his hair, tugging ever so slightly making him groan. He fights for dominance over the kiss and you allow him in. As his tongue dances with yours, savoring your taste, his hands soon find solace at the waistband of your pants as he unbuttons them and drops them to the floor with a light thud; exposing your already-soaked panties.
Spencer's lips roam from their start of your lips to your jaw and down your neck. You catch your breath as he unbuttons your blouse and pushes it off your shoulders and down your arms; dipping his supple lips further into the valley of your breasts.
A shaky breath escapes your plump lips as he draws your lips nipple into his mouth; excitement flowing to the now erect bud as he switches to the other one, doing the same. He releases your right nipple and comes back up to meet your eyes. His lust and hunger filled expression softens to one of passion. You move your trembling fingers to the too button on his lavender button-up as his lips meet yours once again.
Soon, all his clothes accompany yours in disarray over the floor, and the two of you are waltzing over to the bed; you landing on it softly with a light thud.
"Look at you," he says slowly from his position at the foot of the bed; standing, glistening in his pre-sex glory before you. "All laid out on display for me." You subconsciously pull your thighs closer together, trying to conceal your wetness. Slowly, he begins his crawl onto the bed, hovering over you and lowering his lips to your ear. "Don't hide from me."
Retracting his face, your reach up and gently trail your fingertips over his cheek, drinking all his features of perfection."Spencer." The delicate sound passed through your soft lips as Spencer swiftly moves to encompass them with his. Gnawing on your bottom lip gently with his skillful teeth before pulling away and whispering, "It's Dr. Reid."
He begins his travels back down to your area, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses in his wake. He looks up at you through his eyelashes as he pushes your thighs apart; a string of your arousal stretching between the two. Collecting it his forefinger, then lifting it to his mouth, he wraps his lips around the digit relishing in the taste of you before delving into your core.
You buck your hips, aching for more contact; more friction. Spencer's hands wrap up and around your thighs, holding you to the point where you can't move.
"Doctor Reid.. please." The sound tumbles quickly from your mouth before you even know what you're asking for. Your head falls to the pillow and your mouth gaped in ecstasy. Your hands fly from their positions at their sides and tangle in Reid's hair, desperately trying to pull him just a little closer to your center.
Reid groans as you pull at his roots, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to the depths of you. So close to the edge already, just from Spencer using his tongue. Almost falling over the edge…
But then he pulls away.
"Mnnguh, Spencer," you draw out, the pout apparent in your voice.
"No touching, princess." His face glistens with your slick, and you quiver at the sight momentarily before he collects all your juices onto the back of his hand, making eye contact the entire time.he licks it off; savoring every last drop of your sweetness.
He clambers out of the bed leaving you frustrated and aching for that release that you so close to seconds ago. You watch as he stands facing away from you - his delicious back on display - as he scans the room. After a moment of deep contemplation, he goes over to your bottom dresser drawer and pulled out a long piece of rope.
You didn't appreciate how he knew where your stuff was. However, you couldn't blame him. You were profilers after all, and he probably knew more things about you than you knew yourself.
Spencer smirks at you on his way back over to the bed. You follow him with your eyes as he takes each of your wrists and ties them together and to the headboard. "What's your word?"
"M-my word?" you stumble over the question as your met face to face with Dr. Reid once again.
"Your uh safeword. Whenever anything's too much, just say it, and I'll stop."
Knowing what Spencer was capable of, you weren't sure you'd ever want him to stop. Nonetheless, you pick a word. "Purple." More specifically, the lavender purple button up that Spencer wears. The color that - no matter where you see it - you associate with him.
"Purple it is," reid replies cheekily, once more descending to your dripping core.
You writhe beneath him in pleasure and his skillful tongue and fingers bring you to your second orgasm. "D-doctor Reid, ple-please."
"Please what? Use your words, y/n."
"God- fuck! Reid, fuck me please. I n-need you-"
"Look at you," he says as his eyes drink in the sight before him: his co-worker, needy and begging beneath him. "Such a pretty slut. Begging to be fucked by her co-worker. Do you really want me to fuck you y/n? You want my cock deep inside your pretty pussy?"
You feverishly nod your head, but the answer isn't enough for Spencer. "Say it," he seethes by your ear through gritted teeth with his hand wrapped tightly around your throat, slowing your breath intake.
"I.. want your cock.. insi..de me, D-doctor R-reid," you struggle to form the plea.
His hand still around your neck; fingers lightly pressing onto your airways, but now at arms length as he uses his other to trace your folds with the tip of his member. He slips into you easily, and you involuntarily close your eyes; the pleasure consuming you from the inside out. His thrusts agonizingly slow as he relishes in the feeling of your tight walls wrapped around him.
"Spencer-"
"What's my name?"
"Dr. Reid, please go.. faster. God please- fuck!"
"Gah, such a needy whore, hm. Taking my cock so well. I bet this is what you were thinking about all day. Isn't it?" He speeds up his pace tenfold, rendering you speechless; reaching the deepest parts of you, almost tossing you over the edge once more. "Mmh, gonna cum for me? Don't hold back, baby. Let go for me."
And on cue, you release around him, your juices seeping down your thighs and dampening the bedsheets beneath the two of you.
His pace never slowing down, and his grip on your throat doesn't ease up any either. Your air supply is running low, but you don't care. The sight before you is enough to send you barreling into the abyss of euphoric pleasure. Spencer above you, his sweat-coated torso as arms length and his features contorted in pleasure as he relentlessly pounds into you.
You admire the god holding himself armslength away from you. The sweat glazing over his torso and dripping fro his forehead. His eyes squinted and mouth agape in pleasure. You clench around him once.more as your fourth orgasm threatens to erupt.
"God fuck." His disgruntled voice coming in as music to your ears. "So fucking tight. You- you gonna cum again, huh? Dirty slut. Cum for me, baby."
Your forth orgasm rushes over you like a tsunami. Strangled obscenities, moans and groans escape your mouth. You can't take any more. His grip on your throat has barely let up any since he started. And your orgasm count was insane. No one had ever gotten you over four times. The pleasure was more than intense, and you weren't sure how much longer you could last.
"...purple…" you whisper as your vision goes spotty.
A look of worry replaces Spencer's previous pleasure-apparent expression. He quickly removes his hand from your throat and pulls out of you.
"Shit.. shit. Shitshitshit! A-are you okay? Did I hurt you? Fuck. I'm so sorry. Really, I never meant to-" Spencer nervously rambles on as you take a much needed deep, refreshing breath.
"I know. Spencer, shut up. It's okay. Just please keep going."
"Y-you sure?"
You nod feverishly urging him to continue. He re-enters you slowly, filling you all the way up. You arch into him, meeting his agonizingly slow thrusts. "Mmh.. faster, Doctor Reid, please!"
His pace returns to as it was before. The squelching sound and skin slapping against skin echos through the room once more. One hand white-knuckles the sheets while the other one reaches for Spencer's hand at your side. Grabbing his wrist, you bring his hand back up to your throat, wanting so desperately for him to choke you again. He makes eye contact with you - as if asking permission - as you place his lanky fingers around your neck. Swallowing hard, he applies pressure and your mouth falls open in a lazy smile.
Your fifth orgasm creeps up on you quickly, but so is Spencer's. "I'm.. so fu- so fucking close," you let out raspily.
"Me too," he replies, dropping his head. His free hand maneuvers down to run quick circles on your clit, throwing you into convulsions as your fifth orgasm hits you like a truck.
A few more pumps, and Spencer pulls out of you, cumming on your stomach, moaning your name and mixed profanities. He finally brings his head back up to look at you and undoes your restraints, freeing your wrists. A weary smile accompanies his fucked-out expression. He searches around in the floor, finding something to clean you off with before climbing back into the bed and pulling you up snug with him.
"That's what I was afraid of you know," he says barely above a whisper. "Hurting you."
"You didn't hurt me, Spence. I just needed to breathe," you reply with a slight laugh, then placing a kiss to his hand that's draped over.you.
"You staying?" You ask after a bit of silence.
"You're a fool if you think I'm going anywhere." He pulls the blankets up over the two of you and pulls you in even tighter; drifting to sleep in no time.
#cm#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader#x reader#self insert#fanfiction#smut#mgg#matther gray gubler#elle greenaway#jennifer jareau#jj jareau#penelope garcia#aaron hotchner#david rossi#jason gideon#derek morgan
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Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Eleven; Reveal.
Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver
Also on AO3-
Masterlist-
Trigger Warnings: !!! major blood gore/violence/death !!! in this chapter-
Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.
He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.
He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.
In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.
He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.
He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.
~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~
Another week in the life of a soon-to-be-wedded young woman perched delicately upon the dizzying precipices of matrimonial bliss; for she had to suffer yet another outing with her intended huffy Sergeant.
They were bid to the local theatre three towns over, this eve, to take a the comedic operatic of a show. A paltry pastime perhaps, Hux was not keen, where Iris entered the evening determined to have some share of joy in it.
She’d often found a healthier outlook far more substantially bearable, than that of a venomous one. A better application of her energy as far as she’s concerned; her determination to enjoy such things outweighs the scope of misery she could place upon her evening.
She’d be sat down upon a comfy seat. In the dark. Not conversing. That sounds like some sheer brazen luck to her; she won’t have to interact with Hux or his overbearing unctuous mother. But then her mind callously interjects that she’d have to spend the rest of her life married to the man. So one night’s reprieve was almost sadly tragic. A happenstance to be mourned.
Pitied. If she had anyone who could so pity her in that manner.
They could certainly pity her now. Sat in a dark coach. Travelling and clunking along to the theatre house.
Hux sit’s opposite inspecting the quality of the shine of his boots. Besmirching his valet’s hand no doubt.
She sits opposite. All wrapped up in her velvet cloak and another silk dress he didn’t compliment her on looking so becoming in.
A better man might’ve atleast called her pretty. Might’ve atleast made her feel just the tiniest bit flattered that he has her on his arm. No such luck with the loveless Armitage Hux.
Moody silence sits with them. Almost as if a completely intrusive third passenger. Heralding the frosty silence that’s colder than the light of the icy moon outside tonight. Catching on all the snow. Shining over brown-frosted hills and dead winter trees.
They come to the gaiety of the theatre. Even as the coach pulls up, Iris can see numerous men and women flocking there. Driven in by the chill and the desire for the show. The name of which is emblazoned above the door. And in peeling posters all along the torch lit front of the stony theatre building.
A creamy edifice of domineering cotswold stone. The sleeting snow, like mush and rain and ice, patters and melts into the roof and seeps soggy into the dirty pavements. Spitting gloopy down from the heavens.
The weather is a foul as Hux’s somber mood. He barely looks at her just as he barely offers her a hand down from his coach. She had wounded his ego most sorely the other night. With the carriage and the wolf debacle.
