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dollypopup · 2 years

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Polin, ‘suffering’, penance, and forgiveness

I’ve been in the fandom for a while, and a festering trend I’ve noticed is that there a theme of INSISTING that Colin needs to grovel and suffer for Penelope. But. . .what for, exactly? And for what gain? Let’s dive in.

“Colin should suffer because he said he’d never court her to those 4 men in S2E8 and ruined her marriage prospects”

Okay, let’s dissect it, then. Let’s take a step back and discuss why he might have said it. Now, this has been discussed multiple times, but I want to compile some evidence.

+2 out of 4 of these men have had unsavory comments or dealings. For example, Lord Fife is out in linen closets ruining Miss Goring with no intentions whatsoever of marrying her. Another, Lord Cho, made the comment to Anthony at the start of the season that the debutants are only good to be ‘wed, bed, and bred’

(Yeah, wow, they’re such catches. And they were all just KNOCKING Penelope’s door down, didn’t you see?)

+These men watched Colin grab Penelope’s hand in the middle of the ball and watched them walk across the room. How do we know? Because in BTS scenes, we see that Violet and Benedict both noticed, and Portia and Jack were in that room with a SWIFTNESS. They were most certainly noticed

+These men THEN watched Penelope rush down to greet Colin after he returned first, watched as they grabbed hands and went to dance, very suspiciously, in which she looks as though Colin hung the moon and he said she was special to him

+Think about what Fife said: Are you courting the girl?

Now, consider Fife’s character as a known rake. Do you genuinely think Fife is out here wondering if Colin is bringing Penelope flower bouquets because they’re gonna be engaged? NO! He’s asking if Colin’s laid that pipe down seven ways to Sunday!!! “The way you were dancing with her was interesting” yeah, the dance is what’s interesting, uhuh. Courting is a pretty obvious euphemism to me, but this is also me looking at this as a best case scenario. It could most CERTAINLY be other things, but this feels the most cut and dry for me.

Now, let’s look at what Penelope heard Colin say in response: “Ah, are you mad? I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington, not in your wildest fantasies, Fife.”

BRUTAL! Ouch!!! But. . . if he understands that these things are discussed in euphemism, and they’re not actually asking about courting but about ‘courting’, what else was he supposed to do to protect Penelope OTHER than smack down the idea so firmly, they couldn’t push back against him? What, you think they’d accept him telling them ‘No, Penelope is just my friend’?

So, does he have to apologize?

Yes. But does he have to suffer or grovel or ATONE (by introducing 3 new suitors in his classic ‘I did wrong by you and now I’ll make it up in spades’, I’ll get into this in a little bit)? No. Penelope heard a comment made out of context by a man she KNOWS has difficulty with expressing his thoughts (by his ‘i rehearsed that speech for hours’ comment) and decided to take it at face value. That’s her right!!! She doesn’t need to know his reasons, but you’d think that after everything that went down between them, she’d at LEAST give him the benefit of the doubt.

So, let’s discuss Penance.

Colin is a character who, time and time again, has proven that if he commits a harm, he will right it. He takes his privilege as a gentleman very seriously. He considers it a harm he committed against Marina that the engagement ended the way it did and went to check on her. He realized that he’d insulted Will and so decided to bring several men into his business. Now, certainly, it comes out to Penelope about what he said to those men, and perhaps she says that he’s ruined her marriage prospects. He’s, of course, going to see that he needs to apologize: he messed up her marriage potential with those men (yeah, okay), so now he’s going to get her a husband.

Except. . .he really doesn’t have to. Penelope didn’t HAVE any marriage potential with those men. And there have been no men who have been running circles around her, desperate for a dance or a conversation. Penelope is a woman from a scandalous family, debt-ridden, without a dowry, not particularly comfortable in social situations, and not conventionally attractive. She HAD no prospects with those men.

Furthermore, do we genuinely believe that Colin dancing one dance with her at the balls and having random conversations with her is what have kept men away from courting her? When he was engaged to Marina, Penelope still didn’t have any prospects.

Furthermore. . .do you even WANT Penelope to have prospects with these men? As a genuine question to the fandom: show me ONE other character who steps up to bat for Penelope the way Colin has. Not only writing letters to her, but checking in on her, asking if she’s alright multiple times, investing money into her family and then sticking his neck out to expose a major fraud the head of said family is running.

Yet, still, Colin is the kind of character who would go ‘my intentions for this didn’t matter, the outcome did’ and he’ll make it right. Because Colin is a good man and he is VERY aware of his privileges as a gentleman.

Colin has been there for Penelope in so many ways, so. . .why the frustration? Why the deep, yearning desire for him to suffer and grovel?

There is an undercurrent where, though it isn’t explicitly said, the truth is that many people believe Colin needs to suffer because he didn’t realize/didn’t return Penelope’s feelings.

a. He didn’t realize Penelope’s feelings

As women, many of us have the experience of being friends with a man, only to realize he was only friends with you to get in your pants or to get together with you. This is a CRUSHING feeling, and leaves you feeling, more often than not, rather betrayed. Would you rather Colin ASSUMES Penelope has a crush on him and has her at arms length at all times? Would you rather Colin sit here and go ‘of course Penelope has a crush on me’? That would be not only pretentious, but a jerk move and we all know it

b. He didn’t return Penelope’s feelings

He is under no obligation to. He doesn’t have to suffer because of it. I get it, for many people, Polin reminds them of their own unrequited love story, and there’s a bitterness toward the person who didn’t return your affections, but they do not have to, and, in fact, wanting them to suffer because of it is incredibly sad and very scary behavior

Finally, if we’re discussing this couple in terms of scales and atonement, it would be Penelope, not Colin, who would have to ask for forgiveness. Penelope took away Colin’s agency with the Lady Whistledown article. She had good intentions, believing she was doing it for him, but she still took his choice away. Furthermore, she did so in a public manner, to the entire ton. Can you imagine how many people teased and laughed at him about it? Stupid Colin who ran headfirst into an engagement with a woman who was tricking him?

And she did not apologize.

She, in fact, hid it, and then continued to write of his family.

“But, Dolly!!!” I hear you say, “Colin has privilege as a man that Penelope does not!”

Right you are!!! However. . .let’s talk about privilege vs. power. Colin has privilege as a gentleman, yes, and he is very much aware of it. As far as I can recall, he has never used this privilege to hurt others. In fact, he’s used it to uplift and help people (Will, Penelope, the Featheringtons in general). Yes, his words hold weight, and yes, there will be consequences, but Penelope has POWER as LW. And it’s canon that she can, has, and WILL utilize this power, even at the expense of hurting others. In fact, sometimes directly TO hurt others (such as her comment about Cressida being dressed scandalously).

All this to say: Colin and Penelope are on EQUAL ground in terms of the harm they are capable of committed against one another. However, Penelope’s purposeful harms have impacted Colin far more than Colin’s accidental harms have impacted Penelope. So, if we’re discussing forgiveness, the real person who needs to apologize is Penelope, but I don’t often see that narrative. I think because so many of us want for Colin to be gentle with Penelope because he always has been. We want him to continue to prove that, even if she is keeping secrets, even if she is exposing his personal situation, even if she is writing of his family, he will forgive her because he loves her.

The real question is. . .why do we not extend this same grace to Colin? And has anyone else noticed the trend in the Bridgerton fandom in which there is a measurement of who has suffered most and what they ‘deserve’ after such suffering? I, for one, am ready for tenderness. I don’t really need EITHER OF THEM groveling or begging or anything else. Apologize, acknowledge the harm, take steps to mitigate it. That would be enough for me.

What does everyone else think?

#polin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #bridgerton #tropes in the fandom that i want to discuss and honestly nip in the bud

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royal-wren · 1 year

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A curse was starting to plague the house of Odysseus, a blight upon Penelope who struggled with what to do in face of wondering when her dear husband would return. How would she even begin to hold them off and stay loyal while keeping all the suitors at bay? All she could do was fall to her knees and pray for wisdom and protection from any god or goddess willing to listen.

'Weave by day and undo all your hard work when no one is looking under the moon and stars.' 'Promise your hand to them when you finish your piece. Trick them, use your cunning to fool them all by bending words and oaths to your will like the master you are.' So many thoughts instantaneously overwhelmed her mind like a spark to dry flora.

Blinding light accompanied by crackling thunder and tearing, howling wind filled her closed eyes with a violent red and filled her ears with blaring sound. Penelope steeled her nerves as her eyes opened, wide to the sight of two strangers towering where there were none but a moment ago. "Worry not, Queen of Ithaka. You have all the support you could ever need from Hermes and I. All you hold dear will stay safe, divine protection for all three until you're all reunited."

"Stand tall, Penelope. You and Odysseus both have divine intervention at your fingertips as a last resort. The two gods brimming with mêtis, the two who support every worthwhile hero are here with you. Remember Penelope, you too are a hero and fighter as much as your husband, Spartan-born queen. They will all underestimate you, play them all while pulling all the strings."

She stood, dubious of all the eloquent, sweet words filling their speeches. It was all sounding too good to be true to accept blindly. "Forgive me, Lord Hermes and Lady Athene, but it all seems too perfect to ask and get such an immediate response from two gods claiming to be occupied by watching over my husband." Athene's bright eyes met Hermes' pitch-black gaze with a knowing look, growing smirks forming.

"If words do little to assure you, actions will do all the talking. Now get to work, Hero."

#my writing #modern myth #hermes #hermes deity #athene #athena #athene deity #athena deity #listening to The Challenge from Epic the Musical lately has inspired me if you can't tell

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 2 years

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HEART'S PRICE - CHAPTER 43

*Warning: Adult Content*

"Dead? What do you mean, Brutus is 'dead?'" Mathilda demands.

She stands before the hearth in the library, a hand pressed dramatically to her breast.

August, Aileen and Penelope sit in various chairs, while Ambrose Thorne and Noah Hunter occupy the sofa.

Alpha Dane Hunter stands before the tall windows, center stage, while Freya Hunter leans against the wall by the door, a silent but keen observer.

It's a little after five in the morning and everyone looks somewhere between alarmed and half-asleep, still in their nightclothes, a little vulnerable and not quite their best selves.

Which is exactly what Dane is aiming for.

"I mean dead, as in 'no longer alive,'" he answers. "I mean someone murdered him."

"Murdered?" Penelope echoes softly, sounding more interested than distressed, her pale blue eyes even larger than usual. "How?"

"Fire iron," Dane growls. "Brains bashed in."

"Oh lord..." Aileen sinks back against the cushion of her chair, smoothing her hands over her frizzy hair and looking ill.

Noah swallows a bit thickly himself.

Dane has slipped into his 'detective' persona as easily as an actor assuming a familiar role.

Noah knows that his blunt, impersonal attitude is meant to elicit a reaction but it seems insensitive and harsh, given the circumstances.

"So." Dane looks at Mathilda, Aileen, Penelope and August in turn. "What happened tonight between midnight and three a-m?"

August looks up from the pattern in the carpet he's been studying and fixes him with a red-eyed glare.

"My fucking gift-relic was fucking stolen, that's what happened," he rasps.

His thin, greasy hair stands up in clumps and his hands shake.

Noah had expected him to reach for relief in a bottle, his greatest fear having come to pas, but he hasn't touched a drop.

"That and a man is dead," Dane agrees. "Now from what I hear, it's no great loss but I still mean to find out who killed him. So start from the beginning. What happened?"

"Excuse me," Mathilda interrupts sharply, drawing herself up and lifting her chin, "but that 'man' was my son and you will show some respect. He may not have been perfect but he had a far greater influence on the world than you ever shall, detective. Why are you here, anyway? Why has no one called the police?"

"I think you know this isn't something the police can help you with, Ms. Macleod," Dane answers, frowning at her. "My sister and I have... a unique set of skills. We're your best bet, maybe your only one, at catching whoever did this."

"Really?" she sneers. "Because you've done such a wonderful job so far. Not to mention you're hardly impartial. Your brother is Ambrose's new fuck-toy." She jerks her head at Noah. "For all we know, he did it and you're protecting him."

Dane doesn't react but Ambrose's eyes flare red and the heat coming off him tells Noah, Mathilda is on dangerous ground.

Noah lays his hand on Ambrose’s thigh and very slightly shakes his head.

Dane is baiting her on purpose for some reason and turning her to ash won't solve anything.

"We agreed to come to this gods-forsaken house because you said we'd be safe here," she goes on, arms crossed over her chest, her silk dressing robe wrapped tight and doing little to conceal the fact she's wearing nothing underneath. "We've barely settled in,and we've had another theft and now one of us is dead. Forgive me if I don't have much faith in your... 'abilities.'"

"Fair enough," Dane allows. "But something about what happened tonight is different. August didn't get a warning. So far the thief has tipped each victim off to the fact they're the next target, revealed exactly when and where she'd strike but as far as I know, Ambrose was the last to get a note."

"'She?'" Aileen asks, looking up from where she'd been dazedly staring at her hands, picking absently at the paint beneath her nails. "So the thief's a 'she' now, eh?"

