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#i could see in all of them such a spark. a real need to tell their story and to tell it in a way that would say you can beat this.

luvrxbunny · 6 months

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little spider

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

Prompt: Innocence

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader knows nothing about sex or feelings of arousal, clothed clit-rubbing? cum in pants, small feelings of embarrassment (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 3.3k

A/N: sorry im late but im kinda proud of this one so i hope it was worth the wait! <3

Miguel didn’t think he’d end up in this position, nowhere in his wildest, most perverted fantasies did he think that this would actually be the outcome of him recruiting you but… here we are.

You were assigned by the higher-ups to learn from him, they thought you had potential, and honestly? Miguel hated you when he met you, he felt like they were punishing him for something, that assigning him this raw recruit was just a flaunt of power. You didn't even have a suit he had to make you one, a trial suit first, to make sure all your vitals were good, to track your movements and decide what suit material would be best- or if you would have a digital one like him.

During the weeks of his monitoring of your vitals, he began to grow a bit fond of you. You were an adorable recruit and eager to please, you were thoughtful and always gave your all, something he really appreciates. One other thing he noticed about you… your dopamine levels were elevated around him, along with your estradiol and testosterone. He ignores it when he’s writing his reports, he tells himself that he doesn’t report it because the higher-ups don't need to know, not because he knows they’d make you transfer… He should’ve requested it the first time he noticed it but the thought of you, his sweet, innocent spider, all turned on just from being around him? It ignited something in him.

He updated your suit, saying that the data he was receiving wasn't enough, he made you wear the suit as he replaced the chip and tried to hide the smile in his voice when your spine straightened under his touch. The new chip could give him real-time tracking of all your vitals, but he set his watch to alert him anytime certain hormones spiked… estradiol and testosterone. So he conducted a little experiment over the following weeks, he’d lean into you more when you speak, holding your eye contact, he even broke out the smirk he used to use on girls when he was younger, and it worked on you.

His watch vibrated every time he was near you, if he walked up to you, it started being an alert to when you were near, it’d go off before you’ve even approached him, he’d walk into a room and it’d go off before he even saw you. It started to have an effect on him, he started to feel a spark in his stomach every time it went off, every time he’d meet your eyes and you’d have that expression he’d grown to know so well. That weak, almost pleading- yet confused look in your eyes and the sheer panic before tearing them away from his. He started having to grip whatever was in his hands as tightly as he could to control himself when you’re breathing would stutter after he complimented you on your work.

He started getting hard reviewing your logs after spending the day with you, watching your heart rate stay elevated, spiking along with your hormones, he can see your breathing pattern, and how irregular it is compared to when you’re not with him. How high your body temperature was… the main areas of heat. On his more weak days, he’s gotten himself off to the diagram of you, with the burning red spot between your legs as the focus of his fantasies.

Now you’re here, avoiding his gaze as his watch vibrates like crazy. “Miguel?” He looks at you again, trying to keep his gaze neutral, hopefully, to make this a bit easier on you… and him. “Yes?”

His voice is smooth as cocoa butter and you can feel his gaze burning into you. He started this heat inside you, one you’d never encountered before. It starts when you see him in the morning and doesn’t stop until you struggle to sleep- or at least it used to. But recently it’s been non-stop, a constant distraction that you can’t pinpoint, it feels like it’s in your hips, stomach, chest, and thighs all at once. It feels like it’s in his breath when it fans over your face, it's in his eyes when they lock with yours, and somehow on his fingertips when they brush over any part of you. You’ve spent hours a night trying to figure out what you can do about it, you’ve thought about even asking Lyla but decided the risk of her telling Miguel was far too great.

This past week it’s just been building on it’s self, almost unbearable with Miguel’s new immersive training. He takes you away to some deserted, closed-off place and trains you with no distractions, giving you nothing to focus on other than him and forcing him to give all his attention to you. Miguel’s attention, his gaze is what causes the most… pain. That’s what it’s become, a dull, numb, thrumming at the base of your stomach, like an itch you can’t scratch that just becomes a nuisance. You couldn’t handle it anymore and if you asked Lyla she’d just tell Miguel- so why not just ask him directly?

So here you are, avoiding his gaze because you’ve spent the entire day with him, building enough fire inside you- you don’t need to add any more. “I think…” You take a breath and turn to him a bit before forcing the words out. “There’s something wrong with me.” He puts his clipboard down, his concern, and his thick, veiny hand that comes into view piles onto the heat over-taking your bloodstream. He takes his glasses off and sits back in his chair, reaching his leg out to pull a chair beside you closer to him. You dare a glance at him and try not to collapse at his gaze, at the way his hair moves over his face for a moment as he motions for you to sit in the provided chair.

You sigh and sit down, your legs pressed tightly together, your palms resting on your thighs and your eyes focused on the back of your hands. You stay silent, your mind racing, your body warming further at the feeling of his eyes on you. “What’s wrong, little spider?” You suppress a shiver at the nickname as goosebumps rise over your skin, it’s been a problem since he picked it. “I’m hot.” The words shoot out of your mouth before you can second-guess them again. Miguel chuckles a bit, sending embarrassment through your body, sits back in his chair, and crosses his arms, prompting you to go on.

“I can’t fix it. There’s… someone.” Miguel pretends he doesn’t notice the way your eyes flicker to him. “For some reason, something about them just- “ You pause for a moment, truly baffled by the way you feel, trying to find some way to explain it. “They just do something to me and it won’t stop.” Your words start to sound frantic, a bit panicked. Miguel leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees to examine your expression. “It’s like there's a low- like a low vibration- or a frequency? Like the ones that are so low you can barely hear but you can sorta feel them? It’s like that but- but deep inside me.”

Your eyes close and eyebrows furrow as you describe the feeling to him. He tries to keep his breathing even as he hardens uncontrollably under the suit. You don’t even realize what you’re confessing to him. “Like it’s in my bones, Miguel.” You add emphasis, your hands digging into the material of your suit before raising your head to meet his eyes, hoping he understands the state you’re in. He’s almost dizzy at the way his blood rushes to his cock. He holds your gaze and tries to convey a baffled, thoughtful expression as he tries to calm himself.

“That’s- That’s odd. Yeah, um.” He takes a few deep breaths before sitting back again, unable to stay in your space any longer. “Do- Can you tell me who’s causing it? Perhaps it’s a side effect of their powers?” Your spine straightens and you shake your head at him gently. You twist your fingers in the fabric of your suit and your feet play with each other on the lab floor. “H-have you heard of any powers like that?” You ask him, a hopeful look in your eyes.

Clever girl.

“No, I haven't.” He sits back, spreads his legs, and runs his hands down his thighs and back with a sigh. He holds back a smirk when his watch vibrates and he hears you take a sharp breath. “I- I don’t know what to do anymore. It- I can barely sleep.” You sound distraught, broken, and tired. He’d be the messed up one if he didn't help you… Right?

“I mean… I can try running some tests?” He offers, he keeps his tone light, trying to keep his dark desires off your radar. You perk up at his offer, already up and out of your seat, standing in front of him with a smile. He keeps his eyes on you, trying to ignore the way your scent is assaulting his nose, giving away how badly you need him. “You think we could?”

He nods and stands up, walking over to his lab table and clearing a few things. His head is already running wild with fantasies, ideas of what he could do to you, what he could teach you, how good he could make you feel. “Yeah, of course. C’mere, pequeña araña” You were already walking to him but your pace stutters and his watch vibrates when the nickname slips out. He truly didn’t mean to, he had gotten a bit too deep in his fantasies, and when your voice broke through he didn’t get fully pulled out. He’s never called you that in Spanish, not to your face at least, it’s fallen from his lips a few times before though, when he’s alone with his hand wrapped around his cock. But your reaction dissuades any fear that had shot through him before and he can’t help the smirk that makes its way on his face.

You’re standing silently beside him, wringing your hands together and he doesn’t think you even notice the way your thighs keep clenching together. “Get on the table.” His tone is teasing, a grin on his face as you jump and scramble onto the tabletop. You lay on your back and look over at Miguel, feeling that heat rage through you at the look on his face. It’s dark and- wanting. It’s confusing.

He takes a deep breath and your fingers try to dig into the metal table top as he walks to you. “Okay. I’m going to examine your body a bit, press into some muscles, some pressure points to see if maybe it’s a physical trigger. Is that okay with you?” Your chest is already rising and falling more rapidly at the thought, the promise of Miguel’s hands on you. You nod at him stiffly, trying to stay normal and calm as he holds your eye contact, nodding along with you. A small smile graces his face before he walks around and presses his palm into your hairline, pushing your head down to rest on the table as he stands north of you.

His hands press into your shoulders and your eyes shut tight. He can feel all your muscles tense and his watch vibrates, he sneaks a peak at his and sees the huge spike in almost all your vitals. His cock twitches in his suit at your obvious need but he brushes it aside, if he rushes into this he might scare you off and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if that happens. He may lose his mind. He moves his hands to your biceps, massaging them tightly as little whines slip into your breaths, only audible to his ears.

He walks back to the side of the tables and your eyes stay shut. He massages the softness of your sides and his breathing kicks up a bit once he gets to your hips. He takes his time with them, admiring the way you fit into his hands and how you subconsciously tilt them toward him. His thighs jump as his cock begins to leak, dripping precum down them. He takes a deep, shaky breath and forces himself to move on. He forced himself to move on, he was trying to take it slow, hopefully, you’d realize where you need him and ask for it. But your thighs spread open when he massages the outside and his hands dive for the inner before he can think it through.

You gasp, you sit up with your eyes wide and your hands gripping his wrists. You don’t do anything though, he expects you to pull his hands away but it feels more like you’re holding him there, stopping- or attempting to stop him from pulling away. So of course he doesn't. He stares into your eyes as you search his, trying to figure out if he realizes the way that made you feel, if your cover was blown, if he wants to stop but he looks expectant, like he’s waiting for something. So you loosen your grip. “That’s- I think that’s- ” You’re nodding at him lightly, hoping he understands what you’re trying to say because for some reason your brain has stopped working.

“Yeah?” Your heart stutters at his tone and the tilt of his head as he says it. Your thighs tense around his hand for a moment before you try to calm down, un-tense them but they can’t help the way they tremble with anticipation. You’re nodding at him more frantically and his eyelids flutter. “Okay.” He takes one hand out from between your thighs and rests it on your lower back as his other hand keeps massaging, slowly moving up your inner thigh and the sensations grow more intense the higher he gets.

Your eyes shut and your hands grip his wrists again, not pulling away, just holding him. Your eyes shut and your hips tilt into his hand, getting him so close to your pussy that he can feel the heat radiating off of her. You feel some sort of shame twinge in your belly, dampening the more intense feelings that Miguel was causing. What if this was wrong? What if you aren’t supposed to feel like this with him, without him knowing… Maybe you should stop.

Miguel moves further up and all those thoughts scatter from your head immediately. His watch vibrates again and a noise shoots out of your mouth- one you’ve never heard before as your body folds over and your head rests on his shoulder. You shut your eyes tight and take a slow, deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry, I-” He cuts you off. “It’s okay. That’s why I’m here, right?” He’s nodding at you, comforting and reassuring as his hand leaves your back to cradle your head. “You’re okay. I wanna help you, cariño.” Another noise leaves you at the nickname and his hand grips into your hair for a moment before sliding down to your neck and pulls your head away from his shoulder. He pushes your head against his for a moment, letting out a soft groan before letting go and pushing his fingers against your plush lips.

“How’s that, honey?” His hand settles back on your lower back as you whine and your hands move up his arm, gripping his biceps now and pulling yourself closer to him. “Miguel.” His eyes roll back at how you sound, desperate, breathless, and gone. Your hips are grinding into his fingers and they aren’t even on your clit yet. They’re pressing against your hole through your lips and your suit, he’s keeping his fingertips flat against you so he doesn’t slip inside.

He’s trying to ignore the mess he’s making in his pants, watching your tense face change into a relieved one, your eyebrows pulling inward as your lips part beautifully, releasing a shaky moan as he reangles his fingers to your clit. His hands are shaking as he tries to calm himself down, one of your hands slides up his arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake before gripping onto his shoulder and pulling him down, closer to your face. His eyes are fixed on your expression, taking everything in, every twitch and quiver, the way your tongue darts out to lick your lips before a whimper punches out of you.

You’re ruining him and you’re none the wiser. Your hand slides up to his neck and you push your forehead against his, like he did earlier. His eyes roll back before he forces them to you again, moving his fingers over you clit faster when your thighs begin to shake around his wrist. “I think-” Your voice comes out as a whimper and he groans into you. Your fingers grip into his hair and his cock cries against him. “Something… Miguel.”

The way you say his name fucks with him. It’s prettier than he ever could’ve imagined, he has to lean forward and press his throbbing cock against the edge of the table for relief. You’ve got him feeling like he could die, like he could implode if he doesn’t have you, if after this you realize what you need but get it somewhere else? It’ll be over for him. Your hand readjusts its grip in his hair, becoming more frantic as your spine straightens and your thighs close on his hands. “Miguel? I-” You cut yourself off with a moan and your head falls to his shoulder again, blocking your face from his view.

“No, no.” He brings his hand to the back of your neck again. “Let me see, amor.” He pulls you away from his shoulder and you moan at the nickname. Once again, it didn’t mean to slip out but you’ve got his head so cloudy he can’t help it. You’re moaning his name on repeat, like a warning and he’s pulsing at the thought, the promise of getting to see you cum, for him. His eyes can’t look away from you, he can’t see anything but your face, the way your brows furrow as you tense, and your nails dig into his arms, leaving reminders for later. He watches how you bite your lip before your jaw drops into an ‘O’ shape and his name falls from your lips one more time as a debauched cry.

He keeps his eyes open, watching you cum for him, how your lips form around his name again and again. He wants to collapse, fall to his knees with how much you’re turning him on but he needs to watch you. He forces himself to keep his eyes on you, ignoring the way they want to roll back at how he’s flooding his pants. His hips twitch against the edge of the table as he cums for you, with you. His mind zeros into the way he can feel your clit pulsing underneath his finger tips, how breathless you sound, trying to keep up with the noises he’s forcing from you. His stomach tenses painfully as his cock unloads more cum onto himself. You sound like an angel, crying out for him. He can’t help the way he dives for you, pulling you in to kiss him and swallowing every moan you’ll give him.

You whine into his mouth as his fingers slow down over your clit, your other hand meets the first in his hair and you keep his lips on yours. He keeps kissing you until you calm down and your breathing evens out. His hand comes from between your thighs and rubs your legs until you pull back from his lips. You have a bashful, embarrassed look on your face and it brings the largest smile that you’ve ever seen to his face. “Was that okay, pequeña araña?” You whine and pull him in for a hug, nodding into his shoulder as he chuckles and wraps his arms around you as you begin to giggle against him.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

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januaryembrs · 3 months

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TROUBLE ALMOST ALL MY LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader

Description: The ONE time the BAU needs you + the FOUR times you need them.

word count: 24k (what on earth was I thinking)

trigger warnings: mentions of spencers addictions + use + side affects. MOMMY ISSUES thankyou ambassador Prentiss. hostage scene + injuries. mentions of forced/pressured marriage. fem!reader. reader and Emily struggle to bond.

next chpt.

main masterlist.

authors note: We never meet Emily's dad nor do we see a picture so while reader is given a nickname of Bugsy, she still keeps her real name (no use of y/n) and is given ZERO physical descriptors. ALL of my fem!readers should feel included here, let me know if this is not the case! also I don't speak any language besides English however she does speak many because of her mom, so I really tried to get it right, message me if I'm being stupid!!

[this] means its spoken in another language.

—

‘trouble on my left, trouble on my right,

I’ve been facing trouble almost all my life’

1. the one where you become a translator.

“I’ll make some calls, I may still have some friends in the Eastern countries,” Ambassador Prentiss announced to the room, standing from her place on the plush sofa.

A case had landed quite literally in Emily’s lap when her mother had come by that morning asking for Hotch, a Russian migrant looking for her father with a ransom note and a sliced off finger shoved through her mailbox, wedding ring still attached.

It wasn’t every day Emily wished she’d brushed up on her Russian, but today of all days she was struggling to keep up.

“We don’t have much time, we need a division of labour,” Hotch’s serious face settled, the time constraints making him just that bit more dictatorial, “Morgan, someone needs to go to the Chernus’s house in Baltimore in case they are contacted again,”

“What about the language barrier?” Derek raised, smoothing a hand over the short scruff of his beard, “We can’t have the unsub speaking with the family directly. He could say anything to them without us knowing,”

Bugsy would hate to admit she fit the criteria for youngest daughter of a workaholic mother and distant father to a tea, but Emily would say different.

Elizabeth Prentiss had never been a warm woman; Emily used to tell her the scowl was a side effect of the overplucking of her eyebrows, not the serious nature of her job. Her youngest girl once said her mother’s lips looked like she’d sucked a lemon. Of course they admired her work, but world peace meant jack shit to a little girl wanting nothing more than a mother’s hug.

Despite the fact she’d pushed away her husband and both her daughters in favour of her career, the one useful thing about being the Ambassador’s daughter wasn’t just the money, but the widespread culture the girls had been crammed full of since they could so much as beg for a sippy cup.

“Baltimore, you say?” Emily asked Hotch with a somewhat doubtful wince, “I mean you could always-”

“Absolutely not,” Her mother cut her off, rubbing the stress lines already creasing her forehead at the very notion of her other daughter, despite the fact Emily hadn’t even finished her thought.

Emily’s sigh was a reflex, the years of her mother cutting her off sparking the frustration on instinct.

“She lives right in the city, Mother, it can’t hurt to have her just talk for them-” Emily tried to bargain, only for the sharp mouthed Ambassador shoot her a frown.

“End of discussion, Emily,” Elizabeth snipped, her manicured fingernails twitching with annoyance, “Your sister is much too young for an assignment so serious,”

Emily rolled her eyes with a scoff, as if the two had slipped back into the role of rebellious teenager and scathing mother without much thought.

“She's twenty-two, mom. She’s getting her masters degree for Christ sakes, she’s not ‘too young’,” The dark headed woman fought back, clicking her pen a few times as if the spring loaded ink would take away some of the temper Elizabeth seemed to flare up.

Her mother’s lips pursed, in the way Bugsy hated, in the way that meant she was going to be mean.

“Immature may have been a better word, then,” She replied, and Emily seemed to pause. She couldn’t argue with that. “Or perhaps lazy, or puerile; callow, wild, irresponsible. Would you like me to name more?”

“Asinine would be a good term; deriving from the Latin asinus it not only means foolish, but to be stubborn and lazy like an ass,” Spencer input helpfully to the Ambassador, only for his bright smile to fade when he saw the daggers Emily stared at him with, “Sorry, I love word games,” He muttered into his lap.

“Asinine. Perfect, Dr Reid,” Elizabeth said, and Emily could only roll her eyes harder.

Hotch huffed, the victim’s daughter watching between the two women’s quarrel with wet eyes, the ice box with her father’s finger clenched tightly in her lap, the cold of the limb bleeding into his own gaze.

“Unfortunately, Ambassador Prentiss, despite just how asinine your daughter might be, Morgan is right. Having the Unsub possibly speaking with the family without us understanding what he’s saying could prove fatal,” He explained, ignoring the way the older woman’s mouth scrunched in bitterness. They didn’t need to be profilers to see that despite how tempered the relationship between Emily and her mother was, a tension seemed to fall between the women the moment the younger Prentiss was mentioned.

Spencer was sure he was the only person who even knew Emily had a little sister.

“Very well, but don’t be surprised when you find your hands full of the girl,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head as she led the victims, a mother and daughter that seemed to cling to one another for comfort as if to rub salt in her matriarchal wound, into the break room to get away from the frosty atmosphere that now lingered around the table.

Emily sighed, picking around her fingernails the way she did when she was bothered.

“I’m going to hate these next words that are gonna come out of my mouth,” She started with a long exhale, “But my mother’s right. Bugsy is a handful. Just try not to get her wound up, that girl smells fear,” She looked to Reid who seemed none the wiser, “I’m talking to you, wonder boy. She’ll eat you up and spit you right back out,”

Spencer gulped quietly.

Derek only chuckled, slapping a hand down onto Emily’s shoulder, “Relax, Prentiss. Your mom’s just got you all worried. Need I remind you I grew up with two sisters? This will be a piece of cake,”

–

Those were the famous last words of Derek Morgan.

Loud, heavy metal music jumped through the wooden door, so loud Morgan worried his three polite knocks would go unheard as the two of them waited outside her dorm for her to answer. Morgan was about to knock again, figuring the music had drowned out the first lot, when the door swung open and a frown the spitting image of Emily’s stressed expression met their gaze.

She looked so different to their Prentiss, but the way she seemed already scorned by the two of them told them they had the right woman.

“Miss Prentiss?” Morgan asked formally, though he felt the warmth grow when he caught sight of a beat up friendship bracelet around her wrist amongst newer gold chains, five white blocks spelling out her sister’s name pulling tight on her skin, as if she’d quickly outgrown the thing but hadn’t the heart to remove it.

It was then that he and Reid seemed to both reel back slightly at the fact she was standing in a large shirt, ratty around the edges, and what seemed to be a pair of men's boxers covering her bottom half, clearly not suspecting particularly important visitors.

She looked him head to toe with a frown, a dozen piercings in her ears, her hair highlighted with streaks of cardinal red, as if he was the one confronting her in his underwear, before she moved onto Spencer, who’s face seemed to be getting hotter by the second as he forced his eyes away from her bare legs.

“Are you guys strippers? Did someone send strippers to my door?” She asked, strawberry gum smacking between her lips as her gaze seemed to finish mulling over Spencer’s tall form and returned to Morgan.

“Emily sent us.” Reid said shortly, the music blaring in his ears making it difficult to focus on what it was she was saying, “As co-workers, no-not strippers. We’re with the FBI,”

He hated loud noises anyway, cringed at the sound of particularly cutting rock songs, but since he’d developed his … problem, the dilaudid had him feeling like someone was clawing at his skull, tugging his brain through his ears.

“Emily sent you here?” She asked with a scoff, looking the two up and down again. They both easily caught the way her face hardened, “Are pigs flying today or something?”