Iris has never known such frailty or scorned derision greater than that of a man’s bruised ego. Softer than eggshell.
She would be more incensed at his sullen mood. If she wasn’t already suffering in other ways. A persistent headache had taken up residence in her temples. It pinched and hurt and her tolerance for annoyance had furiously lessened.
They cross the steps up the foyer, and cut through the bustling crowds to come to the gathering of their family who await them. Their carriage preceded their own by mere minutes. Maratella rewards herself being so sly and forward thinking in sending Hux to fetch Iris in their second coach whilst the rest of her family rode on with her and Brendol.
She fancied she was giving the budding lovebirds a moment alone; probably imagines they’d steal a kiss or gabble excitedly about their wedding plans. Hopes for the loving future ahead. She wasn’t to know they were barely on speaking terms.
Hux catches her elbow before they reach their assorted relatives. Brings her to a stop.
“Might we endeavour to appear civil, tonight Iris?” Hux speaks lowly into her ear. Stooping over her. Looking as if they are exchanging some lovers secret from a trysting moment.
“I should like to set an example of gentility for yours and my families interests. For we both know what is at stake if we are, after all.... destined to be wed.” He tells with a note of dullness to his voice.
Be still my swooning heart, Iris remarks to herself dryly.
“There is no quarrel between us, Sergeant. And if there is, I assure you, it is certainly not being offered from my quarter.” Iris insists. A veiled comment meant to remind and remark how annoyingly taciturn he was behaving.
Without mistaking her utter joy at correcting a gentleman’s behaviour and the out-coming matter of it being inherently satisfying; she’s more vexed at how he can seem so displeased with her conduct.
He does have the gall to look the tiniest bit ashamed to that confession. He offers her a flicker of a curtly guilty smile. Nodding. “Very well.” He adds.
Iris looks down and gently takes his offered arm. He stands straight. Peacocking, puffing his chest out in his scarlet uniform. They stride across for their families with perfectly false smiles pasted on their faces. An air of geniality seeping out of every pore.
Posy and Flora are the first to not so subtly comment at their sister and the titian haired Sergeant being left alone together for an entire carriage ride. Again.
Her mother leans to Maratella and smiles something unto her friends ear. If her relatives get any the more transparent, Iris strongly suspects she’s going to scream and start tearing out her hair.
Iris nods a hello to the Huxs’. Brendol is in attendance tonight. A man of late age, little hair. Thinning russet red that hints at his sons colouring. He is portly and acts and speaks as if he disapproves greatly of everything in his path.
The man is merely eyeing her with the same bored indifference as his son. Mutters something to his wife about getting to their seats before too long. Looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else. Bedecked in his army uniform too. The heritage of proud soldiers, the noble and gallant Hux ancestors. Men with soldiery and lust for war and medals and honour in their blood, dating as far back as the Normandy landings, most likely.
She felt something then she never fathomed she’d feel for Armitage- she pitied him.
Growing up with a father who domineered and controlled his interests as much as her mother had controlled hers. She was raised and bred for marriage? Hux was raised and bred for the glory of war. No matter if he wanted it or not. Anything to continue the proud heritage. She suspects they are perhaps more alike in that regard than she first thought.
She however, cannot pretend it makes her love him any the more. Respect him slightly, possibly. But her heart and feelings are still sworn away to another man.
“I’m very much anticipating the performance. Maratella you are very generous to invite us all to take use of your box. Such a fine view.” Iris insists to Mrs Hux. She had even said that it would not be so prudent for Iris to start calling her ‘her second Mama’ if she so wished. For they are almost connected as family already.
“Indeed. Miss Ashton you are most welcome. My dear friend and I jointly share the box for the season. I think mayhap you know of her? Lady Spencer...” She preaches jovially. Loudly enough for everyone around them to hear. Whether by design or accident- Iris cannot say.
Iris nods. “Indeed ma’am. We were at her ball at Cavisham House, just last eve.”
Maratella’s face falls with comedic over-exaggeration. “Oh we did most want to attend. Alas so many parties and assemblies we are promised to at present!” She gushed.
“Armitage and I got caught up at the Countess of Whetherby’s assembly last evening. Hux took dances with many fine young ladies. But I dare say he missed you something most acutely awful my dear.” She winked at Iris. Reaching over and patting her hand in mock comfort.
Her levity didn’t lessen the barb of insult that struck through her heart. She’d waited on Hux being in attendance all evening, and he thought so little of her, he took dances with other women.
Now atleast she knew where she stood. No matter Maratella’s telling her otherwise. That pity she spoke of before, quickly dried up. The well of her good thoughts for Hux quickly dried up. As it usually does mere seconds after prevailing herself of his company.
She rather wants to drop the arm of his she’s now holding in fake mannerly affection. Only she doesn’t get the chance too. Maratella is already rabbiting on and boasting about something else.
“Alas, I had word from my poor friend Lady Spencer just this eve. She sent me a missive. I chanced on its arrival just as we made ready to leave. She so hates to decline an invite to the theatre. But she is struck down with pains of the chest. A nervous compliant I fear.” She admits sadly.
“She did say she sent a certain gentleman to take her place. I believe you are of his acquaintance, Mrs Ashton. He claims one with you...”
Mrs Ashton frowns most keenly. “Pray. Who might that be?” She comments.
“That would be me, I believe.” Interjects a new deep voice into their conversation.
Iris’ skin crawls. And not in any sort of horrible way. But the very best way. That smoke and whiskey-molasses voice that sets her bones quivering is like manna to her ears.
So sudden his appearance that all the blood in the upper half of her body rushes suddenly to her face. Heating her cheeks. And she’s never been more aware of her spine being a column of thrashing fizzing and excited nerves.
Their party turns around and sure enough, there is Lord Ren. Stepping out of the shadows of the nearest hallway. He looked oddly at home amongst the scarlet blood walls, the shadows, and the cloaking velvet curtains of the nearest entryway. Hands behind his back. His impassive figure cuts a handsome image.
Black coat and breeches and boots as always. An ivory silk waistcoat the colour of old bones sits on his top half. A searing white cravat knotted at his neck. Collar tipping under his chin. A monochrome monstrosity. So monstrous because he’s so beautiful Iris can liken no other sight in the world like him. He was truly a wondrous beast.
He appears so opportunely. As if summoned by the devil. Sculpted out of thin air. In a great rushing shift of air he brings with him the cologne that’s almost as tantalising as his very handsome looks. Sandalwood, rich dirty earth and something cold and opulent, fragranced, like frost crusted on mint leaf.
Iris takes great pleasure in knowing his mere presence grits her mothers teeth to dust. She’s biting back her tongue. So as not to be uncivil in front of Maratella. Showing up her host was the height of rudeness.
“Lord Ren.” Maratella gasps excitedly. Preening and fussing with her appearance. Kylo looks over at Iris warmly. Sets her soul on fire with those honeyed black eyes before he smoothly rolls his look across to Mrs Hux. His second host for the evening.
His vampiric charms and hypnotic influences seep out of his every pore. The aids to the ultimate predator. He can enchant anyone. Even the vapid likes of Mrs Hux.
She’s reacting to him - blushing and fluffing her hair curls. Even in her late age. Humans are always so susceptible to him. He never has a problem attracting interest. He’s tall, dark and far too beguiling. The weak mortals - of either gender - throw themselves at his feet and fawn into madness that he might dare look at them.
His eyes are however, set upon one prize. And at that very moment; Kylo’s ultimate prize has her hand hooked on another insipid man’s elbow. That won’t do.
He eyes the contact with fleeting derision as Mrs Hux flatters and compliments him every manner. As if her tongue simply drips honey and sugar.
“... Indeed. We are all so honoured you will be making up our merry party this eve. Lord Ren.” She wheedles.
Kylo tips his smirk across at Caroline Ashton. Who looks ready to spit venom at him past her forked tongue. She was reddening with rage. Clutching her hands together like she wanted to break bone.
“I am excessively happy to make up the party.” He smiles. Hoping it would be a dagger in Mrs Ashton’s scaled skin.
“Lady Spencer simply begged the acquaintance on me. I couldn’t possibly in all good grace refuse it.” He shows off.
He sees Caroline flinch and watches the veins strain at her temples. He will torture her for every second. Tenfold. For what she’s putting her daughter through. Making her suffer the attentions of a arduous prick, who thinks himself the finest soldier England has ever produced.
That makes Kylo scoff. He known soldiers like Hux: men who flock to the uniform, quick to put it on. Not so quick to honour its pride and meaning.
Men like him; fighting men like him are one’s born out of centuries and generations upon generations of soldiers forced unto the army life by their domineering and stuffy fathers. Kylo casts an eye over Mr. Hux who boredly inspects his pocket watch. Doesn’t so much as even turn his head toward Kylo.
He’s seen a hundred men like this. And they flee from battle. Unable to take the horror of being cannon fodder. They think themselves above it. Better. Superior. They don and peacock their red coats but when it comes down to committing the savagery of fighting in battle, they run.
Kylo’s slit the throats of a thousand deserters in his day. He’s sure when the next war comes - and it will - he will be called upon to do more of the same.
He’d take ten peasants with the will of iron and guts to defend their homeland with their bare bleeding hands, warring to the bone, over a thousand preening dandy officers like Hux. Ones who picked the lint and specs of dirt off their uniforms. Bragged about their commissions and then would doubtlessly abandon good men to die when battle finally came.
“How long have you known Lady Spencer sir?” Mrs Hux asks.
“Not at all until I met her at the ball last Eve. Mrs Hux. She was most grateful for my ousting an awful drunkard who was causing insult to her guests.” Kylo explains.
Mrs Hux looks amazed. Iris blushes. Posy and Flora look all flirty up at the tall Lord. Mrs Hux looks ready to swoon.
Armitage appears bored and annoyed. “How very gallant of you Lord Ren. Did he offer you insult perhaps, snub your grand title? Laugh at your boots?” Hux sniffs with derision.
Kylo locks eyes with the redheaded cur who dared to offer him, the landed peer, an insult. The ember warmth leeches from Kylos eyes and his smile drops. His stare hardened to black frost. His eyes glitter darkly in the lowlight. Like shiny, scuttling black beetles wings.
“Actually, Sergeant, he offered foul mouthed insult to your beautiful fiancée. You would know of this, had you not left her unattended all evening.”
Hux sneers and his lips twitch to snarl an ugly response. Kylo looks nonplussed. Though behind his back, his knuckles crack white where he curls his fist. And he feels the veins in his arms and his biceps strain, itch and tense not to retaliate.