"That's our theory," Dane says. "I don't know how, yet, but something tells me this all connects back to your sister, somehow, Ms. Macleod. To what happened to Rosie."

"Half-sister," Mathilda snaps. "She wasn't a proper Macleod, you know. She was lucky to be acknowledged at all."

"Oh? Why's that?" Dane asks.

Mathilda presses her lips together in a tight lin, but Penelope leans forward, her thin hands clasped beneath her chin.

"It was quite the scandal, at the time," she breathes. "Grandfather Macleod brought a woman home from his tea plantation in India, this was in the mid-eighteen hundreds, you know as a 'maid.' She fell pregnant soon after or maybe already was though she was unwed. She died in childbirth but grandfather took the babe in as his own, which everyone knew it was, anyway. That was Rosie."

Mathilda scoffs.

"Can you imagine my poor mother, forced to raise that creature as if it were her own? Everyone called her 'beautiful,' too. She didn't even look like the rest of us."

Ambrose's scowl has grown so marked, Noah is worried it might become permanent.

"It was your idea, wasn't it? For her to wed Aengus," he says. "You knew what the ritual called for, what would happen to her and her child. You knew and you..."

"No," she cut him off sharply. "I swear I didn't. Not... exactly. I..." She turns away, pressing her fingers to her lips. "I admit I wanted to be rid of her, through marriage, though, nothing else. And I may have... suspected that things might not end well for her. But I swear I never imagined something so awful. I never wanted her or her baby to die."

Noah had been listening with interest and also with a growing sense of anxiety as something that had been bothering him finally fell into place.

"Were Rosie and her baby, er... Were their remains ever found?" Noah asks. "After the fire, I mean?"

Mathilda shakes her head.

"Just ashes. The fire was too hot."

"Oh."

Noah falls silent and says nothing more but Dane and Ambrose both cast him similar looks.

Neither presses him, though and Dane finishes collecting everyone's statements without further drama.

No one had heard or seen anything unusual until they'd been roused by August's shriek of alarm.

Something woke him, he told us, though he couldn't say what.

He always slept with his bottle, his gift-relic, that is, under his pillow and it was his habit to check on it frequently.

He'd done so but finding it gone, had made 'some noise' in his distress and surprise.

Then everyone had rushed out and seen Noah and Ambrose at the bottom of the stairs, at which point Noah had ordered them back to their rooms.

The only person, it seems, who had seen and confronted the thief, was Brutus and he was in no condition to tell us about it.

After a prolonged argument, Dane manages to convince Mathilda and the others to remain at Ambrose's house, still feeling that it's best to keep everyone in one place, where they can look out for one another and help guard the only relic that remains un-stolen, Aileen's paintbrush.

"We failed this time and yes, I include myself in that failure," Dane says, "but we have one more chance. Judging by the note left for Ambrose, the full moon has some significance and it's not for another week. We have seven days to solve this thing. In the meantime, I suggest you find a more secure place to keep that paintbrush, Ms. Thorne. A vault, for example."

"Seven days?" August moans. "I won't last seven days. I need that bottle, I..."

"Oh, shut it, Augustus," Mathilda snaps. "I need my mirror but I've made do. Penelope needs her inkwell but you don't see her falling apart at the seams. And Brutus, I daresay, needed that awful bust of himself but..." She trails off. "Well, he was fine."

August's protruding bottom lip trembles, which, paired with his watery, blood-shot eyes, makes him look a bit like an underweight trout.

It's hard not to feel sorry for him, if only because he seems so pathetic.

With their statements in hand, Dane excuses himself and Ambrose and I follow him and Freya outside, where Brutus still lies, covered with a sheet.

Dane turns to Noah.

"You know something," he says. "So spill it."

Noah bites his lip.

"I don't. Not for sure. It's just..."

Noah looks at Ambrose and takes a deep breath.

It was the strange smell he'd detected from the thief's trail, that scent of cool, shadowed water and a pleasant, unknown fragrance.

As Mathilda had spoken, telling of Rosie's mixed heritage, he'd remembered where he'd encountered it before.

"I think that maybe either Rosie or her baby survived somehow," he says. "Or at least... someone related to them. I think I know who the thief is and..."

He takes another deep breath and looks up to meet Dane's eyes.

"I think I might be working for her."

~ ☾ ~

As Noah explains about Shanti and her mysterious shop, both Ambrose and Dane's expressions grow increasingly dark.

"So do you think she might be? A Naga of some sort, I mean?" Noah asks when he finishes, chewing a nail.

"Nagi, or Nnagini, is the female form," Ambrose corrects distractedly. "It's possible. I haven't heard of them being particularly associated with books or knowledge before, though. Also, from what you've described, this 'Shanti' doesn't sound like a violent murderer. 'Shanti' means 'peace' you know."

Noah sighs.

"Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe there's no connection at all."

Ambrose's brows lift and he slips his arm around Noah’s shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze.

"You're a wolf, darling," he whispers, kissing the side of my head. "If you say the scent is the same, I believe it. Your nose knows."

He winks and quirks a brow and Noah can't help laughing at his awful attempt at a joke, though he immediately feels bad for doing so, given that he’s standing over a dead body at the moment.

"What about... him?" Noah asks, nodding at Brutus' sheet-covered form.

"I'll take care of it," Ambrose says. "That is, if there are no objections."

Dane shrugs.

"None here. We've already agreed not to involve the human authorities and I'm no forensic pathologist or whatever. He's worm-food now."

At his words, a thoughtful look crosses Ambrose's face.

"You know... there is someone who might like to have a look," he says. "She's no trained scientist, of course, but... Well, she's made a study of such things. She might have something of value to add."

A few minutes later, Penelope joins us, her luminous blue eyes looking ghostly in the pale, pre-dawn light.

"Oh *my... *" she exclaims, when Dane draws back the sheet, though it's more an exclamation of interest and delight than shock and dismay.

Donning a single latex glove, which apparently she keeps on her person at all times, she picks up the fire iron from where Ambrose had dropped it, then carefully inserts the spike into the bloody wound on the side of Brutus' skull.

"Definitely the murder weapon," she concludes, extracting it and laying it aside.

They'd been fairly certain of this already, though and from Dane's scowl Noah can tell he's unimpressed.

Freya's expression is less judgmental and more curious.

She has an affinity for the macabre herself, Noah reflects, though thankfully a fully functioning conscience as well.

Penelope isn't done, however and probes gently at the area around the wound with her glove-clad fingers.

"Skull is fractured, spider-web pattern. Squishy. Blunt force, quite a bit of strength required. Killer would have struck from behind and... above."

She mimes the gesture, bringing an imaginary weapon down at an angle against Brutus' head.

"Would have had to have been at least two meters, or about six feet, tall. About Ambrose's height, actually," she adds, eyeing him. "Yes, just about."

"You're saying the killer took Brutus by surprise?" Freya says.

Penelope nods.

"Yes. Has he been moved at all?" she asks, looking at Dane.

He looks at Ambrose in turn.

"Not that I know," Ambrose answers, though his voice is quiet and unsure.

"Well, if that's the case, then I'd guess he was facing... that way." She points towards the street. "And the killer sneaked up on him from behind, and bashed his head in!"

She demonstrates the gesture again, with verve, before falling into her usual demure stillness once more.

"Death would have been... almost instantaneous," she adds softly, eyeing Brutus' rigid, pale face. "Regrettably."

"Regrettably?" Dane repeats, narrowing his eyes. "Sounds like you don't regret it much at all, Ms. Oakfield."

She looks up at him, blinking owlishly.

"You think I am a monster, don't you, Mr. Detective," she states. "You are right. I am. But not all monsters are born as such, you know. Some are made. And when you are born among monsters, sometimes you must become one, simply to survive."

With that, she gets to her feet, turns and wanders back inside, humming softly under her breath.

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antipolin · 3 months

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So rewatching season 1 and...fuck Pen honestly and Polin. She is so selfish! Also I highly doubt the stans would be so willing to forgive her, if she weren't played by a pretty, white, fat, actress. Like...lets say for example.

If the genders were switched. For this example though, I realize that society would be much kinder to Marina but still please, allow me to explain.

Percy Featherington, wishes to court Courtney Bridgerton, he's still fat, still part of the less than well liked Featheringtons, still 'Lord Whistledown' in this case, and still a shy, very insecure man...who believes he is entitled to miss Courtney Bridgerton simply because he has feelings for her. (Ironically, this description sounds very much like Lord Berbrooke but I digress.)

Martin, is a single father who also wishes to court, Miss Bridgerton because he wants a mother for his little girl. However, for whatever reason he hides the fact he has a daughter. Obviously, the truth is harder to hide, but he is trying to do what's best for himself and his child. Martin Thompson falls for Courtney. They share a mutual attraction....But Lord Whistledown reveals the truth...why? Because Percy has feelings for her, and he will not allow Martin to 'have her'....

....

Essentially, turning the story into a what if Berbrooke had indeed won the hand of Miss Bridgerton.

Penelope and Nicola are NOT fat. Stop fucking calling either of them that.

If you want to bring that shit into a conversation, leave this blog out of it. I'm not going entertain ya'll attempting to be fatphobic just to hate on Penelope or Nicola.

And Nicola herself says she doesn't consider herself plus size, etc.

So leave that shit alone and keep that shit out of this inbox. Next ask I get calling Pen or Nicola fat, I'm deleting and blocking the anon sending it.

#anon #asks #tw: fatphobia

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theywontletmebeprincipal · 4 years

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the ideal cooper gang 🤘😔🤘

#lyns art tag #oops!! videogames #sly cooper #yes carmelita has a mom heart tattoo yes i know its a horrible take #forgive me for penelope’s hands lord #bentley sly cooper #murray sly cooper #they dont have last names do they 😔#penelope sly cooper #carmelita fox #sly cooper fanart #humanization #yes i know penelope left and carmelita was never a member #its the IDEAL cooper gang 😔😔#sly 5..... please..........

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d-targaryenshoe · 2 years

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A Maze World • Anthony Bridgerton

Word count: 1350

Summary: A maze, it's quite an adventure on itself, much rather when find yourself in it with a certain Lord

It was the night Daphne Bridgerton would find a well-suited man that she would call her husband within the next months, if all would go in the right way, and if there'd been a pleasant match for the female.

But you? It was not an understatement, that you, Lady Y/n Y/l/n was indeed the most rumored subject of every talk into the town and in Lady Featheringtons paper, even if there was not a single thing to say, the talented writer always found a way around.

It did not keep you away from standing on the sideline with a champagne flute in your gloved hand as you stood next to Penelope Featherington, admiring the dancing couples on the dancefloor with the most suiting music in the background.

The redheaded girl turned around, almost looking rather shocked as she was met with your figure, not expecting so.

"Lady Y/l/n, I did certainly not expect to see you here." Penelope shakingly smiled at you, turning her eyes to the dancefloor, fiddling with her hands. "Are you joining this season as well?"

You chuckled, running a hand over the huge skirt of your shimmering ballgown before adjusting it, folding your hands. "As the most favorite subject of Lady Whistledown, I do not think that a wedding would help such a thing, would you?"

Penelope let out a small laugh, nodding her head at you in a nervous a manner. "Yeah- no, of course not, forgive me for asking such thing."

You wanted to say that it was alright before a certain Bridgerton brother was in front of you.

"Lady y/l/n" Benedict bowed in front of you, holding out his hand towards you, as you bowed as well.

"Viscount Bridgerton." You smiled at the man, accepting his hand as he led both of you to the dance floor.

"No one had expected you to be at this ball tonight, perhaps something has changed your mind?" The male smiled down at you, while you both moved to the rythym of the music. "Or someone?"

You squinted your eyes at Benedict, letting him spin you around. He could not know, there was not a way that he could know of what you and his brother had going behind the backs of both your family's backs.

"Sometimes a Lady does like to perform a dance with a man or simply having a nice conversation with another Lady, My Lord." You spoke, walking around the Bridgerton as did the other Lady's on the dance floor with their partners. "Or does those things sound out of the world for you?"

Benedict chuckled, placing his hands on your hips, following your movement on the instrumentals. "No it does not, since you have a quite intellegent mind yourself, my apologies."

The song finished itself which made you bow down towards the man as he did the same. Before walking out of the venue, you shared one last smile with Penelope.

Walking of the small stairs, you grabbed the skirt of your gown, making sure no mud would detroy the expensive fabric, nonetheless you continued your walk, before a hand catched your arm, making you release a shriek in shock.

"you shouldn’t be alone right now, it's dangerous in the dark, mostly for Lady's like yourself." The voice you recogniezed everywhere spoke up, releasing your arm. "Do pardon me for the unexpected way i walked up to you."

You came to a halt, not saying a word to him but just taking in how he looked, how he was standing and the way he was admiring you.

You quited with staring as you started walking again, hearing him following you. "What'd you want, Anthony?"