“We’re here to ask for your help on a case,” Spencer rushed through a sweaty brow, “Emily said you’d be able to act as a translator for us and some Russian citizens who are being targeted,”

She sighed sceptically, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame, “Any strippers or non-strippers can fraud an ID. Emily’s name was in the paper just the other week. I’m gonna need a little more than that,”

She keeps track of her sister despite the supposed distance between them. Spencer was quick to profile, his mind whirring at all the ways she reminded him of her sister down to the way she raised her eyebrows expectantly at them.

“Emily was born October twelfth, 1970 at 7:12am, graduated from Garfield High School in 1989,” Spencer said as if reporting the weather, her eyes narrowing in on him all the more coldly, “She attended Chesapeake Bay University and speaks six languages, as I expect you do from moving so often with your mother. She coined your nickname Bugsy from your childhood love of ladybugs, which she said you grew out of by the time you turned eleven yet the name stuck, though you still like counting the spots to identify their species. Your parents split when you were five and your father moved in with his now wife, born September ninth-”

“Alright- alright. What are you, living in her walls?” She interrupted incredulously, before turning her attention to Derek who seemed to hide a chuckle with a cough. “Either you really are a stripper or you’re a terrible friend,”

“She loves Kurt Vonnegut,” Derek held his finger as if to prove her entirely wrong, although not much else came to him. Maybe he was a bad friend, he thought guiltily, or maybe he simply lacked an eidetic memory like the wonder boy next to him, who had been about to tell her how old she was when Emily’s pet betta fish died, “Slaughterhouse 5?”

Rolling her eyes, she grunted at them, kicking her door open for them to enter.

“Everyone loves Vonnegut; only losers under a rock dislike Vonnegut,” She drawled, edging back into her room, the heavy bass rock growing in volume as they followed her in, “I’ll be ready in a second- Emily’s always bugging me about wearing pants,” She said vaguely, scanning around the dirty dorm, until she found one particular pair of jeans laying half under her bed, quickly yanking them up her legs. “Come in, come in.”

She flicked the speakers way down to which Spencer took a breath of relief. His eyes fell to the laptop that had been set up on her desk, the five different textbooks littered around the spare space, energy drinks and empty mugs filling the cracks where he could barely see the generic white of the table top, his nose crinkling. About as gross as he’d expect from a college student.

“Emily said your Russian was pretty good,” Derek made conversation, his eyes wandering over the various posters plastered over her walls, some fraying round the edges from where she had likely been moved from bedroom to bedroom when the Prentiss’s inevitably had to move country again.

“Yeah,” She snarked, pulling a nicer top over her head, “Kinda tends to happen when you live in Russia,”

Morgan raised his eyebrows to Spencer who seemed to give him the same look back, though the latter was biting back a snicker at her words.

How in the hell was she the Ambassador’s daughter?

–

“This all involves Russian Mafia, it’s really beefed up here the last ten years or so,” Agent Cramer, a tall, slim man who looked entirely overwhelmed by the workload on his shoulders reported, as she listened intently.

She had been somewhat de-briefed in the car, Emily messaging her for the first time since Christmas, the message a simple: “Have you met with Morgan and Reid yet? Make sure to put on pants,” to which she sent her a thumbs up emoji. She didn’t have much to say to her at the moment, barely even knew her sister anymore.

“It started off mainly in New York and LA but they send lieutenants from the old country,” Cramer went on, and she caught Reid scratching his arm beneath his shirt. She knew it was mozzy weather, and he was already under the blaring sun in a little sweater, it wouldn’t surprise her if he felt a bit prickly.

“Pahkans,” She interrupted, the man named Gideon shooting her a glance as she dug through her purse.

“Your Mom do much work about the Mafia?” He asked, as she produced a clear nail varnish.

“Here and there, I had to sit with her in her office for a whole Summer once when I got caught sneaking out. Picked up a few things, though,” She said, holding the polish out to Spencer, nodding to his arm, “Here. Supposed to help bug bites,”

He looked at her as if he wanted to say something, perhaps question her sources for such an old wives tale, but he stopped himself quickly, taking the varnish out of her hand with a dejected nod.

“Thankyou,” He muttered, shoving it in his pocket.

Three months he’d been in this rabbit hole. She had noticed it in a matter of hours.

“They open up branch offices in other cities. Baltimore, Saint Louis, Chicago, Dallas, the list goes on,” Cramer added, nodding at her words, “They’re mainly offshoots of the Odessa Mafia and they’re especially tough to crack from a law enforcement standpoint. I mean beside being well organised with sophisticated technical equipment, there’s Vory v Zakone to contend with,”

“The thieves code, eighteen principles they live by,” Reid jumped in before she could, to which she nodded as Gideon looked to her for more.

“It means ‘thief in law’, or ‘thief with code’. It's a system of repeatedly jailed convicts that have been crowned or ‘made’ with a strict list of ideals, breaking them usually means death,” She explained, kicking a stone between her feet.

“It’s like bible to these guys. We’re not gonna be turning any of them informer anytime soon,” Cramer said. Gideon seemed to tune the three of them out however, his gaze locking on the house across the street, where a curtain twitched, and a man’s face appeared in the window, watching the crime scene with guilt.

“Then we’ll need a witness who will talk,” Gideon replied, heading straight towards the neighbour who seemed just a little too invested in what was happening, much more than a concerned third party should be. Though, she had barely noticed, digging through her purse once more for chapstick.

“So, you study Russian or something?” Cramer asked as she applied it gently, Spencer swore he could smell the cherry flavour from where he stood beside her.

“I lived in Moscow until I was six, moved back to France, then back to Italy, then Algeria for a bit. Bounced around Europe for a bit longer, but I still speak better Russian than anything else,” She clarified, and she saw Cramer’s eyebrows shoot up, “Military brat except I don’t get the cool discount at the store,”

“You must have had a lot of friends though, going to so many schools,” Spencer added, and though there was nothing teasing about his tone, she laughed sharply anyway.

“You’re funny,” She snarked, but smiled at him anyway.

Spencer had never been called funny in his life. ‘Funny looking’, ‘funny sounding’ maybe, but never funny.

In fact he was so confused by what she had meant, whether it had been a taunt or genuine that he almost missed the sound of the whole street locking their front doors, dead bolting their lives away when a black prius, an expensive one at that, pulled through the street and swerved into park next to them.

“Guess who,” Cramer bit, her eyes ripping away from where Gideon had the door slammed in his face.

Detective Cramer aged by about five years when two tall men got out of the luxury car, opening the door for a shorter man in the back seat, their faces thunder.

“You familiar with them?” She asked, shoulder brushing against Spencer as she turned to watch the men approach, entirely aware of the .9mm on each of their hips.

“Arseny Lysowsky,” The detective identified, his voice cold, eyeing the two men who flanked the leader, towering over them.

“Agent Cramer, how are you?” Lysowsky smiled at him, which oddly enough seemed somewhat real, as he also took stock of the three other people around him. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, noting her lack of gun and badge, trying to decipher if she was local or just a very unprepared fed.

“Lysowsky, what brings you out?” Cramer asked, a tightness to his tone, his hand all too eager to grab his own pistol.

“I heard Chernuses had problems,” He kept it vague, didn’t reveal too much, and looked back at the victim’s house with a scorned frown.

“How did you hear that?” Gideon challenged, stance unwavering as the mob leader turned to meet his cold gaze.

“And you are?” He asked, a sinister smile on his face that flipped her stomach. She didn’t like the tension that had overcome the little patch of sidewalk they took up, and she was quick to notice how Spencer moved towards her.

He, by far, wasn’t the best shot on the team, but he was sure Hotch and Prentiss would have his and Morgan’s heads if any harm came to her.

“Churneses said they hadn’t told anyone,” Agent Gideon ignored his question, hands firmly planted on his hips. If he was unnerved by the criminal in front of him, he never showed it, not even when Lysowsky’s grin widened horribly.

“It is a small community. Word gets out,” He said simply, looking past him to the neighbours house that had kicked Gideon to the curb, “Are you a friend of Gorban’s?”

A second of silence passed between them, neither of them backing down from the moral standoff they’d engaged in.

“Mr Gorban wouldn’t talk to me,” Gideon admitted, and Arseny only smiled again, flicking a look at the house behind him, as if hearing his dog had obeyed without command.

“Would you like me to talk to him for you?” The threat was there clear as day, clear enough to have Gideon’s eyes narrow, “I can’t promise something will come of it,”

“You!” In a second, Natalya, the victim she’d briefly met when Morgan had pulled up around an hour before, had stormed out of her house, her black kitten heels clicking against the concrete, “Where’s my father? He has my father!”

“Wait a minute,” Derek called, restraining her where she stood, trying to pull his muscled arm from her shoulder, “Do you know he has your father?”

“He’s responsible for all of this,” She spat, her eyes cold as she glared at the three men with vitriol hate, “Why everyone’s afraid, him and his animals,” She threw a hand up to his bodyguards that seemed barely contained by Cramer’s silencing hand.

“I am only here to help,” Lysowsky replied, confident and calm in his words, though not as taunting as the agents would have thought, as if he truly cared for her.

A vast difference to the sadistic mob boss Cramer’s team had painted him to be.

“Help?” She laughed woefully, tears in her eyes, “You’re a dog,”

“Natalya,” Arseny said in a warning, the way a teacher would to a student, as her breath rattled in her chest through a weep.

“How exactly can you help them?” Bugsy braved to speak, Gideon and Reid both flashing her a look. She’d always had trouble holding her tongue.

Lysowsky turned his attention to her then, his eyes running down her figure, still deciphering whether she was armed; she looked much too young to be an agent.

“In any way that they’d like me to, darling,” He replied, the disdain in her frown clearly not deterring him in the slightest, though again the act of concern held up in his own grimace, “As I said this is a small community. If one is in pain, we’re all in pain.”

Natalya weeped behind Morgan, sniffling as the boss made his way over to her, “Natalya, [you didn’t have to bring in outsiders],”

The younger woman’s ears pricked up as he spoke in his native language, Spencer’s eyes flicking to her from behind his sunglasses.

“[Let me help you],” He continued, taking a step towards Natalya, unthreatening yet she saw Morgan tense, his fingers twitching towards his gun.

“[My family will never come to you for help],” Natalya hissed back, also in Russian, her face contorted in disgust, “[Get away from my house],”

“[You are not right, Natalya],” He replied, yet again the concern in his eyes was either genuine or very well faked, “[You have made the wrong decision],”

Taking a step away from the victim that wept with a scorned sneer, he looked back to the agents, noting the way the youngest of them glared at him hotly, before retreating to his car.

“What did he say? Did he threaten you, Natalya?” Morgan asked, the woman watching the group of men drive away, as if Mr Chernus wasn’t still missing and they hadn’t just bumped themselves up to number one of the suspects list. “Talk to us and we can do something about it,”

“He said I made the wrong decision,” She said wetly, frustration turning on Derek as he pushed her for an answer, “I hope I didn’t,”

With that she stormed off back into her house, the same stomping of her kitten heels in her wake, leaving the agents to all look between one another before they simultaneously turned to look at Bugsy, questions hovering on all of their lips.

“What did he say exactly?” Gideon asked without frills, a hand rubbing his brow. Relaying the information, the men’s faces all drew into frowns as they heard Lysowsky’s parting statement. Gideon huffed, turning to Morgan and gesturing for him to follow Natalya inside.

“Morgan, keep an eye on her, Reid and I are going to Cramer’s office to look over the files,” He looked at her then, worry lines littering his otherwise friendly face, damn near scowling as she looked over at him, “You are here to interpret, you understand? You do not speak to the suspects, that’s our job.” He growled, watching her with disappointment, the same tone a father used when scolding a petulant child, “Do you have any idea how much danger you could put yourself in? These guys won’t hesitate to take you out the second we’re not around, kid,”

“But-” She started with a bite, though her whole fight left her when he silenced her with a raised hand.

“Buts are for cigarettes, kiddo,” He interrupted, and Spencer winced slightly, knowing he’d heard that one a few hundred times when he’d first started under Gideon and had yet to mature entirely. Reid watched something rebellious flare in her eyes, and he worried for a moment she might just slap his boss for the patronising tone he took, “Just keep your mouth shut, you’re doing great so far,”

She opened her mouth to protest, only to then register his words entirely and stay silent once more, appreciating his praise with a guilty smile. For once, she listened.

–

The grandfather clock chimed to tell them it was merely 11am; two hours until the unsub would start cutting more if they didn’t get the ransom fee, two hours to figure out who wanted Natalya’s family to suffer.

Said woman paced her living room at the sound of the hour, as Bugsy picked over the knick knacks on her fireplace, a small smile teasing her lips when she saw a picture of three small children grinning toothily at the camera.

She had never gotten any photo’s similar, Emily being fourteen years older. The majority of their childhood photos consisted of a very grumpy teenager holding her baby sister that seemed to squirm in the tight, formal dresses Elizabeth Prentiss had forced them into, identical scowls on their faces as they were made to sit for the picture.

There were some good memories, ones where Emily let herself be a sister and not a mom, where she would put makeup on her for fun and do her hair, let her have all the clothes out her wardrobe she thought looked nice, reading to her before bed, even letting her sister keep her pet corn snake when she left home for good.

But now, it seemed like she was too caught up in her super serious grown up job to give a shit that her sister lived just an hour away. Still messaged each other for holidays, but the last few times she’d braved a call to the eldest Prentiss, it had gone unanswered. They argued the majority of the time they spoke, or there was an awkward long silence in between words, whichever was worse, but they each knew the other would come running if they were to ever need them so desperately.

“Are you hungry? I could make something?” Natalya offered kindly, Derek having a poke through her collection of books that sat on the end table, though he’d have a tough job reading them as she’d already caught most of them were in her home language.

“Oh, no thanks. I’m fine,” He replied with a small smile, putting down the books to calm the clearly on edge woman that looked to the twenty-something year old hopefully.

She shook her head, “I’m good, thanks,” which seemed to deflate her entirely as she sat next to Derek with a sigh.

“I guess I’m like my mother. When she’s upset, she cooks,” Natalya said with a sad huff of a laugh, running a hand through her short, dark hair.

“Yeah, mine does too. I think that’s just a mom thing,” He replied, and Bugsy felt the two of them look at her as her finger traced the old brass ornaments gently, “How about you, baby Prentiss?”

She snorted, “You’re kidding, right?” smiling bitterly, “My mom never cooked for us, she said we needed to figure it out for ourselves rather than relying on the staff. Didn’t stop her from trying to end world hunger though,”

It wasn’t lost to Morgan the way her eyes trained on the picture of Natalya and her mother, cuddled together with genuine love in their embrace, the snarky humour as she spoke, the same longing Emily seemed almost too good at hiding from them.

“Your mother is a great woman,” Natalya complimented, though she missed the way the girl’s face steeled over, chewing her bottom lip as if to stop herself from snapping at the woman who meant well. She said nothing. “Where is your mother?” She turned her attention back to Derek who seemed the more talkative of the two of them.

“Chicago. That’s where I’m from,” He replied, watching Bugsy turn away from the two of them to inspect more of the Chernus’s trinkets on their walls.

“I’m from Dolgoprudny. Just North of Moscow.” Natalya replied. Opening her mouth to add something else, she was cut off by a knock at the door and the three of them froze in their place.

“Are you expecting someone?” Morgan asked Natalya in a hushed tone, reaching for his gun and heading for the door.

She shook her head, “No,” She whispered back. Morgan pulled the curtain back the smallest inch to see a small blonde boy staring back, a box in his hands and a bored look on his face.

It all happened too fast from there, Natalya opening the door for the neighbourhood kid, opening the box to see a decapitated ear, the blood fresh and pooling in the bottom of the box. It couldn’t have been taken longer than an hour or so ago, unless they were keeping the parts on ice.

Bugsy’s hand slapped over her mouth, Natalya’s scream piercing through her as she shoved the box into Derek’s hands, fleeing to the toilet, and she heard the woman retching. Part of her felt the same nausea settle in her stomach, looking away from the body part with a wince as Derek got straight on the phone to Gideon.

“They didn’t wait, man. They sent a box with-” He swallowed thickly, “With Mr Chernus’s ear inside.”

Gideon replied, and whatever it was, it had Derek looking back to her. He agreed, hanging up the phone and rooting through his pockets, producing a set of rattling keys, holding them out for you between the tips of his fingers.

“Gideon wants you, kid. He said they’re at the Little Kiev restaurant, they’re going to talk to Lysowsky,” Morgan said, grimacing as he held the ear away from her, “You sure you’ll be okay to drive?”

“I’d rather be on the road than look at what’s in that box,” She said in disgust, taking the keys and heading out to the car.

She thought it best for everyone she didn’t tell him she hadn’t yet got her licence as she made her way over to the restaurant.

“Reid and I will do the talking, just see if anything he’s saying connects with Vory v zakone, think you got that?” Gideon instructed her the second she got out of the car, taking the keys and handing them back to Reid who gave her a small nod.

“We think the reason it was Mr Chernus who was targeted has something to do with the code,” Reid explained, his hands in his pockets as the three of them approached the restaurant, “You said earlier you understood the tenants,”

“Why me, though? I thought I was just translating?” She repeated Gideon’s earlier words, almost cocky that they needed her.

“Lysowsky would feel the need to show face in front of men like Morgan and Cramer, even in front of Natalya since she lives locally. Between the three of us, he had less reputation to uphold, less so with a young woman like yourself,” Reid added, holding the door open for her to go in front.

And so there she was, trailing behind Gideon and Reid over to where Lysowsky sipped a spoonful of borscht, as she tried not to marvel at the grandeur of the establishment inside. Clearly, Arsney had money to build a place like this, and wasn’t afraid to be flashy about it either, that much was apparent from the other clientele that tended to their beers around their own tables, Rolex watches and designer shoes adorning nearly every one of them. She hated to think of how many ears or fingers those suits had cost.

“Would you like something to eat?” He asked, a chunk of bread in his hand dipping into the thick sauce, seemingly unbothered that they were there, “This borscht is exquisite, it’s my mother’s old country recipe,”

“Didn’t you forsake all your relatives when you swore the thieves code?” Reid asked, which she guessed was hit foot in to get Lysowsky to talk.

“I didn’t forsake her recipes,” Lysowsky replied with a shrug, looking to her where she seemed to be staring at his plate, “Borscht?”

She shook her head, her nose wrinkling, “Much preferred stroganoff, mom used to force me to have borscht to make sure I ate my veggies,”

His eyebrows raised, surprise written over his face, before he gave a short laugh.

“[Where are you from]?” He asked in his mother tongue, gesturing for the three of them to sit down, though his eyes lit up as he watched her carefully.

“[I was born in DC, but my mother worked in Moscow for a few years],” She answered shortly, and he seemed to find it even funnier that the near child they’d brought along on their case spoke as fluently as he did.

Laughing with a heavy hand smacking on the table, he gestured to a nearby waiting staff to come over.

“What are you having then, borscht for the gentle man?” He looked at Reid and Gideon, the former shaking his head while Gideon nodded with an awkward smile.

“I’d love a taste,” He said, though any enthusiasm seemed to have drained out of his voice.

“And what is the little lady having?” Lysowsky asked, his eyes falling back to her, as she straightened in her seat.

She chanced a quick glance to Gideon, who nodded at her to play his game. She had not expected to be so deep in criminal territory when they’d said they needed a translator, and truly they hadn’t planned on getting her in the field until they realised she would know much more about this than they would.

“Do you have sharlotka?” She asked, returning his smile wearily as he clicked at the waiter who all but bolted to the kitchen.

“A sweet tooth. I like it,” Arseny replied, shovelling a heap of beets into his mouth, “Our favourite was always Leningradsky,”

“Ours?” She prompted, giving a polite thanks to the waiter who returned too quickly with a slice of cake. She caught Spencer glancing at the bowl with intrigue, the hunger clear on the quiet man’s face. Gently pushing the bowl and clean spoon towards him, he flicked a look up at her, “Apple cake,” She whispered, sending him a small smile, “Really yummy with the sugar on top,”

“Mine and my mother’s,” Arseny replied, though Gideon and Reid both caught how he paused before he replied, as if he had to think about the answer he was giving; the oldest tell that it wasn’t entirely true, “We didn’t have much when I was a boy, but that was always our dessert of choice,”

She stopped for a mere second, missing the moment when Spencer spooned the tiniest bite of the cake into his mouth, trying to ignore the way his tongue exploded in the sweet, fruit taste. He hadn’t eaten anything properly in days, and maybe that was why it tasted so good, but more likely it was just the fact that everything sweet tasted even better when he was on his come downs.

“We need to talk, Arseny,” Gideon interrupted, ignoring the way Spencer pined to go back in for a second mouthful, but chose to hand the bowl back to her with a small smile.

“We are on first name basis?” Lysowsky asked, shaking his head, and she took a small bite of the sweet cake for herself, “I still don’t even know who you are,”

“I think I understand something about this,” Gideon replied, his thumbs tapping together, the waiter returning with his borscht, “You have a problem,”

“I do?” The pahkan titled his head at the agent, the annoyance clear on his face.

“That’s why you came to the Chernus’ house this morning,” Gideon answered, unbothered as he began to scoop the borscht onto the spoon, the apple cake in her own mouth going down a treat.

She kept her head down, took tiny bites of the dessert that certainly tasted like a fresh baked sharlotka. But her thoughts lingered on what Lysowsky had said, about his own favourite pudding.

It made no sense that he would have ever tasted Leningradsky shortbread, not for the time that he was born, nor with the amount of money he claimed his family lacked. Infact, the way he fully pronounced his vowels, the akanye, the stress he put on certain parts of his words, all pointed to the same dialect you’d heard back in Moscow, more central than anything else.

So how on earth would he have eaten the so-called ‘Royal Cake’ that had only been made eight hours from there, in the town it grew its name from.

There was something glaringly obvious about his story missing.

“A man like me?” She tuned back into the conversation, swallowing another mouthful down as Gideon took another bite himself, though it seemed the topic had turned sour as Arseny wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin.

“Four watchtowers and a convict signifies a stay in prison,” Spencer cut in, nodding towards the tattoos branded across his knuckles, “Each one of those crosses symbolises an individual sentence,”

“Twenty three years in prison in the Ural mountains,”

But she was still stuck on what it was she was missing. It had been such an odd thing to lie about, particularly when he’d even admitted himself that they hadn’t had much money, so he clearly hadn’t been lying to fake a reputation.