Sensing the men bristling over Miss Ashton. Maratella suggests they all take to their seats for the performance begins soon. The Ashton’s walk off with Brendol and she takes the time to turn around and hiss at her son. Her sugared smile disappears and coldness takes its place.
“Armitage. Remember your manners. Don’t be so uncouth in front of Iris. And especially not to Lord Ren.” She shrilled at her son, before she takes her leave.
Hux cups over the back of Iris’ hand where it rests on his elbow. Kylo stays stood opposite. Glaring at the man. Seeing his hand on hers made his blood itch for terrible violent things. He aches to reach across and twist Hux’s stupid neck til it crunches into pieces.
What’s worse... is that Hux doesn’t love her.
He will never love her. He is using her for show and want of connection and that is all. Instead of appreciating the beauty on his arm... he’s using her to manipulate the emotions of another man he detests.
Kylo so very much wants to dismember the sad prick. The animal in him claws at its confinement’s. Slobbering maw baying at the gates of his temper. He swallows and keeps it tamed - for now.
“Hux. Please. I beg you. There is no cause for incivility here.” Iris insists.
Sensing the bristling and enflaming of masculine tempers flaring up around her. Kylo looks calm. Hux looks snotty and more and more like a spoilt brat not getting his own way. The poncy Sergeant barely turns his head to her when she speaks.
He’s fraying on the last ragged rope holding Kylo’s inner beast in check. In his time he was raised to hold women in high regard. They were warriors. Mothers. Strong farmers, and skilled craftspeople. People worthy of alignment with men. In this rabid society? They are merely goals and dowries to be won. It sickens him.
Hux looks like he wants to stomp his foot and stroppily exclaim that Lord Ren started it. He eyes as the crowds about them thin away. Off to their seats. He snatches his arm off her. Steps forward.
“Do not dare think to correct me, woman.” Hux says lowly at her. Before he turns his head to Kylo. Still addressing her. But his eyes stabbing into Kylo.
“Lord Ren should be apprised of speaking so discourteously towards me.” He warns. Thank goodness he wasn’t isn’t full ceremonial dress and had his sword strapped to his side. He might have run Kylo through.
Lord Ren raises one sardonic brow. Really, there was an advantage to his lofty peerage ranking as a Lord. It meant he was always in a position to arch a sardonic brow. His smirk tips up on one side too.
“You offer me threat? Sergeant?” Kylo asks. He’s twice the man’s width. And three heads taller.
There’s no question who the real power is. Kylo��s itching to show how much. Slam the pathetic boy up against the nearest wall. Feet off the ground. He could choke him there with one hand. It would be no more to him than swatting away a stray flea.
“I do, Sir. Maybe your foreign ways make you unaware of the standards here in our polite society. But understand me; it is in very poor taste to try a poach a man’s intended from him.” He snarls. Voice reedy thin.
“In my foreign experience...” Kylo digs at his poor choice of words. “I seldom recommend that senseless men such as yourself leave their beautiful ladies unattended. Who knows what may come to pass...” Kylo suggests.
He wouldn’t allude to their kiss last eve and bring her mortification and embarrassment. Hux recoils to spit some more venom but Kylo steps up.
“Perhaps if you bore an ounce of gallantry and backbone you’d be better placed to deserve a woman like Miss Ashton. A curious intelligent woman, whom you can overlook and subjugate at every turn. She deserves a far better spouse than some coward in a uniform.”
“I would call you outside if I believed you had any honour with which to meet me.” Hux seethes.
He was challenging Kylo to an illegal duel. Not over Iris’ honour. But rather his own. How typical. Lord Ren’s amused face quickly turns into the most terrifying expression she’s ever seen. Such fury steeling his handsome features.
“Don’t dare talk down to me, of honour.” Kylo cautions. Iris’ mouth gapes. Such wounded fury in his eyes.
“You believe that because you don a pretty red coat that you are the most valiant warrior to ever set foot on this earth? I’ve seen such carnage and bloody fighting that it would make you shudder in horror and scream out in your dreams. I’ve fought in more wars than you can ever name, boy.” He spits in gross insult.
“I gladly lack many things your fetid society seems to value. But don’t you dare accuse me, of lacking honour.” Kylo seethes.
“I will not waste my time listening to more of this effrontery.” Hux straightens his back. Pretends not to be undignified and stalks off towards the box after his family.
Iris sighs in his wake. It appears he’d forgotten to escort her. She wasn’t entirely sure that was a bad thing. She didn’t wish to spend time with such a spoilt brat of a man, who can’t look behind his own ignorant scope.
“I detest many things. But a man such as he who so readily and openly snipes to others and thinks himself loftily superior, is not something I can pretend to stomach.” Iris offers to Kylo. Chewing lightly on her lower lip in trepidation.
He walks quick across to her and gently plucks her hand up to kiss it. Putting it on his arm thereafter. If her own idiot of a fiancé won’t escort her, he sure as hell will. Damn the cur for making less of her.
“I’m so sorry for his conduct Lord Ren. And any insult you offered you. ” She offers. Even though he’s trembling with anger and rage, entwined with disgust for that man. He doesn’t let her see how close he came to loosing his temper. A hairs breadth.
He’s sure to look stern. But his eyes are warm. “Your apology is not needed. Iris. He formed and spat those words. You did not.” He tells her seriously. He lets the bitter bile of rage slip off his tongue. She calms him.
Her beauty soothes the beast.
She looks ashamed. Ashamed of being connected to such a low example of man. “A woman is supposed to support her intended in every manner...” She says with perturbation.
“Well. He makes that venture impossible.” Kylo admits lowly. She smiles a little. Agreeing. Though she dare not speak such terms aloud.
“If I might add, You look very handsome tonight. Miss Ashton.” He flatters. Where her cloak was taken some time ago by the porter, the exquisite nature of her dress came into view.
A soft teal blue silk. Simple cut. He’s seen it on her before. The one with the low back and the sweeping train. He admired it on her before, and he will do so again. She shouldn’t be made to feel plain or boring in her dresses when she really did look truly beautiful in each one.
Tonight there is a thin necklace with some pretty sparkles and paste gems of some blue stones set around her neck. He watches the broach of it raise and sink with her breathing. His eyes run unhindered along her collarbone. Watches the jitter of her pearl drop earrings.
They walk up the narrow little carpeted stairs, and come along the hallway. Selecting their door they join the others in Lady Spencer and Mrs Hux’ box. The theatre was not exactly a grand one. Though the building was magnificent in its Georgian architecture it was a small country place of not much elegance. Candles flickered low, and the gloomy edifice is only made bright by the stage lights blinking upwards towards the painted scenery and the backdrop of draped red curtains.
The rest is lost to darkness. Ladies and gentlemen mill about in their seats, shifting in the rows of seats below. The upper circle opposite is populated too. As busy as the rest of the place.
The show is shortly to begin. Kylo doesn’t have time to admire the look on Caroline’s face seeing him deliver Iris to her seat. Glaring at Hux sharply, who gave him his own acerbic look right back. They watch the big impressive Lord stride down the box toward his seat.
Hux leans into her. “I make no such apology for my exit. I cannot stand a man who thinks so meanly of brave soldiers, such as I.”
Iris sighs to herself. Of course he overlooked the fact that he was the one who started the tirade of insults in the first place. He turned Kylo’s chiding the Sergeant onto a martyrdom for all English soldiers.
“I understand.” She says dully. Her head is throbbing. Temples hurt.
If she says anything else she’d get too incensed with him. He didn’t even defend his poor actions. Kylo was directly correct about Hux; he really did have no backbone or honour where she was concerned.
The curtains pull apart. The play begins. Lord Ren settles in his seat. Down the far far end of the box by Maratella and Brendol. Iris finds it not at all ironic or unsurprising that there’s a box length of people between them. Doubtless that was her mothers doing.
Kylo knows it too - he catches her eye where their seats are set back. A wry grin tugs at his lips. Despite herself, Iris blushes at it. She looks down into her lap. Hux turns to the side and catches her blush. Sees how Lord Ren turns away. Smug and smiling. It piqued his interest.
Iris tries to concentrate. But it appears the niggling headache she began to suffer earlier was pounding incessantly at her temples. She’s reminded of it every time there’s sharp clapping or the pitching whine of a violin chorus. The room suddenly feels much too much. Too hot. Too stifling.
Her dress feels too sticky - clinging to her back and her chest. She forgot her fan and she wished she would have remembered it. So she wouldn’t now be gasping for air.
Another thundering round of applause sharply rippled through the theatre. She shuts her eyes and winces at it. How it stings so at her head.
Hux continues clapping beside her. Elbows jostling her. Kylo frowns at the idiot not even sensing she was unwell. He doesn’t applaud. He looks her way with a frown of interest. Brow creased with concern.
It wasn’t long til the intermission now. Barely a half of an hour. Kylo watches her face crumpled in pain. She stands and says something idle and quick to Hux. He nods and she slips away. Out the darkened door. Into the shadows of the dimmed theatre.
Kylo turns his head back. Tries valiantly to concentrate on the insipid comedy play. But he finds he can’t. Especially not as a moment opposite catches his eye. Draws his eyeline to the opposite box. Where a dark coated man with golden hair slips out the door. Smirking directly at Kylo. Piercing eyes stabbed into Kylo’s nonexistent soul. He knows that smirking face.
Viscount Eversleigh. The most foul letch on two legs. The drunkard he had thrown out of the Spencer’s ball last night.
He couldn’t leap up and go after Iris. It would look planned. He had to leave it as long as possible. He tried to think that the perfidious and indocile Eversleigh had gone to fetch a drink. Yet he seemed like the kind of man to order someone to do it for him.
Kylo’s worries and paranoia seeps heavy through his blood like rotten sticky tar. He hates this sickening feeling. He prayed that Eversleigh’s exit wasn’t fuelled by Iris’. He really did.
He has no such blind faith left in mortal men. He may be the darkest foulest creature, but it’s nothing to some men’s filthy aspirations. Some were truly vile. Especially those men gone on drink and snobbery who view the world as quite their own.
Kylo launches out his seat. Hot in pursuit. So quick in fact it rattled back on its far legs as he rose out the thing so quick. Storming for the door. He almost yanked it off - ripping it clean of its hinges, like matchwood. If Hux wouldn’t care for her, the task fell to him. To protect his little Dove.
Iris made her way down the stairs. Stopping before she got to the foyer. She needed air and in search of it, she rounded the stairs up to the boxes and found a narrow dingy hallway which snaked out onto a dark alley.
The door was left wide open and cold slushy grey of night and the scent of damp and dirt spilled inside. Seeping onto the cold wet stone doorstep. Darkened by the spitting slush of rain.
She takes deep lungfuls of the bitter air. It hurts her lungs but the cool feels so soothing on her skin. Her skull still echoes with the nasty pain of headache. But the air helps aids her.