"I was having a though that we could be talking about what's passing on between us, the last year or so." He sighed, placing a hand on your lower back.

"My Lord, there was never an us since you make me feel as i'm just similar to Siena." You slumped your shoulders, releasing the skirt of your gown, not caring if it would indeed be dirty or not. "And just to inform you, i am nothing like her."

Anthony looked down to the ground, trying to hold your hand but instead of letting him take your hand, you walked into the maze, hoping he would not find you between all the hedges that flowed into one another.

"My dearest, i do not have such intentions." Anthony spoke loudly, not knowing where in the maze you were actually walking or at least clearing your mind.

"What is it that we do,Anthony? We make love, we catch our breaths in extasy and after that you just...leave?" You scoffed, pulling a few leaves of the hedges."There are, eight letters, three words, with such a beautiful meaning, yet you don't dare to say them."

Anthony sighed to himself as he kept searching for you. "Y/n, you're the first thing my mind think of when i get up from bed, and the last thing i'm able to think of as i close my eyes, i love you, there i said it."

You stopped walking, standing still, just waiting until he'd find you, noticing a peekhole in the hedge, you noticed him standing on the other side which made you walk towards him.

“Dearest I-” he certainly did not know what to say, he'd justs spoken the three words that frightened him the most in life, yet he tried to speak again. “I- I really do, love you, i'm just frightened of losing...losing what's dearest to me”

He walked closer and closer to you, cornering you in the maze, the music from inside the venue still sounding loud. “At this very moment i'm burning for you, so do not try to stop me.”

His hands were cupping you face as both of your lips met. It was nothing similar to fireworks that shooted up in the sky, it was much better, much meaningful. You directly responded, pushing off his blue suit jacket, running your hands through his curls.

In a moment everything went from romance to lust, from lust to desire. Your fingers ran over his chest downwards his stomach, biting your lip, staring up at him.

You leaned against the hedge as you noticed Anthony removing the white dress shirt he was wearing, cursing to himself as he struggled with the small buttons which made you chuckle, helping him.

"If you'd be able to undo these?" You smirked, turning your back towards the Bridgerton, feeling him work on the laces of the dress and corset. "Thank you."

Pulling your arms to the dress and taking out the corset, you noticed a blue pants being thrown at your feet, smiling to yourself.

“I'll cherish this moment forever” He whispered against your lips before leaning his forehead against yours.

“I wasn't planning on anything else, My Lord” You smiled, placing your lips softly on his shoulder, as you met his eyes again.

Anthony traced your lips and neck with his fingers, as not another word was spoken the Bridgerton discarded himself of his underwear.

Placing the blue suit jacket on the ground, he helped you to lay down on the covered surface, as he came to lay on top of you, making both of you slightly laugh

Anthony guided himself to your entrance, letting out a shakingly moan, interwining his fingers with yours, running your fingers along his back

“You're absolutely amazing” he whispered, but the only response he got from you was some humming in pleasure

As the pleasure began to near peak, Anthony placed his head in your neck, playfully biting in the flesh, chuckling to himself as he felt your fingers digging into his back

“I'm...Ohhh." Anthony gasped, leaning his forehead against yours before placing his lips there.

"All of this was rather unplanned, was it not?" You were still catching your breath, looking at Anthony.

"I'd say, it's a maze world we're living in, no?" He said with a serious face, looking back at you before both of you fell into a fit of laughter.

"It is indeed, My Lord."

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton netflix #colin bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #anthony x reader

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sea-owl · 1 year

Text

Spring’s Rebirth Chapter 9

Ao3: Link

Penelope was laughing.

Colin snapped his full attention to the sound of her laugh.

It was a full body type of laughter, pure joy in the sound, and one Colin has not heard from Penelope since she was brought to the Underworld. It was nothing like those light and hollowed giggles she would let herself use. Colin found himself trying to look through the crowd near the door to see what made his wife laugh like that.

Aunt Georgie, who had also heard the laughter, glanced back at her nephew. “Perhaps we should take a break?” She suggested.

Colin nodded, already rising from his throne. The crowd split before him as he made his way closer towards the throne room’s entrance. Souls and immortals alike bowed as he passed by. The only two that ignored his presscnenace was his laughing wife and the guider of souls who swung her around in his arms. Both of them held onto each other tightly, their hands gripping the others clothing hard enough to leave wrinkles. They acted almost as if they were afraid to let go of one another.

“Pip!” Penelope laughed.

“Penny!” Phillip cried, his own laughter joined her’s. He had sat Penelope down on her feet but they both still refused to let go of one another. “Thank Chaos I found you!”

Colin had to fight the urge to pull Penelope towards his side. With his shadows or his hands he wasn’t sure, but both would be ideal.

Penelope squeezed Phillip’s hands that she was still holding. Her shoulders starting to hunch. “I am sorry if I worried you. I understand if you or Mama are mad-”

Phillip hastily cut her off. “No, no, no. I promise no one blames you.”

It was obvious Phillip blamed someone. The throne room was not the place to have that conversation though. Colin could already hear his more gossipy court members starting to whisper.

Colin smiled his court smile as Francesca has dubbed it. “Phillip, it has been a while since we saw you last.” You're late

Phillip finally turned towards the King of the Underworld. He bowed his head. “Forgive me my lord, but things have been hectic on Earth." You're the reason why

Both gods narrowed their eyes, the souls around them began to shift uncomfortably. Phillip may be the guider of souls, and one of the stronger members in Colin’s court but there was no way in hell he was going to allow him to-

“Perhaps,” Penelope said taking one of Colin’s hands in her own, while her other still held Phillip’s. “We should move this conversation to a more private setting.” There was an edge in her voice that told Colin his wife would not take no for an answer. Before either god could respond Penelope began to walk out of the throne room. Colin and Phillip followed obediently behind her, their hands still in her’s.

“What a wonderful idea!” Aunt Georgie said as she and Francesca also followed along.

Penelope led their small group to the dinning room where the royal family would usually take their meals. There she dropped both gods hands and sat in her usual chair. Her fingers rubbing her temples. Colin and Francesca also took their usual seats, while Phillip sat on Penelope’s other side, and Aunt Georgie took a seat next to Francesca.

“Pip,” Penelope broke the silence. “You said things were hectic up above, what is happening up there?”

Phillip sighed, a weariness took over his form. “Your mother, Lady Portia, has started a famine and it’s killing mortals fast. I haven’t had to guide this many souls at once since the last war among the mortals.”

Colin leaned forward. This wasn’t good. There was a balance among the circulation of life and death, between mortals and immortals. If Lady Portia is somehow creating a famine that is pulling in the same numbers as a war . . . Colin shuddered to think what’s in store for not only his kingdom but also his brothers’.

“How is she doing this? And what is her goal in creating so much death?” Francesca questioned.

Phillip looked only at Penelope, who was staring at him straight on. “Lady Portia has vowed to not do her duties as the Goddess of Agriculture, to not let one thing grow until her daughter has been returned to her from the Underworld.”

Colin’s fist clenched under the table. No, absolutely not. His wife was not leaving him. Not after they finally started getting closer after all these years-

A squeeze of his hand brought Colin out of his thoughts. He glanced down to see Penelope’s small fingers had laced together with his larger ones. She herself though was still talking with Phillip.

"What of my sisters? Felicity?" Penelope eyes went wide when she said her younger sister's name. Guilt began to creep into her brown eyes. Colin found himself squeezing her hand this time.

"They join your mother in her vow. None of them have used any of their nature magic."

Aunt Georgie looked puzzled. "Why create the famine though? The marriage was legal yes?"

Colin and Penelope looked at one another.

"My mother and I were not informed of my upcoming marriage," Penelope finally answered.

Aunt Georgie snapped her head towards her nephew. "Colin Bridgerton!"

Colin felt himself leaning back. "I had followed the marriage laws and gotten permission from her father-"

Phillip scoffed, "The one who was never there?"

Colin would have glared at his guider of souls but the hiss Phillip let out followed by, "Penny!" was so much more satisfying.

"-and yes I had asked Anthony to not let the news spread until I had gotten things settled down here for Penelope's arrival. I didn't expect Lord Featherington not to inform Lady Portia nor Penelope."

Phillip glared at Colin in disbelief. "We were searching for Penelope for months! No one would tells us where she was! The only reason we found out was because your younger brother grew a conscious."

The table fell silent. Aunt Georgie looked puzzled, meanwhile Francesca turned towards Colin.

Colin heard a knock in his head. The code he and his siblings came up with when they wanted to mentally converse with one another.

Colin nodded, a moment later he could hear his sister's voice in his head.

Why were the others lying about where Penelope was? The marriage was legal, and it's not like either of you was mortal, or anything scandalous like that.

I'm not sure, but I do intend to find out.

Both siblings paused when Penelope let out a sigh. "The Bridgertons making decisions for the rest of us and leave us guessing what those decisions are or the thoughts behind them? What else is new?"

What did his wife mean by that?

Phillip thought for a moment but then nodded in agreement. "When you put it that way Penny it is the same old thing."

Not long after Aunt Georgie had suggested that Colin and Phillip were to go up above. Phillip had more souls to guide while Colin was to go confront his eldest brother.

"Penelope can hold down the castle while you two are gone."

A slight look of panic had appeared in Penelope's eyes. "Um-"

Francesca thankfully came to her rescue. "I will help you."

The two men gathered their things and prepared to leave. Colin had to fight the urge to yank Phillip away when he hugged his wife. Colin may or may not have tried to make a point a slow and long kiss before holding out his two closed hands to her.

"Pick a hand," Colin said to her.

Penelope playfully rolled her eyes and tapped the left one. Colin flipped open his hand.

"Nothing again?" Penelope said.

"Still the same item you have yet to guess," Colin said. "Let's see if you get this time."

A stony silence fell among the two gods as they began to make their way back up following the Trail of Poppies.

"You know it would have been easier to let her leave."

Colin glared at Phillip. "She is my legal wife Phillip and the Queen of the Underworld. Letting her leave is not simple."

"No, it was more simple to kidnap her," Phillip muttered and shook his head. "Just as it's more simple to let the world starve then let Penelope go home."

Colin bit back a groan. It truly wasn't that simple when a god and their domain took on a spouse. Barley any god or immortal gets married so it's almost impossible to explain. Even Colin's father struggled explaining it to his children. Hell Colin was still confused until he got married himself.

The Bridgertons making decisions for the rest of us and leave us guessing what those decisions are or the thoughts behind them? What else is new?

Perhaps Colin should try to explain though? Something about his wife's words bugged him.

"Phillip," Colin started. "I know the forests weren't orginally your's. Not until George decided to give up his immortality."

Phillip's shoulders tensed, Colin had to be careful with his next words.

"But you remember how they changed when they were transferred to you?" Colin waited until Phillip gave him a slow nod. "If gods marry then their domain will change again. The Underworld has already connected itself to Penelope, I mean look around us."

Colin gestured around. The two gods had made back to the opening of the Underworld. The red light of the poppies. shining brightly even during the day.

Phillip stared down at the poppies, lost in thought.

Before Phillip could give a response Colin found himself flung backwards with pain bursting into his shoulders.

"Agh!"

"Phillip!"

A flash of red. Then Felicity appeared at the edge of the opening, her belly bow reloaded, and aimed at Colin.

Colin groaned. “I see you’ve become quite the archer Felicity.” He grabbed the arrow in his shoulder, willing his power to decay the wood until it broke and fell out. The shadows raced to his wound to heal and cover it.

"Where is my sister?" Felicity growled.

#bridgerton #polin #spring's rebirth #besties phillip and penelope #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #phillip crane #hades and persephone au #felicity featherington #felicity with a shotgun #well a bow in this universe

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newtonsheffield · 2 years

Note

Molllyyyyy ppllleeaaaaasseeeee write a snippet to accompany the dancing photo!! Pleaseee pretty pleeaassee

Just in case we've forgotten what it looks like

The room was stifling, Kate could feel the walls pressing in on her, they had been from the very second they'd come in from dinner. Well, no, that wasn't exactly true; it was only since the gentlemen had joined them that Kate's skin had felt like she was on fire.

If she stopped lying to herself, she would have admitted that she'd felt like like she was burning for days now, since he'd smirked up at her, his hand gripping the black mallet, eyes shining at her through his hair falling in his eyes, his voice like velvet Miss Sharma, surely you want me to have that no? She'd snatched her hand back, still gripping the mallet in surprise as her heart stuttered, No! I don't!

And this morning she'd thought she actually might (embarrassingly) expire, when his eyes clapped to her his mouth falling open in alarm as she'd walked downstairs in her riding clothes, a smirk on her lips when Benedict had said-

"I thought Miss Sharma might like to join us this morning, brother."

Anthony had startled, "I don't think she-"

"Come now, Lord Bridgerton, surely you aren't afraid of a little competition." She'd said, as though her cheeks weren't burning, "Though, after your defeat on the Pall Mall field I understand you being a little hesitant."