So why lie?

She was ripped out of her stumped silence when Natalya entered the restaurant, her voice grabbing the men’s attention immediately.

“Mr Lysowsky. You said you could help me,” She said, her purse over her shoulder and her own car keys gripped tightly in her hand as if she’d all but thrown herself out the vehicle to get there faster.

“Don’t you already have help,” Lysowsky snapped, clearly Gideon had dug under his skin enough to garner a reaction.

“I made a mistake,” Natalya replied, barely meeting Bugsy’s gaze as she stared at her from her seat at the table. “I talked to my father on the phone,”

The girl frowned at her, “That’s a lie,” It came out before she could hold herself, brows furrowed at whatever it was she was trying to pull. Gideon said her name in a reprimand, though he too was looking at the woman as if she’d grown a second head.

“Thankyou for coming, but I don’t need your help,” The woman met her confused look with a saddened expression, nodding to her solemnly.

Leave it alone, she seemed to be saying, there’s nothing more I want you to do.

And with that, the two of them left the restaurant, Natalya walking by his side obediently, her purse tucked in close under her arm, as Morgan and Cramer filed in from the parking lot, watching their only leads drive away without a fight.

–

The team were quick to head back to Natalya’s home, only to find the ear missing and the finger gone too, the only evidence left of any crime being committed leaving with the victim’s daughter herself.

“She’s not here, and the garbage was never taken out,” Morgan said with a grimace as he walked down the front steps to meet the four of them on the sidewalk.

“Her dad just went missing, surely we can cut the girl some slack-” Bugsy words were hidden in a huff, rolling your eyes at the man who cut a glance to her.

“No, no. When Hotch first talked to us, he said she noticed her father’s car in the driveway when she took the garbage out,” Morgan explained, his shades blocking the way the cogs turned behind his dark eyes.

“Right?” Reid asked, his own sunglasses now covering his eyes that winced at the brightness, surrounding them.

“Garbage can in the kitchen is completely full, she never took it out.”

“She lied,” Gideon said with finality, the penny beginning to drop for him too.

“She could be half way back to Dolgo-whatever by now,” Morgan scoffed, his arms smacking against his side as the lightbulb went off over her head, the final puzzle piece falling into place.

“Dolgoprudny?” Spencer asked, exchanging a glance with Cramer, “Isn’t that where Lysowsky’s from-”

“Yes, YES, of course!” She exclaimed, grabbing onto Spencer’s arm as he spoke.

He looked at her with wide eyes, not that she could see since his shades blocked the way, only to feel her shake him harder in the midst of her enthusiasm. Part of him wanted to rip his arm out of her grip, waiting for the sickness to crawl up his throat at a strangers germs touching him, but the oddest part of him reasoned she had the same germs as Emily did, that the fifty percent DNA the women shared negated the fact she was a stranger, just as it did when he met Jack. Jack had Hotch germs. Bugsy had Emily’s. He didn’t feel so sick thinking of it like that.

“I knew I was missing something,” She said, turning to Gideon, “He was lying before, about his favourite dessert. There was no way he could have had Leningradsky with his mother. Given his age, at that time in Soviet Russia, shortbread was incredibly expensive, only extremely wealthy families could have eaten it. That, and given the Central dialect he speaks in, I’d pinpointed he lives somewhere near or around Moscow, which means there was no way he was eating that cake considering it was only ever baked in one shop at first, one way up in Leningrad, where St Petersburg is now, like nine hours away from Moscow-”

“What’s your point?” Cramer asked, tired of the somewhat slew of thoughts she’d been saving until she knew for sure what she meant.

“Before when he said it was ‘our favourite’, I don’t think he was talking about him and his mother,” She explained, looking to see if Spencer at least understood what she was getting at.

“It was him and his own child…” Spencer finished, as Morgan’s phone began ringing.

“Yeah, what?” He asked, the frustration clear in his tone that they were all still without the evidence needed to pin it on Lysowsky, “You’re sure? Uh-huh. Okay, thanks doll,”

The four of them looked at him expectantly as he nodded to her, “Garcia just got into the bank’s system, somebody wired 500 thousand dollars into the account ten minutes ago,”

“Who wired it?” Spencer asked, though he was still reeling from the way she’d touched him, the way her voice went up about five octaves and a dozen decibels.

“She didn’t say, but the name on the account is Lyov Fulenko. She says that’s Lysowsky’s wife’s maiden name. Fulenko.” Morgan replied, and her brows furrowed.

“Why did she bring us into this?” Gideon asked, though the solemn look on his face said he already knew, “Because she needed to put pressure on the other victim,”

Gideon headed towards Mr Gorban’s house once more, though it was clear he had already sketched out in his head who was their unsub and Natalya’s involvement, he simply needed the confirmation.

Morgan clapped a hand on her back, “Nice job, baby Prentiss. Those were some mean profiling skills out there,”

She frowned at him, scoffing, “I’m not a profiler, that’s Emily’s job. It was just basic linguistics really; more a display of how I need to lay off cake for a while.”

The man kissed his teeth with a grin, “Don’t put yourself down. What’s your degree even in?”

She shrugged, picking under her nails for something to do, “Individualised genomics and health.” She said as if it were child’s play, though Spencer’s head shot to her.

“Biotechnology?” He asked, and she glanced at him with a nod, “What’s your thesis on?”

Gideon had returned by the time he’s asked, and began corralling the two of them back to the car, “We’re heading back to the restaurant. We need to speak with Lysowsky again,”

But it had fallen on deaf ears as Spencer looked at her expectantly.

“Just some new research into prenatal screening, nothing too fun,” She simpered, climbing into the back seat as he nodded with her.

“I read a fascinating paper on the uses of hCG in a woman’s body-”

“Reid,” Gideon cut him off with a short glance from the front seat, “Continue this conversation once we’ve found Mr Chernus alive,”

Spencer blushed, feeling like a kid caught in the cookie jar, “Sorry, sir,” He looked over at her, only to see her hiding a smile to herself.

He thinks it was then he’d decided Emily had been wrong about her.

“You paid the ransom already,” Gideon said plainly, the four of them trailing behind him as he followed Lysowsky to a small seating area in the front of the restaurant. She could tell the whole way Spencer had been itching to ask her more questions about her paper, barely contained as his fingers had twitched in his lap, but he seemed to straighten himself out once she’d reached the restaurant, “You paid all the ransoms,”

“Sit,” The boss ordered, barely glancing at them as he held his strong whiskey up.

“Are they going to kill Mr Chernus?” Morgan asked, cutting to the chase as Lysowsky spared him a bored glance.

“No,” He replied shortly, the look on his face about as grumpy as when they’d left.

“The account is in the name of Lyov Fulenko. Lyov is a man’s name.” Spencer input, crossing his arms as the boss glared at him, “A son’s name. Vory v Zakone. Never have a family of your own. No wife. No children.”

“Lyov,” He looked at her then, gesturing to her with the glass of strong liquor, “You know what it means?”

“The Lion,” She replied gravely, steeling herself against his dark eyes.

“No one else would be so stupid,” Lysowsky ran a hand over his weathered face, swigging his drink as if it was the only thing keeping him talking. “At first it didn’t mean much. It was a way of letting him earn his own money. I could afford it, it came from the fund. And no one questions the use of the fund-”

“Where is he?” Gideon asked, his elbows on his knees as he leaned in.

“What else could I do?” He was ignored, “I couldn’t admit I wasn’t blessing the kidnappings, I couldn’t even admit my son existed.” He huffed when he saw Gideon’s face unmoving from the glower, his question still unanswered, “Chernus will be home in a few minutes. You should be there, he will need medical attention,” He shooed them away, with his final words, drink sloshing in his hand. His face darkened, impossibly so, and the five of them looked at him, something sad and remorseful shining back.

“What are you gonna do?” She asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

“Vory v Zakone.” He said heavily, nodding to her, “We take care of our own troubles.”

It was a silent journey back to the Chernus’ house.

Morgan and Reid pulled up to the campus, the younger girl in the back seat almost dozing off with the rhythmic hum of the engine, the evening sun much nicer on Spencer’s sensitive eyes.

“This is you, baby Prentiss,” Derek’s voice jolted her out of the half sleep she was in, straightening herself from where she had her head pressed against the window.

“Thanks,” She muttered, rubbing her eyes and unbuckling herself as they did the same, assuming they wanted to walk her back to her dorm since it had gotten dark, “I’ll be okay on my own, campus security should be out by now,”

“You sure?” Reid asked, flicking his watch up to his eyes to see the meagre 6:13pm staring back at him, “I thought they started at 7,”

She blinked at him, her eyebrows quirking for a moment, “How do you know that?”

“Johns Hopkins was my backup option- well actually it was my third, I much preferred Caltech’s curriculum, Yale was my second-” He started, flicking a glance to her where she waited for him to finish, “Not that Johns was bad, there were just better- alternative options out there-”

“Don’t shit your pants, I’m hardly the dean of the university,” She chuckled indignantly patting them both on the shoulder before sliding over to open the door, “Nice meeting you both, I’ll just get back to my mediocre college with my poor curriculum, nothing like the solid gold bathrooms at Caltech-”

“I never said that!” She laughed again, with her whole chest, at his defensive tone as she stepped out the car, hand on the door to shut it behind her.

Leaning down to give them both a wave goodbye, Derek’s voice stopped her again, “Baby Prentiss, do us all a favour and enrol yourself into forensics, we need more people on our team,”

Smirking at him, she shook her head, “Very funny. Never gonna happen. I like my little slides and samples, thankyou,”

Slamming the door on the two of them she headed for the front gates, swinging her purse over her shoulder. She was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, and she quickly realised she’d been too tired to even realise a set of footsteps jogging after her.

Maybe she should have taken that walk home after all.

Whirling around, her eyes widened as Spencer had clearly not been leader of the track team as he was half out of breath just from the few feet he’d covered, though she reckoned she could have guessed that seeing his lean ribs beneath his shirt.

He shoved a business card in her face as he caught his breath, though it was more just his name and credentials followed by a phone number.

“I-I don’t have email otherwise I would-” He huffed, scratching his forehead as she frowned and looked at him.

“I’ve never been hit on via business card before,” She bit her lip with a smile, reading over the card again as he choked on his words even more than before.

“N-no, I-” He spluttered, ignoring the way Morgan beeped the horn for him, seemingly in a debate with a ticket metre that had caught him parked on yellow, “If you needed us for anything, or if you needed a second pair of eyes for your thesis, I’m happy to help,”

“You don’t have faith in the dummy that got into Johns?” She asked, and his head couldn’t shake fast enough, though he seemed to catch her teasing and shared her smile, “Thanks, Dr Reid,”

“Spencer’s just fine,” He said, giving her a small nod and a wave as Morgan’s palm bounced on the horn a dozen times. She flashed him one more smile, pocketing his number and heading back to her dorm, wondering what the doctor would think about the paper due in tomorrow she’d yet to get started on.

+1. The one where you get arrested.

The case had been heavy. They’d felt it in the car on the way back to headquarters. A little girl, molested and groomed by her own uncle, his own wife covering for him.

His mother always told him love makes you do crazy things, but Spencer hoped that whatever part of him worth loving would at least stay sane by the time he found the one. He was loyal to his team, to his mother, but that was where he drew the line. He was loyal to his family, undoubtedly so.

Yet so was Emily.

The call came to the second SUV, her phone set up to hands free mode, quickly flicking to answer the call on speaker, the other half of the team ahead of them on the freeway.

“Prentiss, speaking. Who is this?” She spoke clearly to the unknown number, her knuckles going white at the wheel when she heard a nervous laugh.

“It’s me,” Her sister mumbled through the speaker, “You wouldn’t by any chance be near DC would you?”

She huffed, cursing the knack Prentiss women had for showing up at the worst times.

“Can’t this wait, I’m on the clock,” Emily hissed, her finger edging towards the ‘End Call’ button, “I’ll call you after,”

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up!” As if sensing her movements, she all but screeched, “This was my one phone call, they won’t let me have another,”

The car went silent for a moment, Spencer’s eyes narrowing on the dash from his place in the passenger seat, JJ also leaning forward from the back with a frown.

Emily grit her teeth, her upper lip twitching the way it did when she was mad.

“What do you mean by one phone call? Where are you?” She bit in a cautious tone, though knowing how reckless Bugsy tended to be, she had a pretty good idea.

The hesitation on the other end of the line was palpable, as was the way she awkwardly cleared her throat.

“Fairfax County Jail,” She murmured sheepishly, “But it wasn’t my fault, these assholes don’t know what they’re talking about, I swear-”

“Stay there and keep your mouth shut,” Emily ordered, her expression furrowing into a sneer, “And for the love of god don’t antagonise the officers,”

The agent didn’t even wait for a response, knowing it would probably be something snarky, her mind already racing at what the hell her sister could have done this time, every worst possible explanation jumping to the forefront.

“I’ll call Hotch and tell him to turn around,” JJ offered, her fingers already searching her contacts for their boss, as Emily sighed through her nose.

“Tell him not to worry, I’ll drop you guys back to headquarters, make my way there myself,” She said, picking the skin of her nail softly with her thumb.

“By the time we’ve reached Quantico, visiting times will be over and she’ll have to stay the night,” Spencer pointed out, his own surprise evident. Sure, she had certainly been a personality when they had met, but a criminal seemed a stretch.

“Maybe it would teach her a lesson,” Emily mused, shaking her head to herself, “Who am I kidding, that psycho would Shawshank her way out of there by dawn,”

“You don’t actually think she would hurt anyone do you?” JJ said, the dial tone ringing out from the phone she held to her ear.

“Wouldn’t put it past her. She once cut a girl's pigtail off for wearing the same dress as her on her birthday,” Emily winced as Spencer’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.

“I thought getting swirlied was bad,” He muttered, watching out the window as Emily made a U-turn at the traffic lights. He and the now twenty three year old had been bouncing research papers back and forth for a few months, the odd one every week, Bugsy even once joking it was much more interesting and riveting than foreplay, which had his face red hot at his desk.

She was like that, he’d quickly realised, had a vulgar sort of humour about her, yet he couldn’t help the snigger that came out whenever he’d receive one of his papers back through the mail with pink writing scrawled all over his ideas. The little hearts that dotted her exclamations whenever she wrote “AMAZING!”, the odd time she’d written “sexy ideas, doctor Reid” which he’d come to understand meant it was really good. He’d even gotten back the drawing at the end of the paper of a stickman of the two of them, his hair a curly scribble and a purple tie which told him immediately who was who, her line of a hand pointing at his caricature with the speech bubble, “everyone point and wave at the smart man,” which had made him laugh.

She was odd, toeing the line between childish and witty, nothing like the scholars he usually worked with, and the writing he usually sent back on her papers were all in standard black ink, his own pharmacist handwriting staring back at him as he crammed in his every thought of her research into the margins. If she couldn’t read it, she hadn’t said, but he liked to think she took notice of it all, even if it wasn’t strewn with stars and doodles and the occasional flirt he knew meant nothing. He knew her from her writing, knew her from her ideas that sometimes kept him up at night thinking more about them, but the two of them hadn’t spoken directly, most certainty hadn’t seen one another since that day with the Chernus’.

Emily hummed, fingers drumming on the wheel, entirely unaware of the thoughts rattling around in Spencer’s head, then again that’s how it always was, “I just pray to god she’s listened to me for once in her damn life and keeps quiet,”

“Fucking bitch. The nuns in Moscow hit harder than you,” She spat, blood dribbling from her split lip. She wasn’t entirely lying, but god did her mouth sing with pain as she tried to muffle a moan.

“You got jokes, pig lover?” The other woman asked, a tattoo covering half her cheek, her nose crooked from the shiner the Prentiss girl had already given her. “Won’t be fucking laughing when I’m done, bitch,” The woman was quick to tackle the girl around her stomach, slamming her into the hard concrete of the holding cell. Bugsy felt her skull rattle, the wind whooshing from her chest as rough hands grab her shirt and pin her down harder.

The younger girl reached the nerve under her opponent's armpit, the soft of her ribs, twisting until the woman gave a bark of shock, and she took the opportunity to shove her off, climbing on top of her as they both scrambled for some sort of control.

“I got one for you. What’s got a broken nose, a black eye and doesn’t know what’s good for her?” She swung twice as hard, the other women in the cell rattling against the bars as if watching a matador taunt a bull, the air thick with excitement as the two of them cursed eachother out.

Emily’s sigh was audible across the room as the wardens separated the cat fight, the largest of the officers all but grabbing her sister by the scruff of the neck like a feral beast, dragging her over with stubborn feet to where the BAU stood in the lobby, eyes widened at the state of her.

“You better start acting your age, little girl. Mommy’s not gonna be around forever to save you,” The officer hissed in her ear, manhandling her over to where Emily glared daggers into the side of her head. She knew that look, it was eerily similar to mom’s that time she’d been caught sneaking out of the house, something in the warm brown of Emily’s eyes frosting over into a cold blackness. Fury.

She chewed her words for a moment, waiting until the man had turned around with a grunt of acknowledgement to the badge Emily had flashed to get his attention, before she spoke.

“She’s not my mom, she's my sister, dumbass-” Emily slapped a hand over her mouth, gripping her shoulder with the bear-like strength her jagged nails possessed when she was mad, the scoff of disgrace leaving her mouth as her team trailed behind the two of them.

“What the hell happened, baby Prentiss?” Morgan asked, ignoring the way Emily’s heated gaze turned on him, “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Don’t entertain her, Morgan,” Emily seethed, all but shoving her into the back of the SUV. She looked up at her sister with an open mouth, the guilt flashing in her eyes as she wavered under the pointing finger Emily jabbed in her face, “Don't you even dare,”

“But-” She stammered, cut off when she saw the glare intensified, if that had even been possible.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you for the rest of the day unless you’re prepared to give me a good explanation why I’ve dragged my team out here to save your sorry ass,” Emily hissed, and the girl’s mouth bobbed a few times, feeling the rest of the team watching as she got thoroughly chewed out.

“Wait-” Emily’s hand lingered at the car door, ready to slam it in her face as she rubbed her cuff over her chin, mopping up the damage. Her head tilted for a moment, hoping her sister had something good to say, only for it to be; “He just called you old, I hope you realise that,”

Emily’s gaze darkened, slamming the door shut with an anger she imagined her mother had kept warm for the past twenty three years, whirling around heatedly when she heard a snigger from one Derek Morgan.

“Damn, mama, hear the girl out.” He said, slapping a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he passed, heading back to their own SUV, “Maybe she’ll surprise you,”

If Emily was going to bite anything back, she didn’t. Instead she ran a hand over her brow, the group disbanding to their cars now the problem child had been picked up from daycare, except for Hotch who watched the older Prentiss with a scowl, despite the worry in his eyes.

“Hotch, I’m so sorry, just take it off my timecard, I’ll cover all the costs,” She said shakily, her own frown adorning her face as she felt herself blush from embarrassment under her boss’s gaze.

“I understand she’s your sister, but this was a gross misuse of agent time and resources, Prentiss,” He said, his gaze drifting to where Spencer sat next to the girl, pulling a packet of tissues and hand sanitizer out of his satchel while JJ rooted through her own purse for a plaster, “Don’t let it happen again,”

Emily nodded vehemently, flushed with anger, her palms sticky as she wiped them on her jeans.

“Absolutely sir. Believe me, this ever happens again, she’s on her own,” She replied, though they both knew she didn’t mean it. Emily would never.

He nodded stonily, deciding quickly that it was punishment enough that she felt so ashamed, he knew from his years of arguments with Sean what it was like to have a sibling stray so far.

“We can fill out reports in the morning, just get Reid and JJ home,” Hotch said, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder as he passed her to head towards his own vehicle, “And try not to kill each other in the company car. It doesn’t look good on paperwork,”

She beat off the smile on her lips as she got back into the driver's seat, the air that engulfed the four of them foul as she glared over her shoulder and into the back. Spencer twitched in his seat uncomfortably, his hand still passing over tissues to the bloodied girl.

“So, you gonna tell me what that was about?” Emily asked, her tone brittle and warning, not in the mood for any snarky response she could give, “Or is this old lady going to have to lay into you some more,”

The smell of strong ethanol engulfed her nose as she held the soaked tissue to her face, frowning into her lap silently and avoiding the burning stare as Emily stuck the keys in the ignition and started the car.

“Let’s start with why you were there,” JJ input, the same tone of voice she used as when talking to victims, calm and motherly, unlike the pissed off snarl Emily gave, “You wanna tell us why you were arrested?”

“You two really gonna pull the good cop, bad cop on me?” She snapped, her lip swelling around the wound, tongue grazing it softly despite the heavy taste of the sanitizer.

Emily said her name in a warning, her last warning, and she knew better than to push her luck even more, the SUV pulling out of the station and onto the road.

“I was just shopping for groceries,” She started, fiddling with the bloodied tissue, wincing under her tongue stroke, “Store clerk made a pass at me, I told him I wasn’t interested. So he put a pack of smokes in my handbag while I wasn’t looking; the alarms went off. I didn’t even know what was happening until security grabbed me at the door,”

JJ flashed a glance at Emily, like two parents deciding an appropriate punishment, the brunette’s lips straightening out into a line.

“You’re telling the truth?” She asked cautiously, glancing in the rear view mirror to see how her sister balled the mess of paper between her palms.

Rolling her eyes, she gladly accepted the other packet of tissues Spencer slid over the leather seat between them.

“I went out for milk and oranges, I was not looking to get picked up, Em,” She bit back, groaning when she felt it jostle the cut, “And certainly not for cigarettes, you know I only smoke on New Years,”

Spencer looked at her with a frown, and she caught his confusion quickly, pulling another leaf of paper from the packet.

“Emily and I had a rule after she caught me smoking when I was like fourteen, that we could have one cigarette between the two of us on New Years eve,” She explained, JJ also perking up to hear it, “So that by the time morning came around, it would be last year’s mistake, and it would be like it never happened,”

JJ smiled to herself, remembering the time she caught Roz sneaking one of her dad’s cigarettes on the back porch back when she was just ten. She remembered the little secrets the two of them kept back then, held them even all these years later.