She no longer feels so suffocated. Stifled by this evening and her dress. Forcing herself to be civil to a heartless man she doesn’t want. It takes it toll of her already sore shoulders from carrying the weights if other people’s expectations.
Oddly enough, when she’s talking to Lord Ren, her worries and all those bothersome fretting’s leave her mind. For a second, she feels like someone sees her for the sheer value of herself. See’s and cherished her as a whole. It’s an awfully heady feeling for the likes of her; who always felt sought after merely for marital status and connection. She who was always made to feel like an example of regency gentility for marriage. And never having any dreams or aspirations beyond.
She sighs. Crosses her arms over herself. Hears the silk rasp. Feeling how the cold nibbles savagely at her arms. Stings her chest and turns her necklace to savage ice resting around her throat. Before she starts to shiver, she shifts herself from the doorway and turns to go back inside; entering back into her paltry monotonous existence.
The one that made her chest seize up in panic, the same thing clawing through her blood. The one that made her want to run fleeing every chance she got.
Damn family reputation. Damn propriety and society. She could run for the coast with the meagre pin money she has saved. Hidden behind the loose skirting in her bedroom. Behind the door. She’s gotten used to stashing the odd sixpence in the velvet pouch therein. She has a neat little sum tidied away by now.
She could go for the coast. Where no one knows her. Down and across to Dorset and seek for work. Or maybe Plymouth? Perhaps give herself a new name. Invent a dead husband who died in the war, invent a past that wasn’t at all true. Wear a wedding band that represented nothing more than a falsehood.
She may yet find work in some great grand house for a noble family. She has a good brain and much knowledge, she could be a Governess well enough. Teach young girls or young masters in the nursery. She was so vastly tempted by the idea. Atleast that way she’d have a life she could control.
She’d almost run away so many times. She was merely ten and four the first time she tried.
Barely longer in the tooth than Flora was now. And she’d wanted to bundle her meagre possessions into a carpet bag, and go scrounge together a life earning a measly palm full of pennies in some dirty gin soaked tavern on the outskirts of London, where no one would know her. Anything was a desirable alternative to staying and having her head bitten off day in day out by her mother. Always ready to find fault with her eldest.
Caroline Ashton’s fears of propriety and want for connection completely ate her up. There was no affection in her of any sort.
There wasn’t anything else there in the woman behind that porcelain front. Iris remembers learning that the day her mother clipped her across her cheek in a harsh slap for not getting the practiced dance steps right. That was the first night she dreamed of running away.
She regrets the memories now. They are no more than barbed reminders of her failed hopes. She’s never been brave enough to run. Her penance for her spoilt dreams. She’s stayed. She’s the biggest coward she knows of. Never could quite summon the guts to do it.
She sighs deeply. Turning and heading for her seat; the intermission began soon. She wanted to avoid the crowds if at all possible. She makes it just to the corner of the dingy hallway.
And where she’s looking down at her feet, when she looks up she’s gasping and jolting backwards at the sudden apparition of the man before her. Blocking all discernible light from the hallway beyond.
Stood there with his foppish mane of honey curls. His sapphire coat and his biscuit coloured breeches. Viscount Eversleigh. He stands. Smirking. Twiddling the golden sovereign ring around around around on his little finger. Anticipating her.
So suddenly she shrunk back with a gasp. “Lord Eversleigh.” Iris timidly greets him. Her back hits the wall where she stumbled.
“Iris. Isn’t it?” He seeks. She doesn’t care for the fumes of whiskey on his breath and on his jacket. Or his attentions. His manners. His looks. She didn’t care for anything and everything about him. And if he had a dog too? Well. She didn’t care for that either.
“We are not intimately acquainted.” She dismisses. He would never have known her first name.
He chuckled and stalks slowly towards her still. Backing her into the wall. She had nowhere else to go. Her hands scrabble against the smooth cold plaster. She can hear her heart hammering in her ears. Aware her chest is heaving and he notices this too.
“We could be...” He smarms at her. Smile tugging up. There’s a glazed look of something she can’t quite read in his eyes. And it’s bright and awful.
“Tell me, my dear, how long have you been lifting your skirts for Lord Ren?” He coos. Flattening her to the wall. His coat brushing her chest. “How long has he been fucking you?”
She’s mortified. And scared. Her mouth gapes. Such insulting speech. “I beg your pardon...” She gasps.
“Don’t be all missish. My dear. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way he pays court to you. Holds your hand. Much more than that redheaded prick does.” He scoffs. The shock of his foul language lands on her skin like the lashes of a cracking whip. They leave her sore and reeling.
“Indeed you are mistaken, Sir. And you are drunk.” She holds firm but her voice wobbles. She recoils from his breath as he stood over her. Intimidating. Hands flat to the wall by her shoulders.
One either side. He’s enclosing her. Trapping her. She turns her head to the side. Repulsed. He watches her neck corded, straining with each breath.
She feels the heat of his breath roll down her skin. “Please move...” She ushers lowly.
“How often does he get you under him? Hmm? Every day? Every week. Do you scamper over to his estate under the guise of running errands. Get on your back for him. Knees spread to the sky.” He drawls. “Bet you look a pretty picture... lying out under him, ready to be rutted.”
Iris glares up at him. She grits her jaw. She’s dealt with the foul four legged creature of fangs and venom that is her mother. Like a Greek harpy. She tries not to let this entitled man scare her.
“Get off of me.” She bites in a lethal little whisper. Full of rage and grit teeth. She almost shakes with it. He was making her feel lesser than her worth. She won’t stand for that. Not under any condition.
He smiles more. His hand skims down for her hip. Brute fingers rasping the silk. He grips the side of her thigh. Hard. He licks his dry lips and she wants to empty her stomach contents onto his shiny brown boots. “A man like me could make good use of such a gorgeous plump arse such as yours, Iris.”
She’s had more than enough. She brings her hand up, striking quick, she slaps him hard across the cheek. He’s too drunk and stupid to respond quickly. He had none of his wits about him.
She wriggles out from under him. Gathers up her skirts as a bundle in her arms and dashes away. She hears the commotion of him. His boots clack the tiles. He shouts and barks after her slurring. He sounds like he was following. Pursuing her.
And then it stops. It all stops.
There’s a garbled yell. Muffled and the yelling. And then, silence. Nothing but the sleeting rain pattering down on the stone doorstep where she was just stood. The wind howling down through the open door. Bringing the bitter frosty cold with it. Howling desolate down the eerily silent hallway.
“Turn back.” Comes that silvery honey voice in her head. The ancient one she can’t fathom to whom it belongs. It’s almost as if it’s always been there. Always croons sweet melodic things at her. The silvery voice that swims in her dreams.
“Turn back around. You’re perfectly safe little spark. There’s something you need to see...”
Something terrible is ringing dark and violent down in her bones. It makes her slow to a stop.
She doesn’t know why. But something within her along with that voice, calls upon her body to stop. And she turns back.
He wasn’t there-
She thinks she’s descending into madness. That she dreamt him. Or made him up. But then again, the fumes on his breath were far too vile for her to have conjured them up. Foul breath and sloshes of Scottish malt whiskey. She saw a stain on his collar where it had dribbled onto his chin. Down onto his cravat. She couldn’t have made up such an unnecessary detail as that.
She treads cautiously back down the tiled corridor she just fled down. Eyes flitting all over. She must be taking leave of her senses. Venturing back into the place where the man she ran from is residing.
She comes to the corner. Puts her cold hand to the wall to steady herself. The rain is louder. The wind howls more vicious. The cold pricks her skin like a ream of dressmakers needles rasping her into pain. The hair on the back of her nape stands to vulgar attention. Black nasty fear rotting in her veins like cloying syrup. Her heart feels too loud.
A whimper leaves her throat. Her chest pounds ragged with a shaky breath that leaves her in a tremble.
For there’s a handprint smear of blood and spraying droplets dribbling down the pale yellow wall just ahead.
Her gaze is drawn to the tiles of the floor, where little crimson drips shimmer in the half light, leading out the door. Into the raining and the dirt and the foul smog of the open brick alley way beyond.
Through the rain and the dark. She focuses on the big dark shape she can identify as a man. Hunched over. Her gaze is drawn downwards to the pair of wet brown boots. Dripping with something viscous and black.
Scarlet-black. Blood.
Those lifeless legs and limp arms lay prostate against this humungous dark shape. Bowed over the soon to be corpse. Dark head bowed. Iris recognises the scent of the cologne fading in the air. Mint leaf. Sandalwood. And rich dark earth.
And she can hear slurping and groaning.
Her eyes cannot help but leak tears. Sheer fear bubbling up in her body.
She almost can’t comprehend what she’s seeing. Her eyes must be traitors. They’re lying to her. She can’t possibly be seeing this. This must be the death of her sanity. Throw it in a grave and cover it with soil. Mourn the loss of her saneness.
There’s a slick thud as the dark shape drops the figure in its arms. Bloodied pale hands, big wide hands, drop Eversleigh’s blue coat collar. The limp man looks comically small against this dark beasts proportions. He’s dropped to the mud and dirt of the alley floor. Strewn into the filth where he belongs. The dark shape puts one hand to the brick wall. Crimson cakes it’s round yet sharp fingernails. It’s human hands.
It turns its shaggy head back to her. It’s not a beast. It’s a man. With gold eyes ringed with garnet.
Lord Ren.
And there is blood smeared raw and dripping down his mouth. Over two sharp fangs protruding from his plump upper lip. Staining his teeth. Running in sticky red rivulets over his handsome chin and dribbling down his white silk waistcoat.
He looks right into her. Pierced into her eyes and stunned her brain, persuading her not to move so much as one muscle.
She can’t know how long they stand there gazing at each other. Kylo stalks in to her. Sleeting slushy rain dotting on his hair. On his shoulders. On his blood stained front. She shrinks to the wall. Tears silver in her shimmering eyes.
She wants to speak. She can only stare. He’s nearing the doorstep.
“Little dove...” He seeks. Panting. Her eyes catch on the way that even his usually white teeth are bleeding crimson. It sticks in the cracks between them.
“Wh-what...” She seeks. Shakes her head in disbelief.
“Iris. I will not hurt you. I offer you no threat. Believe me.” He pledges. Reaching out a steady bloodied hand to her. Raising them both. Showing her he means his word. He means no danger to her. Never to her.
She doesn’t know if she’d rather sob, or run or scream- her brain cannot choose which.
“There’s this voice in my head.” She begins in a sob. Shakily pointing at her throbbing temple.
“And it’s telling me to..to... trust you.” She cries. Conflicted by the blood lusting monster she sees in the man before her. Caught in those haunting eyes and the blood and the gore of this shocking moment. He’s the same, yet so different. its painful.