He'd gone a delightful shade of purple, that tiny crease between his eyebrows deepening, "Oh, by all means, come! But you are enough of a menace without a rifle, Miss Sharma, so forgive me if I don't let you use mine."

45 minutes later she'd been lining up her shot, waiting for the next drive, Lord Bridgerton's second rifle taken from his loader, cocked on her shoulder, and she could feel him, right behind her, hyperaware like she always was whenever he was near. his lips nearly touching her cheek, the memory of how they'd felt against hers rough and needy and-

"You'll want to keep both eyes open, Miss Sharma, aim for where the bird-"

She was barely listening, cracking the dogs moving through brush "I assure you, Lord Bridgerton, My father taught me to shoot just as well as yours did."

She caught sight of the pheasant flying closer and- Crack!

The rifle shot had rung through the air almost in time with his, the bird she'd aimed for falling to the ground, a thrill of triumph shooting through her at Anthony's muttered curse, a smirk rising to her lips,

"Oh dear, Lord Bridgerton, perhaps better."

It had been nothing short of delicious when lady Bridgerton had called out on their return, Kate's birds hung over Anthony's saddle.

"You've been rather more successful than normal, Darling."

And what could he have said but, "They aren't mine." ?

She could see him now, just a few feet away, lemonade glass in hand, talking to... God she had no idea who that debutante was, actually, but she certainly wasn't feeling anything akin to Jealousy. No, That wasn't what was rising in her throat. She didn't even like-

"Lord Bridgerton is coming over." Mary said mildly startling Kate from her thoughts, her heart stuttering in her chest as Anthony bowed gallantly to the girl he'd been talking to, making his way over, ignoring several women's attempts to catch his attention, That stupid heart stopping smile on his face.

"Lady Mary, Miss Sharma." He bowed again, his stupid handsome face, shining brightly.

"Lord Bridgerton." Mary said politely, nudging Kate who murmured the same, trying to look over his shoulder, anywhere but him.

"I wondered if I might claim a dance?"

Kate sighed, something sharp and ugly rising in her chest as he eyes flicked to Edwina across the room with Penelope Featherington and Eloise Bridgerton, smiling happily. "Well, as we've established, I can't very well stop you can I? Edwina's is over there, Sir."

"Not really, No." He said quickly, reaching forward before she could stop him, his hands closing around her wrist. Surprise, and something infinitely darker shot through her as he made a show of looping his name on her Dance card, his fingers brushing her wrist delicately.

Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton

"Oh look, our dance is next." There was something so dark in his eyes, his arm held out towards her.

Mary was looking a little curiously between them, an odd smile on her face, jerking her head covertly in Anthony's direction. And what else could she do?

Kate slid her arm through his, adopting an unaffected air, "How Gallant of you, My Lord."

"Oh well, Miss Sharma, I am nothing if not gallant." God, his smile was sent by the devil, a cocky little thing as he bowed to her at the edge of the dance floor, barely waiting for her to curtsy before he'd swept her into his arms.

And it really was far too warm in Aubrey Hall, Kate would hate to live here, she definitely would.

She could feel the heat of his hands through her gloves, the heat of his body, just a fraction too close, crowding her against him, just like he had at his mother's musicale, so close.

"Surely you aren't speechless in my presence." Why did he sound so amused? Unaffected. Kate could barely get her feet to move in time to the music.

"Surely not." She stumbled over his feet as their eyes met, his darker than she'd ever seen them, startling her. But Lord Bridgerton didn't flinch back from her tonight. "My my, thicker boots tonight, my Lord."

His smile made her heart flutter as they moved around the dance floor, ignoring the whispers around them. "I am occasionally capable of learning, despite the opinions of some young ladies present."

Kate forced herself to scoff, as he moved behind her, taking a few steps, the heat of his body too overwhelming. "I very much doubt that."

Their hands were still clasped together, as they were supposed to be, but he tugged them closer, resting on her chest, his bare skin once more against hers, curling around the edges of her dress, tugging at the fabric, her hand disguising it for the crowd watching curiously. His other hands was pressed against er stomach, hot still through the fabric of her dress, something hot creeping down her spine as his thumb moved in a circular motion, teasing her, pressing her against his chest, his lips hot against her ear, stealing the breath from her body.

"Oh come now, Kate," Her name from his lips sent a thrill straight through her, stupid and hopeful, and reckless. Something like want. "Surely you don't still hate me."

She couldn't even breathe, the air so think around her, around them, locked together in the middle of the room, the eyes of what felt like the entire ton on them as he finally spun her back to face him, his chest, firm and strong against hers, arms safe and warm and not hers to want.

"No, I don't."

And as soon as she said it, the music stopped.

#kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #bridgerton season 2 #promo pics #bridgerton #the viscount who loved me

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carryonthroughtheages · 3 years

Text

Hello everyone!

Another year of Carry On Through The Ages is over and done! We have emotions and exhaustion, but we're so happy that this year had the hype and excitement that it did.

Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, to all of the AMAZING creators who spent the last several months working away at their historical content!

Thank you also to the hard-working mods: @bazzybelle, @giishu, @palimpsessed, and @xivz . This fest would not have been as successful as it has been without you!

We encourage everyone to look under the page break for all the fics and art. They're all fantastic!

Here is the link to the AO3 Collection: Carry On Through The Ages 2021!

Thank you all, and until next year! 🧡🧡🧡

MONDAY:

1) sun on the sea (T) - @trenchcoat-moth : AO3 // Tumblr

Tensions run high in England, and Malcolm decides it's for the best he sends Baz to live with Fiona, where he'll be safer.

That is, until Baz's ship is attacked.

2) The Words I Long To Say (M) - @bazzybelle : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow was dead.

Baz Pitch was sure of it. Simon had gone away seven years ago to fight a war in the jungle and he hadn't come home.

So, when Simon shows up in Baz's club, investigating a string of brutal murders, all Baz wants to do is hold him close and never let him go.

But these aren't the same boys from 1960 and Baz has a lot of processing to do before he's ready to believe in Simon again.

3) we are slaves to gods, whatever gods are (M) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 // Tumblr

I don’t fully understand what plagues him, but I know it’s bad, and I know it goes deeper than guilt. He didn’t want to kill his father, not really, but we were instructed to do so by Apollo. Cleanse the house of its sins, dispose of a murderer to set things right. It was only right that I join him; he was avenging my mother as much as his. Clearly, Apollo didn’t seem to consider that such an act would make Simon a murderer in his father’s place. It seems I got off fine, but as far as Simon is concerned, the vengeful spirits that once spun and danced on the roof of the palace now hunt him down, determined not to stop until he rids the world of himself.

4) World War II Era Art - @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr

TUESDAY:

1) the art of loving you (E) - @one-more-offbeat-anthem : AO3 // Tumblr

1955. London. Young love.

Forbidden love.

A year ago, starving artist Simon Snow met Baz Pitch, son of a wealthy art patron, at a party, and their days (and nights) together have been a wonderful secret.

But Simon is tired of being a secret and knows it's time for things to end.

(Baz has other ideas.)

2) Reliquary of an Arsonist (T) - @tea-brigade : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow grew up a ward of Watford Abbey, but when his magic manifested in an explosive accident as a child, he became the Abbey’s anchorite—never to leave Watford’s walls, for his own protection. That is, until Abbot David sends him on an important errand…

Basilton Pitch paints portraits for his patron, Lord Grimm. But he’s never forgotten the magic he learned from his mother—nor the men who condemned her to death as a heretic. When Simon arrives and offers Baz a commission from Watford Abbey, he sees his chance to avenge his mother once and for all...and he’s willing to burn down everything in his path to that end.

But it was no coincidence that pulled these two unlikely souls together. Something more sinister is underway at Watford Abbey, and only Simon and Baz can uncover the truth before everything goes up in flames.

3) Westward Son (E) - @aristocratic-otter : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon and Baz have found each other again, but there's nowhere in Brooklyn or Virginia where they can safely be together. So now, they venture the hazards and struggles of the Oregon trail, to perhaps find a little homestead in Oregon of their own.

4) A Way Out (T) - @lying-on-the-sofa : AO3

I frown at him..“You don’t know me.”

He offers his hand. “Simon.”

Simon. I feel the name around in my mind and assign it to his face. Simon. I don’t shake his hand. They’ve still got my arms pinned. “Basilton.”

Simon nods at me. “Now we know each other. Let him go.” Very casually, he takes his other hand from behind his back. A sword, flashing. He leans on it and smiles invitingly. “Let him go.”

This time, they listen.

Simon Snow has been trained for years to become a tribute—one of the fighters Athens sends every ninth year into the Minotaur’s labyrinth. He wants to know the way out, if only for Penny’s sake. Luckily for him, Prince Basilton of Crete also wants a way out—off the island, where no one will know he’s the half-brother of the Minotaur.

Unluckily for both of them, they don’t exactly form the most agreeable pair.

WEDNESDAY

1) long is the road the leads me home (G) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 (Version 1) (Version 2) // Tumblr

Baz has a rather unremarkable life, and he's fine with that. Running his late mother's beloved inn with his temperamental aunt, estranged from his father and step-siblings, he's successfully convinced himself that he's better off without attachments.

Then Simon barrels into his life, guns blazing and rapier drawn, and Baz is swept up in dramatic plot he never bargained for.

Worse still, he finds he quite likes the thrill.

2) New Romantics (T) - @ninemagicks : AO3 // Tumblr

Basilton Pitch, twenty-two years old and a famed poet of the Romantic era, has fled to the countryside. In Mummers House, the fabled haunt of literary greats, he sulks himself into oblivion and awaits a sad, disappointing end to his brief years of brilliance. The cause of his downfall? None other than Simon Snow, the so-called “bad boy of English poetry”, breaker of rules and eternal thorn in his side. Baz hopes that Mummers House might mean an escape from London, from Snow and his increasingly virulent popularity... but the rain that comes has other ideas.

3) thnétos (T) - @snowybank : AO3 // Tumblr

thnétos: subject to death, mortal

a retelling of Apollo and Hyacinthus

4) A Medieval AU art piece - @thewriterxj : Tumblr

THURSDAY

1) From Eden (E) - @orange-peony : AO3 // Tumblr

I wonder if his skin is warm or cold to the touch. I tell myself it’s simple curiosity, that I’m an artist and capturing things on paper or canvas is my way to make sense of the world. That drawing him feels so natural, so I should just follow my instincts. Ebb used to say it all the time. Follow your heart. It knows where you’re supposed to go.

I wish I could. I wish I had enough money and freedom to just draw what I want. To paint him in his unattainable beauty. To draw him the way I want to. Naked and vulnerable, raw. Without frills and expensive suits.

Just Baz on paper, my fingers tracing his delicate and beautiful lines with simple charcoal.

2) Slings and Eros (M) - @palimpsessed : AO3 // Tumblr

Young god of love Simonides is tasked by his father, the god of war, to bring about the ruin of a mortal prince to punish his blasphemy. However, once Simonides sees his intended victim, he begins to have misgivings. Prince Tyrannus might have offended the gods with his very existence, but all Simonides can see is how beautiful and lonely he is.

Or, a very loose interpretation of the Eros and Psyche myth.

3) I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire (M) - @knitbelove : AO3 // Tumblr

September 1940: Going back to Watford feels different this year, and not just because England is at the brink of war with Germany and Italy. Penelope seems unsettled by everything, and Agatha is distant, and Baz is … simply not here.

What if Carry On but during the Blitz?? Yeah.

4) A Fool's Oath (M) - @thewriterxj : AO3 // Tumblr

A simple soldier is invited to join the ranks of the royal guard. He and his appointed mage arrive at the royal city to find themselves at the mercy of an unmerciful court. As he struggles to find his place in this foreign environment, he also finds himself entranced by music that only he seems to hear that floats out about the city. He makes an oath to wed whoever makes such beautiful music.

Too bad that person is the crown prince.

FRIDAY

1) Stranger Tides (T) - @tea-brigade & @xivz : AO3 // Tumblr

“If some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so I will endure…” Captain Simon Snow of the Chosen One is many things—cunning, handsome, ruthless. Greedy. It’s no surprise that Snow finds a way to piss off the God of the Sea, he always manages to get himself into some type of trouble. This time, however, he’s not the only one who will suffer the consequences. Poseidon promises to not stop his pursuit until Snow and all of his men are dead.

Enter Basilton Pitch—rich, beautiful, mysterious. Suspicious. He offers the crew of the Chosen One a hefty sum to take him back to Europe from the Caribbean. And who is Captain Snow to refuse so much coin? After all, Greek gods aren’t real.

Right?

2) The wayward heir [comic] (M) - @letraspal : AO3 // Tumblr

Like a folk song, our love will be passed on. Simon Snow wants to be an artist. He used to live in Fiesole where he worked in the wool shop of his good friend Ebeneza Petty. He has now chosen to return to his native Florence in order to participate in an art contest hosted by the Pitch family, the most important bankers in all the three continents and Simon’s last chance for an art patronage. No matter how much he hates them.