“So how did that lead to, well,” JJ gestured to her lip, “That,”

“Yeah, didn’t I specifically tell you to not antagonise anyone?” Emily chimed in, signalling she was changing lanes as they headed down the freeway for a second time that day.

“Technically you said not to antagonise the officers,” She pointed out, before Spencer had the chance to, shutting his mouth as he caught the glare Emily shot through the mirror.

“Keep talking,” The older Prentiss ordered, as Bugsy sighed and blotted her lip some more.

“That woman, Mira I think her name was, anyway, she recognised me from that picture mom had us take on Independence Day, the one they put in The Hill, and she asked me if it was true my sister was a fed,”

Emily’s fingers twitched at the wheel, knowing the status agents and even people associated with agents held in prisons; knowing just being a Prentiss in a jail cell held a big, dazzling price over her head that said ‘kill me, kill me!”

The air sucked out of the car, a look passing between JJ and Reid as they thought the same thing, waiting for her to go on.

“So then you hit her?” Emily guessed, the bitterness slowly ebbing as she understood maybe her sister wasn’t as unruly as she thought.

“No, I told her to leave me the fuck alone, but she said you guys sent her brother down for something a while back, and she asked again if my family were all Pigs,” She picked her nails, the blood stain on her sleeve staring back at her, “I told her if she didn’t stop calling you a Pig, I’d make her squeal like one. And then I hit her,”

Emily tried to pretend she didn’t smile hearing that, her cheeks tightening, lips pulling down as she fended it off.

“Is that good enough, officers, or will you be needing fingerprints?” The girl chimed after a moment, a weight seemingly lifted from the car as Emily quickly realised she had, for once, not been entirely at fault.

“I want a handwritten apology to my boss for wasting his time,” Emily demanded, her unforgiving gaze softening when she saw her smile, “And you owe my team coffee,”

“I can do coffee, coffee coming right up,” She agreed, shoving the used tissues into her purse with a crooked smile, “It’s a date,”

Spencers ears turned red, looking over the seat at where she dabbed at her lip gently. She didn’t look much older for six months, but she had gotten her nose pierced since the last time he’d seen her, unless he just hadn’t noticed it before, and the streaks of red were slowly fading out into a blush pink that said it was old, and he wondered if she’d done it herself in that tiny little cubicle bathroom of hers she shared with the four other girls in her block.

“You finished your stats papers yet?” He made polite conversation, though part of him was dying to know out of curiosity if she could crunch numbers and equations as well as she could in her own labs.

“Got two more this week, they’re kicking my ass man,” She replied with a huff, and he didn’t think he’d ever been called ‘man’ by a woman before. He knew if he’d known her in college, ignoring the fact he would have been twelve, he would have thought she may just be the coolest person alive, “I miss my labs with my microscopes and watching all the little baby cells move around in the ethanol. Stats are like, just not sexy,”

He smiled at her as she stared out the window, unaware of the way she’d managed to make DNA sound like a play pen full of kittens. He held off from telling her he found stats really quite sexy, knowing it would never sound the same coming from his mouth.

He pulled a leaf of the tissues from the packet, producing his own pen from his pocket and began doodling carefully so as not to rip the delicate canvas.

Sliding it over to her after five minutes as Emily and JJ made conversation in the front seat, she didn’t care that the grin tugged on her split lip, the reaction was instant, she couldn’t stop it if she tried.

Two stick men stared back at her, her hair a close match in texture and a childish triangle drawn as means of a dress, a very tall stick figure next to her patting her metaphorical head, a speech bubble coming from his mouth.

“Maths is fun!” It said, and she flicked a glance at him, her smile the most genuine he’d seen yet. He just smiled back.

+2. The one where you graduate

Emily felt the looks on her the moment JJ had mentioned Maryland. The case was a little under their pay grade, nothing more than a stalker, no bodies or bloodshed, but one very rattled woman that had turned to the communications liaison with fear for her life.

With Hotch and Rossi in Boston helping a case of their own, the rest of the BAU had been twiddling their thumbs waiting for something to come across their desk.

“This case is in my hands now, and if we do nothing and something happens to her,” JJ took a heavy breath, her eyes lingering on the three names Keri had given her in case of her untimely death, “I’ll be the one notifying her family,”

Derek, despite his own hesitations about using their time for a case like this, caved the moment he saw the guilt on the blonde’s face.

“Okay,” He shuffled the papers into a pile, Emily and Spencer gathering their own resources on the case and standing from the round table.

Luckily, one government SUV was more than enough to carry the four of them for the hour drive North, all of them well aware Hotch would flip if they used more funds than necessary.

JJ piled into the front beside where Morgan climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving Emily next to a particularly fidgety Reid. It took all of fifteen minutes of the man flicking a glance at her, his mouth quirking as if he were about to use it, before he thought better and looked out the window, and the whole thing would start again.

Derek, the less shy about his thoughts of the two men, even glanced at her through the rear view mirror, before he too returned his gaze out the window silently. JJ shifted in her seat, knowing she had to tread carefully around mentioning Bugsy to Emily, particularly after the last time they’d seen her. Emily had said they’d grabbed coffee once or twice since then, but that was all she spoke about it, which left her team walking cracked eggshells at the thought of bringing her up.

It seemed the three of them were bursting at the seams with the same thought, and it wasn’t until Reid cleared his voice, his puppy eyes stuck in his loop, that she had had enough.

“Does anyone here have something to say?” Emily huffed, Derek immediately reaching to turn the radio up the same time that JJ flicked the AC on for something to do. Realising they weren’t easily broken, she turned to Spencer who already looked slightly guilty, thumbing at his sweater, “Reid?”

“Did you want to see your sister?” He asked without hesitation, as if the words had fallen out of him, “You know, since we’re so close on this case. It would be a good excuse to-”

“You did say she owed us a coffee,” JJ pointed out, spurred on by Spencer’s nerves, “Wouldn’t mind cashing in if we’re coming all this way.”

“Morgan, do you have anything to add?” Emily asked with raised brows, though she already knew what was coming.

Derek chewed over his thoughts a second, “I’m just saying, you only get to see your baby sisters grow up once- you know, and it couldn’t hurt to see her even if she runs rings around you with that smart mouth-”

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on the case?” Emily cut him off incredulously, but received three knowing looks back. She met JJ’s gaze where the woman had swivelled in her seat to talk to her, and Prentiss was fast to catch the buried grief in her best friend’s eyes. She knew it pained her to even bring up sisterhood, let alone watch Emily throw hers away for the sake of a decade and a half between them. It was the desperation in JJ’s face that did it, knowing she would give anything to spend just an hour with Roz one more time, that had her drawing her cell out her pocket and calling the contact with the little ladybug next to it, “Fine,”

As a profiler she would have been tempted to ignore the way Spencer smiled into his lap; as a sister, her eyes narrowed at him.

The phone rang surprisingly only once before she answered, and she heard an unnaturally tame version of her sister answer.

“Emily?” She asked, her voice hushed, worried almost, “You okay?”

Her brows furrowed, “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” She got no more than a hum in return, somewhat agreeing though Emily could tell clear as day she was holding something back. “Look, we’re gonna be in Silver Spring, I was thinking tomorrow we could grab lunch-”

“Can’t, I’m busy, it’s an all day thing,” Her sister cut her off, yet it wasn’t rude or demeaning like usual. Nervous almost, sad, “Sorry,”

“What’s an all day thing?” Emily asked, the concern matching her words.

Her sister swallowed on the other end of the phone, before she found her words, or maybe even the balls to actually speak, “I’m graduating tomorrow,”

Emily’s face lit up, the smile spreading fast on her face, ignoring the way Morgan’s words seemed to ring true in her ears; she was growing up too fast.

“Graduating, why didn’t you say!” She asked, the joy in her tone unmissable, “How’d your papers go?”

Spencer held himself off from correcting her that she’d only done five papers, that the rest of her results had come from theory and labs, thinking better than to interrupt the one conversation they’d had where there was no underlying argument brewing.

“Full honours, obviously.” Bugsy drawled with a snicker, and Emily shook her head, the smile never dimming.

“Look at you, y’little superstar,” Emily bit her lip, ignoring the guilt that tore at her when she realised she barely knew what Bug spent her days doing, “Did Mom and Dad get good seats? Oh god, dad’s not bringing Stephanie is he?”

The silence on the other end had her halting, the light in the conversation wavering for a second, before she understood the nerves, the quick defence her sister had been on the moment the call had been answered.

“Bug-”

“They’re not coming,” Her heart ached in her chest hearing it, “I sent Mom the details, she said she’s in Ukraine this week settling some papers. Didn’t even get a chance to ask Dad before he and Stephanie were off on their fifth honeymoon in the Bahamas until October,” A painful laugh echoed down the line, as if she were holding back the gravity of the situation.

“Bug,” Emily tried again, picking her thumb viciously, punishingly, hating herself for being so blind to her sister’s troubles, “Why didn’t you invite me?”

“I figured you’d be busy,” Came the reply, sad and tender, the most honest she’d heard in a while, “You’re always busy,”

“Never too busy for you,” Emily’s guilt tripled when her sister didn’t answer, knowing if she were to counter the statement with hard evidence it would only hurt both of them, “Look, I have some time today, probably,” She didn’t, not even a few minutes, “Why don’t we get that coffee, you don’t even have to pay,”

Bugsy gave a sad laugh, “Sorry, Em, I gotta get my dress fitted today, and some of the lab techs invited me to a party later. Maybe some other time,”

“A party with biology nerds?” Emily asked with false excitement, the air turned stagnant between them now, “Well, rock on, science freak. Don’t leave your drinks with strangers, and don’t walk home alone, and for god sake use protection-”

“Bye, Emily,” She said with a chuckle, the older of the two gracing her with the same, as they put the phone down.

The car was quiet, waiting for Prentiss to speak, none of them missing the way her lip pulled between her teeth, a bitterness on her face that told them she was holding in something close to sadness. You’re always busy. It echoed around her head, stabbing at her chest to think her sister was graduating alone, no one to congratulate her, no one to pat her on the back and tell her how clever she is despite the fact Bugsy would happily tell anyone just how smart she was on her own. Never too busy for you.

“She’s graduating tomorrow,” She said to the three people waiting for an update, Spencer’s brows shooting to his hairline. He hadn’t heard from her since her last paper got sent off, and why would he? They had exchanged a few little anecdotes and doodles, sent each other research papers to be graded like teachers exchanging lecture notes, “She didn’t even tell me. She’s gonna be alone,”

JJ grimaced, “What? What about your mom- or, or your dad, an uncle, someone-”

“Mom and dad are out of the country, Mom’s brother lives in Mexico with his seven kids, he can barely get a night’s sleep let alone a day off to travel up to Maryland. Dad’s sisters passed away when I was a kid,” Emily explained, running a hand over her face, “I can’t let her go up there alone,”

“So we don’t,” Spencer said, as if he’d never been more sure of anything in his life, “We don’t let her do it alone,”

“Graduating with Masters in Biotechnology; Jasper Adams, Tom Adamson, Kristen Afkins, Gavin Agriths-”

The dean read off the names of the students as she fiddled with the hem of her dress.

The dress fit beautifully, her make up done to near perfection, her hair styled neatly, she was graduating with full honours for christ sakes. Why couldn’t she just be happy with what she had? Why had she got to be so spoiled?

Lots of peoples parents missed their graduation, lots of people her age didn’t even have parents anymore, she ought to be grateful her mother was increasing famine aid in foreign countries, all the lives she would save, or even be happy her father had found a pretty, rich new wife to tour every known vacation destination with. Or even that her sister had called her just yesterday and told her in a few words she was proud of her.

But none of them quelled the feeling of loneliness that blossomed inside Bugsy. The kind that had always been there, the kind that just wanted someone in her corner, telling her she was doing pretty good for a kid who raised herself in all those big houses they’d moved to, who saw the au pair more often than her own mother.

All those rooms were so empty, the houses so quiet besides for her. It was like living in a cemetery.

“Robert Lewsinsky. Marcus Linford. Tara Lorence. Katie Macauley.”

P would be up soon. Each name of her classmates drew an applause, some whoops and screams, one family she swore there must have been ten of them in the back row cawing and howling like monkeys at a zoo, proud of their son for making it.

She willed a smile on her face, hearing Orla Parkins get called up, and she knew just by the steward that directed her where to stand in line she was close.

“Kenneth Patterson. Joshua Perriman. Harriet Pimms. Lauren Pintons.”

She held a rattled breath as Renly Prackett walked ahead of her, strolling over the stage to collect his degree, flashing the crowd a wide smile and a fist pump. She had always liked Renly, having been his experiment partner for a year, despite the fact he never washed up after himself in the lab.

Then it was, her name was called. The one no one but her mother and Stephanie ever called her, she solely went by Bugsy courtesy of Emily. It was a family name, a nice one at that. Maybe it had been the fact she had been eight and her cool big sister crowned her the new name, or maybe it just rolled off the tongue better, made her feel less like a Prentiss, that she chose to go by her monika.

She tried not to think about where or what Emily was doing, only hoping she was safe, as she began walking over the stage, her heels clicking loudly with her hesitant steps.

To her utmost surprise she heard a loud whistle echo through the auditorium, a group of jeers and screams of her name, even an air horn signing off that had her almost tripping over her own feet turning to see who it was.

Surely it was a joke, a cruel prank, she barely had any friends in her class. Acquaintances sure, but no one so bold as to make such a fuss over her.

Squinting down at the audience, her cap nearly slipping off her head as her head turned to the source, she felt her chest burst when she saw the dark hair and bangs, her sisters butchered fingertips in her mouth with a loud cattle whistle, screaming like a firework right to the stage where she graciously accepted her award, despite the fact she barely paid any attention to the dean anymore, more to her sister who smiled at her widely as she clapped. Behind her, her team she’d met on the off chance, the pretty blonde, JJ, who pressed the air horn a few more times, cheering just as loud for her. Morgan, the handsome one who had stood himself on top of his chair, cupping a hand over his mouth to scream “Kicking ass, baby Prentiss!” at her, ignoring the way other people stared wide eyed at them.

And Spencer, tall enough to be seen over the crowd even without the help of a chair, who smiled at her, clapping those big hands of his loud enough to reach her, his own whoops never ceasing even as she stepped off the stage to head back to her seat.

The rest of the ceremony dragged, a speech from one of the alumni and the exit music playing, but she simply grinned into her hand, where her degree smiled back at her, counting down the moments she would be allowed to stand.

And then she was fast walking down the stairs, amongst the bustle of students, the black gowns flurrying around her as she burst out into the square where parents, fiancees, brothers, sisters, cheered their loved ones, pulling them into tight hugs.

Her eyes scanned the wave of black hats, landing on two dark eyes, the thick sable hair framing the dazzling smile that awaited her with open palms. All but shoving her way through the crowd, she stopped in front of her sister, the urge to jump at her with a hug shying the moment she got close.

“Told you. Never too busy for you, Bug,” Emily said, pulling her in by her shoulders for a tight hug. She knew her sister wasn’t one to beg for affection, wasn’t one to let her guard drop so soon, but she also knew she’d needed it by the way she melted against her, the way she chuckled into her hair, pulled her closer.

“Do I owe your boss another letter of apology for this or do I get you guys for free?” The girl asked, as her sister pulled away, keeping an arm around her shoulder as they turned to the rest of the team.

“No, this one is entirely on us, promise,” JJ said with a smile as she saw Emily beaming maternally over at the girl, the flat of the cap knocking against her cheek as she squeezed her in once more, “We’re very proud of you,”

She heated under the woman’s words, wriggling in her shoes as bad as Emily did when she felt awkward, Derek chuckling and taking the degree out of her hand.

“Alright, lets see the creds, Prentiss,” He held it up next to her face as she shrugged, the ‘4.0’ clear as day next to her name, “Good looking, and smart. Those boys in the lab ought to watch out,”

She grinned under his teasing, “What can I say, I got the deep end of the gene pool,” She teased, feeling Emily swat her ear, her eyes falling to where Spencer held a plant pot with a poorly wrapped bow of twine around it, the soil a little displaced from the journey.

“This is for you,” He said, handing her the small green sproutling, his cheeks blushing as her face lit up, reading the small inscription on the front, “It’s-”

“Dionaea muscipula,” She said, biting her lip as she smiled at him, “This is so cool! Where on earth did- I had a paper last semester on the ways to study their electrophysiology you just have to read- oh thank you!”

“English, please?” Emily asked, though the warmth flooded her chest when her sister threw her arms around a very rigid Spencer.

Thinking she should grab her and warn her the man disliked touch almost as much as she does, she was surprised to see him give her a small embrace back, smiling proudly the way he did when he’d made someone happy.

“Piège à mouches Vénus,” Her sister responded cockily, tugging herself away from the tall man, to inspect her new plant, well aware that Emily rolled her eyes at her use of French, “Venus Fly Trap. I’ve never seen one so young, still I should be able to pull some slides on the Rhizomes in the soil-”

Emily put a hand to her temple, JJ smiling widely as she saw for once Spencer be the one on the receiving end of an earful, chuckling to himself when she began dishing out name ideas for the sapling.

“Holy shit, there’s two of them,” Morgan grumbled, nudging his shoulder into Emily who simply sighed, her migraine already starting as Reid began jumping in with his own thoughts, which didn’t take much effort.

“Don’t even,”

+3. The one where you’re taken hostage

“Tell us about the 911 call,” Spencer requests, flicking through the file himself beside her in the back seat. She had her own set of paperwork in front of her, her pen attached to a clipboard the lanyard around her neck reading her real, honest credentials, unlike the fake ones Emily and Reid were given. She’d been to one of these sects before, invited kindly as part of her research on the effect isolation has on cultivation of crops, knew one of the mother’s well from her last research paper, and had managed to get the group a foot in the door to entering the Separtarian Sect with little fuss.

Hotch, usually hesitant to allow outsiders in on the job, especially as young and spirited as Bugsy, had to admit it would calm any potential unsubs and make them see the team as unthreatening if they had a friendly face there. He’d signed the papers with a frown that morning, and they were on their way to the little apartment the girl occupied just outside Baltimore, sample tubes stuffed into her pack ready.

“I believe the he that they refer to is the church’s leader, Benjamin Cyrus,” Nancy, a woman from child protective services, replied from the driver's seat, Emily thumbing through her papers as they neared the compound.

“Benjamin Cyrus, no criminal record; no record of him at all actually,” Reid replied, watching Bugsy scribbling notes into her lab book, perfecting her report before she had even begun, “What else do you know about him?”

“The sect I spoke to before, the one in Utah, said he was rumoured to be practising polygamy and forced marriages,” The younger woman said, looking back at him with a frown, “They were much more modern in their beliefs than these guys. Last time I spoke to Marina she was happy there, I can’t see why she would want to move here,”

Spencer looked as if he were about to answer, perhaps to tell her he was sure her contact would be just fine, when Emily shrugged and turned to Nancy.

“Do we know who the caller is?” She asked, sipping her now lukewarm coffee out of the disposable cup.

Nancy’s head tilted in a so-so motion, “Uh, Jessica Evansen is the one who the age fits, but we can’t be sure.”

“Well given their view on outsiders, it would be best if you didn’t identify us as FBI.” Emily instructed, handing Reid his new, fake credentials and his gun she’d kept in her bag through customs. “Just use our real names and introduce us as child victim interview experts.” Nancy nodded, the compound coming into view, the dust flurrying under the car wheels as the road turned into nothing more than a sandy path.

A guard seemed to be expecting their arrival as he stood, unarmed at the main gate, unlatching the bolt in the middle and opening it wide for their vehicle to pass through. She nodded in thanks, her eyes flicking out the dirty window to see a collection of mobile homes surrounding a large church, a few smaller outbuildings dotted around the compound. It was quiet, not full of laughter like the last group she had been to, the children nowhere to be seen, only a few of the handier members of the flock that were either fixing up walls, trimming trees besides a man sprawled too casually on the steps of the chapel, a bible in his hands he seemed to be catching up on.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the man that barely batted an eye at their arrival, the safety locks flicking off each of the doors, Nancy collecting her briefcase and exiting the car first.

She had all but reached for the handle when Emily stopped her, swivelling in her seat to look her dead in the eye.

“Your job is mediator, you got that?” Her sister had never looked more serious, but then again she did know her almost too well, “You and your field research are a… buffer between our investigation and the unsub. Just try to take the focus off what we’re doing, but do not provoke anyone,”

She raised her hands in innocence, “Got it, jeez, what could I possibly do that could ruin this investigation?”

Emily stared back at her blankly, unnamused, as if they both knew there was a lot she could, and would, do that would blow the whole thing.

“You look like mom when you give me that look,” She bit back, leaving the car, as Nancy spoke to the man laying on the steps, “It’s terrible,”

“I’m looking for Mr Benjamin Cyrus?” Nancy reported, her tight, knee length skirt and blouse entirely out of place amongst the dirt track.

“You found him,” The man replied, still not so much as granting them a glance of interest as he flicked through his passages.

“I’m Nancy Lunde, we spoke on the phone regarding the allegation,” She replied, which was the only thing that garnered his attention as he looked up at them behind slightly bent reading glasses.

“Savages they call us; because our manners differ from theirs,” He said, though it was clear it wasn’t entirely his own words, more likely a segment of his preach he’d repeated a handful of times. Bugsy tried to hide her disgust behind her hand tightening around her lab books she kept tightly to her chest.

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr Cyrus,” Nancy snipped as he approached the group, pocketing the glasses though he kept hold of the bible in hand as if it was part of his own arm.

“Actually it’s Benjamin Franklin,” Spencer murmured to the woman, which had Cyrus’ cold brown eyes narrowing at the tall man, assessing for a motive.

“Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid. They’re child victim interview experts,” Nancy introduced them quickly, the two of them flashing their badges, the unofficial ones at least. Gesturing to the youngest woman, she introduced her with her real name, his gaze flicking to her as he seemed to recognise it.

“Marina’s friend? The plant lady?” He asked, face half amused as she fought her lip from twitching into a sneer. Instead she smiled, holding out her hand.