Kylo is moved by the fact Iris can hear Draegan in her head. Ever the lenient one. He was reaching out.
“You trust that voice?”
She nods. “I must be mad.”
“You are not mad.” He soothes. “What I am is as real as you or I, standing here right now.”
As real as the bee stings of cold rain he can feel on his cheeks. The wet stickiness of his tamped down hair. The wind on his skin. And Eversleighs blood in his throat. Tasted like warm metal and whiskey spice.
Her eyes drift back to the slumped man in the dirt on the alley floor. “Is he?” She gasps. Seeking as to his state of life.
Kylo doesn’t tarry in his answer. But he keeps his words soft. “Yes.”
For the way he assaulted her, Kylo should’ve taken his head clean off. He’s done it before.
Hearing the vile thoughts in the drunkards perverted head about all he wanted to do to her when he got her alone, it well justified Kylo’s ridding the earth of the bastard letch by ripping his neck out. He turns back, nudged the tip of his boot into the man’s head. Turns the bastards throat away so she wouldn’t have to see the gore.
When he twists back, Her gaze sticks on the harsh glare of gold that was his eyes that were usually the deepest handsome shade of russet. Such savage eyes.
A terrible thought clicks in her head like snapping bone. “All those deaths of late... the wild animal attacks. It was- you?....”
“I’m afraid so.” He answers her curious questions.
She gasps anew. “It all makes sense now. And that Wolf...” She begins. “The one with the golden eyes.” The pieces start slotting together.
He nods.
Her mind can’t make sense of this insensible thing.
She expects to wake up any minute and this be the dizzying reaches of some far off, fantastic fever dream. Scrabbling first her bedclothes as the dream fades from her imagination.
“D-Do you wish to kill me, Kylo?” She whimpers.
He looks agonised. “No. Iris.” He pleaded to her so honestly.
“No.” He croons.
“In fact if anything happened to you, it would most likely kill me.” He assures her.
Her mouth gapes again. He watches those rosebud pink lips part. There is nothing but majesty and integrity on his face. In his features.
“I hardly know what to say...” She admits.
“I didn’t intend for you to find out the nature of what I am, in such a manner as this.” He confesses.
“You were going to confide in me?” She seeks.
“Yes I was. But when I saw this stupid drunk sneak after you. I had no choice. My hands were tied upon the matter. I could not have you hurt.”
“You did it to save me.” She comments.
“Of course I did, my dove.” He explains.
“I-“ She’s so moved she can hardly form words. Questions zip and crackle around her head like a crackling roaring fire. Like splintering logs fluttering with sparks.
She’s so dazed and enchanted. She almost doesn’t hear the applause come from inside that signifies the start of the intermission.
Kylo’s voice snaps her out of the stunned haze that swims in her mind like a pool of thick dark black treacle. She can’t free her arms or legs. The thick of it is swallowing her whole. His voice manages to finally disturb her out of it.
“Iris. You need to go. Now.” He tells. Eyes flicking upwards, hearing the clamour from within of footsteps and clattering doors. Crowds are descending. They can’t he found like this.
She barely summons the energy to move. “How will you-“ She looks back at the lifeless corpse of Lord Eversleigh.
“I’ll take care of it my Dove. But you must not spare a worry for me. You must go now.” He orders gently.
She slips around the corner and walks quickly away. Quitting the scene. Kylo watches until she moves out of sight. Her blue silk skirts trail away. He watches her as she moved back into polite society.
He looks down at the corpse and the blood seeping into the dirt. His pretty gentle Dove is back into the folds of politeness and civility.
How fitting;
The beast is out here. Confined out into the filthy muck and the snow and the blood, where he belongs. Outside, banished to the shadows.
~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~
#kylo ren#Kylo ren x oc#vampirelovestory#vampire!kylo#vampire au#adam driver#very wolves and doves#vampire#demon#ao3 fanfic#Iris vibes🕊#Draegan vibes 🥀#Lord Ren vibes 🐺#blood#violence#death#mentions of death
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hold me - spencer knight
TRIGGER WARNING: this fic deals with domestic/relationship abuse, physical and verbal abuse. in no way am i romanticizing abuse in any way, shape, or form. if this will trigger you, DO NOT READ. keep in mind, barrett is a fictional character i have made up for the sake of this story.
word count: 3602
________
with a shaking hand you dab at the concealer under your eye, trying desperately to spread the remaining makeup to cover the dark blue and purple that had become visible. “y/n, you almost ready?” you hear your best friend, jacey, yell from the other side of the door.
“one second!” you yell back, voice shaky. you curse to yourself, but you know the bruise had been covered up as much as it could be. you weren’t able to grab your concealer tube before barrett was yelling at you that you had to leave - and you weren’t willing to take another chance tonight.
with one final look in the mirror you force yourself to smile. a smile that’s good enough to convince everyone around you, but you were the one that could see right through the mask you managed to put on every single day. your smile falters.
how the hell did you manage to get into this situation? you’ve been asking yourself that every day since everything had started to go downhill.
you shake your head slightly and grin from ear to ear, turning to throw open the door to see your best friend. “what are you waiting for? let’s go!” you grab jacey’s hand and pull her back out to the living room, where the music is blaring. you jump right into the crowd dancing to what ever travis scott song was being played.
for the first time of the night, barrett wasn’t on your mind. you were focused in the moment, on having fun with jacey, finding some of your other friends you’ve made around campus. you catch eyes with spencer and he grins at you, giving you a chin nod, in which your smile grows and you wave. for a second, spencer’s eyes squint at you, but you shake it off and tear your eyes away from him.
“y/n, i’m gon-” jacey starts to yell over the bass of the music, but she cuts herself off looking over your shoulder. you’re about to tell her to keep going, but a hand on your lower back makes you tense up.
of course it’s barrett. his cologne was identifiable from a mile away. it could make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “where were you baby? you were gone for a while,” barrett coos in your ear, hands going around to press against your churning stomach. you can feel your heart begin to race, but inside you know barrett would never do something in a public setting like this. he would save it for when you got back to your dorm.
“i was, uh.” and suddenly you can’t think straight. you’re stumbling over your words, which will only get you in more trouble later tonight. “i was just in the bathroom, that’s all.”
barrett hums, and it’s enough for the taste in your mouth to turn sour. you catch eyes with spencer, and if you didn’t know any better you would think he never even looked away from you in the first place - and maybe that’s the case. but it’s not like you would know that or not. spencer jabs his best friend, trevor, in the side with his elbow, and trevor’s eyes travel to meet your eyes.
spencer was one of your best friends. you weren’t able to see him all too much due to his grueling hockey schedule, but you knew he was always there. it was the type of relationship where, even if you hadn’t talked in weeks, you could start talking again and pick up right where you left off. spencer knew in this moment, and the look in your eyes, something was wrong.
barrett is saying something, but you’re too focused on praying that the pleading look in your eyes was enough to get the boys to realize. whatever barrett is saying? it’s going in one ear and out the other completely.
“y/n,” barrett hisses, his thumb and pointer finger meeting as he pinches the exposed skin on your waist. you whimper, but turn around quickly in his arms to face him. “did you hear a thing i just said?”
“no, i’m sorry. i just zoned out,” you mumble. barrett heaves out an angry sigh, his eyes rolling and glancing over your shoulder.
“those guys won’t stop staring at you. i told you you shouldn't have worn this top,” he grumbles, shrugging his flannel off his shoulders leaving him in his jeans and white t-shirt. you hesitantly take it from him and put it on, buttoning it up all the way. you knew he was talking about trevor and spencer - all the other guys here either had other girls to focus on or they knew how possessive he was when it came to you. they wouldn’t mess with him.
“i’m sorry.” you can’t even meet his eyes. they’re focused on the staircase behind him, because to be frank, you were too scared to actually look at him. “won’t happen again.”
barrett rolls his eyes, “damn right it won’t. go grab me a beer?”
you nod, pulling away from him and heading towards the kitchen where all the alcoholic beverages were fully stocked. jacey had wandered off, she hated barrett with a burning passion. she didn’t know what was going on - no one did - she just hated him because of stupid fights you had gotten into. she thought he didn’t deserve you. and she was right.
you grab a can of bud light from the cooler that was on the ground, and right when you come up you feel a liquid splash all over your face. your eyes go wide, but you’re met with logan, trevor’s girlfriend. trevor and spencer are standing right beside her.
“y/n/n, i’m so sorry!” logan exclaims with wide eyes. she grabs napkins and, before you can object, she starts to dab on your face to dry it off. taking your concealer off with it.
logan’s shoulders drop and her face falls, along with her mouth. spencer and trevor mirror her exact expression.
“y/n, what - what happened to your face?” spencer asks, stepping forward abruptly making you flinch back. he looks defeated when you do that. but his gaze travels behind you, and the dejected look on his face turns to pissed off real quick. and you know exactly who’s there. “did you do this?”
you whip around, and sure enough, there’s barrett. his eyes are glued to you. he could care less that spencer looks like a bull who’s just seen red - he’s livid. at you. and suddenly the thought of him not doing anything in a public setting? that mentality is fading. and fast.
you feel a soft hand grab yours, and before you can shy away, logan is pulling you back behind spencer and so you’re standing in between trevor and her. “you are unbelievable, y/n! how could you be so stupid?” barrett scoffs, attempting to step past spencer who just moves right with him. “come on, we’re going back to my dorm.”
“the hell you are,” spencer chuckles, turning to face you, logan, and trevor. “can one of you take her back to one of your dorms? or mine? matt should let you in.”
without another word from the two of them, trevor places his hand lightly on the middle of your back.. your breathing is heavy, and suddenly you’re wishing that you stayed back in your dorm like you had originally planned for the night.
“y/n! you better not go with them, we’re not done here!” you hear barrett yelling. you look over your shoulder at him and spencer’s got both of his hands on barrett’s shoulders to prevent him from chasing after you.
everything is in slow motion. you have no clue what spencer is yelling right back at barrett, but you watch as spencer shoves him back into the refrigerator door and barrett’s head jerk to the side as spencer lays the first punch. everything feels like you’re underwater, from water logged ears to blurred vision.
logan and trevor manage to get you into trevor’s car. logan slides into the backseat next to you, and silently she presses her hand to your head to lay it down on your shoulder. you look in the driver’s mirror and trevor is already looking at you, a defeated look on his face. you give him a tight lipped smile and let your eyes close on the short ride to the dorms.
“y/n, y/n,” you hear logan whispering softly. your eyes flutter open, and you’re outside of logan’s dorm building. “we figured you’d be more comfortable here tonight.”