But being back in Florence also brings back the memories Simon wanted to leave behind : his days as an orphan, the mystery about his mother, and once more being under the inquisitive eyes of his godfather, the new archbishop Davy. The archbishop is very same man who would never forgive him for dropping out the priesthood and ruining his secret plans against the Pitches.

The last thing Simon needed was an unbearably handsome jerk getting him into trouble on his very first day in Florence. How can focus when this man is the most annoying person he has ever met and yet his major source of inspiration.

3) Prohibition Blues (T) - @heyyyandrea : AO3

Simon Snow is a baker and aspiring playwright in Prohibition Era New York City. When he meets a handsome man at Shepherd's speakeasy who is interested in his work, he can't help but think it feels too good to be true.

4) Earth Below & Sky Above (M) - @phoxphyre : AO3 // Tumblr

In the depth of the palace of King Minos of Crete lurks a creature known as the Minotaur.

Baz, prince of Athens and chosen of the god Poseidon, has heard the stories. And now he’s volunteered to come to Crete as one of the annual tributes—to dance with the king’s bulls and fulfill his destiny. He just wants to survive the bulls, protect his people, and go home.

But what if the Minotaur isn’t a monster—but just a boy? And what if instead of slaying him, Baz fell in love with him?

A Carry On retelling of the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, set in Bronze Age Crete.

5) A 1980s AU Art piece by @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr // Instagram (Slightly NSFW)

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thepaintedlady00 · 2 years

Text

Practice

TW: smut (a smidge of primal play if you squint, dirty thoughts, fingering, penetration), major spoilers for my series (The Sandman and The Girl Without Dreams) if you're reading it or are wanting to, beware!

“We should return. You need to practice more.”

Groaning, I pulled on his coat and slid up against him. “I’d rather not.”

He pressed a kiss to my head and I felt him smile. “Very well, perhaps we could do something else?

I looked up at him with a grin. “Did you have something particular in mind?”

“A game, if you’re willing to play?”

“Is there a prize?” I asked.

His starry eyes glistened. “You may choose anything you wish.”

I smirked. “I can think of a few things. What’s the game?”

“All you have to do is evade me successfully.”

“Hide a seek?” I asked with a giggle.

“More of a hunt than seeking.” He answered deeply.

A thrilling chill ran up my spine. “You think you’re a good enough hunter to catch me?”

The gleam in his eyes had darkened as he answered. “Of course.”

“Fine then, rules.” I said looking up at the sun in the sky. “If you can’t catch me by sundown I win. No teleporting or power usage.”

He bowed his head, lips hovering over mine. “I agree to the terms.”

I pressed my lips to his. “Good luck, Dream Lord.”

Then I was gone, running quickly through the garden giggling. “I’ll give you a ten minute head start, darling, then I’m coming for you!” He shouted, the words vibrating through me.

***

Ten minutes had passed and Dream had begun his hunt. They were only thirty minutes in, but he was impressed. No footprints marked her path, no obvious signs she’d been anywhere in the palace at all. He widened his search spreading out beyond the palace and into the village where his dreams and nightmares lived. Some had already returned in the short time he’d been back, which gave him hope that the others would soon as well.

He checked the shops and asked his subjects if they’d seen any sign of their lady. All had told him the same thing, that she’d run straight through the town and headed off in the direction of the beach. So, he followed. It made sense that she’d choose the beach, it was large and had vast hills and mountains that would provide good hiding places. But as he neared the gate a little blue butterfly caught his eye. The insect flew along the path and then turned abruptly down a familiar road. He smiled. Cain and Abel.

Sure enough he could feel her the closer he got, though she appeared to be inside with the brothers. Dream waited, watching the area fill with the butterflies, hovering around the house she was in. When Cain stormed out and she and Abel followed, the tiny golden gargoyle on her shoulders, he wanted to move, but something in her face stopped him. She looked at Cain with a sadness on her face that made every inch of him curl. If Cain had upset her he would-

She set the gargoyle in Abels hands and walked to Cain’s side, the fountain blocking his view. He moved silently, crossing the bridge and finding her again just as she wrapped her arms around Cain’s stiff body. For a moment he was nervous of what Cain would do at his lady's kind embrace. Of the two brothers he was far more irritable and rash. He took a step closer, prepared to intervene if something were to happen, but he paused as Cain returned her hug, crying into her shoulder.

Did she know how miraculous she was? He wondered as he and Abel watched the sight in awe. When the two pulled away, the butterflies in her hair beating their wings softly, Cain wiped his eyes. "Forgive me, my lady."

Penelope shook her head and grabbed Cain's cheeks, speaking so softly he could hardly hear her. "Don't apologize." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "If you ever wish to see the memory again, don't hesitate to call upon me."

He nodded, smiling at her in a way Dream had never seen from him. "Yes, my lady.

She turned and her smile grew as their eyes met. "I've found you."

A wicked gleam in her eyes sent his heart soaring. "Found me, yes. But I believe the exact word I used was catch me."

"You intend to make me chase you, my love?"

"Oh absolutely," she said, moving cautiously around the fountain, her hands behind her back. "We both knew you'd find me, but I'm not sure you can catch me that easily."

His brows rose. "No?"

"I'm very quick on my feet, Dream Lord."

He chuckled. "Quick on your feet, yes I've no doubts on that. But you forget this is my realm, it bends to my will."

"Ah, but we're equals, you and I." She was just out of reach now. "Whom will The Dreaming be more inclined to listen to, I wonder?"

"First you steal my heart and now you would strip me of my realm?" He joked blandly. "What a wicked creature you are."

Penelope blushed. "Oh dear Dream Lord, I've yet to show you wickedness."

He moved to step towards her but found himself unable to. Some invisible force had wrapped around his legs, pinning him to the spot he stood. Dream looked up at the proud smile Penelope had as she stepped closer, revealing the threads in her hands. "Are you stuck Dream?"

"This is cheating," he said with a barely concealed chuckle.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" She insisted. Pressing a light kiss to his lips she walked past him. "Better hurry, Dream, the suns going down."

He watched her walk away with a confident sway in her hips. Damn her and her little threads.

***

I sat on the bridge, watching the sun start to set in the distance. Any minute now I'd be victorious and my lovely pouty lipped Dream Lord would be paying me with the view of his pretty head between my thighs. A wave of power rolled over me, bringing every hair on my arms standing up. There at the end of the bridge Dream stood, hands in his pocket and his dark gaze fixed on me. He tilted his head up. "You and I have business, Weaver."

Fuck. I jumped up and started sprinting. If I could get to the library the endless shelves and Luciennes rules on manners would surely buy me just enough time to-

I slammed into a solid black mass, his pale hands wrapped around my wrists and he bent over me with a dark, hungry gaze. "You are quite quick for a little rabbit, but I am a very experienced hunter and I'm set on catching my prey."

Threads wove between my fingers before he pulled my hands away from each other. "None of that now." His eyes turned to the sun just as it disappeared over the horizon. "I win."

"You cheated!" I insisted, not even flinching at the change in scenery as he took us to the bedroom.

Dreams' eyes glistened. "You cheated first. I was merely adapting to the change in rules."

"Damn you," I growled playfully as I pushed my chest up against his. "Well, you've got me, now what will you do?"

"Now," he brought his lips dangerously close to mine. "You practice."

My mouth fell open. He had to be kidding. "What?"

He pulled away from me, summoning a desk and gesturing toward the chair. "That's right, little Weaver. Time to stop running from your studies."

"But I thought… I wasn't expecting you to pick this!" He didn't budge. "Fine. I'll practice, but you're the one missing out, Dream, my idea was far more fun than this."

"I'm certain it was," he chuckled, pushing in the chair as soon as I sat down. Pressing a kiss to my head he moved toward the bed, lounging back with a book. "Have fun, darling."

"Asshole."

He didn't react, which only made me glare at him harder. After a few minutes when it became clear he had no intention of giving into my angry looks I sighed and turned to the desk. I focused, pulling the threads from around me and began twisting them into the familiar shapes I'd been practicing. Ball. The easiest, obviously. Once I'd finished, pulling it free of the threads I tossed it to Morpheus, who caught it without even looking up from his book. Damn that's hot. I could see his tiny smirk.

Moving onto the next I started purposefully letting my thoughts drift. Perhaps that would catch his attention. The first was simple, just an image of him through my eyes while I sucked him off on his throne. No response. Pen. I tossed it over to him again, watching his nimble fingers catch it with ease. The glint in his eye as he peeked up at me told me my plan was working. I flashed him a sweet smile and went back to work.

Time to go off script. I thought, twisting the thread between my fingers until the image of a small letter opener began to take shape. Now I thought of what I'd have done if I'd won our game, pushing all the pent up desire into it and thus into Dream. From the corner of my eye I saw his hands tighten on the book, his eyes going still. The blade gleamed in the light. I threw it right towards his head, biting my lip as he caught it and turned his head to examine it. "Quite the craftsmanship, it seems you're improving." He stabbed it into the nightstand and smiled. "Do stick to the list my love, we wouldn't want anyone to get hurt."

I squeezed my thighs together and returned to my work. Butterflies. The threads were soft beneath my fingers, reminding me even more of the throne room. One last try, I decided as I imagined Dream pinning me to the desk, hiking up my dress and taking me from behind. As I pulled the threads, watching the butterflies flutter their wings and perch in my hands, I didn't even notice Dream get up from the bed. His cold hands pulled the chair back, forcing me to stand, before he pulled me flush against him. "Lovely work."

"Practicing does help," I said. "Speaking of, I'm not finished with my list."

My eyes shut as the sensation of his lips pressing hot, wet kisses to my neck and shoulder spread goosebumps along my skin. "No, but that imagination of yours has me reconsidering what I'd like as my prize."

"Oh?" I squeaked out as he pushed his erection against my ass. "I think that's against the rules."

"Fuck the rules," he growled into my ear. "This is what you were picturing, was it not?"

I pushed back against him. "Hmm, it's close."

Before I could think of another snarky reply he swept the objects off the desk and bent me down on top of it. He ran his hands up my back, moving my hair out of his way as he kissed and bit at my skin. A shudder ran through my body as he grabbed my arms and directed me to hold the fabric of my gown for him. "Keep this up for me, darling."

My fingers burned with effort as he plunged two fingers inside me without warning. He made quick work of building up my first orgasm, but right as I reached the peak he stilled. I groaned, trying to force my hips back into his fingers, but his hand on my back held fast. When the pleasure had died down he continued, the same as before. By the time he denied my would be fourth orgasm I pressed my forehead to the cool wood and gasped as his skilled fingers began working me toward another denied release. "Dream…" I groaned as my legs began to shake. "Please!"

He hummed, removing his fingers from me, the material of the dress vanishing from beneath me. Dream moved my hands until they were flat against the desk. "You were right, this is far more fun."

I whined as he entered me slowly, one hand holding me steady by the hip and the other running up my sweat coated back. "Morpheus," I whispered.

"Yes, my love?" Smug bastard.

"Faster, please."

Leaning over me and pressing a kiss to my spine he smiled. "Since you asked so nicely."

Each of his thrusts were fast and deep, rocking me forward into the desk and reducing me to a limp moaning mess beneath him. He bent over me, pushing unbearably deeper inside me, whispering praise into my ear and kissing every inch of skin he could reach. I came undone once, twice, three times before all coherent thoughts were gone and only his name remained.

Moroheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. The moaning mantra in my head as I whined beneath him sent him over the edge. His body draped over mine, hot breaths in my ear as he gently eased himself out and held me upright. "You did so wonderfully, my little Weaver."

I smiled tiredly. "See? Wasn't that a better idea than practicing?"

"Absolutely."

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sequinsmile-x · 3 years

Text

Guardian

A mini fic, that is largely fluffy. Because lord knows we all need it.

Words: 2.5k (not as mini as I first intended)

Warnings: Minor mention of injury, some curse words because of Emily’s potty mouth

Emily hated paperwork. It was, without a doubt, the most boring part of her job. She would usually spend days like this teasing Aaron, sending him texts throughout the day and watching him through the blinds of his office as he pretended not to react, letting the tension build until they got home.

“Where is our fearless leader?” Penelope asks as she stands by Emily’s desk, a file in hand.

“He’s at a parent teacher conference.” Emily answers, smiling at her friend. “Jack was thrilled that he was in town for it.”

“You didn’t go?” Penelope asks, curiosity on her face. Their relationship was something that fascinated the rest of the team, Emily knew that. They always tried to tease details out of her, acting as if her and Aaron weren’t two intensely private people. It had only got worse since they had moved in together, a house they had bought for them both to have a fresh start in.

“We thought it would be pushing it if both of us took the afternoon out.” Emily answers, almost feeling relief when her cell phone rings. “Agent Prentiss.”

“I’m calling to speak to Emily Prentiss?”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Natalie, I’m a nurse at Saint Sebastian Hospital, you’re listed as the next of kin for Aaron Hotchner?”