“That’s what they call me,” She said, shaking his hand, ignoring the way he flashed her a cheshire cat smile, “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by, Marina said I could take some samples for my research,”

He laughed, shaking his head, looking at Spencer, “Women and their flowers, right?” Spencer swallowed back a retort, shrugging his shoulders, though Bugsy’s eye twitched. Benjamin patted her on her shoulder, “Of course you can honey, I’ll find Jared, our head gardner, and you can run along for your research,”

He said it as if she were lying, that her degree and endless hours of work would only ever chalk up to a few doodles in a notebook, or a garden full of hydrangeas, or tulips, or roses, because she couldn’t possibly care about anything else but pretty flowers.

Nodding her head graciously, choking back the hateful response she wished to spit in his face, she gave him a polite thankyou, feeling Spencer’s eyes burning into the side of her head.

“The children are in the school as I indicated,” Cyrus said, turning back to the other three, Emily and Nancy taking off in the direction he pointed, the former knowing her sister was at risk of blowing a fuse if they were here for long.

Spencer hung back, partially because he had a plan of distraction in mind to allow the women a chance to speak with the children whilst Cyrus wasn’t around, partially because he didn’t want to leave Bugsy anywhere on her own. Sure, Emily had said they were both trained in self defence when they were kids, but with no weapon of her own, he was reluctant.

“You're using solar power?” He prompted, gesturing towards where the eight blue panels warmed under the Colorado sun.

“We’re completely self-sufficient,” Benjamin nodded along, catching the impressed look on both their faces, “Electricity, food, water. Ben Franklin said ‘God helps those that help themselves,’ you look surprised,”

“No, impressed actually,” Spencer replied, and he wasn’t entirely lying. The system was incredibly complex, particularly if they received no help from outsiders, for as many people as there were in the compound.

“Thankyou; for admitting that,” Cyrus said earnestly, flicking his gaze back to Bugsy who studied the solar panels, “I’ll go find Jared, he can take you to the greenhouses,”

Thanking him again, he led the way towards the school where Nancy and Emily had headed, as the two of them exchanged a look, Spencer smiling half piteously, wishing he could shake her and tell her just how smart she was and that Cyrus knew absolutely nothing.

He didn’t miss the way she walked closer to him, or how she thumbed the corner of her notebook, or how she looked back at him, biting the inside of her cheek. He thinks he might get slapped if he pointed it out, but Emily had the exact same tell when she was nervous, which is why he bumps their shoulders together in means of reassuring her he was still there.

It was only then she gave him any sort of smile back.

Jared, as expected, had been just as condescending and patronising as Benjamin whilst she slipped on her latex gloves, scooping no more than a handful of homemade fertiliser into one of her test tubes. It had been a partial cover, their story, but she had been telling the truth when she’d contacted Marina and asked if she could drop by. She’d been meaning to expand her field research in hopes of stumbling on a job opportunity since she spent most of her postgraduate days reading while her cat pawed at her leg for more treats than he deserved, the odd phone call with her sister much more common than it had been before.

She didn’t miss the way Jared’s hand fell into the small of her back as he led her back towards the school, after having noted down a few more readings, fussing over the state of the carrots that seemed to grow entirely naturally thanks to the systems they’d been smart enough to set up. He seemed rather bored by the whole thing, for a head gardener, more interested in staring at her legs as she leaned down to identify the fat black beetle that crawled along the rockery.

It wasn’t until they were halfway to the school that the sound of tyres on a dirt path met her ears, and she saw five armoured SUVs out the corner of her eye.

She hadn’t even the time to question what was going on, before Jared’s face dropped, the hand gently holding the soft of her back grabbing on her forearm hard enough to leave bruises, as he was dragging her to the chapel they had seen when they had pulled up.

Emily had said the rest of the team stayed in Quantico, if it wasn’t them, who was it.

“Whats going on- who is that?” She asked him lamely, her feet stumbling as she half fought his heavy hand off.

That was when the shooting started.

She thinks it came from the compound first, she’d seen two men stationed on top of one of the outbuildings, thinking nothing much of it, until she saw clearly now the assault rifles they bore, pointing it straight at the vehicles that drew closer. The whistle of bullets, bangs of the chambers emptying their artillery, and it wasn’t until she heard the doors to the SUVs start opening, more gunfire began hitting the wall ahead of them that she started running. Running fast, for the cover the church provided until she figured out just what the fuck was happening.

Jared all but threw her past the chapel door, where Cyrus and four other men were waiting, a heavy barricade in their hands, her chest pounding with adrenaline, she couldn’t help the yelp that left her as Cyrus whirled on her, grabbing her shoulders firmly and looking her dead in the eye.

“Did you know anything about this?” He asked, his calm demeanour cracking when she scrambled for a response, “ANSWER ME,”

“No-no not at all.” She shook her head, voice weaker than she’d like, but the sight of more guns in the men’s hands twisted any resolve she had, “Where are the others- the- the experts-”

“Take her into the tunnels,” Cyrus ignored her question, nodding at one of his men to grab her as Jared armed himself. She felt another callused hand yank on her upper arm, and part of her wondered if that was how men handled all women here, as if they were herding cattle, as she was dragged down into the catacombs below the church.

They’d made plans for a day like this to come, she realised.

Her heart constricted at the sound of bullets rattling above them, she hadn't been able to tell in that last moment whether Cyrus believed her or not as, nor whether she was being taken to the tunnels for her own safety or to be questioned harder about the gunmen.

She could only hope Emily was safe.

She felt her tongue too big for her mouth as the man all but shoved her into the bunker, the nervous chatter of women and children, some of the more elderly men, as they clung to one another for safety, the scathing remark she would have usually made about his heavy hands failing her as she scanned the room for her sister.

Emily was faster however, and she nearly yelped again as two bony arms yanked her into a hug, a rare one, and she knew by the blazer and the sigh of relief in her ear it was Em.

Usually she would bat her off, tell her to stop fussing like a mother hen, but today she embraced her right back, trying to note if her sister had any bullet holes in her before she allowed herself the same relief.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Emily asked, the whole thing coming out in a slew of worry, and she nodded, pulling away as if she needed to see the proof in person.

Bugsy’s eyes were wild, as if she were a doe in a meadow hearing a rifle cocking near. No scratch that, she was a doe being chased and shot at and hunted, narrowly escaping being mounted on a wall.

“They were all shit shots,” Bugsy said, through a laugh she didn’t quite mean, “You would have done much better.”

Patting her sister on the shoulder, Emily finally released her when she realised the humour meant she at least had her head on her shoulders. Spencer watched her with meticulous eyes, knowing the shock that registered on her face, knowing it was the same one he wore when he first had shots fired at him. He saw her own eyes quickly check him over, satisfied with a breath of relief when she saw they were both fine.

“Where’s Lunde?” Emily asked, and she realised then Cyrus had followed her down into the shelter, two of his men grabbing handfuls of guns she had never seen before, likely imported out of country, and returning to the ground level, preparing for more shooting.

“It wasn’t us,” Cyrus replied, as if that negated the fact their recklessness had gotten the agent killed.

“What? You can’t shoot it out with the cops, you have children in here,” Emily seethed, her voice harsh and incredulous.

“I didn’t start this,” Cyrus bit back, looking towards his men as they grabbed boxes on boxes of ammunition, “I’ll take the front, you take the roof,”

And with that they stormed their way back through the tunnels, leaving the three of them to look between each other, knowing this could only end badly. Knowing the only people that could figure out how to get them out of this mess was the BAU, all 1,700 miles away.

–

They’d been in the bunker for fourteen hours when there was finally movement. The shooting seemed to have quietened down, in which Spencer whispered it was around 11pm and it was likely neither party had a clear shot. She’d managed to fall asleep leaning against the wall, Emily’s blazer draped over her legs. She’d regretted wearing cropped pants, despite how the shade of green complimented her eyes nicely, and she’d been shivering by the time she fell asleep, Emily’s hands stroking her hair gently as if she knew she was struggling to relax.

She hadn’t realised she was staring at her little sister, frowning even as she slept, which made part of her want to laugh, until she caught Spencer’s tired eyes looking between them, something knowing and warm in his gaze.

“You know, she’s always scowled in her sleep, ever since she was born,” Emily said, quiet enough it didn’t interrupt the hum of small snores, the odd baby cry that filled the bunker, but loud enough for him to smile at her, “She used to sleep walk terrible too. I’d find her in the kitchen trying to make pancakes with a cheese grater. It’s like that big brain of hers doesn’t know how to shut off,” Emily shook her head with a fatigue, rubbing her eyes.

“Was it weird? Being fourteen years older?” Spencer asked, his own hands shoved into his sleeves to try defend from the draught. Emily thought for a moment, her hand slowing for a second on her sister's hair, before she answered.

“I felt guilty leaving her in that house with my mom when I went to college,” Emily answered, Bugsy unconsciously tucking her face closer into the jacket, “I think part of her kind of hated me for it for a while.” She went quiet, the shame in her voice thick as the silence that encompassed them, “She’s never been very affectionate you know? Before her graduation I don’t think I’d hugged her in twelve years,”

Spencer held himself back from pointing out that she had been just as touchy with him since they’d met, and that maybe it was Emily’s own regret that seemed to shut the both of them down. He wasn’t one to rub salt in the wound, not since he’d gotten this job and learned to watch what he said.

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to give her advice, knowing the whole subject of their slowly repairing relationship was a sore one. He had no siblings of his own, had a mother who loved him despite how much she grappled with her own mind, and he had only known the girl briefly enough to consider her a friend at a push.

“I always thought the two of you were similar,” Emily chose to continue, offering him a small smile. He returned it, his face blushing at the fact that was a huge compliment to him, “Granted, you roll your eyes at me less and don’t act like I’m dumb, but you remind me of her,”

“Thankyou, I wish that were true,” He replied, eyes flicking to her sleeping form, the way her eyebrows were indeed scrunched in a permanent frown. He wondered if she was actually angry, or if she was just thinking hard, perhaps her dreams were full of equations or labs she needed to sort through. Either way, he wanted to know. “She’s much cooler than I’ll ever be,”

Emily snorted, shuffling against the wall to cosy herself, “That’s one way to put it,” She said, smiling over at him as he did the same, his head resting against the wall, Bugsy’s legs stretching out to knock against his feet, and he didn’t mind that she scuffed the bottom of his already dirty trousers. “Get some sleep,”

And so they did.

–

Cyrus had corralled the whole flock into the church, where the shooting had stopped and the bodies had been removed, stating at the break of dawn that there was a hostage negotiator coming in to make sure everyone was safe before they made any deals.

She sat next to Spencer, the three of them stiff from their sleeping arrangements, and her stomach churned with hunger. It had been over 24 hours since they’d gotten here, and besides the small bit of bread and water Cyrus gave everyone for breakfast, she was starving.

“Remind me to never leave the house, ever again,” She grumbled, as everyone waited in the pews for the negotiator to arrive, “My cat is gonna be pissed I’ve not fed him,”

“Since when did you get a cat?” Emily inputted from the other side of Reid, keeping one eye on the door in case any agents start shooting again.

The girl shrugged, “I got lonely, there’s not much to do now I’m not studying anymore,”

Reid watched how she clutched her stomach, feeling his own complaining at the lack of nutrition, “Morgan wasn’t lying when he said you should sign up for the academy. We could always use the help, we wouldn’t have solved that case in Baltimore without you,”

She snickered, nudging his foot with her boot, “You’re being modest, you would have done it just fine,”

He was a little, wasn’t surprised she called his bluff either. “Okay, so probably yes- but it would have taken us a whole lot longer. Mr Chernus likely would have died,”

She shook her head, glancing at Emily who watched her carefully, “That was all you guys. I just translated.”

Emily and Spencer exchanged a glance, leaning back in their uncomfortable seats calmly.

“You’re probably right,” Spencer said, dusting the dirt off his trousers, “Probably couldn’t handle it, high intensity mind games and such,”

She blanched, looking at him as if he’d grown a second head, not knowing him to be so brutally honest, realistic yes, but not bordering on rude.

“And it’s a lot of work,” Emily jumped in, her mouth a straight line, “I don’t know if you’d be dedicated enough,”

Bugsy scoffed, indifferently. “I have a masters degree, I was offered a scholarship to do a PHD, asked to be an assistant professor at Yale, I can work hard, Emily,” She snipped, and perhaps she was particularly just hangry or they had struck a nerve with their doubt, “and I could do it if I wanted to, I’d have the best shot they’d ever seen, guaranteed- mom made me take lessons when you left- trust me I could do it-”

She shut up when she saw their small smile exchanged, as if she’d told them a joke, or moreso they’d had the same identical thought and that alone was hilarious.

Scowling at them, she looked from where Spencer looked almost, almost, guilty at making her the butt of the joke, to where Emily had a ‘told you so’ smirk, and she kissed her teeth at their childishness.

“Are you guys reverse psychology-ing me? Seriously, so original guys,” She snapped, crossing her arms and straightening herself in her seat, ignoring the snigger that passed between them.

“You’re not wrong though,” Emily replied quietly as Cyrus walked past them, his eyes falling to them with a frown. Bugsy kept her head down, heeding Emily’s warning of not provoking anyone, and Spencer eyed the way she leaned closer to him.

If she was going to retaliate, whether agreeing or not, she stopped herself, the doors the church opening and an older gentleman walking through the doors, arms full of supplies she’d figured must have been part of the negotiation. He was patted down by an armed guard, searching for his own weapons do doubt, or a wire perhaps, as he handed the box over to another who took it without a thankyou.

“Rossi,” She heard Reid whisper beside her, and from the look he shot Emily and Spencer she gathered he was from the BAU, just as they’d expected. His eyes fell on her, softening as alot of Emily’s team did when they saw the two of them, as if they were picking her face apart for the tiny ways in which she resembled their Prentiss, or maybe it was the way she curled up in her seat, tired, hungry, on the defence. He just looked sorry for her.

“The children,” Cyrus said with no greeting, the air between them particularly frosty. He gestured towards the three of them, though Rossi had already clocked their tired faces staring at him with worry, “And our guests,”

She saw him trying not to react, guessing they had not let it slip to Cyrus he worked with the two undercover FBI agents, looking away from them as if the sight of their forlorn figures was enough to turn him sick.

Judging by the way Cyrus and he spoke quietly, tensely, Bugsy just hoped they had a plan to get them out of here soon as he soon left with a rigid handshake to the man keeping them hostage.

–

The three of them had been moved to a backroom a few hours later. Her stomach ached, the little sustenance Rossi had brought being distributed to the community before they’d been offered anything, which hadn’t left much. Reid and Emily had tried to get her to take some of their sharing, and despite how her insides cried out for it, she declined, stating they would be more use than she would; that they needed their strength more than her if they were going to get out of here alive.

The two of them hadn’t liked that answer judging by the frowns on their faces, but they sat in their seats with little fuss as they waited for things to quieten down after Cyrus’ staged “mass suicide” that had turned out to be nothign more than a test of loyalty and grape juice.

They had been sat in silence, aside from her foot bouncing on the floor impatiently, as she picked at the threads on her pants, the material uncomfortable on her skin after a day of wearing it. The door slammed open, Cyrus entering the room with nasty scowl. She didn’t know what had changed in the man in a matter of hours as he stormed over to them, two of his men behind him, loaded rifles in their arms.

This was not good.

“Which one of you is it?” He asked almost too calm for his demeanour, his eyes flicking between the three of them, where Emily attempted to brush her hair using her fingers, Reid played with the hem of his cardigan, an she sat beside him, resting against the cold stone wall behind them, her eyes narrowing at his furious expression.

The three of them remained silent, waiting for him to explain more, though clearly it was not the answer he was looking for as he threw his jacket open, revealing a loaded pistol tucked into his jeans. Drawing it into his dominant hand, her body tensed up, her back straightening like a rod as she looked up at him through fear.

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?” He repeated in that same calm tone, and her heart fell through her stomach.

She opened her mouth to say something in retaliation, though the way she saw his hand shaking with fury, she knew it was better to stay quiet in case her voice would be the final straw that made him trigger happy.

“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” Spencer replied softly, and if he was panicking even a fraction amount she was he held it back, though his eyes flicked to Emily.

But it was a tell. The smallest movement alone was a tell he was lying, or perhaps it was the fact he’d answered a question with one of his own, distracting from the attention on them with the unsubs own answers. Maybe his quiet and calm showed how trained he was for a situation like this, showed he had gone up against bad guys before and won.

Whatever it was about him, it had Cyrus cocking the barrel of the gun straight at Spencer’s temple.

“God forgive me for what I must do,” The preacher murmured, his finger moments away from the trigger, when she lurched forward in her seat, hand shooting out to grab his wrist deathly tight.

“It’s me,”

She hadn’t realised she’d said it until the room went quiet. She thought for a moment it had come from Emily, Emily had always been the braver of the two of them, but it wasn’t until Cyrus’ unforgiving, dark gaze fell to her where she froze in her spot, that she understood her mouth had been the one moving.

Emily looked as if she was about to vomit, Spencer looked dumbfounded, but all she could do was stare back at Cyrus as if to will herself not to back down, knowing all three of them could fall victim if she gave them reason to doubt her; he could kill all three of them just to be sure the mystery agent was dealt with.

“It’s me,” She repeated, voice stronger this time, and she felt her chest relax just the tiniest amount as he turned the gun away from Spencer’s head.

He stared back at her for a moment, before the weapon smacked across her face in a sharp whip, her cheekbone crying out in a sting she knew was going to bruise.

He grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck, yanking her into a stand hard enough she yelped, despite not wanting to give him the satisfaction of the torture.

“Watch the other two,” Cyrus barked, dragging her out of the room as she squirmed under his hand, feeling it only tighten into an unforgiving pull.

She barely caught Emily bolting out of her seat to yell at the other men, all but fighting in their heavy grasp to follow wherever it was he was taking her, only for the door to be slammed shut behind them.

It was only then she realised how fucked she truly was.

–

She struggled to breath through the blood clotting in her nose. She didn’t think it was broken, not that she could check where her hands had been tied to the bedpost, tape over her mouth to stop her calling for help, her feet bound. She’d done nothing but give him hell as he’d been laying into her, keeping her cries and groans of pain silent as he’d kicked her in the ribs hard enough to know he’d damaged something at least.

She’d not made it easy for him to tie her down, worried about what they were planning next, she’d managed to headbutt him in the mouth, and the way he clutched at his jaw when he’d left gave her a sick satisfaction, though her temple now hurt more than she’d like to admit. But they’d only covered her mouth after she’d screamed obscenities at them for an hour or so, hoping to attract attention, hoping if the BAU were on their way, Emily and Reid would be able to find her fast before they could dispose of her.

Bugsy didn’t want to go like this. Tied up like cattle, gagged and beaten, the spirit kicked out of her as the dehydration gnawed at her limbs, making her too weak to even try wriggling out of the binds.

She felt herself dropping off to sleep, or maybe it was a concussion, he’d slammed her face into that mirror quite viciously, she wouldn’t be surprised if it had rattled her head around. Fighting with her eyelids to stay open, she jumped in her battered skin as the door unlatched, and she thrashed on the rickety bed to get away from the impending second beating.

But it wasn’t Cyrus. A fawn haired woman entered, her eyes falling on the girl on the bed, where blood trickled down her cheek, pouring from her nose like a thick liquor. Frowning, she was on high alert as the woman approached, a small, damp cloth in her hand.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you honey,” She hushed, approaching the young girl. Bugsy didn’t believe her for one second, her head pulling away from her as far as it could, her eyes wild and distrustful as the woman kneeled down beside the bed. “I’m Kathy,”

Bugsy debated jabbing an elbow in her face then and there, telling her in few words to stay as far away from her as possible, that the moment she was free she didn’t care who she hurt; she was getting out of here even if she had to crawl.

“That woman’s your sister right?” The blonde said, and the words stopped her heart for a moment, giving the woman the chance to run the cloth over the dribble of blood, “Emily,”

“Where is she?” She tried to ask, but the gag made it little more than a muffled cry, the woman’s eyes turning down in sadness. Pity. Bugsy hated every second of it.

“She’s okay, she’s worried about you though,” Kathy said, wiping under her nose, making her wince at the feeling, “Put up a hell of a fight after they took you away,”

She must have rolled her eyes, or perhaps it was just telling on her face that that didn’t surprise her as the older woman wiped over the superficial cut on her forehead she hadn’t realised was deep until the cloth went over it and she yawped like a dog having it’s tail pulled.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Kathy cooed, and she seemed genuinely guilty as she did. She tutted, shaking her head, fighting the urge to smooth the girls hair down the way she did when her own daughter was upset, “Emily said they’ll be coming for us at 3am, Cyrus has a mass suicide planned but they think they can stop him, you just have to hold on a little longer honey,”

“I want to see her,” Bugsy tried to talk again despite her mouth being covered, only for it to come out unintelligible once more. Huffing, she resigned herself to glaring at the ceiling, biting back frustrated tears. Kathy seemed to want to say something else, but thought better of it as the twenty something year old turned away from her to stare out the window, as if she were being dismissed.

Sighing, she rose from the bed and headed for the door, praying the FBI would get them out in time, before Cyrus put his plan into action.

–

Bugsy didn’t start panicking until it hit 2:50. She’d managed to kick the small analogue clock on the beside into working, the red numbers seeming to take a millenia to change over.

Yet it wasn’t until 3am neared, and the hallways remained silent, did she start to wonder if Kathy had been telling the truth at all. What if they had found out Emily and Reid were FBI and not her? What if they’d already been caught?

She really had wanted to see Emily, wanted to scream at the woman, who had meant well, to bring her sister to her or she would make every damn bible basher in this compound regret the day they were born. She felt helpless. She despised feeling helpless.

It was only when she heard shots rattling from outside did the cold fear set in. 2:52. Any minute now.

It was then an even worse thought struck her. What if they didn’t bother to come for her? Reid and Emily were safe downstairs, at least that was how Kathy had made it seem. If they got the women and children, the agents out first, she wondered if they would leave her for last since she wasn’t their top priority.

2:53 stared back at her.

At least Emily would make it. She was more important, had more going for her. She was supposed to be an only child anyway, mom had said it herself. Bugsy was the product of a failing marriage and a shared bottle of 1896 Bourbon that had been a wedding gift they’d never opened.

2:54.

She could have sworn she tore something the way her head snapped to the door as it swung open on its hinges, as if two large men had thrown their weight into it. But it wasn’t two men at all, just one frantic Derek Morgan with an FBI grade assault rifle.