“thank you, log,” you mumble. she leaves the backseat door open and you slide out.
the three of you are both quiet as logan unlocks the side door to her dormitory building. you follow the two of them up to logan’s dorm room, where she luckily has a single room all to herself. you plop down on the couch in the corner of the room and the two of them look at you in sorrow.
“please don’t pity me,” you say, looking back and forth between the two of them. logan sighs and she sits down next to you.
“i know it isn’t exactly easy to tell someone, but y/n, you could’ve told me. or jacey. or trev, or spence,” logan sighs and you shrug your shoulders. “but, you just didn’t want to make him mad, did you?”
you nod your head lightly, eyes trained on the tiled floor. “he got mad so easily, if he found out… i just, i don’t know. he scared me, a lot.”
the two of them don’t know what to say, until trevor breaks the silence once more. “well you’re staying the night here. obviously logan doesn’t mind.”
“not at all,” logan says quickly and you smile softly at her. “y/n, how long has this been going on?”
you hesitate, pulling the blanket logan handed to you up to your chin. “just a month or two,” you mumble, playing with the strings that hang off your ripped jeans. “i dunno, i guess it was more so verbal than anything for a while.”
there’s a knock on the door, and immediately your head snaps over in that direction, heart racing at the idea that it could possibly be barrett. “it’s just spence. i texted him to come over if that’s okay with you, y/n/n.” trevor says quickly, which eases some of your nerves.
“yeah, it’s okay,” you say and trevor walks over to open the door.
“holy shit, what happened to you, knighter?” trevor asks, stepping aside so spencer can step into the room. sure enough, spencer’s got a few light bruises on his face along with a cut along his lip. he has a hard look on his face, but the second he sees you with the blanket pulled up to your body his expression is softening. you slowly stand up, your mouth dropping open at the sight of spencer’s face.
“did he do this to you?”
“not important,” spencer grumbles, closing the door behind him as he walks in. “how are you doing, y/n/n?”
you shrug, “could be better,” you chuckle to try and lighten the mood slightly. it doesn’t work. “guys, i’m alright.”
spencer steps forward to wrap his arms around you, but you flinch away from him. immediately you regret doing so, the look of hurt on spencer’s face tugging at your heart strings. “y/n, i would never hurt you.” he whispers, arms falling to his sides in defeat.
instantly, you’re diving forward to wrap your arms around spencer. because if there was anyone that would be able to make you feel better, it would be spencer. you heave out a sigh resting your head against his chest, and you can feel him hesitate before tightening his hold on you.
“spence, i wanna go home,” you mumble into his chest. spencer’s hands go up to your cheeks and softly pull you away from his chest.
“y/n/n, there’s no way you’re going back to your dorm right now. not until we get this under control. i think it’s best if you just stay here for the night with logan.” your eyes begin to water and spencer presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “you’re going to be okay, i promise. trevor’s dorm is right around the corner and i’m only a five minute drive away from here if you need anything.”
your lip is still quivering by the time he’s finished, and he sighs. “can we just go back to your dorm or something? he’d be so stupid if he ended up going there, so he wouldn’t. your dorm is the best bet, spencey. i’d feel most safe there.”
“okay, okay. we can go to my dorm if that’s what you really want,” he says, brushing away the hair from your face as you nod your head.
“so you’re gonna go back to spencer’s?” logan asks and you nod. she smiles. “okay, i get that. i know trevor wouldn’t be much protection staying here anyway.” she jibs at trevor who rolls his eyes and you manage to crack a smile.
“do you wanna head out now?” spencer asks and you nod against his chest. “okay guys, we’re gonna head out now if that’s okay with you two.”
“of course. text us if you need anything y/n,” trevor says and you nod. spencer leads you out of the dorm room and the two of you walk in a comfortable silence down to the street where spencer had parked.
you can tell spencer wants to say something to you, but both of you know if he doesn’t it’s for the better. spencer was the only one you were willing to actually talk to about this. you had known him since you were just ten years old, spencer meant everything to you and then some. but you knew it killed him knowing this was going on and he had no idea and that you hadn’t told him.
“you’re okay, right?” spencer asks quietly as the two of you walk together in the dark night. you’re walking closer to him than you normally would, but due to recent events and the fact barrett could be anywhere, next to spencer is the one place you want to be.
“i will be,” you whisper right back to him and out of the corner of your eye you watch as he nods. the two of you get to spencer’s car and you slide into the passenger's seat while he slides into the driver’s.
the drive back to the boston college dorms is rather short, just like spencer promised and just what you had already known. spencer unlocks the door for you and you’re headed right up to his dorm.
“matt’s staying over at drew’s for the night. so you don’t have to worry about him at all,” spencer says and you nod as he opens up the door to his room. sure enough, the dorm is empty. “make yourself at home, y/n/n.”
you sit down on spencer’s bed, the familiar smell of his cologne filling your senses. he had used the same one for as long as he first started wearing it, and by now it was a comforting smell. because spencer was there.
“hey,” spencer mumbles as he rummages through some of his clothes drawers. “here’s something better for you to wear than that.” he gestures towards the flannel you still have on your body, and he hands you one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers. “i’m just gonna go to the bathroom. let me know when you’re dressed. feel free to make yourself at home, y/n.”
“okay, thank you, spence,” you say and spencer offers you a smile before disappearing into the bathroom connected to his dorm room.
you slowly strip your clothes, starting with unbuttoning the flannel barrett had given you to cover up. you fold that and place it on the chair from spencer’s desk, moving to take off your jeans and top. you stand in front of the mirror, the bruises on your legs fully exposed and the ones on your stomach and sides still covered by makeup. you sigh, reaching over to grab your clutch where you had a travel sized makeup wipe packet. you begin to rub at your stomach, uncovering the bruises that had been laid there either a few days ago or only a few hours ago. then you work on your face, wincing when you realized how bad the bruise around your eye had gotten. after a few minutes, all the bruises that lingered your skin were fully uncovered for spencer to be able to see.
you slip on the clothes spencer had given you: an old darien lacrosse shirt from back when you guys were around thirteen and the pair of boxers, which even though you hated to admit, they were pretty comfortable.
“spence,” you call out. “you can come out now.”
spencer emerges from the bathroom and you brush past him quickly to take his place in there. spencer doesn’t say a word, he just lets you go into the bathroom. in there, and in the fluorescent bathroom lighting, is when you can really see how bad everything is. you thought it was bad in the dorm room, but in here? it was a whole other story.
your finger traces over your black eye, which by now has turned a grotesque shade of purple. you know spencer is going to ask questions, but of course he would. he’s been your big brother for years now.
when you decide you’re ready to go back out, and to face spencer with all the bruises and other secrets you had kept from him the past few months, you step out of the bathroom. spencer is laying on his bed on his phone, but when he hears the door to the bathroom close he’s looking right up at you. his face falls instantly.
“y/n…” he mumbles, sitting up straight resting his back against the wall.
“spence,” you sigh. “i’ll answer anything you want to know. just please, please don’t look at me differently or anything.”
“how long?” is the first thing he asks. you sit down next to him on his bed, but you cross your legs and face him. spencer’s hand goes up to cup the side of your cheek, but he freezes half way afraid of how you would react, letting his hand fall back to the mattress.
you hesitate before speaking, your gaze dropping down to your lap. “five months.”
“y/n,” spencer’s hand gently rests on your chin, tilting it up so you can look at him. “you guys have only been dating for six months, it’s been going on nearly the entire time you’ve been together?”
you nod your head, afraid of using your voice in case you were to start crying. spencer lets out a defeated sigh, his hand going around your back and trying to bring you closer to him. instead, you wince in pain and immediately spencer withdrawals his hand from you.
“shit, i’m sorry.” when you look up, spencer’s eyes are glossy looking down at you. “god. how couldn’t i have noticed this? i knew things were strange when the two of you started dating.”
“it’s okay, i didn’t want anyone to know. but it’s over now, okay? i’ll probably just end up transferring closer to home at the start of the next semester and everything will be okay.” spencer lets out a sigh, but nonetheless he still nods his head. he knows it’s what you needed.
spencer hesitates before speaking, “how many bruises do you have?” he asks quietly. silently, you shift back and pull your shirt up just enough to show the bruises on your stomach, then shifting so he can see the ones on your back, an assortment of both fresh and old ones. when you turn back to face him, there are more tears in his eyes than there were before.
instead of saying anything, you scoot closer to spencer and wrap your arms around his neck. you rest your head on his shoulder and he gingerly wraps his arms around your waist, this time being extra careful as to not hit any of the bruises you had just shown him. for the first time of the night you relax against his touch. you pull your head back away from his chest, your thumb running over his bottom lip where it was split. “does this hurt?” you ask quietly, and spencer shakes his head. you heave out a sigh, your head resting right back on his chest.
“i love you, y/n. please never forget that.” spencer whispers in your ear and you nod.
“i love you too spencer,” you breathe out. “can we lay down? i’m exhausted.”
spencer nods, shifting so he can lay down. you’re laying down right after him, but keeping a safe distance. spence manages to grab the tv remote and he turns it on to fill the silence of the room. your eyes focus on the rerun of friends playing on the screen until your eyes start to get heavy. you feel the bed shift and you feel spencer getting up from the bed.
“spence, stay,” you whisper, reaching out to grab his wrist. “please, just hold me.”
#tw abuse#tw#trigger warning#trigger warning abuse#tw physical violence#spencer knight#spencer knight imagine#ntdp#usntdp#hockey#nhl#hockey imagine#nhl imagine
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Sportsmaster/Icicle + ISA - OBLIVIOUS -"What does Crusher have to do to make Jordan understand what he wants? After dropping numerous hints, Crusher decides that subtlety is not his style." [BONUS POINTS: The other ISA members thoughts during Crusher's prowl. Amused Paula, Haughty Henry (He's been dropping hints for YEARS and all this blonde lunk has to do is flex, dafuq!?!?!?!! and a reluctant Ito who unwittingly gets caught up in it all]
i (unfortunately) present sportcicle: origins. takes place somewhere early on
---
“I’m just saying, babe, if I died I’d want you to be gettin’ it on, y’know?” Larry says, momentarily muffled underneath the resounding crack of the nose he’s just broken. Councilman Spencer’s face, meet bat.
Guaranteeing William Zarick’s reelection is the work of minutes, playing with the would-be candidates-- well, Larry can go all night. Steven’s even agreed to watch the kid, on the one condition that Artemis refrains from pulling on Juniper’s tail. Repeating last time’s unpleasantness, and both cat and girl had been firmly at odds with each other then, would supposedly result in a lifetime ban from the Sharpe household. It’s hard to tell whether Larry minds.