Emily felt like the air had been knocked out of her. “He’s my boyfriend. Is he ok?”

“He was involved in a car accident this afternoon, he’s been brought in.”

“Oh my god.” Emily exclaims, feeling the eyes of the rest of the team on her. “His son, Jack Hotchner, would have been with him. Is he ok?”

“I’m really sorry ma’am, I’m not at liberty to discuss any other patients.”

Emily bites back a retort, a demand to know about Jack, but she knows she won’t get anywhere over the phone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hangs up the phone, tries to ignore the way her hands shake

“Everything ok there, princess?” Derek asks, as Penelope places a hand on her shoulder.

“Aaron’s been in an accident, Jack must have been with him but they wouldn’t tell me anything.” She stands, knocking Penelope’s hand off of her. “I need to go to the hospital, I need to see him.”

“I’ll drive you.” Derek says, standing himself.

“Derek, I’m fine.”

“Em, I am not letting you drive there. Ok? Hotch would never forgive me.”

Emily looks at him and nods, letting him guide her out of the bullpen.

________________

She approaches the nurses station, her body practically vibrating with different worse case scenarios over what could have happened to Aaron and Jack.

“Hi, I got a call about Aaron Hotchner.” She tries to keep her voice even and knows she has failed when Derek throws her a concerned look.

The nurse smiles reassuringly at her whilst looking at something on her computer. “He has just been sent back for some scans, but he’s doing ok. He was even arguing with my colleagues about how much he didn’t need to be here. He should be out in about 10 minutes.”

Emily breaths out a sigh of relief at that and feels Derek pat her back.

“See, Emily. Hotch is fine. Everything will be ok.”

“What about his son, Jack? He would have been in the car with him.” Emily says, her eyes searching the waiting room for the young boy.

“Are you his mother?”

Emily falters. “No. I’m not. I’m his dad’s girlfriend. I live with them.”

The nurse smiles at her again, but this time it seems forced. “I’m really sorry Ms…”

“Prentiss.” She says through slightly clenched teeth. “Agent Prentiss.”

“Agent Prentiss.” The nurse corrects herself, a slightly nervous look on her face. “I can only let a parent or guardian see him. If you aren’t his mom I’m going to have to ask you to-”

“His mom is dead.” Emily says, harsher than she intended to. She blows out a breath before she continues, attempting to calm herself down a little. “His aunt, Jessica Brooks, is out of town.” Emily says, desperately trying to keep her cool. She reaches into her bag, pulls out her wallet and slams her driving license on the table between her and the nurse, pointing out her place of residence. “I live in the same house as him. I poured him a bowl of cheerios this morning.”

“Agent Prentiss.” The nurse says, her voice remaining so patient Emily wanted to vault over the table between them and hit her. “Be that as it may, you are not his legal guardian, so I cannot let you back there to see him until his father is here.”

Emily has another idea, and reaches for the FBI credentials she has on her belt, but Derek stops her. His hand grabs her arm before she can threaten someone in a way that her boyfriend would have to reprimand her for as her boss later.

“Princess, come on.” Derek says as he gently pulls her towards the waiting area. “Let’s just sit down and chill out.”

Emily sits in one of the plastic chairs and puts her head in her hands, her elbows resting on her knees. Derek puts his hand on her back, rubs comforting circles between her shoulder blades. Time moves like syrup, and the fear of not seeing either Jack or Aaron burns through her. She eventually checks the time on her watch and blows out a breath.

“This is fucking bullshit.” She seethes. “Jack will be back there by himself. God knows where Aaron is.” She says, her voice wavering at the mention of her boyfriend. “They said he’d only be 10 minutes at least half an hour ago.”

“Jack will be fine.” Derek tries to comfort. “He’s a good kid.”

“He is 8, Derek.” She bites at her thumb, worrying the cuticle between her teeth. “This is ridiculous. I live with him. I make him breakfast every morning.”

“Pouring cereal into a bowl hardly counts as making breakfast, Em.” He says, trying to lighten her mood. She sharply turns her head to look at him, a warning look on her face that has him holding his hands up in surrender. “Ok I get it, no jokes.”

She lowers her gaze back to her lap. “Do you know it’s me that Jack wants if he’s sick, or hurt?” She asks, and briefly looks at him to see him shake his head.”

“Em?”

She looks up to see Aaron walking towards them. If Emily had been at 100%, if the fear coursing through her veins hadn’t been so sharp, she would have noticed the stiffness in his walk, how much pain he was clearly in. The relief that flooded through her was so fast she almost felt dizzy.

“Aaron.” Emily was up and in his arms before she knew what was happening, hitting his body with a force that made him grunt, knocking the air out of him as she wraps her arms around him tightly. She pulls back. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

“Em, it’s fine. My ribs are sore, that's all.” He puts a hand on her lower back and stops her from pulling away any further, her eyebrow raised in disbelief. His voice is strained, discomfort laced through it. She lifts her hand to trace her fingers over a bandaged cut on his forehead just above his eyebrow. “My head hit the steering wheel.” He grabs her hand from his face and presses a kiss to her fingers, a promise that they will talk about it later, once they are home. “Where’s Jack?”

Emily scoffs, a look shot back at the nurse who was still at the nurses station. “They wouldn’t let me see him.” She clears her throat as she looks back at her boyfriend. “I’m not his guardian.”

Another moment of silent discussion passes between them, something else they can talk about later when they are alone. When they are safe at home and their every move wasn’t being watched by Derek, curiosity on his face at how they were around each other that they both hadn’t missed.

“He was ok when we came in.” He assures her, seeing how concerned she looked. “They were going to look at his arm, it looked broken.”

Emily nods, some of the concern seeping away. Aaron links his fingers through hers and gives Derek a nod as they walk past him, a silent thank you for looking after Emily when he couldn’t. Aaron approaches the nurses station and clears his throat, getting the attention of the same nurse who Emily had spoken to earlier.

“I’d like to see my son, Jack Hotchner.”

They are quickly taken to Jack who looks just as relieved to see them as they do to see him, and they sit with him as he gets an arm cast put on. Aaron sits in a chair, failing to cover the wince that escapes him as he lowers himself into it. Emily sits next to Jack on the bed, wrapping an arm around him and pressing a kiss to the top of his head as he tries to be brave, pretending he hadn’t been crying whilst waiting for them to come get him.

Jack burrows into Emily’s side as the doctors gently wrap his arm, and she can’t help herself when she throws the same nurse who refused her access to Jack a look when she walks by the bay they are in.

________________

Emily convinces Aaron to go grab a shower as she tucks Jack in for the night, his arm in it’s bright green cast resting on a pillow. It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep, the stress of the day taking all of the endless energy he usually had. Emily sneaks out of the room, gently pulling the door closed behind her as she goes.

She sighs as she walks the short distance to the master bedroom, the shower still running in the ensuite. Emily sits on the end of the bed and puts her head in her hands, tries to force back the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm her, the knowledge of what she could have lost today settling over her now they were home. Emily hears the shower switch off and she blows out a breath, trying to centre herself.

Emily can’t stop the gasp that escapes when he walks out, just with a pair of sweatpants on, and she sees the extent of the damage for the first time. The bruise across his chest caused by the seat belt looked painful, his ribs almost black, clearly fractured.

“Aaron.” She says softly, her hand reaching out but stopping just shy of actually touching him.

“It’s ok, Em.” He grabs the hand she's got hovering near him and intertwines their fingers, squeezes her hand in a way she’s sure is meant to be reassuring.

“Ok?” She asks, scoffing at him. “You clearly have broken ribs, Aaron.” She shakes her head at him, interrupts him when he tries to placate her again. “Nothing about today was ok.”

Aaron cups her face in both hands, wiping away a tear that she wasn’t aware had fallen until his thumb stroked her cheek.

“Emily, Jack and I are both fine.” He leans forward and kisses her forehead, and she brings her hands to his wrists, stroking the delicate skin there. “We’re a little banged up, but nothing that won’t get better.”

She nods against him. “I...I know I’m not his mother.” She pulls away to smile at him, and she bites her lip in an attempt to stop it from shaking. “But not being able to see Jack today really sucked. I live with him, I love him, Aaron. I should be able to see him when he’s hurt.”

“Em-”

“If you’d been hurt worse, or killed.” Emily feels more tears fall at that, shakes her head at herself. “I wouldn’t have been able to go to him.”

“Emily.” He strokes her cheek again, a smile on his face that always calmed her. “I agree with you.”

She furrows her brow, having clearly expected more of a pushback. “What?”

“We should make you his legal guardian. We probably should have done it when we got the house.”

“Really?” I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take Haley’s place.”

“Sweetheart, you have never done that. You love my son, and he loves you. It makes me love you more. We’ll get it sorted.”

“I love you.” She says, leaning forward to kiss him, keeping it brief and laughing when she pulls away from him when he tries to kiss her again. “Don’t get any ideas, Agent Hotchner. Those ribs of yours have put you out of action for quite some time.” She laughs at him as she pulls herself out of his embrace. “I’m going to get changed for bed.”

Emily grabs some pyjamas and busies herself in the ensuite, ignoring his shirt in the hamper that had his blood on it. She goes about her evening routine, takes off her makeup and brushes her teeth, piling her hair on top of her head in a messy bun. She sighs as she looks at herself in the mirror, taking in just how tired she looked. All she wanted to do was get in bed with her boyfriend, make sure he took a painkiller he’d probably attempt to say he didn’t need, and fall asleep.

When she walks in and finds him sitting on the edge of his side of the bed, still only in his sweatpants, with a small velvet box in his hands it stops her in her tracks.

“Aaron.”

“I had a whole plan.” He says, looking up at her. He stays sat on the bed, and she knows it’s partially because he’d be in too much pain to stand up. “It seems silly now.”

“It’s not silly.” Emily says, her throat feeling like it was constricting, the emotion rising in her chest. She stands in front of him, catches the hand not holding the ring box in hers. She links their fingers.

“I’d get down on one knee but I don’t think I’d ever get back up.” Aaron jokes, and it makes her choke out a laugh that becomes a sob on its way out.

“That’s ok.” Emily sits next to him on the bed.

He opens the box and she gasps when she sees the ring. Simple, platinum band with a good sized single diamond. Exactly what she would have picked herself.

“Emily, marry me.”

She laughs. “I think it’s meant to be a question, honey.”

Aaron smiles at her, his dimples out on display. “Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will.” She replies, cupping his cheek in her hand. “Yes.”

He kisses her, and she responds, pushing herself closer to him, her hand travelling to the back of his head. They both get lost in it for a moment until he groans in pain, making her pull back from him.

“I didn’t think this all the way through.” He says, smiling at her as he pulls the ring out of the box and slips it onto her finger. “My plans involved celebrating with a lot of sex.”

Emily laughs and rests her forehead against his. “All in good time my love.”

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfic #hotchniss mini fic #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #fluff #minor aaron hotchner whump #its just fluff guys #lots of fluff #CM fan fic #Criminal Minds fluff

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 19 | S.R.)

Summary: Reader and Spencer share the night together following her doctor’s appointment. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Fingering, penetrative sex, degradation, daddy kink, Adults w/ Age Gap (10yr), spitting kink, unprotected sex (creampie), vague mention of subdrop, aftercare included Word Count: 6.2k

MASTERLIST

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There was something about the BAU bullpen that felt like another world. The open layout and the way it could shift from frantic rushing to bored silence in seconds sometimes made me feel like I was the most normal person contained within its walls. It was a rare sight, to see me there, and for good reason. I didn’t like to be there, considering most of my time there had been spent being questioned about homicide.

But it wasn’t like that, not that morning. I’d finished my doctor’s appointment early enough that I could hopefully locate the elusive Dr. Reid before he took off for lunch. And sure enough, just as I excitedly bounced over to his desk, I heard the ever-excited, yet comforting squeak of my boyfriend as he returned with a freshly poured cup of coffee.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he practically yelled through a smile, rushing over to drop the mug on his desk. He couldn’t do it fast enough and barely made it. Once the mug was barely safe on the desk, his arms raced to wrap around me.

I giggled at the enthusiasm, considering it’d only been a couple hours since I saw him. But I was ecstatic to be with him and share the news I’d tucked away to keep safe on the way over. It was too much to bear by myself for long, and I knew he would be happy to help carry the load.

“I finished my appointment early and since I was in the neighborhood, I wanted to come see my boyfriend and give him the good news in person.” I explained. Spencer eyed me cautiously, careful not to get too far ahead of himself. I looked back with what I’d hoped was a cheeky grin, but I had a feeling it just turned into a goofy, toothy grin. Just as Spencer figured it out and his eyebrows shot up, another voice joined us.

“Mia stellina!” Rossi boomed, the bass carrying through the room like it always seemed to. It was the kind of joyful exclamation that demanded your attention, no matter how dark the circumstances surrounding you were. I knew that from personal experience.

I laughed again as he enveloped both me and Spencer in a hug that the latter only kind-of-sort-of cringed away from.