The relief in his eyes was immediate, and he pulled a pocket knife from his boot, rushing over to where she lay, almost in shock, wondering if he was real at all, her heart pounding as she heard shouting in the corridor.

“I’m gonna get you out, kid,” The man promised, slinging his gun over his shoulder as he sliced through the rope on her ankles, her eyes trained on the 2:55 that watched them as if to laugh at them.

She whimpered, cursing behind her gag when she heard footsteps pounding through the hallway, and she was sure they were going to get caught. She thought then it would have been better if they’d forgotten about her, that at least Derek would have been safe, and he could have made sure the children got out safely, could have gotten Spencer and Emily medical.

Derek whirled on the doorway the same as she did as a tall figure all but skidded around the corner, his legs weak as hers felt, too long and not at all built for running. Clumsy almost.

Spencer. She should have known from the way he looked white as a sheet the moment he saw her it was him, but maybe she really did have concussion, as it seemed within moments he was fussing over her face, tearing a little too sharply at the tape over her mouth.

She thinks she groaned, or maybe cursed him out, as he started apologising immediately, his eyes a puppy kind of sad as she stared up at him, Derek handing him the knife to cut her arms free.

He was talking, but she couldn’t make a lot of it out, just that he was really sorry, it was 2:56 now. It was like her brain switched itself back on when she realised she was free, and the two of them were trying to haul her to her feet.

“Come on, princess, we gotta get out of here,” Derek said, as Spencer looped an arm around her waist, helping her limp across the room where her weak limbs did little to hold her upright, her ribs throbbing with every step, “We managed to stop Cyrus from detonating it manually, but the circuits are all still live,”

Morgan took the lead with the rifle, knowing some of Cyrus’ men had stayed to look for them, that they would go down with the building even though he’d already shot their leader the moment they’d breached the front door, because that was how loyal they were. They’d proven so already with the wine.

She kept her groans behind tight lips as they made it down the stairs, knowing Spencer didn’t mean to hold her bruised bones so tight, that he was just worried and her legs were doing the bare minimum to keep them both moving very fast. It wasn’t until they made it within a few feet of the door that they seemed to pick up the pace.

And she saw why.

Jesse, Cyrus’ child bride that had been the reason they’d come here in the first place was holding the detonator, her face tear streaked at the sight of her husband and prophet dead on the floor, the people responsible all but dragging a lame girl through the foyer and to the doors as if they hadn’t killed a handful of her flock tonight.

Bugsy saw the moment Jesse decided she wanted vengeance on them, but then, she guessed Spencer had already acted as he slung one of her arms over his shoulder, yanking her out the front door in a matter of seconds as Morgan pulled up the rear, and the two men shoved her down behind the small wall outside the church steps.

Bugsy expected the bang to be louder as the rubble flew over their heads, the floor shaking with the impact of the bomb detonating, and it was then she realised one of Derek’s large warm hands held her head into his shoulder, protecting her already rattled skull as best as he could. Spencer had done the same, throwing half his body over her back as he covered his ears, the two men tucking into the wall tightly and waiting for the dust to settle.

Spencer started coughing first, though his position over her never faltered, and she heard his chest wheezing, and knew they needed to move away from the thick smog that blew into their faces. Morgan released her ear, tipping her head back to check her over once more.

“Kid! You okay?” He fretted, noticing the way her nose had started bleeding again from all the movement; the way the bruise had already started blotching her cheek from where Cyrus pistol whipped her.

“I didn’t think you’d come for me,” Was all she could say, and Derek thought it was the saddest he’d ever heard her.

Reid was pulling her to her feet then, where he was still hovering over her, despite the fact the blast had already cleared, still sputtering and hocking up a lung, but it didn’t stop her from throwing herself at his middle, burying her face in his dusty sweater, not caring one bit if he jostled her aching ribs.

He was trying to be gentle with her as he squeezed her back, but she knew by the way he pressed his face into her hair he needed it just as badly.

“You saved my life,” He said, his long arms wrapping around her waist, hauling her whole body against his.

She laughed through a cough, their cheeks brushing past one another as she pulled him in tighter, thankful, relieved.

“You saved mine,”

And then she heard Emily. Emily, who sounded frantic and heartbroken as she called for her, her voice breaking as if she was crying, or atleast on the verge of, and as comforting as Spencer’s long arms around her cracked ribs were, she needed to see her sister was okay.

Ripping herself from his embrace immediately, she tore off after the sound, and there she was. Her older sister, who had always seemed immovable, like she wouldn’t so much as budge for a bucking horse, like water couldn’t drown her, or however many unsubs she’d faced could stop her from catching them. Her older sister, who looked like she’d taken a few punches of her own, judging by the blood on her blue blouse, that looked around the crowd of fleeing people with watery eyes and a shaking bottom lip.

“EMILY,” She yelled, her voice a bleat, a lamb calling for its mother, as she sprinted down the steps, whatever strength she had left carrying her to where Emily was rushing towards her, taking the stairs in threes, “EM-”

She crashed into her sister’s chest, and it was only then she started crying.

“I swear I’ll never give you trouble again, I’ll never talk back, I’ll never be a bitch ever again-” It was all a slew of mumbles against her sisters shirt, that was beginning to wet through at the rate the tears were coming, “I thought he was going to shoot you-”

“I was so scared, Bug, oh my god,” Emily murmured into her hair, squeezing the life out of her baby sister that sniffled and sobbed, “You don’t ever, ever do that to me again,”

Bugsy shook her head, clawing at Emily’s back as she pulled her closer, feeling Emily stroking her hair softly to calm her even in the slightest. They stayed like that until she managed to wrangle her sobs into little sniffs, the fire burning her eyes where it burned the rest of the church to ashes.

She stayed with Emily for a month after that.

+4. The one where you leave the altar.

She knew she was turning heads, walking down the street of a drizzly day in Virginia, hair wet and sticking to her face, makeup running down her cheeks, and the sodden, dove white wedding dress clasped in her hands as she paced towards the government building.

Whether the guards recognised her as the Ambassador’s daughter, or whether they really didn’t want to get into it with a bride looking like that on her day, she didn’t know, but they opened the door for her nonetheless, exchanging raised brows as a trail of wet followed her gown over the marble floors.

Heading up the desk, she flashed her driver's licence, which was enough to gain her a visitors pass she didn’t bother putting to use as she headed for the elevator, her ballet pumps squeaking under the body of the dress. Waiting for the doors to start closing when she finally let a few tears slip, burying her face into her cold, drenched palms, undoubtedly making the mess of mascara even worse.

Her heart gave a leap when she heard someone stop the doors, hoping she could get to her sister with little delay, and she quickly wiped her face with whatever was left of her pretty, dobby cloth shawl she had yanked on before she’d ran.

Whatever excuse she was about to give, whatever one liner she was about to drop to clear the awkwardness this agent was about to walk in on was sucked out of her when she saw Spencer staring at her, his briefcase in his hands he’d used to hold the doors, a wide eyed look plastered on his face as soon as he saw her state.

“Bugsy,” It was somewhere between surprise and sadness, jumping into the elevator before the metal could shut again, the button for the sixth floor already lit up in a ring of red, “What are you- I didn’t even know…”

“Spencer!” As seemed to be a common occurrence between them now, she threw two very cold arms over his shoulders, tugging him for a hug he quickly reciprocated, feeling like she needed it in the moment, “It was so awful, I just couldn’t all those people staring at me, and he- I just feel so-”

“Hey slow down,” He soothed, slipping his favourite cardigan off his body to put over her shoulders, ignoring the way he cringed as it quickly got sodden, “Let’s get you to Emily, I’m sure we can fix this,”

She nodded, though he could tell she was still shaken up, the elevator dinging to a stop on the fifth floor where an agent looked ready to step in, his face dropping when he saw the sight.

“Sorry, we’re full,” Spencer said, with little room for discussion, pressing the button to close the doors once more, and taking her by the elbow as she began shivering, “We’re gonna be just fine, you look beautiful,”

She laughed sadly with a roll of her eyes, the tears sticking to her cheeks. She knew she looked no better than a drowned rat, windswept and disgruntled, her dress full of muck from the street.

“Thankyou, Spencer,” She mumbled, the door sliding open to the sixth floor, where Penelope and her everlasting smile greeted her favourite boy genius.

She almost dropped her glitter pen when she saw the woman stood next to him looking like Dorothy dragged through the twister.

“Oh you poor little lamb, what has happened to you honey!” She all but cried, the cute little pom poms in her hair bouncing as she brought Bugsy closer, taking her hands tightly. “Your hands are ice! You’ll catch cold with that wet hair, and your gorgeous dress-”

“Garcia,” Spencer cut her off, though the woman didn’t seem to mind being manhandled into the kind grip, he guessed her state had her letting her guard down, “This is Bugsy, Emily’s little sister.”

Penelope gasped, her ponytails swishing around some more, the gems on her glasses as bright as the light in her eyes as she yanked the younger girl in for a tight hug.

“It is so nice to meet you! Emily talks about you all the time,” She said, pulling away and fumbling through her pockets for her fresh pink handkerchief she always carried around, mopping up the girl's eyeliner.

“She-she does?” Bugsy asked, sniffling, her body trembling as the AC beat down through the water ladened on her body.

“Of course she does, come on, let’s go get you coffee, I have a new machine in my office that makes the best espresso-” Garcia grabbed her hand as if they were kids in the playground, as if she’d known the girl years, which she sort of had. She had, of course, stalked every single one of Emily’s known relatives, even a distant cousin that never left Europe, and that had thrown up the quiet corner of the internet that Bugsy took up.

“I needed to talk to my sister, if that’s okay,” Bugsy braved enough to say, the swishing of her dress on the carpet making her wince, practically hearing the gallon of rain that soaked the expensive fabric.

“Ofcourse! How silly of me, I’ll bring it out right to you, little bug. You just go with Spencer,” Handing him the handkerchief, she set off towards her ‘bat cave’ in search of a hot beverage for the shivering woman, “Spencer, clean her makeup!”

He did as he was told, dabbing the water off her face as he led her to the BAU, where Emily and Morgan sat on their desks, chatting as they finished off lunch, Emily flicking through photos on her phone of baby Henry that JJ had sent over to her that morning from maternity leave.

“He’s just the sweetest little boy, he’s got the biggest blue eyes just like Jayj,” She said through a smile, “You know Will even said-”

“Holy shit-” Morgan cut her off, and she glanced at him, wondering about his use of a curse. Following his eyes over her shoulder, she swivelled in her position to see where Spencer led a very wet, shaken version of her little sister through the doors of the BAU, a snowy ball gown hanging off her, a veil clinging to her hair that had seen much better days.

“Holy shit,” She agreed, immediately darting for the girl that tugged Spencer’s cardigan tighter to her body, “Bugsy,”

“Emily, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t take up too much time- I just couldn’t do it- and I know mom’s always saying ‘Bring home a doctor, bring home a rich man,’ but I just couldn’t no matter how rich his daddy is, he wasn’t even too bad-” It all came out in a slur, not making too much sense, and she didn’t stop until Emily held up her hands, as if easing a wild dog.

“Woah, take it easy, kiddo,” Morgan hushed, as Emily brought a hand over her sister’s cheek, wiping away the last of the mascara, “What happened?”

Bugsy took a deep breath, looking between Emily and Derek, feeling the rain drip down her back.

“So a few weeks ago, Mom made me go to that stupid debutante ball,” She started, rolling her eyes already as Emily winced, knowing Elizabeth loved any excuse to dress her youngest up like a Barbie doll.

“I hated those things,” She confessed, shaking her head, “I thought you’d agreed you didn’t have to go to them anymore,”

“That was while I was in college, she said at least I could focus on my studies,” The girl explained, as Garcia tottered back through the office, a steaming cup of coffee in her beloved Bratz mug. Taking it from the chirpy woman, she took a deep gulp, not caring if it burned her mouth as she wished for the damn chill to go away, “Thankyou- But she made me go to this one on the condition she would pay off some of my college loans, and I was dumb enough to fall for her bribe,”

She huffed, taking another sip, her stomach warming with the hot liquid settling through her throat.

“You know how she is at these things, she knows everyone, and everyone knows her. I had four guys asking for my dance card within minutes of arriving there, it was like trying to walk through a dog pound wearing a meat suit, all the hand holding, trying to touch my waist- one guy even called me Madam Prentiss,” She grimaced, shuddering at the thought of it, “Madam? No one even calls mom that-”

“Focus,” Emily reminded gently, and she seemed to nod to herself, setting back on track.

“Right. And then he was there. Byron Hastings.” Bugsy said, wrapping her hands around the mug some more.

“Oh, isn’t he that super yummy bachelor that just inherited his fathers business?” Garcia jumped in, not noticing how it made her wince, “I hear his dad totally owns a bunch of shares in Facebook and as like just signed a deal with a new company that will change the future of computing-”

“Not now, baby girl,” Morgan said calmly, patting Penelope on her shoulder when she saw the bride’s crestfallen face.

“Right, sorry. Your turn, little bug,” She said, shaking her head and fiddling with her dozen rings.

“Yeah, that’s him.” She replied, running a slightly warmed finger over her eyelash where rain even collected there, “And you know, I wasn’t complaining, he was certainly easy on the eyes, and he smelled nice, like he just smelled rich, but man alive he was so boring,” She sighed, “I like computers as much as the next girl, no offence, but he didn’t once ask me what I was into or, and when I tried to bring up my degree he just patted me on the head and said ‘That’s nice’ like I was some child that had brought him a pretty colouring or something,”

“Ouch,” Emily grimaced, rubbing her arms over the cardigan to warm her up a little more, “And then?”

“And eventually, his dad and my mom cut a deal that we’d make a good pair. He said we could be married within the season, and suddenly everyone seemed up for it, and it was like no matter how hard I tried to dig my heels in, no one would listen, and mom just seemed so pleased with me-” She spluttered, sipping her drink to catch her breath, “I just let it happen and just thought, you know, maybe we could learn to like each other, or we could just be like mom and dad and separate in everything but paper,”

“It’s your life, who is she to tell you how you’re gonna live it,” Emily was outraged, the tip of her nose pink, her dark eyes stormy as her hands fell to her hips, huffing as if it had been her backed into a corner, “I can’t believe she would do this to you,”

“I was fine with it, really. It's not like its the fifteenth century when I’d be forced to consummate- anyway,” Bugsy rubbed her face, “I just got there, and mom put on my veil and told me I’d make a lovely Mrs Hastings, and just the sound of it- I couldn’t-”

“What on earth is going on?” A new voice cut through the BAU, and the group disbanded like kids caught trading answers to the homework. Rossi and Hotch stood by the unit chief’s office, brows furrowed at the wet bride and his team that tended to her as if she were a princess.

“Should we be expecting four wet bridesmaids too?” Rossi asked, the two of them making the steps down to the floor, approaching the guilty faced woman, noting Spencer’s cardigan wrapped over her shoulders.

“Nope, just me,” Her joke fell flat as she met the stony face of Aaron Hotchner, who looked thoroughly unimpressed, “Nice to see you again, Mr Hotchner, sir,”

His gaze slid to Emily, mouth opening to share whatever scathing remark bounced around his mouth, but the younger girl beat him to it, everyone’s eyebrows raising when she all but cut him off.

“This wasn’t on Emily, sir, I just showed up out of the blue, I can go- I’ll go- I just need to figure out where I’m staying since I left my purse at the church- don’t you worry I’ll be out of your hair, Aaro- sir,” Bugsy stammered, plonking the mug onto Emily’s desk, backing away to the doors of the office, clutching her visitor pass tight in her fist.

Maybe it was because she looked so hopeless, or maybe it was the way his team shot him the same look of horror he would be so regimental, or maybe even it was the fact part of her reminded him of Sean, only his brother wouldn’t have had the courtesy to apologise for his mess.

Sighing, he gestured her to come back, “Wait,” He said her name, her government name because the other one didn’t fit right in his mouth, “Reid, get her some clothes out your go bag. Emily, tell your mother she’s safe and will be staying in Quantico until you can figure something out,”

Heaving a sigh of relief, she launched her still sodden form at the chief, wrapping him in a stiff hug, bolder than anyone else on the team had ever dared to be.

“I swear to god, Mr Hotchner, the next letter you're getting will be the best one yet,” She mumbled into his hard chest, and he fought off the way the corners of his lips twitched upwards. Patting her on the back gently, he ignored the way his dress shirt wet through.

–

let me know what you think! mAYBE A FEW MORE PARTS COMING UP ??

Edit: This is a part one of 3 or 4 I have planned, thankyou so much for all the love on this I did not expect the reaction 🥺🥺

SECOND EDIT: part two and three are out now!! Have a look at the top where it says ‘next chpt and it’s there bbys!!

#spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid imagine #Spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #Prentiss #prentiss!Reader #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #mathew grey gubler #Matthew grey gubler x reader

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singswan-springswan · 21 days

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ficlet under the cut

The crate tipped with a sudden lurch and broke open on the ground. Zuko spilled unceremoniously with the motion. Inelegant. Graceless. Normally his movements held much more regality, but he'd been kidnapped and stuffed in a scratchy box and out of the water for some indeterminable length of days, so cutting himself some slack here felt appropriate.

It wasn't much brighter outside the stupid box. His scales were dry, his head was killing him, and the floor held a pleasant cool against his mounting fever. He really needed water soon. Every part of his body felt... scratchy. Discomfort would escalate into pain, and then asphyxiation. He would suffocate if he dried out. Idly, he wondered how long it would take. The humans seemed to know. They hadn't acted worried yet.

"Our latest bounty." The voice looming over Zuko was muffled in weird places. "I thought it might spark an interest. You collect fire fish, isn't that right?"

Zuko bit down a hazy groan and fumbled to prop himself up. The loss of the tile's cool against his cheek was one he mourned, but there would be time for relaxing when he found a way out of this mess. He could barely think straight. The humans—the pirates who'd ransomed him from the girl in blue—were standing guard around him now. He could see their boots. They were facing all the same direction, same way the voice was talking towards, and Zuko turned to observe.

The surrounding space was large, a room, and very dimly lit. This wouldn't normally be an issue, being that he was a mer, but his headache made his eyes lazy and bad at adjusting to the dark. If he squinted, he could see the ripple of light along the walls. Blue. Weird. In the direction of the pirates' attention, something like the outline of a table was visible—as large and imposing as the room itself. A single shadowy figure occupied a seat on the far side. He looked weird with the backlight. Zuko's vision was getting spotty.

He didn't get much chance to scan the rest of the surrounding space, because the pirate captain decided to be a jerk and grab his hair. It'd long since escaped its neat topknot, now bunching and sliding strangely in dry heat. The pain and the change in angle made Zuko rapidly lose sight of the shadow man.

"This one's quite a specimen." The pirate tilted Zuko's head back, baring his throat—maybe as a joke; it was always hard to tell if humans knew the significance of such a display—and lifted him enough to catch the light. So their potential buyer could get a better view.

Zuko would like to rip the pirate's skin off and feed it to him, but he was weak with dehydration, and his previous struggles against the man's crew had left him exhausted. All he managed was a low hiss. If humans could understand mer speech, he’d be cursing them as soundly as possible. Someone was standing on his tail. Not that it made much difference. He doubted he could have swung it if it wasn't pinned.

"I've seen a lot of the fire mer in my day, but this one's real pretty. Don't feel bad turning the offer down. We'll keep 'im if you won't." His crew laughed. Bastards. Zuko could hear the leer in the pirate's voice. It made him dizzy with anger.

Then a low grind echoed softly, and the humans cut their chatter short. Zuko distantly registered the shadow at the table moving. What made that noise? Was it his chair? He stood, rounded the massive table, and drew closer. All Zuko could see was a dark, unfocused blob. Vaguely humanoid.

"Yeah, don't be shy! Come get a closer look!"

The fist in his hair tightened. His scalp burned. The fins all down his back shuttered, and a stinging ache began to form in his gills. He needed water. He needed to get out of here. He shouldn't have wandered so close to the shore, even if that pretty girl in blue seemed so friendly at first glance. She did sell him out to these pirate scum. He should have known way better.

Even standing an arm's length away, the lighting continued to cast shadow on the pirate's potential client. It could be reasoned, then, that Zuko and the humans around him were washed in the room's best luminance. Certainly his scar could be seen clear as day. Maybe his tail was pretty, but there were parts of him imperfect. Maybe the stranger wouldn't want to buy him for that. Maybe Zuko would be stuck with these idiot pirates forever.

A smooth voice came from the stranger. "Release him."

"Sure, sure."

The pressure on Zuko's scalp vanished. He collapsed to the cool tile with no more grace than before, even further disoriented, and with a worse headache. He grit his teeth in frustration. That bastard was still on his tail.

Cool fingers tilted his chin up before he could lift his head on his own again; he hadn't seen the shadow man crouch down. Startled, Zuko yanked back and hissed a second time. He made sure to reveal far more fang and fan far wider with his fins; he just wanted these stupid humans to stop poking and grabbing him however often they pleased. Was that too much to ask? He wasn't an ornament. And he sure as heck had no intention of being a pet.

The stranger's face was close, and shadowy, and out of focus. Zuko's head was killing him. The room spun.

"The shape of the fins—” The stranger’s voice began.

“Really something, isn’t it? Never seen a mer so fancy before.”

There was a beat of silence, then the cool fingers returned to Zuko’s jaw and held him firmly in place. He growled. It didn’t make a difference. He was exhausted and hot and vulnerable, and everyone could tell. There was no way to stop them from doing as they pleased.

“There’s a scar.”

“Wasn’t us, mate. Looks like the beast’s had it for a while. I think it adds to the aesthetic, don’t you agree?”

Zuko glared. It was the sort of one-sided remark he’d only accept from Uncle Iroh, though Azula had made attempts to express similar sentiments in that weird way of hers. He’d always hated the scar. At least the monster who put it there was dead now.

The stranger gave no comment. He reached another hand out and pushed Zuko’s hair aside, away from his eyes. Zuko did his best to meet the unfamiliar gaze as steadily as possible, despite the awkward backlight. He was being stared at. He refused to show how unnerved it made him. His trembling and fever didn’t help much in that regard.