“Yeah but you’re... you,” Paula helpfully offers, hypnotising in full Tigress regalia, as she delivers a roundhouse kick to the councilman’s gut. It’s their third in two nights and particularly pathetic, if the whimpering’s anything to go by. “It’s been, what, three years? Jordan’s probably still moping around. He’s one of those.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Someone’s gotta step up and--” Their target’s started sniffling through the usual promises of please, I’ll do anything and other sob stories. Larry’s heard it all before. “Do you mind? I’m trying to have a conversation here, pal!” He nods to Paula and finds that the crossbow does a more than sufficient job of shutting up the councilman.
Playtime’s over sooner than intended.
“God, that always gets me going,” Larry laughs and wraps an arm around Paula while he’s at it, relishing in her answering smile.
---
For the most part, he lets it simmer. There’s missed opportunities every now and again, vague frustration when lingering hands and obvious glances lead nowhere but, ultimately, fact of the matter is that Larry always gets what he’s gunning for. It’s that simple.
Couple weeks after Paula encourages him to keep at it, not that he’s in dire need of the reassurance, Larry finds his footing.
He’s been patient enough, he thinks, well accustomed to stalking his prey.
“Larry, you’re-- very early,” Jordan remarks, shuffling whatever paperwork he’d been working on a couple more times than would be deemed strictly necessary. He’s looking right at home in the here and now, all immaculate in his suit and tie, sat at the table that takes up the vast majority of the ISA meeting room. Very little of the damp and drafty tunnels reaches them.
“You know me, love them meetings.” Larry’s grinning wide, shark-like and nearly giddy with a manic sense of victory. “And hey, call me Crusher.”
“Right.” Jordan nods. “Crusher.”
Dissatisfied with the art of subtlety, Larry helps himself to a seat right next to Jordan, dragging the chair along until there’s barely any space left between them. That’s more like it. “Listen, Icy, I think you know we gotta talk,” he says, amicably sing-song.
Perplexingly, Jordan stiffens, rigid like he’s bracing himself for a blow. Something to look into, then. Larry keeps on smiling. “If this is about Cameron drawing Artemis with horns, I don’t know what that’s about and I had a talk with him but, Lar-- Crusher, they’re in the second grade and it’s hard to explain these--”
“What? No!” Larry chuckles, shaking his head as he places a firm hand on Jordan’s knee. “Slow down there, bud,” he adds, bizarrely fascinated by the sting of ice underneath his palm.
“Oh.”
The cold, against reason, faintly recedes. If it’s emotion that gets Jordan freezing up, he’s willing to see what else he can inspire in him. “You know ol’ Crusher’s here for ya, right?” He rubs at Jordan’s knee as he meets his eyes -- blue on blue, though Larry’s bright with glee. “Say, if you’ve been feeling lonely lately, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
Jordan, carrying all the allure of a cornered animal, looks down at Larry’s hand like he’s seeing it for the first time. He tries for a smile, though the act’s always looked painful on him. “I guess--”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh, listen, buddy, I just gotta tell you,” Larry starts, exceedingly indulgent in the way he’s managed to scoot even closer, “you don’t look good. I’m thinkin’ a trip to Ripped City would really work wonders on you. Get those muscles moving, right? I know a good workout always cheers me up.”
And maybe Larry’s got a different kind of workout in mind but he doesn’t let the thought deter him. The gym’s win is his, too. Then again, he’s sure he’s got Jordan all the same.
“I’ll, um, think about it,” Jordan allows and as he makes to stand up, Larry grabs his wrist. It’s a loose hold, functionally mild in the grand scheme of things. The glint in Larry’s eyes is anything but. There’s more Sportsmaster than Larry Crock in the way he’s holding himself, the predatory quirk of his smile -- rarely glimpsed beneath the mask.
“Or, and here’s an idea, I could make your mind up for you.” Out in the field, it might very well be a threat. Here, Larry merely tilts his head, perfectly genuine.
---
Jordan’s sitting on the table right in the middle of the ISA headquarters, legs spread wide to accommodate Larry standing between them. His hair’s a mess. “The meeting’s gonna start soon,” Jordan whispers, visibly breathless as he grips at Larry’s shoulder, fingers digging in when he’s rewarded with a kiss high up on his neck.
“C’mon, bud, we’re all friends here,” says Larry, grinning wide, as he steps back just enough to get a good look at Jordan and whistles. “Whoa, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
There’s patches of ice here and there, skin curiously gone crystalline where -- Larry assumes -- Jordan might ordinarily be flushed. If he’s finding it difficult to maintain eye contact, Larry’s got no such problems. He pulls him by his undone tie into a rough kiss, breathes some life into the frozen landscape of Jordan. It’s not too long until they part, Jordan’s lips gone all red. A moan escapes him when Larry offers a hand to grind into where he’s straining against the fabric of his pants. “Just what you needed, huh?” Larry asks, though he’s got an inkling of the answer already.
It’s then Jordan flinches at the not-so-distant conversation drifting through the tunnels. “Crusher, we need to-- stop. We need to stop,” he gasps out and he certainly reaches for Larry’s hand, a valiant effort when he’s sounding like it’s taken everything he’s got to give, but merely holds it in place, unwilling to let go.
Larry laughs, gleefully manic, and lets Jordan rock against him for a moment longer, considers unzipping him just as Dr. Ito steps through the door.
“Spoilsport,” he remarks, thoroughly amused.
Feeling especially generous, Larry even helps Jordan off the table, stealing one last kiss in the process. “You should come over! My turn to cook tonight and Paula says I do a mean grilled salmon,” Larry adds, perfectly casual.
There’s little Jordan can do but nod, eyes fixed on their arriving teammates.
#jordan mahkent#larry crock#paula brooks#stargirl#icicle#sportsmaster#tigress#sportcicle#fic#I DESPERATELY HOPE THIS DOESNT SUCK IM SORRY IF IT DOES#anon#ask
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Savior In a Strange Land
Part 2
Summary: Miles away from the overbearing Samel, Spencer and Queen Y/N get to know each other, relying on the kindness of strangers and the beauty of nature to guide them through their treacherous journey.
Words: 1,513
Warnings: No specific warnings for this chapter.
A/N: This will probably be a 4-6 part mini-series!
Hours after they’d departed the castle with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the food they could carry, Spencer gave a lonely widower a fair payment for housing – if only for a few hours. “My wife is exceedingly tired, Sir. If we could only have a space to rest a while?”
With his wife departed nearly 15 years earlier, the man, who’d introduced himself as David, was more than willing to share what little he had. He excitedly welcomed them into his home, and guided them toward the spare bed, assuring them he’d take care of the horses in the meantime.
Underneath the scratchy blanket, Spencer apologized to Y/N profusely as they settled down to sleep. In the cramped bed, they were pushed up against each other, limbs entangled. “No worries,” she assured him. “We’ll make do with what we have.”
“I also apologize for calling you my wife,” he continued unable to keep his nervousness at bay. “My priority is keeping you safe and it was the first thing that came to mind.
Sleepily, she turned toward the soft stable boy with delicate brown curls and ran her hand along his jawline. “We have to pass ourselves off as anyone else in the kingdom,” she whispered, gentle smile giving way to sadness. “There are many worse men that could claim me as their wife.”
As Y/N began to drift off, she slipped her hand in his, her thumb brushing against his own, hoping to wake up as securely as she was falling asleep.
-----
She could see no more than inches before her own feet. Each step was a treacherous risk, the possibility of broken bones all too real as she ran as fast as her legs would carry her. The crash of her feet against rocks jostled her insides, limbs threatening to tear themselves apart under the extreme strain.
Without looking back, too afraid of what she’d find there, she continued careening through the woods. Tree roots and fallen branches nearly upended her as the sun began to descend, the last shreds of daylight dipping below the horizon.
An unearthly roaring screech blew past her ears, pushing her forward faster than she thought was physically possible. She didn’t even know what was chasing her, just that she had to avoid capture at all costs or she’d welcome a fate worse than death.
Ripping cloth pulled her attention downward for a moment, only to find herself in an enclosed room bathed in a sickly, greenish gray. When she spun around to search for a door, she found none, walls smooth as silk and not an escape in sight save for a small window in the upper right corner of the room that was far too small for someone grown to fit through. On its sill, sat a lone blue iris, slightly wilted, but nonetheless beautiful.
In an attempt to climb the walls and reach the window, she jumped with all her might, her fingernails scraping against the hardened walls as heavy, angered footfalls threatened to drown out the sound of her frantically beating heart.
Blood-curdling screams filled Y/N’s ears when she awoke at Spencer’s side. Her skin bubbled with nerves as she took in her surroundings.
“Y/N!” Spencer said, removing himself from the bed before outstretching his hand – a soft gesture meant to put her at ease. “It was just a dream. You’re okay. You’re safe!”
When her eyes locked with his, she broke down in sobs. “I was running and running and running, but something was chasing me! Then I was in a small, gray room and I couldn’t escape, and I-“
“It was only a dream,” he assured her, hesitantly wrapping his arms around her still shaking body. “You are safe. I promise.”
“We must leave,” she insisted.
Fear melted quickly away into an awe-inspiring strength before Spencer’s eyes. Without another word, she gathered the few belongings they had and graciously thanked the widower for his hospitality. Placing a few small coins in his hand, she bowed toward him. The movement was foreign to her as she was more used to curtsying at royal engagements. But she needed to make the common folk in the kingdom believe she was just like everyone else.
As Y/N climbed into the wagon, Spencer readied the horses, giving both a reassuring pat before he got into the cart at her side. “We will be okay,” he repeated, giving the horses their cue to carry on. “I will not let anything happen to you.”
“Spencer, I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“For bringing you into this.”
“It was my choice,” he said, voice barely detectable over the rumble of the wagon’s wheels and horses’ hooves against stone and earth. “And I would make the same one.”
Curling into his body, Y/N felt the rapid racing of her heart and asked him to recite some of the poetry he’d memorized. As he spoke, his lyrical voice winding its way around her heart, she began to relax.
“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”
The horses whinnied happily with renewed vigor, picking up a steady pace as Spencer steered them through the waning woods. Before them sat a field of flowers of varying colors, broken only by a thin dirt path on one side and the bubbling stream on the other.
They took the dirt path, watching as swath after swath of blue and purple irises, yellow daffodils and various shades of tulips kissed the edges of the stream. “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” Spencer asked fondly. “I used to come out this way with my mother on occasion. We would read together here. Well, as a child, she would read to me. Later on in life, when she became too ill, I read to her instead.”
“Maybe one day we could do that again. You and I?” Y/N asked, allowing herself to drift into a world where they were safe from the clutches of Samel. But they still had a long way to go. “We could find a place that brings us peace and read to each other there.”
“I’d like that.”