“Reid didn’t tell us that you were coming in today! I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

I snorted at the implication, stepping back to buy back my breathing space. “You’re never a bother, Rossi.” And I meant it, even if he had just interrupted mine and Spencer’s very important conversation. I could table it for a moment, though. There hadn’t been many chances for me to talk to Rossi since the hospital. Although he'd visited less frequently than Derek or Hotch, he'd still come by often enough for me to miss him. He was, by far, the most unique member of the team. People always assumed it would be Penelope, but I stuck with my contention that it’s the quieter ones you have to keep an eye on. Not that Rossi didn’t love to talk, and especially when it granted him the ability to name-drop.

“This is why I like you,” he casually reminded, waving off a slightly offended Spencer on his side. “And I trust that Reid already told you about the plans for next weekend.”

As soon as I turned to look at Spencer, he immediately looked away.

Luckily, Rossi wasn’t obtuse and quickly recognized the display of guilt. “I stand corrected.”

“What plans?” I butted in before either of them could speak. Spencer grimaced at the monotone, as he was fully aware of the level of annoyed it signaled.

“I told him to extend you an invite to the next family dinner, but it seems like he’s selfishly planning on keeping you all to himself.” Rossi’s playful tone was his way of requesting I give Spencer a break, but I wasn’t in the mood for forgiveness just yet. After spending months trapped in my bed, I was always looking for an excuse to talk to anyone that wasn’t my roommate. And when it came to the team... I mean, they were like his family. It made sense I wanted their approval, right? Or was I really, honestly just seeking the approval of men like Hotch and Rossi because of my “daddy issues?” And oh, god, I didn’t want to delve into that psychology.

“How rude,” I deadpanned, instead, elbowing Spencer’s side just enough to elicit a pained exhale and an explanation.

“I was going to tell her. I was just waiting until we actually knew when it was going to happen.”

“He’s lying,” I told Rossi, earning a very adamant, denial from Spencer in the process that I brushed off. We both did. The pout that immediately followed was harder to ignore, but I could be strong.

Honestly, it was just funny to see him in this environment. When he was alone with me, he was usually the one in charge, but at work, Spencer was hardly that. It was the only chance I had to tease the ever living shit out of him with little chance of immediate consequences.

“Yeah, he’s lying,” Rossi easily deduced, waving a dismissive hand at Spencer before continuing, “But luckily, you were here. And whenever it happens, I hope that you’ll be there, too. It’s important for you to have a chance to socialize with us outside of the job.”

I smiled, finally looping my arm around Spencer’s to hopefully ease the pain caused by being ignored. Rossi, however, didn’t seem to be on the same wavelength, considering he gave another quick quip. “Hopefully you’ll bring the kid with you,” he teased as he turned away, pointing to the notably older and larger man at my side.

“How am I the kid in this scenario?” Spencer muttered under his breath, the pout still on his face, and still just as cute.

“Will do, Rossi,” I happily chirped.

“Thank you, stellina.” Rossi said with a wink, casually bringing both hands to his lips to blow each of us a kiss.

Once Rossi was fully out of earshot, Spencer sighed in resignation. He had complained before about the fact that the team had immediately felt comfortable with me, contrary to his own experience. But of course, it wasn’t fair to compare. I'd come into their lives piggybacking on their close relationship with him. Spencer didn’t see it that way, though.

“Why do you get a nickname?” he grumbled, dropping his head to the side to rest atop mine.

I didn’t let him rest there long, pushing him back away from me so that I could stand before him again. With my fingers under my chin, I flashed the brightest smile I could while dramatically emphasizing, “Because I’m a little star.”

Spencer looked down at me with a gentle adoration, his hand coming up to brush over my cheek. My face followed after him, desperate for any contact he could offer in the sterile environment. It didn’t really make much sense how touch starved I was; it wasn’t like he hadn’t touched me over the past couple months. Or even that he'd touched me any less-- if anything, it had been more.

But then again, how could I ever get enough? I was certain Spencer would call me spoiled, and in many ways, I was, but I didn’t care. If I could find a way to bottle up the way I felt when he held me, I would. Lord knows there were so many times when I'd needed it and he wasn’t there. I wouldn’t ever admit that to him, though. What would be the point?

He couldn’t always be there. Sometimes he would have to leave.

Unaware of the dramatic monologue in my head, my boyfriend sighed. His lips pursed again while he watched my eyes soften the longer that he held my face. “You certainly are little,” he concluded. I knew he wanted to say more but feared doing so might lead the conversation down a path less suited for work. Although, what I had planned wasn’t exactly work appropriate, either.

“You know we’re definitely going, right?” I replied, peeking my tongue out from behind my lips.

With a loud groan, he took his hand back like the question had burned him. “Fine,” he conceded before quickly shifting the conversation, “but I’m more interested in what you came here to tell me. How did your appointment go?”

“It went very well. I got wonderful news,” I beamed. There were many idiosyncrasies of Dr. Spencer Reid that I absolutely adored, but one of my favorites happened to be the one where his eyebrows jumped halfway up his forehead, his eyes going wide with a curious glint. Just like they did then.

“Does this news mean you’ll be staying at my place tonight?”

“It can…” As I spoke, I wrapped both of my arms around his arm and pulled him down to whisper in his ear, “unless you want to take a long lunch break and get a head start.”

“Someone’s eager,” he replied with a snort that didn’t sound nearly as promising as I’d hoped.

“Can you blame me?”

Before I could sulk too hard, he poked me on the forehead and chuckled at the resistance I gave to the action. “Lunch, unfortunately, would not give me enough time for what I want to do to you,” he practically purred in a barely-there whisper against my ear. “When I get home, I want to find you on my bed with nothing on. Do you understand me, little girl?”

“Yes.” I had to stop myself from making too much noise, but a pathetic whimper slipped out before I could stop it.

“Good girl,” he whispered with his retreat, “I’ll see you then.”

Suddenly, I couldn’t wait for the hours to pass me by. I couldn’t stay at the BAU for long, recognizing a sudden shift of energy as JJ began rushing them into the office right before I left. At first, I thought it was a case, but Spencer assured me it wasn’t. He promised me that he would be home that night, and that I didn’t need to worry.

But the hours did not fly by; they took their sweet fucking time. I didn’t even bother waiting in the bed for most of them. I honestly spent nearly 8 of them rifling through the shelves in his living room, looking for a book that was both from this century and actually in English.

After I’d rifled through his cupboards and realized that he didn’t have any food, I went to the grocery store and bought food, returned, unloaded the bags, cooked and ate dinner before I came to one simple conclusion:

Spencer Reid was a filthy goddamn liar.

That was my admittedly grumpy thought when I finally crawled into his still empty bed in his even lonelier apartment. His pillow smelled enough like him that I could hug it and pretend that I wasn’t waiting for someone who was probably not going to come back anytime soon. I thought about going home, but I decided being lonely in his bed was better than being alone in my own.

My temper tantrum kept my face sulkily buried in his pillow, so when my phone started to ring, I didn’t notice it. I didn’t notice much of anything, and before I knew it, I’d drifted off into a world where Spencer could keep his promises because his job didn’t suck.

Of course, even in my sadness my mind drifted to other memories spent there. I’d fallen back into the loop of memories of the last time we were together. I could almost feel his breath against my thighs and his hands raking over my hips. And like it always seemed to, reality and fantasy began to blur. Spencer’s hand on my thigh felt so hot, I was burning beneath it. My whole body tensed, my back arching in the hopes of finding him.

I wasn’t sure which woke me first, the low, gentle chuckle, or the whisper in my ear.

“Maybe I should change your nickname to Aurora.”

I sat up before I even registered the words. Reacting to his voice alone, my arms were already around him and dragging him back down before he could say anything else.

“You’re home!” I shouted, groggy but happy to not be alone. If I’d looked at the clock, I would have seen the hands pointing to the early hours of the next day, but it hardly mattered anymore. All that mattered to me was that he was there, in my arms.

“I guess it’s my fault for not specifying that you should be awake when I got home.”

Answering him with a sloppy, sleepy kiss on the lips, I relished the way he couldn’t stop himself from laughing through it. “I’m awake now,” I answered with a very poorly timed yawn. It luckily didn’t dissuade him, and his hands quickly worked up over my hips and beneath the sheer negligee I’d worn to bed hours earlier.

“What’s this? I could have sworn my instructions were to not wear anything,” he chastised with a smile.

“I don’t follow instructions. You already knew that,” I mumbled back. It wasn’t until I ran my hands through his hair that I realized that he’d already stripped down to nothing before waking me up.

How considerate.

His curls seemed so much longer than before, and the movements seemed to distract him enough to grant me some mercy. We both knew why I didn’t want to be naked yet. And it really was a ‘yet.’ I truly believed that I’d eventually be able to own my body again, but that point just seemed so far in the future. Spencer didn’t want to push it. Not that night.

“I’ll let it slide this time.” He shared the words with kisses over my jaw and neck, his hands growing hungrier by the second. They skipped straight from my hips to my chest, grabbing hold of my breasts through the thin fabric. He was almost out of breath already when he murmured, “Before we do anything, you have to promise me you’ll stop me if it hurts.”

“I know, Spencer,” I droned, but he kept going.

“I mean it. Any sign of discomfort, you have to tell me.”

“I know!” I shouted with a laugh, struggling to push him away while he continued to cling to me. Finally having managed to do it, I promptly fell back onto the pillow. As I rolled my body over to lay flat, I managed to grab hold well enough that I could pull him over top of me. “Don’t ruin the mood!”

He stopped to admire the sight before him. All I could see, though, was the way he looked at me. The rest of the world seemed to fade away, and I wondered what he saw when he looked at me like that. He looked at me like he loved me so much he wanted to break me. I wished he would.

“How could I ruin anything when you look so fucking perfect laid out in my bed for me?” He growled, his nails dragging over the sensitive skin of my chest.

I couldn’t tell if it was his intention or some kind of Freudian slip, but I was reminded of the day I marred his chest with a necklace-shaped mark in a very similar fashion. The memory made me giggle. “I’m not so innocent.” The understatement of the century.

“Maybe not, but there are still a lot of things I’ve yet to show you.”

I was waiting for the but. I knew it was coming.

“But for now, we’re going to go slow.”

And there it was. I thought to myself how ridiculously unfair it was that having a good boyfriend meant actually being able to rely on them to take care of you. Even armed with the knowledge of my masochistic tendencies, Spencer was too scared to seriously hurt me. Thankfully, though, he wasn’t scared enough to stop him from sliding his hand up my thigh and slipping his finger into my drenched heat.

“The question is how slow?” he teased, recognizing from the rocking of my hips that I was more than prepared to have him then. “How much should I torture you, little girl?”

“Please,” was the only word I could whine at first, but I still saw too much restraint in his eyes. I knew that if I didn’t convince him now, I might be there for hours before he gave me what I wanted. It wasn’t the worst idea, but judging by his already bloodshot eyes, I figured I might as well speed things along.

“Please, daddy,” I whimpered much louder, tilting my hips up to present myself to him. I could feel his erection pressed against me, his palm pressing down as he struggled to decide if he even wanted to keep me in place. I could see that desire to destroy me return to his eye with a vengeance. He knew that I was challenging him, but then again, when did I not?

“Take care of me,” I begged. That was the way I succeeded in breaking Spencer; in turn, he would break me.

He grabbed my legs so quickly and roughly that I was almost dizzy with it. Wrapping them around his own hips, he lined himself up and began dragging the head of his cock over my sex. Low and wildly shaking, Spencer’s words were only barely audible over the sound of the blood rushing in my veins.

“Are you ready?” he asked, like my answer would ever change.

“Yes!” I shouted, nodding like my words wouldn’t be enough.

Spencer had barely waited for the confirmation. Inch by inch, he slowly stretched me open like it was the very first time he touched me. His movements were so precise, so gentle and undoubtedly tender, that I thought I might actually cry.

I had almost forgotten what it felt like when he touched me like that. I would never admit it to him, but with every passing second, I could feel the love rushing back to me. That connection that had felt strained was reinforced and reasserted.

He just felt so fucking good. And apparently, Spencer had similar thoughts in mind.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his head falling forward to knock our foreheads together. There was clearly so much effort going into not hurting me that I just found myself hoping he was still enjoying it. That train of thought made it more difficult when his next question came. “Does it hurt?”

“No, it feels so fucking good,” I sobbed, and it was the truth. My hips, though already growing tired thanks to the months of disuse, struggled to try and take more of him. And even when he was fully inside me, I still cried out to him. “Please, Spencer!”

“Be patient,” he said with a grunt, his hips pulling back just enough for him to slam into me with more force. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

The words made a swarm of butterflies burst through my lower half that already felt so full with him. The statement just sounded so perfectly selfish in a way I’d been dying to feel for months. I wanted him to reap the rewards he’d so obviously earned. I wanted to give them to him, really, but I just couldn’t make it too easy. It wasn’t our style.