Finally, after a dreadful length of scrutiny, the shadow man spoke. “How much do you want for him?”

Zuko could hear teeth in the pirate’s smile. “How much are you willing to pay?”

“Ten-thousand.”

Zuko didn’t know how humans calculated their currency. He’d assumed mer in general to be expensive, but they called him a stupid something fire fish, and it sounded like exotic. Even so, the pirate captain seemed shocked. He let out a high chuckle.

“Well! Show me the gold and you’ve got yourself a deal!”

The stranger waved an uninterested hand over his shoulder, and another grinding sound reverberated through the floor. Zuko couldn’t see the source of the sound with multiple different shadows clouding his vision. Judging by the pirates’ hushed tithering, their payment had been offered.

“Excellent! Pleasure doing business with you, as always.”

“Zaheera will see you out.”

The group broke formation around Zuko and floated away, whispering excitedly. Though they’d been awful to him, he couldn’t help a flicker of fear at their absence. At least with the pirates, he knew they’d avoid causing permanent damage. He knew they’d want to sell him for the highest price possible. Now, he had no idea what to expect. This stranger could have any number of sinister plans in mind; Zuko had certainly heard the horror stories. All young mer were warned about the brutality of humans, and now he was at the mercy of someone who really wanted him. This was bad.

The stranger let him go, and the world tilted as Zuko crumpled. He was very dizzy. And angry. And he really wanted to sink his fangs into human flesh.

But when he turned (against his better judgment) to snap at his new captor, a firm hand was already pushing down the back of his neck. The same way one might handle an unruly pup. Zuko was too tired to be insulted by the gesture. He wasn’t a pup anymore, but a move like that with the human’s advantage was enough to subdue even a full-grown mer.

“Watch out with that one!” The pirate’s faint voice called back. “Quite a monster at full strength. He killed two of my men when we—”

“Get out.”

The heavy thud of the door confirmed their absence, though the human didn’t seem to pay any attention to it. He ducked another snap of Zuko’s teeth, and ignored his crackly snarl, and slid his arms beneath scratchy scales. The world tilted again. Zuko would consider puking if he wasn’t so close to blacking out. The human was carrying him. Impressive. Zuko was heavy outside the water. His fins trailed the floor as they moved, but he was very much in the air, solidly in the man’s grip. Almost cradled, even if he was too big for the pup-hold to have effect a second time. The use of such familiar techniques should have rung a bell in his mind. Zuko’s headache and exhaustion wouldn’t let him dwell on it.

After a dizzying stretch, something wonderful happened. Zuko heard water. The noise was still muffled, and it faltered clarity with every stray tilt of his head, but Zuko knew what water sounded like. He’d been fantasizing about it for the past few days.

There was a splash, and with distant elation, he felt his fins trail. He wasn’t lucid enough to hold back the happy trill.

“I know.” The man huffed, and it rumbled through his chest. “I know—those bastards.”

The water rushed up around him, deliciously cool, salty, clean. It took Zuko up to his gills to realize he’d been lowered into a pool of some kind. It was shallow, but not cramped. He drew a deep breath. That felt very nice. The hands were gone.

He didn’t bother confirming he was alone before passing out soundly.

<~><><~>

Zuko was alone when he came to, and his headache had finally retreated to the realm of faint discomfort. Incredible what a good long sleep in water could do for one’s health. The pirates hadn’t put him in a tank. They were mad about what a fuss he caused the first time they brought him aboard, and they’d rightly concluded he’d be easier to handle if he was dehydrated and exhausted and dizzy. They’d doused him with lukewarm buckets every few hours, just to keep him from dying. Zuko was relieved to be back in water now. Even if trepidation about the uncertainty of his new circumstances wouldn’t let him relax.

The pool he’d been placed in was shallow; he couldn’t move without some part of his tail skimming the surface. It was still comfortable in spite of that. The edges spanned a decent length, so he could turn with ease, and the basin interior was cut from smooth, white stone. His fins shone stark against it. The pool itself seemed to be laid into the ground, flush.

Zuko scanned his surroundings while he waited for something to happen. He still seemed to be indoors. The walls here weren’t as high as the one from before—from the sale pitch—and most of them were made of a clear material. It shone with sunlight from outside. The rest of the space was occupied by greenery. The taller ones reaching the ceiling had been planted in beds in the ground, surrounded at the base with bushy, leafy shrubs, and brilliant flowers, and crawling vines. The faint sound of water also trickled through the maze, but Zuko couldn’t see the source of it from where he was. It was peaceful. Uncle would love this place.

But Zuko hadn’t forgotten how he ended up here, and he had no illusions about being treated fairly, even if he’d been left undisturbed in such a pleasant area. He had to keep his guard up. He was being held against his will. He was trapped on land with no way to escape or get home. He didn’t have much experience with humans, but so far they’d only beaten him, used him, or treated him like a pretty ornamental object, and he had no reason to believe this behavior would change soon. He had to be prepared for the worst.

In truth, he really wanted to murder someone. The urge had become so intense during his captivity with the pirates, and he hadn’t had a real outlet, being close to dying of dehydration. Now that he was rested, his jaw nearly ached to bite through bone.

He spent the time waiting for an opportunity by pacing around the pool. The space didn’t allow for much more than tight circles. Still, it was better than sitting around stewing in all his problems.

Mother was probably worried by now. Him being an adult with a life of his own didn’t stop her from worrying that he wasn’t home every day. Azula didn’t feel the same. Azula would kill for him though; she’d done it before.

Eventually, after what seemed like an hour of thinking to himself and going crazy for it, the faintest vibrations thrummed through the water, and Zuko froze. Footsteps. Someone was approaching.

He lifted his head above the surface. The sound drew closer, brushing through the plants with a practiced gait. Zuko coiled his body. There was deliberation in the person’s movement. They knew he was here. They were coming to see him. The likelihood that he’d be attacking an innocent servant or something alike was low, and that brought him a hint of reassurance.

When the human came into view, bathed in green filtered sunlight, stepping out to the pool’s edge, Zuko took an entire second to appraise the figure. Tall. Male. Dark hair, luxurious silk robes in green and pale yellow. When he spoke, it was the same smooth voice from the shadowy stranger that paid for him.

“Hello.”

Zuko didn’t wait any longer. He launched himself at the human with a vicious snarl. His vision was red. His heart was pounding. How dare they treat him with such contempt? He wasn’t some prized bounty. He wasn’t an ornament for some rich knave’s garden. He wouldn’t take this insult and abuse lying down, and if these humans continued to assume so, they were in for a shock.

To some degree of satisfaction, the man did seem shocked to be bowled over. The air left his lungs in a massive wheeze, and his eyes went very wide. He was also—however—quick. He reflexively shoved Zuko’s head away when Zuko tried to bite, and he managed to lurch free enough to dodge an elbow to the face.

“Wait!” The man yelped.

But Zuko had a size advantage, and the man was on his back, and Zuko really wanted him dead. He slammed his shoulders into the grass, pinned his legs with his tail, made another attempt to remove the throat with his teeth. This time, the man brought his arm up in a hasty block. Zuko was too busy biting down to be upset he’d missed his target. Blood and the creak of bone filled his mouth.

There was a shout of pain. “Wait wait—Zuko, stop!”

The words pierced his hazy red anger like ice through fresh snow. Zuko froze. Even being slightly feral at the taste of blood and festered indignation, he rapidly came to his senses and dropped the arm. His mind spun.

How did this man know his name? The pirates didn’t know. The pretty girl in blue didn’t know. And he wouldn’t be able to tell them if he wanted to (which he very much had not). It wasn’t a lucky guess. No one shared his name that he’d ever met. So why—how could a random human—

“Get off!” The human fumbled to shove Zuko’s face away. His sleeve was ruined, and rapidly turning red.

Zuko slowly obliged. The man didn’t seem angry. He only seemed annoyed, even as he bled profusely from an arm that might be broken. There was something unnervingly familiar about the twist of his scowl. He shuffled sideways and sat up.

“Spirits, kid, you’ve got a strong jaw.”

“I’m not—” Zuko cut himself off before he could complete the retort. The human wouldn’t understand him. The human knew he wasn’t a kid. Zuko was very obviously a full grown mer.

“You could have let me explain myself before trying to kill me.” Why did his scowl look so familiar? The man untied a sash of his fancy outfit and wrapped his arm with clinical efficiency. Then he looked up to meet Zuko’s eye, and his scowl faltered. “Are you okay?”

What.

Zuko stared. Was he seriously… asking if Zuko was okay? There was blood in the grass and in his robes and he might have a concussion and his ribs might be bruised and Zuko would at worst have a sore jaw. He shifted back warily. In his experience, crazy men often did cruel things.

When he made no move to respond, the man sighed roughly and looked away. “Guess I should have waited on that tea. Zaheera will be by with some shortly.”

“What?”

What on earth was he talking about? Tea? Of all things? How did he know Zuko’s name and why was he so relaxed about the bite on his arm and why did the slope of his nose look so familiar and why was he talking about tea in the blood and the grass?

“You were always more civil with it around.”

Okay, now Zuko was thoroughly weirded out. He wished he had an exit. An escape route. He was stuck on land in an unfamiliar house and the closest thing he had to sanctuary was a fake pool of water barely deep enough to sleep in. This was freaking him out just the slightest.

“You’re nuts.” He said. Just to say it. The man wouldn’t understand the words or the insult in them, but Zuko was sick of just sitting around not saying anything, waiting for stupid humans to come to the right conclusions.

For his effort, he was rewarded with the faintest thaw of the man’s grumpy expression. It looked amused somehow. “And why is that?” He asked.

What.

A trace of alarm made Zuko flinch. “...Because you’re… talking to me.” He probed. Just to see. Humans weren’t supposed to understand.

“Why would that make me crazy? You’re real, aren’t you?” He glanced at his sleeve, now mostly red. “I’m pretty sure you are.”

Zuko blanched. He considered backing away, back into the pool. The safety it offered was purely psychological, but it would be something at least. It’d be better than lying vulnerable on the ground next to a crazy person. His fins twitched.

“What—but—you understand me?”

“Of course.”

“But humans aren’t supposed to understand.” From what he’d heard, humans interpreted mer speech as primitive and animalistic: nothing more than a series of harsh vocalizations strung together. Zuko had demanded an explanation for the phenomenon when he was younger. After all, mer understood human speech just fine. No one was able to give him a satisfactory answer.

“Well, I’m not human.” The human said. “Technically.”

“Then what are you?” Possibly a witch? Zuko had heard of their strange abilities. Or maybe he was a spirit. In which case Zuko was screwed. He probably couldn’t get away with attempted murder on a spirit; he’d totally be cursed or something. It could also be a shapeshifter of sorts, from the myths.

But the man quickly dispelled any outlandish theories. For the first time that Zuko had seen, a flicker of hurt crossed his features. It made him look older than he likely was. Haunted.

“Wow Zuzu, you don’t remember your favorite cousin?”

No.

No, he definitely didn’t mean that. Zuko didn’t have any cousins. Not for eleven years. And there’d only been—one. Just one. Now there weren’t any.

But looking closer, Zuko could see why the scowl looked so familiar. He saw the same face in the mirror. And this man wasn’t human, clearly, even if he had legs in place of a red streaming tail. In place of the gold ribbon fins their family shared—that he must have recognized when he first saw Zuko.

He knew Zuko’s name. Zuzu. Azula tried to call him that—maybe out of nostalgia—but it belonged to them both, and Zuko hated to hear her say it because there was only one person who tried to bring them together like that, and hearing her say it reminded him of… of… a dead man.

Except he couldn’t be dead. He was right here. His blood tasted very real.

“Lu Ten?”

He looked so much like his father when he smiled. “Yeah.”

Zuko gaped. That felt like the only appropriate thing to do. Maybe the dehydration actually got to him, and this whole series of events was an elaborate hallucination. Maybe Azula spiked his tea with a psychedelic for her weird sense of humor, and he was hallucinating. It was too strange. This didn’t make any sense. Zuko’s cousin was dead, and if he wasn’t, wouldn’t Uncle know? Would Uncle have cried so hard so many private times if this was real? It felt so real.

“How did you get that scar?”

“How are you not dead?” Zuko’s head was spinning, though thankfully not from dehydration. He wasn’t sure if this was worse, actually. “Uncle thinks you’re dead.”

The comment earned him a flinch. “There’s actually a good explanation for that.”

“Which is?”

“I’m cursed.” Lu Ten squinted into the middle distance, looking uncomfortably close to being emotional. “To live as a human. And I can’t… go near the sea. I tried. It almost turned me into sea foam.”

Zuko dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

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ms-fade · 9 months

Text

So imagine…

Yan!Adult!Bakusquad x Fem!Reader 18+ Drabble

I pictured a certain type of reader for this but nothing is said. But the reader is shy, slightly innocent and a big sub. Warnings: Sl*t calling, name calling, slight spanking, them being manipulating, also thought of a chubby/plus-size reader but not mentioned.

Being the squads darling and them still trying to control themselves around you so that you can be comfortable. Like holding themselves back from kissing you and pulling you around, or fucking your pretty cunt each time they see you. It’s so hard for them to hold back since they love you so much. When you sit on there lap or hug them, maybe even cuddle up against them at sleepovers. The squad has taken control of your life slowly and you start to think you need them to even breathe. They buy you clothes so you wear it for them, they spoil you to the ends of the world. Slowly you start to relay on them more and more which they felt so happy for.

So when they opened your appointment with a spare key they couldn’t find you, they never told you they were coming over. You just got out of the shower, water rolling down your body and the heat of the room suffocating you almost. But you dropped your panties and had to reach down to pick them up. The door opened just when you bent down to pick it up. Mina blushes and froze when she saw your pussy in full view and your ass stuck out. Her dreams fail in comparison to the real thing. “Naughty girl, waiting till I open the door.” You jumped out of your skin and quickly covered yourself back up with your towel that was to short.

“Mina!” You screamed and she inches closer while her eyes clouded over, and her tongue tracing her lips. “Don’t be embarrassed, baby~” she grips ahold of your hips and it causes you to squeak. “I’ve been dreaming of that pretty pussy.” Her lips smashed against yours and you didn’t have time to protest as she kept kissing you. Your body heated up and moaned against her lips. The boys came to the door and watched amused at the sight of you almost bare and being kissed by Mina. Their cocks harden at the sweet sight. “Thought we’d do that together.” You opened your eyes and saw their eyes all on you and you got embarrassed.

“She started it,” she smirked and reached up the towel from behind and smacked your ass. “Showed me that pretty pussy, she was begging.” You shook your head in protest. “D-didn’t know you were here.” Kirishima came over and titled his head, his eyes matching the dark spark in all of their eyes. “But you do want us to see you, hmm?” He asked and you couldn’t get your voice to work. They watched you shake and get so flustered that you looked away with a pout in your pretty lips. Soon his hand come to your cheeks and squished them together and yanked you closer, they could tell he wasn’t being light with his grip.

“Such a little slut, showing only Mina. We all give you everything and you want to keep it to yourself?” You look up at him with wide and teary eyes. “Or do you want to be a good girl?” It sounded so nice when he spoke, the nickname rolling off his tongue that it light a fire within you. You nodded and he let you go, you look at all them shyly. Taking a deep breath you drop your towel and bend down to show the boys exactly what Mina saw. You hear them growling and groan at the sight. “Pretty girl.” Mina patted your head and pulled you back up.

“I did good?” Their hearts melted at the submissive tone in your voice. Mina smiles and cupped your cheek, “Did so good.” You smile and your head went light. Footsteps came across the tile and stopped behind you, big hands landed on your hips and yanked you back. “I don’t think I can kept myself from ruining you,” the voice you could tell was from Bakugo. His hands trailed up your waist and to your chest, then over your breasts to give the nipples a twist making you whine. “Want to be our little slut?”

His cock pressed hard against your bare ass and you almost moaned at the feeling while thinking of it in you. “Don’t hog her bakugo.” Denik groans and comes in front of you with a smile, “Look at you, pretty girl.” His fingers went to your thighs and you instantly stiffened up. “Come on, speak up.” You licked your lips and blinked your eyes up at him. “Y-Yes. I wanna be yours- All of yours.” Bakugo chuckled while he kissed your neck and tugged on your nipples which causes you pain but pleasure.

“That’s it, give yourself to us.” Another pair of hands reached for your body and the boys didn’t fuss over it. “Such a dirty girl, but only for us.” Sero looked down at you and his arms held you close to him, your nipples on his chest. He laughed at your expression of full bliss and then picked you up to carry you to the bedroom. They all laughed as your squeal with your ass and pussy just handing over his shoulder squirming.

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barefoothighlander · 10 months

Text

septem peccata mortalia - lust

simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), sex pollen, cnc, unprotected pinv, overstimulation, multiple orgasm, creampie, biting, mention of blood, bit of anal fingering, praise, dacryphilia

masterlist

“Mantis, I don’t have eyes on that field”

Ghost's voice warns you through the device in your ear, your mind flipping between options, you’re target had run straight ahead, you could see him weaving around the tall grass, navigating holes in the dirt as you moved closer.

“He’s in my sights Ghost”

“Do not engage without backup”

You can hear the wind passing through his mic, he’s chasing behind you but you can’t tell how far, there’s already too much distance between you and the target.

“Negative, I’m going after him”

The plants graze against your skin as you move through them, brushing against your legs as you leave a trail of footprints in the mud. You can hear Ghost's voice in your ear yelling at you, but the blood pumping in your veins is too loud, carrying you closer to the man.

It catches you by surprise, the lack of air flowing to your lungs, you’ve trained for situations worse than this, you should be able to run less than a few miles before even feeling the slightest bit tired, yet your skin was dripping with sweat, your head on fire as your legs grow heavier.

“Ghost, somethings wrong”

“Fall back Mantis”

“I can’t, he’s right there”

You huff your breaths, moving your legs as fast as they’ll go as you try to catch up to the target until all of a sudden your skin feels like it’s on fire, every hair on your body standing on end like someone lit a match to your flesh.

“Mantis, where are you”

“Field, red flowers” It’s all you can manage through strangled gasps for air, your hand clutching your chest in an attempt to soothe the ache.

You give up, your body drained of its energy as you watch the target move further away, the anger of defeat settling into your body as you collapse to the ground, your knees digging into the mud as your body sinks lower.

You can hear him in your ear, his voice echoing as he draws closer to you, there’s panic behind his voice, a real worry about you.

“Mantis, do you copy, are you alright?”

“Hurts”

His body sinks beside yours, nervous hands ghosting over your form as his eyes scan your body.

“Where, did he hit you”

“No”

“What happened?” His eyes dart from your head to your feet, noting the way your chest heaves with every breath. “There’s no blood, what’s wrong”

“Hurts so much”

You squeeze your eyes shut, shifting your hips, trying to do anything to calm the ache in your muscles as your skin feels like it’s being burned.

“Okay, okay c’mon”

His arms scoop under your form, lifting you and keeping you pressed against him, his scent flooding your senses as you rest your cheek to his chest, your body moving with every step he takes.

He moves from the field, searching the terrain as his eyes land on a circle of large trees, placing you down to rest against the trunk of one.

“We need evac, somethings wrong with Mantis”

“Ghost, please, it hurts”

“What hurts, tell me so I can help”

You can’t find the words to describe the sparks in your lower stomach, your face flush as you come to terms with having to beg your Lieutenant to fuck you.

“Need you Ghost”

“Need me to what? Stay focused Sargent”

Your mouth dries as you try to form the words, heavy eyes gazing at his, the dark pupils staring back at you behind the mask.

“Need you, to fuck me”

It was like every synapse in his brain fired at once, combining confusion and desire, the words he’d longed to hear for so long escaping your lips but under the worst circumstances possible.

His hands plant on the sides of your head, tilting it and checking your pupils, he was sure you must’ve sustained some sort of head injury, your eyes blown out and your skin searing to the touch.

“Ghost, Simon, please”

“Is that what hurts?”

You nod weakly, adjusting your body for some kind of friction, his knee bend between your legs as he holds you still. Arching your hips your grind your core against his clothed thigh, nerves shooting up your spine at the contact, weak moans falling from your lips.

If he thought you were playing some kind of joke before, he was sure you were serious, watching you grind against his leg, your chest rising as your head falls back against the tree. He can feel the warmth from your core through your clothes, radiating against his thigh, feeling his pants grow tighter with each second.

“Does that feel good?”

His brain flips a switch, too consumed with the sight of you using him to get yourself off to be concerned with anything else, he’s dreamed about your noises, the way your face would scrunch as you fell apart under his touch, but now you were using him for your pleasure, he wanted to help.

“Keep doing that, harder”

You press your down harder against his thigh, the seam of your pants rubbing against your swollen clit as he watches you. He rocks his leg slightly, following your rhythm as your arousal seeps through your pants, leaving a wet spot between your thighs, making his cock twitch.

“Just like that, keep going love”

He presses his leg firm against your core, applying the right amount of pressure as you chase your high, hips circling as your chest blossoms, muscles tightening as your orgasm takes over your body.

He helps you ride your high out, moving his knee back and forth to allow you to come down slowly, his cock now painfully hard under his pants as you slump back.

“Feel better?”

“Need more, please”

His hands make their way under you, shifting your body to lay flat on the ground as he moves to sit between your legs, large hands working quickly to undo your pants, wasting no time in dipping below your underwear and gliding his digits through your folds.

He lets out a groan as his fingers collect your slick, smearing it around your cunt as you whimper, he grabs your legs, pulling them to his chest and takes off your pants, leaning over to bunch them under your head, providing some sort of protection from the elements as he pushes two fingers into you, feeling the way your pussy clamps down on him.

He pumps two digits into you, gliding them easily along your walls as his thumb rubs circles over your sensitive bud.

“That feel good? My fingers fucking you?”

You respond with a moan, hands reaching for his and moving them under your shirt, urging him to touch you. He rolls your nipple between his fingers, pinching the bud eliciting a yelp from you as your hips rock in time with his movements, your skin drenched in sweat as he works you toward your second high.

“Cum for me love, soak my hand”

Your mouth falls open, drunken moans escaping as his fingers knead your breasts,

“So beautiful, c’mon want to feel you cum”

His words send you over the edge, your pussy squeezing his fingers as your orgasm tears through your body, back arching from the ground, pressing your body further onto his fingers as you cum.