She didn’t look up to see him, but she could hear the smile in his voice. After a few hours, Spencer stopped the horses and rearranged some of their belongings, affixing bags of supplies to their horses. Though he didn’t say, Y/N was under the impression that the reason for moving supplies from the wagon to the horses was that they wouldn’t leave much behind if they had to make a quick getaway.
Another hour passed before they came across a small village with an inn, headed by a curvy, blonde woman with a voice like morning sunshine. Though they didn’t get the chance to ask her name, the runaways knew it was a voice that they would carry with them in these hard times.
The gentle roar of the inn’s patrons was soon interrupted by the sound of the doors smashing open. Spencer quickly turned around to see two guards from the castle. “Don’t completely avoid contact if they speak to you. But don’t willingly meet their gaze,” he whispered, watching as his Queen’s eyes darted to the outside of the inn. “If we move now, we will never outrun them.”
When the guards approached, Spencer slipped his hand into hers and gathered it close. “What brings you to the inn today?” The taller guardsman asked.
“Celebrating a year married with my husband,” Y/N replied, attempting to mask the shakiness in her voice.
Spencer squeezed her hand and interjected. “Just an honest celebration. More on my part, that I somehow managed to marry a woman so beautiful.”
Blushing, she shielded her face in Spencer’s chest and waited until they moved along to the other patrons. With their attention targeted elsewhere, Spencer escorted Y/N out the back of the inn and toward their horses. He helped her onto Rowena and mounted his own when they were called by another pair of guards. Unlike the ones inside the inn, this pair looked familiar to the queen and her savior. “Stop!” They yelled.
“Ya!” Spencer shouted, slapping Rowena’s backside along the way. “Do not look back, Y/N!”
As the sun began to set, they made their way back to the stream and along its edge, the sound of Rowena’s hooves along the grass masking the frantic beating of her heart and the distant rumble of guardsman getting ever closer.
@queenanneslace4 @heycasbutt @illegalcerebral @theitcaramelchick @kalie-bee
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#royal au#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#dontshootmespence#savior in a strange land
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Questions and Answers
Question: Why did you combine Dreamtale and Mafiatale together for Dream and Nightmare?
Answer:
I did so because I thought it would be fun. I like to go with the most wacky and zany ideas because to me it’s fun. Think of Treasure Planet.
How can they breathe in space? Why are the spaceships like boats? I DON’T KNOW BUT IT’S FUN AND COOL AND FUCKING AMAZING!
I love that fun shit. Fuck serious shit, let me have my fun. But, also I like to add serious tones to it but the thing is, is that too much seriousness is not fun. Think of Teen Titans, it was a funny as shit show but also had serious undertones that would seemingly come up out of nowhere but it did so in a way that let the viewer take them seriously because of how they complimented the comedy. Angst and drama works in small bursts, but you can never have enough comedy. If you don’t let yourself have fun, you are going to lose interest in your own creation and no one wants that.
Also there was a deeper reason for this. A good while ago (fuck my memory) several people were having very serious issues with a guy called ManiaKnight, and his treatment towards people during these event things where he’d roleplay as several characters, such as Ink, Error and push narratives, however he’d use the characters to gaslight and manipulate those who had joined the events.
He made it all super dark, serious and edgy in the worst way possible and people wanted him to lighten it up via Dream. However for some reason Mania hated Dream and so out of spite he made Dream an Amalgamation, and thus normal Dream became a symbol of “Fuck you Mania” for the people who were tired if Mania’s bullshit.
A former friend of mine had vented to me about this so I designed Mafia!Dream to help encourage their “rebellion”. One thing led to another and here I am! We’ve been having fun with the characters since then.
Question: Is Error obsessed with Hazbin Hotel?
Answer:
No, I made a few Hazbin Hotel jokes in OOC because I fucking loved the pilot and couldn’t help myself because I’m a massive goober. Also FYI. Error is actually obsessed with Gambling, and doesn’t know Novella exists nor would he care that it exists.
My version of Error is not much like normal Error.
Question: Why’d you make Dream and Nightmare hoomans?? Nightmare looks like a onceler >:(
Answer:
The AU that my Nightmare and Dream are from requires them to go to the human world, so they need a human disguise. Thus they use illusions to make them look human. They’re not actually humans. They’re monsters with illusion magic. The humans in their AU don’t know that Monsters exist.
Let me elaborate, sorry for Spoilers.
Nightmare and Dream’s AU is extremely different from Dreamtale.
Mafia!Dreamtale is an AU where Dream and Nightmare are from two different realms of reality that they’re named after. The Nightmare Realm and the Dream Realm. Monsters are from these realms and consume desires and only feel certain emotions.
Dream Realm: They only feel Positive Emotions and eat Positive Desires
Nightmare Realm: They only feel Negative Emotions and eat Negative Desires.
They need to go to the human realm in order to collect these desires because the human realm is in the beginning of an Industrial Revolution and sleep has been practically outlawed because people are more concerned with progressing technology. In this AU Sleep Medicine and Alcohol are outlawed and give you time in prison if you’re caught with them.
Nightmare and Dream both make and sell these products. Nightmare sells alcohol, Dream sells Sleep Medication. Which is why they need to go to the human world and why they have the illusions.
Question: Are you tryna butcher every AU sans you come across gurl
Answer:
If by “butcher” you mean switch shit up and have fun. Then yes. Yes I am. I’m not trying to be accurate to the source material. You assuming that I’m trying to stay accurate to the source material is just that. An assumption. Not the truth.
Aren’t you tired of the same ideas over and over and over and over again? Let’s get extreme! Let’s go ham! LETS FUCKING GO! FUCK, KINGDOME HEARTS!TALE LETS GO -- okay but in all seriousness. Let’s look at all the AUs that we have. Where are the more zany ones? Where are some that just go weird and shit comes from seemingly left field before doing a nose dive into weirder territory? Why not have fun?
Fuck, I’ve seen Harry Potter meets My Little Pony fanfictions that are twice as fun than some of the AUs that I’ve seen.
Outertale is just Undertale but in Space! Can we go a little bit harder on the concept? Let’s push it just a little bit further. What else can we do with this concept? Are there space theme magic? What about when the monster’s die? Do they become dust? Stardust? Why not push the concept a bit further? What if they went supernova? What about that? Can we go further or are you just content with Undertale but in space? What if we made the story take place in the year 3000?
(Note: I don’t know much about Outertale. I only used it as an example.)
Question: Why is your Horror based on Japanese mythology?
Answer:
I wanted him to be different and I like going all out with my characters. I like basing them off of different things. I wanted my versions of the characters to be different. I didn’t want to be blatantly ripping off others. I know the originals are great! But I didn’t want to feel like I was ripping them off and claiming them as my own. But I also wanted to show off some individuality. I wanted to deviate for the sake of fun. I wanted to go all out. There is nothing wrong with changing things up.
Horror is actually mainly based off of the Blood Moon skins from League of Legends. But it got my interest in Japanese mythology going again so I decided to mix that in there BUT that is also because The Blood Moon Skins are based in Ionia a region on Runeterra (the world of League of Legends) that is based off of Japan and… well.. Asia in general. So I got those two things and mixed them together and started to switch shit up. Change the Blood Moon idea into something new! I want to make things different.
Question: Is Dust based off of Assassin’s Creed???
Answer:
I have never played Assassin’s Creed. The closest thing to it I’ve played is League of Legends’ Pyke, and Ekko; and with Watch_Dogs (the second one) but I haven’t gotten past the first level because I had to focus on my college education and I haven’t had the time to play through it.
Dust is based off of Alice in Wonderland, Alice: Through the Looking Glass, American McGee’s Alice, Alice: the Madness Returns, Dr. Spencer Ried from Criminal Minds, Sheldon Cooper from the Big Bamg Theory, Ekko the Boy Who Shattered Time from League of Legends, Visual Kei, and the image in this Youtube video: https://youtu.be/jJ0qDlyrGow
It’s weird that you came to such a conclusion because everyone else keeps telling me he looks like he’s from Kingdom Hearts, which is hilarious! Dear god, I don’t see either! Someone needs to break this down to me because I must be fucking blind.
(Ps. Please send the music artists in that video love, adoration, support, and money. They’re amazing and need more of everything positive.)
Question: Killer looks like a walking JoJo reference!!! Is he??
Answer:
Nope. I didn’t even watch Jojo when I designed him -- which reminds me I still need to binge the show. Killer is actually based off of Tanya Degurechaff from Saga of Tanya the Evil, and Edward Elric from FullMetal Alchemist and FullMetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.
His story will barely even reflect this. And I know what you’re thinking “So original/sarcasm” well there is no such thing as originality. As an artist (which writing even falls under). Everything is inspired and based on something.
To quote Picasso “Good artists copy, Great artists steal”. Now this can be taken in a horrible way but it’s talking about technique. You can steal a technique and those techniques are something you are even taught in art school. You can take inspirations and those inspirations are dependent on how they are used. In this context, the technique is a trope. Tropes are dependent on how they are used and executed. And yes I might switch up Killer’s design a bit, but at the same time I like his design but I don’t think I will change it right now, I need to think about it, because now that I think about it, it’s not much of a military uniform but that’s because of his jacket. I will have to add a bit more detail to his uniform. Also the shadow behind him is a visual signifier of the Chara part of his soul (he absorbed Chara’s Soul but her soul is still active) which is awake and can still talk, but it's more like she is talking through him a voice emanating from his soul -- perhaps that’s why he looks so… Jojo-y?... I’m going to have to go through his design with a fine tooth comb to switch it up a little more.
“Question:” WHY IS BERRY TOO CUTE AND TOO MUCH OF A BABIE!! I HATE THOSE KIND OF BERRIES AND I WANNA MURDER THAT THING FGHJKL!!!!!!111!!
Answer:
That isn’t my problem bud. I don’t cater to anyone. If you think he’s too cute, that’s not my problem. Hell I made him that way because my version of Berry -- Cyber!Berry -- is literally a 3 year old who is super intelligent but still a child. I’m not sure if you’ve ever seen a 3 year old, but they look so fucking cute. But if you don’t vibe with cute things… that’s a you thing, not a me thing.
It’s your problem. Not mine. You don’t have to like my designs.
“Question:” i hate ur characters, they made me cry because of how badly designed they are hurrrr durrrrr
Answer:
Not my problem, I’m not catering to anyone. You hating my characters doesn’t mean shit. After all, let's point out the obvious… it’s just your opinion. You don’t have to like my designs. They weren’t made specifically for you. They were made for fun not for you. I’m not going to cater to you. Do yourself a favor and go away and find something you do like,or find the best discount at Macy’s, or send your favorite creator love, because those things are better than wasting your time and more importantly mine and my friends’. If you wish to stay strictly to bitch, bemoan and troll, please cry directly into my coffee mug, your salty tears give me life.
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