“So it’s not about taking care of me anymore, is it?” I pouted, although my lips quickly parted again as Spencer increased his pace in response.

“Are you not satisfied, little girl?” he teased, reaching up with one hand to wrap around my hair, forcing my head back among the pillows while he started to drive into me at a reckless pace. “Do you need me to fuck you harder?”

“Yes!” I yelled, my hands reaching for him, digging into his skin and bringing him closer to me. “I want it. Give it to me.”

Whether he sensed the desperation in my voice or simply couldn’t hold it back any longer, Spencer showed an uncharacteristic level of mercy on me. He barely protested at all before giving into my demands. Holding my head back in that same craned position, he laid sloppy kisses over my throat before whispering, “My little girl gets whatever she wants.”

There were no more words on my mind besides his name, which I recited over and over like a prayer. Each time he filled me, my eyes could barely stay open and my lips were nearly bruised from my constant biting. It was easy to forget that the rest of the world existed— that it was past midnight on a weeknight and everyone in the surrounding apartments would probably fucking hate us.

But Spencer didn’t seem to care either. Well, that’s a misstatement. Spencer definitely cared about my volume, but he didn’t care about other people not being able to hear it. He made that quite clear when he gripped my lower jaw in one hand and pulled it down, forcing my mouth open for him.

He had that look in his eyes again. The one that told me there were entire worlds in his mind that I hadn’t seen. Deeply hidden desires lurking just under the rippling surface. I wondered how far they went and just how much Spencer would hurt me if I could convince him to.

“Tell me what you want,” he ordered through clenched teeth, his jaw tensed and eyes still burning. There was a hurricane happening behind those hazel rings, and I wanted him to let it out.

I didn’t know how to ask him to do that; to convince him to break me even while I lay before him already broken and barely keeping it together. I did the only thing I could think to do with his hand still holding my mouth open to him and presented my tongue to him.

Spencer tried to remain composed and stoic as ever, but his body betrayed in him the same way it always did. His eyes. From the second they flickered down to see what I was asking for, his pupils blew out and swallowed the comforting toffee color of his irises.

With an even darker tone, Spencer chuckled, “You’re a filthy, greedy bitch.”

It’s hard to explain how much the words filled every part of my body. The way goosebumps rippled over my skin and an undeniable, almost unbearable heat burned at my face. It only got worse when Spencer finally did as I asked, gathering the saliva in his mouth just to drop it into my own.

The second it hit my tongue, I felt so irrefutably his that I was high with it. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I swallowed between hungry gasps for air. And when it was over, I presented my tongue to him again.

I did so good, sir. Please tell me that I’m good, sir.

There were no words, but Spencer praised me in his actions. He lowered his mouth to mine, his tongue sliding against mine until our mouths were connected in the basest manner. For all the destructive power he held, he kissed me so softly. He still kissed me like he loved me.

Neither of us lasted much longer. Spencer’s hand slid from my jaw to rest on my neck, and a moan tore through my chest. Even though he applied no pressure, the casual reminder of what he could do to me was all that I needed. I lost myself in the bliss of him, my hands tangled in his hair and holding his mouth against mine even when I couldn’t kiss him anymore.

His eyes watched me, still covered in the blackness of his pupils and that animalistic desire to claim me however possible. I watched those eyes the entire time I came, wanting to both grant him the submission he deserved while also selfishly wanting to see the control I had over him, too.

Spencer kept his eyes open as he followed after me, unable to resist the calling of my body, begging him to mark, use, and fill it however he pleased. I watched his eyes roll back ever so slightly, his breath hitching as he pulsed inside me in tandem with my walls that held onto him for dear life.

I was his. I'd known that before, but how easily I’d forgotten. How quickly I’d let some stranger and some lead lay claim to me and make me believe that I could be anything but Spencer’s beautiful little girl.

When all semblance of fight left our bodies, Spencer still managed not to collapse on top of me. Apparently not even me letting him spit in my mouth was enough to convince him I was alright. I wrapped my arms around him and tugged him down on top of me, feeling the comfortable weight of him holding my chest down to more manageable breaths.

That was all there was for a while; our heavy breath breezing over sweat-covered skin as we lay tangled together under the sheets. I soaked in the feeling of slightly uncomfortable bliss, enjoying the way that we didn’t care if it wasn’t perfect because it felt close enough to us.

“I missed this,” Spencer said under his breath. It was a rare showing of selfish honesty— the first time he’d admitted to me that he had been having to hold part of himself back for months. He hadn’t been able to love me like he wanted, either. He might have been worried that I would take it the wrong way, but in reality, I had never felt so relieved to hear it.

“Me too.” I returned, trying to assuage his guilt as much as I could. I knew it wouldn’t do much, but I needed him to understand how grateful I was to share the moment with him.

Then again… They do say that laughter is the best medicine. So with a bit of a giggle, I mumbled, “Not so much the next part, but this one, yeah.”

With a small, sleepy chuckle, Spencer slurred against the pillow, “You’re such a romantic.”

“Says the asshole who doesn’t have to get up,” I reminded him. I struggled to move underneath him as he seemed to drop even more dead weight on top of me.

Like I said: Asshole.

“I wish you didn’t have to get up. I don’t want to let you go yet.”

I rolled my eyes, continuing to push at his stubborn shoulders while huffing back, “It’ll only be a few minutes, Spencer. The bathroom is right there.”

Nuzzling his face into my neck, he mumbled back, “Too long.”

“I can never tell if you’re more of an old man or a big baby.”

“I don’t know, let’s stay here and talk about it for a long time,” he answered with a laugh. I hated the fact that I laughed too, my attempts to shove him off finally ceasing. He pulled his head back, looking at me with all the love in the world.

I wasn’t ready for him to look at me like that. I couldn’t explain why, but the idea of him loving me still felt so terrifying. That fear was compounded by the realization that he might see it.

“Get up, idiot,” I replied to hide that emotion. It also helped to distract me from my own thoughts, and I ended up biting on my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling. It didn’t work.

“You’re so mean to me,” Spencer whined as he slowly removed himself with a small grunt.

“Only when you deserve it.”

Normally I would have eagerly gotten up myself, but I realized then just how painful it was to move. Spencer watched me with a massive, overwhelming guilt that formed before I could even think of how to prevent it. I decided it wasn’t worth it to try. It wouldn’t work. I just let him guide my legs off the bed so that I could shakily stand and shuffle off to the bathroom.

The best part about the time alone was being able to pull myself together and massage the angry scar tissue.

It won’t always be like this, I reminded myself, we can be beautiful again without it hurting.

That was the pep talk, anyway. It was the thing that got me back into the room and under the covers. Curling up by his side was like nature’s medicine. All of my muscles relaxed against him... until he turned around and ruined the perfect comfortable position.

Groaning in the least attractive manner, I pouted the entire time we readjusted. But despite my protests, Spencer looked as happy and comfortable as ever. Plopping my head back down on the pillow, I narrowed my eyes at his contemplation.

“What?”

“L’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle,” he answered, which really only led to my confused face shifting to confused and incredibly turned on again. But one word in particular sounded familiar, as reminded by Rossi earlier in the day. Or rather, the day before.

“I recognize that last word. What are you saying about me, Dr. Reid?”

“It’s the final line in Divina Commedia by Dante Alighieri.” He was doing that cryptic thing again, having apparently not learned his lesson that I would always beat the answer out of him eventually, one way or another

Through a yawn, I mumbled, “What is that, Dante’s Inferno?”

“Well, Inferno is the first section, but I’m quoting Paradiso, which is the third and final installment of the overall work.” And apparently, he was also doing that thing where he taught me really interesting new things when I definitely did not have the brain capacity to understand or retain the information. We both knew I would have to Google it later, so there was no point in lingering.

“Okay, so what does it mean?”

Spencer paused, his gaze sweeping back and forth across my face like he was searching for the proper translation. Like the real answer he sought was something that could only be seen by his eyes. Eventually, he settled on a simpler and equally romantic response.

“It’s the way he describes the piece of Heaven he saw.”

But that still wasn’t good enough for my constantly curious self. It might have been the brat in me, but it was almost like he was avoiding the direct translation. Like I wasn’t smart enough to come to my own conclusion about it. “I’m going to keep asking until you answer me,” I droned, more reminiscent of a nagging two year old rather than a twenty year old.

“Spoiled,” he remarked, lightly tapping on my nose before he sighed. “It means ‘the love which moves the sun and the other stars.’”

I thought about the words for a minute. Or rather, I thought about trying to think about the words. Unfortunately, my exhaustion and blissed-out brain got the better of me, and the beautiful words whispered, in English this time, went in one ear and out the other. Spencer was giving me a smug little smile, like he could see my cluelessness written on my face.

“I like the Heaven explanation better,” I sneered, trying not to let him win this one just yet. But it was obvious from the way his smile grew that he’d already won.

“Yeah, I knew you would. You just had to keep asking.”

Snaking my hand around his waist, I pulled myself flush against him. “I’m a very curious kitten, Dr. Reid,” I purred, gently rubbing our noses together in a very successful attempt to distract him from gloating.

And in a brief flash of self-awareness, I realized how utterly normal I felt. It wasn’t just average; unlike the domestic moments we’d shared over the recovery, this one felt so... natural. There was nothing foreign about his hand on the small of my back, and the rhythm his fingertips tapped felt like a lullaby I’d heard a million times before.

“I wouldn’t want you any other way,” Spencer whispered, breaking me from the brief aside and back into the present.

“I’m pretty sure you’d have me in any form.” I didn’t laugh yet, but once Spencer joined in, there was no hope left for me.

“Yeah, probably, but you don’t have to point it out!” he whined.

I watched as the color started to form on his face, first starting with his ears and nose before spreading out across his cheeks. That blush, still visible in the dim light, was still one of the most beautiful things in the world to me. I never tired of it. Paired with his embarrassed giggles mingled with my own, I felt the undeniable and overwhelming emotion that could only be described as ‘love.’

When the laughter finally ceased, it was just the two of us in silence again, although now we were so close together that we might as well have been one person. It felt that way sometimes. Not like one might think— it was not the supposedly romantic but strangely depressing idea that we aren’t whole without another. It was more like knowing that I would never be more myself than I was when I was in his arms.

Comfortable. Safe. At home.

“Spencer?” I spoke before he could fully close his eyes that he somehow kept open for me.

“What’s up?”

“Thank you.”

That seemed to wake him up, which was not at all my intention. In fact, I'd hoped he wouldn’t respond at all and let the words stand. But he must have heard the hidden message behind it, the fear that all good things must come to an end.

“For what?” he asked. His hand on my back started to make soothing strokes under the negligee, reasserting his presence with me.

I considered answering. I thought about word vomiting all of my fears of inadequacy and broken promises and a future of settling for me. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t ruin the moment with such stupid things. The feelings would pass with enough time, right? I didn’t want to bother him with it. I didn’t even know if the problems were problems at all.

“I just wanted you to know that I’m happy and I love you,” I said, instead.

Spencer still saw that I was hiding something, but we were both too tired to push it. We could always talk about it in the morning if we remembered, which I was hoping we wouldn’t.

“I wish I could help you understand how much I love you,” he murmured, removing his hand from my back to trace my jaw. “I can tell you that I want to marry you and raise a family with you but… I don’t think it’s enough.

My stomach immediately dropped. It fell so hard that I actually flinched from his hand, my face twisting into an even more obvious grimace. If my hope was for Spencer to sleep, I’d made a grave error. He immediately shot up onto his arm, cupping my face and inspecting my eyes for any persisting sign of pain.

“What’s wrong?” he pressed, his eyes bouncing back and forth between my stomach and eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Nothing is wrong!” I squeaked, my hands flying to his shoulders to pull him back down. “I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

Our eyes locked in a challenge; a silent back and forth of wills and pleas. And eventually, Spencer started to lower back on the pillow. He’d let me win this one.

“It is past your bedtime,” he said with only a whisper of defeat in his voice.

“It’s past every normal human being’s bedtime, Spencer,” I said before turning away from him in the hope that it would make that concern in his eyes hurt less. It didn’t.

“And you think I’m the old man,” he joked back, snuggling up behind me and sighing into my neck as his hand rested on my hip. “Goodnight, little girl.”

So soon after he spoke, he was already asleep. Unfortunately, it wasn’t so simple for me. Even in his sleep, Spencer’s hands found their way to my stomach. His fingers spread over the expanse of skin like the scars didn’t exist at all. Like it was just as perfect a placement for him to hold onto me as it ever was before. Spencer had a tendency to hold me with so much love that I no longer felt capable of containing it.

It was... suffocating. It took my mind back to images of his blood soaked hands in much of the same position. His hands felt foreign again, and I felt even further away. Like Spencer wasn’t actually there, and neither was I. All that he was holding onto was memory instead of me.

He said he loved me, but he didn’t say why. The only answers my mind would consider were things that had already died months ago. Things that his hands and kisses couldn't fix.

I couldn’t ask him why. I was too afraid of the answer.

—————————————————

| Part 20 |

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