“That’s it, such a good girl”

He pulls his fingers from you, leaving an empty feeling in your chest,

“Better?”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you shake your head, “More Ghost, please, need more”

“Alright love, I’ll give you what you need”

He watches drops of tears stream down tour cheeks, salty trails left over your flushed skin, he’d never seen someone so worked up he almost pitied you.

He could lie and say he was simply doing it for your benefit, to help you with your situation but he knew he couldn’t control himself, every dream that had him waking in a sweat for the past few months, the reminder of how the tips of his ears would turn pink when you’d lean over a desk or bend down to grab something, he’d never felt desire for someone like this, like he’d be at your beck and call every hour of the day, willing to do whatever you wanted as long as it meant he could feel you.

Every fibre of his being burned for you, almost as brightly as yours did at that moment, he had so many thoughts about what he’d do when he finally got you naked, but this, right now, was about you.

You bite your lower lip as he rigs his pants lower, the tip of his cock red and dripping as it springs free, a slight sense of panic as your eyes take in the size of him but the way your core aches for him drowns out any sense of doubt.

He drags his tip through your folds, stifling a groan as your slick coats him, his hand pressed firmly to your waist as you lock your legs around him.

“Don’t tease” You huff

“M’not gonna last long”

You reach up, grabbing the top of his tactical vest as you pull his face to yours, soft eyes and wet cheeks inches from his face, he wants to stay like this forever, his thumb tuning gently over the tears on your skin, collecting them before he places the digit on your lower lip.

You open your mouth, allowing him to push his thumb in, swirling your tongue around the digit, the salt on his skin mixing with your saliva.

His thumb holds your jaw open as he pushes his cock in, stretching you around his length as moans erupt from your throat, your fingers grip his vest holding him near you, letting his scent and sounds drown you as his cock stuffs you full.

He drags his length along your walls, allowing you a moment to adjust before you tug him to face you.

“Need it hard, please”

Without missing a beat he plunges his full length into you, his tip jamming into your cervix with every thrust as you arch into him, your heels digging into his back, driving him into you.

“Thought about this for so long, so goddamn perfect”

You tilt your chin to the sky, your body jolting with every thrust as he leans down, fingers pulling his mask to reveal his lips as they connect with your collar bone, neck, chest, anywhere he could reach he was trailing kisses.

“Touch yourself love”

You do as he says, snaking a hand between your bodies to trace over your clit, eyes squeezing shut at the stimulation as they well up.

“Just like that, doing so well”

Weak digits work your bud, lazy circles out of time with his thrusts, your band in your stomach slowly stretching but it’s not enough.

“More Ghost, need more”

He stops his movements for a minute, a single digit moving to part your lips, pushing in and exploring your mouth as you whimper around it.

He pulls his finger out with a pop, his cock still inside you as his other hand grabs your leg, flipping your body and tugging you up to your knees.

He teases the wet finger around your other hole, his cock twitching inside you as you arch your back for him, pushing your hips back to allow him access.

Slowly he pushes in, thrusting his length slightly as he reaches the first knuckle, listening to your noises.

“This what you need pretty girl both holes filled?”

“Yes, please, fuck me”

He pushes the finger deeper, watching your hole swallow the digit as he pumps his cock into you, slowly he pulls his finger, pushing it back in, allowing you to adjust before moving in time with his thrusts.

You’re stuffed to the brim with his cock while his finger works you open, your slick dripping from your core to coat your legs as his hips collide with your ass, using the last bit of your strength to steady yourself in the dirt.

“Want you to cum in me, please, need to feel you”

His balls tighten at the thought,

“Fuck, cum for me love, one more, squeeze my cock with your little pussy”

Your body melts into putty, every inch of skin slick with sweat as you turn your head to face him, watery eyes staring as he locks eyes with you, his lips are still visible, a piece of him you’d never seen before.

In a burst of strength you pull off him, turning your body and shoving him back as you climb onto his lap, weak hands on his shoulders as you sink down on his cock, leaning in to connect your lips. You bare your teeth into his lower lip, stifling the moan from your throat as his hands grip your waist, tugging you up and down his cock as he digs his heels into the dirt, thrusting his hips to meet yours, his cock slamming into you with brutal force.

You taste metal in your mouth, pulling back a drip of blood falls from his lips, mixing with the saliva that strings you two together, everything is too much, his hands holding you against him as he fucks you from below, his scent drowning your senses as his taste lingers on your tongue, it takes over your body.

You cum with a sob, your arms clinging to him as your body becomes putty, with one arm he tugs you against him, holding you down on his cock as his hips twitch, free hand grabbing your jaw to face him, his eyes softening as they glance as your wrecked form, puffy skin stained with your cries.

You watch his jaw tense as his grip tightens, his cock buried in you as his cum floods your walls, filling you with his seed while he stares into your eyes.

You fall against him, your head nestled into his shoulder as your nerves finally calm, your limbs numb on his form as he holds you, small kisses placed to your sticky skin.

“You’re alright love, did so well”

Your tears soak the shoulder on his uniform, leaving a patch of dark fabric as he helps you up, holding you to keep you steady, he helps you to tug on your pants, letting them fall loosely on your hips to avoid any contact with your pussy.

He scoops your body up before you have the chance to stumble, holding you to his chest as he moves, keeping his eyes on you instead of the terrain, more concerned with your well-being than anything else.

“It’ll be alright, I’ll get you home”

The time spent in the helicopter is a blur, the noises all meshing into one high pitched ring that didn’t subside until you fell asleep against his chest, your mind and body weak from the mission. You had slept for hours, your nervous system attempting to fight off whatever sort of chemical had entered it, your vision still a slight blur as you woke, turning your head to your surroundings, the room you were in had different lighting than the hospital wing at base, the bed your body lay in much comfort than the cots they issued.

There was no mechanical beeping, no strong scent of cleaning solution, instead it smells like him, you turn your gaze, he’s there, sitting in the corner, watching you.

“You’re awake”

You grumble an incoherent response, attempting to sit up as he rushes to your side, his hand flat on your back as he helps you, he reaches for the glass beside you, bringing it to your lips to help you drink, urging you to finish it before moving it away.

“What happened?”

“Some sort of chemical entered your system, they can’t tell what”

“S’that why-?”

“I think so, yeah”

You nod weakly, Ghosts shoulders slump slightly at your question,

“No hospital?”

“They kept you for a few hours but I didn’t want them poking around”

“So we’re now where?”

“My flat, I figured you could rest here”

“Oh”

“I can take you home if you like”

You shake your head, “Here’s fine”

“Right, I’ll make you some tea then”

He stands from the bed, your eyes following his movements,

“Simon”

“Yes love?”

“It wasn’t just the chemical”

You see his eyes crease under his balaclava, confirmation that you felt the same way he did, kneeling beside you his thumb traces over your cheek, now cool and relaxed rather than burning to the touch.

He lifts his mask from his chin, leaning forward to connect your lips, your hand moving to cover his as he grabs it, locking his fingers between yours.

He pulls back from the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours as he huffs a breath,

“Rest love, I’ll take care of you”

#cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod mw x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost x reader #mw2022 #simon riley fluff #simon riley x you #ghost smut #simon riley smut

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assumptionprime · 8 days

Text

I need to rant about the Fallout show

Because this is the person I am. Full spoilers, so I’m putting it behind a Keep Reading:

I’m a huge sucker for Fallout (yes even 3&4). And I went into the Fallout show with some… trepidation. Amazon has been a mixed bag on adaptations, we could have been blessed with a Good Omens, or cursed by a Rings of Power. But early buzz and reviews seemed positive, so I slammed the whole thing in one night with my spouse (we were staying at my in-laws house and they have Prime. Time was a factor.)

And y’know? I was really enjoying it! The characters were fun, the plot was engaging enough, and the costumes and visual design were extremely on point. There were some minor lore quibbles to be had: Ghouls needing some kind of medicine to not go feral. Really, more Enclave holdouts? Timeline and date whoopsies. Wait are they in California? Where the hell is the NCR?

I made a face at Shady Sands being bombed and the NCR collapsing. But I wasn’t completely out of the story. Based on what I had seen so far, I thought it was building to a reveal that the Brotherhood had done it. That the more zealous turn they took in Fallout 4, which has clearly carried to how they are portrayed in the show, lead them to bombing the NCR. War never changes, as they say. Maximus even says when asked what happened to Shady Sands: “The same thing that always happens.” Yeah, it leans into Bethesda’s weird desire to keep the Fallout world in a state of perpetual wastelands full of raiders and no civilization, but it wasn’t so terrible that I couldn’t still enjoy the show.

But then.

BUT THEN.

Episode 8, and the reveal of Vault-Tec apparently being the ones who dropped the first bomb in the Great War.

I was surprised to hear that some fans have apparently been debating over who fired first? Some even asked Tim Cain about it?

That’s really odd to me because, in the games, there is already a pretty definitive answer to which side sparked the Great War:

Who fucking cares?

The world ended. What does it matter who shot first?

There is no China, no United States, no communists or capitalists left to fight about it.

It's a powerful little bit of lore.

For all the posturing, all the promises from each nation that their way is the true way, all the nationalism, the militarism, and blind loyalty to flags over humanity, they both lost. Everyone lost. All that remains of the ideologies and nations that were so important to the people of 2077 is faint echoes over vast expanses of radioactive ash.

Who started the end?

No one knows. No one cares.

It only matters that their conflict was so bitter, so all-consuming, that one of them dropped their bombs, and the other dropped theirs in return.

The truest legacy of the old world is the devastation left by their final, most horrific war.

Can we do better?

Then the show says "Nah, Vault-Tec did it. It's not a commentary on human nature and the futility of self-destructive conflict, it was actually these guys, these mustache twirling villains huddled in a darkened room literally plotting to end the whole world so they can rule what's left."

And I can see the attempt to make this a critique of capitalism. I actually paused the show to praise a bit of writing when Coop is talking with Charlie before the war, when Charlie tells him that the “cattle ranchers are in charge” to illustrate how capitalism and corporations hold too much sway over the government, it felt very in line with how in New Vegas one of the recurring critiques of the NCR is that all the real power is in the hands of the “brahmin barons.” Nice parallel, spot on!

But “we’ll set off total thermonuclear war so we can rule the ashes and have a True Monopoly” isn’t capitalism. It’s just dumb “we’re the baddies” writing.

And then Shady Sands was also Vault-Tec?! Forget any meaning in the NCR falling to the same corruption and/or factional fighting that consumed the old world, they were literally just bombed by the evil shadow conspiracy that apparently also killed the old world. Hank gives this speech about factions fighting and the futility of it all while we see the Brotherhood fighting Moldaver’s NCR remnant, and like, no! You can’t say that when you’ve made it so neither the old world or the NCR fell to war with another faction! It was you! You and your band of cryogenic supervillains!

I don't care that they changed it. Timelines and dates and little retcons don’t bother me all that much. I care that they changed it to something so much worse.

#fallout #fallout tv show #fallout spoilers #nerdy rant about shit that doesn't actually matter but has been stewing in my head for a week now

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sixosix · 5 months

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YOU GOTTA LEAVE BEFORE YOU GET LEFT | LYNEY

warnings profanity, angsty fighting (violence but it’s not descriptive), 3.7k words!

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The House of the Hearth is quiet around this hour, save for the soft snores coming from the rooms, or the clink-clink-clink of your polearm when hitting your arms. Lynette has already crashed somewhere, but Lyney can’t sleep a wink. At least, if you asked him what he’s doing in the training room alone watching you, that’s what he would say.

Thankfully, you haven’t asked; didn’t even acknowledge when he slipped into the room.

Lyney hasn’t been able to stop thinking about a few nights ago when he saw a glimpse of something real from you. Your smile and his newfound determination to defeat you to see more of it.

Sweat rolls off your temple, your breath visible in a silhouette of a misty cloud. You strike the air as if it’s insulted you greatly. With one final swing, you pause, turning to look at him.

Lyney can tell something is wrong. Your eyes are heavier; your movements are more sluggish than usual. This is the first time he’s seen you in a few days, with him going out for missions and coming back to hear that you’ve been cooped up in the training room day and night, frustration rolling off of you in waves.

Lyney smiles instead. “Would you like to spar?”

Your gaze is intense. Lyney could see a flame sparking in them when he asked you. But it fades when you ask, “Lyney, ‘Father’ has just returned yesterday, right? Has she talked to you at all?”

Lyney blinks. “Oh, um. No, I haven't really seen ‘Father’.”

Your shoulders loosen. “Alright.”

Then, you stand before him—all Lyney needs as an answer.

He’s gotten better with a bow, his only form of weapon during missions when they get a little more dangerous than prying information. But he only gets to feel the thrill of it when he’s facing you, who’s always one step ahead.

He bows. “It is an honor.”

Something of a smile flickers on your face when he looks back up. “You always say that whenever we do this.”

Lyney beams, pleased to hear you speak to him beyond anything related to training. “It’s no lie.”

“Then,” you twirl your polearm around in a hypnotizing circle, and Lyney feels a near-maniacal grin creep up his face, “overcome me.”

Lyney takes the first shot, no longer surprised when you barely flinch as you swerve. You move as swiftly as his arrows. He fires another shot, then another, and another at a rapid pace. As expected, you dodge and deflect all of them with ease. Even when not at your full best, you can easily conquer everyone.

But Lyney’s been watching closely. His eyes follow every shift, catching each minuscule movement of how you favor one side more than the other or how your eyes are fixed on his weapon and nothing else.

You start drawing closer, your steps so fluid that anyone else wouldn’t have noticed it. Lyney conceals a smile.

Your eyes widen when Lyney disappears into a twirl of cards, fading out of view, disappearing into nothingness, just like that.

You pant, looking around warily, “How did you—” only for your breath to hitch when Lyney materializes right behind you, kicking your weapon off your staggered grip and aiming his arrow right at your head.

His eyes are narrowed as if facing a real enemy—as if preparing to actually shoot with one wrong move. But that’s not right, because how could Lyney ever bring himself to hurt you when you smile at him like that?

“That was…new,” you say, breathing heavily. Your exhaustion is getting to you now.

Lyney’s lungs are doing just as bad. “Thank you,” he manages to say, sensing a compliment when he hears one. “It’s only right for a magician to have tricks up his sleeves, right?”

He doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s taken advantage of your state. Had you not been visibly tired, you never would’ve fallen for his trick. It’s victory, but he doesn’t feel as if he’s really won.

Now that you admit defeat, Lyney says, “Let’s take a break.”

To his delight, you murmur a yes. Now that’s victory.

The orphanage has become used to the sight of the magician twins tailing after you, with Lyney grinning smugly and Lynette close behind because, really, her brother was just tagging along. And some other times, they’ve become used to the sight of Lynette curled up on the couch with Freminet resting his head on her lap while you yell at Lyney to piss off, and he doesn’t piss off.

You’ve even come to admit them as friends. Mostly Lynette, though. Lyney’s just there because they’re twins.

Lyney pouts. “I mean, we’re basically friends now, right?”

You send him a strange look. “What are you talking about? No, we’re not.”

“Whaaat?”

You push his face away when he’s decided to come up all over your personal space. “I like your sister better.”

“Lynette and I are twins!” he whines.

“Completely different people, still.”

Lynette does a mischievous half-smile, blinking slowly. “Don’t tease him too much,” she said. “He’ll cry when it comes to you.”

Lyney splutters. “Lynette!”

Thankfully, the Archons are on his side. You don’t look too deeply into Lynette’s words, simply laughing and returning back to your food, chatting comfortably with his sister and Freminet. Despite all the bickering, Lyney feels warm inside.

“Lyney,” you say, catching his gaze. “Do you want to spar later?”

Lyney’s heart soars. “Yes, of course.”

In the comfort of their own room, Lynette strikes.

“Y/N is really nice,” Lynette says when Lyney is practicing tricks with his hat. “You think so, too, right?”

Lyney doesn’t know where this is going. He fumbles with the rose. “Mhm. Yeah.”

Tonight is particularly cold; the old-fashioned fireplace is barely doing anything. Lyney wants to check on the training room—it’s always much warmer there.

Lynette shifts beside him, and Lyney can feel the weight of her infinitely keen stare. “And you also think that you should tell me who you’re practicing those flowers for, right?”

“I—what—” Lyney’s face goes hot. “It’s for my tricks, Lynette! What are you trying to imply?”

His sister sniffs, as if Lyney is just an insignificant little thing. “I don’t know what you and Y/N have been doing lately, but I'm happy to see you happy.”

Lynette smiles at him. “I haven’t seen you like this for so long. I’ll do my best to not let anything take this away from you.”

Speechless, Lyney could only utter: “Lynette…”

In all honesty, Lyney doesn’t know what changed—doesn’t know how it shifted into something else he can’t quite put a finger on. Maybe it’s the fact that he and his sister have a home now, despite the fact that it’s an intelligence source for the Harbingers. Or maybe it’s…something deeper than that, something to do with you.

“It’s really nothing,” Lyney says softly. “You don’t have to do anything, okay? I promise you.”

Lynette nods, trusting her brother easily. “Okay. I just don’t want you to lose this.”

Ha, as if he could even bring himself to do that.

“Hey, is Lyney in this room?” someone yells, rapping on the door frantically. “Father’s looking for Lyney. Is Lynette here?”

“What…?” Lyney mumbles, turning to the window and belatedly noticing sunlight peeking through from the sides of the curtains. “Oh no. I didn’t get any sleep.”

“And ‘Father’ is looking for you,” Lynette says, amused. “Go, Lyney. Shoo.”

Lyney scurries off and nods politely at the person who had summoned him. He pads over to the dining table, where ‘Father’ is always waiting, desserts laid before her.

“Lyney,” she greets. Lyney felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, but also warmth spread throughout his chest, happy to see the person who had changed his and his sister’s life. “Come. Would you like a plate?”

Eating something sugary while he lacks sleep is not the brightest idea. “No, thank you, ‘Father’.”

“Alright,” she says lightly, taking a bite and indulging in her cake for a long pause. “You’ve been training hard, haven’t you?”

“Yes, ‘Father’.” He sits somewhere that’s a chair away from her, too nervous to sit close and too afraid to sit too far. He still doesn’t know what ‘Father’ thinks of him, or what to think of ‘Father’.

“And you’ve gotten stronger since receiving your Vision.” It sounds like a question, but that’s not right. ‘Father’ always knows what’s happening in the House of the Hearth.

“…Yes,” Lyney says slowly, unsure where this is heading.

Arlecchino leans back, pleased. “Hm. Good.”

Lyney isn’t quite sure what’s happening, but she asks about how he and his sister are doing, and they get involved in an almost-something-of-a casual conversation. Lyney’s nerves are on high alert the entire time, as if suspecting that this is a test. But after that, ‘Father’ dismisses him before Lyney can start being suspicious.

He doesn’t think too much of it. He leaves the room and feels as if he could melt on the floor from exhaustion.

Someone sees him and claps him on the back, startling him enough to wake him up. She glances at the door he just came out of and hums lowly. “Did ‘Father’ call for you?”

“Yes.”

“Ha,” she snorts. “Guess that’ll happen a lot when you're the next successor, huh? Lucky you.”

“Yeah,” Lyney agrees, though he doesn’t really know what it means. He doesn’t really care because at least ‘Father’ still wants to keep them around.

Most importantly of all, in this orphanage, Lyney has been having the time of his life. His sparring with you has led him to a tentative friendship of sorts. He can confidently say he knows you as well as he knows Lynette and Freminet. He’s been living in bliss, always pleased to have a home and a family to come back to, no matter how gruesome the mission they’re sent to.

He and Lynette have been seeing the House off with missions successfully fulfilled, and ‘Father’ has acknowledged their loyalty. Their worth. Whispers about successors get louder. Lyney pays them no mind—this is only them acknowledging his worth.

Days would pass. Lyney would perform tricks for his fellow orphans. Lynette would tell him that she’d rather not be in the spotlight. Days would pass. You would keep on overworking yourself, and Lyney would try to pull you away from it.

“Y/N,” Lyney announces his presence with just your name, standing by the doorway.

You don’t flinch nor even waver from your moves, nearly dancing with how swiftly you move across the grassy field. It’s easier to talk over the slash over your weapon this time, at least, with the sounds spreading across the evening air. Lyney can shout and he doesn’t have to fear waking up anyone.

He has to wake you up first, though.

“Y/N,” he tries again, his fingertips beginning to burn underneath the steaming plate. Despite his connection with fire, his skin is beginning to feel irritated—or perhaps it’s proof of how long he’s been carrying your dinner. “Your food’s gonna get cold.”

“Leave it there,” you finally answer, slowing to a halt. Your back is facing him, posture perfect, and Lyney’s star-struck even in moments like this.

“And you’re going to eat it?”

“I will.”

That’s what you said last time, and Lyney came back to a full plate, untouched even by ants. Lyney decides to stay, content with watching over you until you tire and give in. He’s been hearing that you’re relentless, not even sparing a single glance to anyone.

“Why have you been practicing so hard recently? Is ‘Father’ punishing you? Did you sneak out again?”

You deign to face him with a fierceness that could match the fire of his Vision. “As if ‘Father’ has even looked at me.”

Lyney blinks slowly. “...What?”

Then—it was that moment that Lyney realized this was more serious than he realized—you school your expression into something blank. He was asking the wrong questions. He feels like there’s an invisible wall between the two of you, even when he’s already far away.

“You all have something I don’t,” you say, lowering your weapon. “Tell me, Lyney, if I start slacking off, will she even look at me the way she does to you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Your expression grows colder. “You wouldn’t understand. Who am I kidding? Just leave the food; I’ll eat it.”

“How do I know that?” he asks weakly.

“Take the hint, Lyney. I want to be alone right now.”

Days would pass. Lyney gets busier—his life gets more hectic. He starts performing on stages, small ones, but stages with props galore nonetheless. Lynette starts to feel more confident joining him, but she still has to work on her expressions. Days would pass. Lyney sees you less often. Your thread is snapping.

He enters the training room, where it’s been eerily silent. Not even Freminet nor Lynette tried to train today as if sensing danger from inside. But all he sees inside is you, staring silently at the wall, heaving.

Lyney sees your state and winces, your shoulder hiked to your ears and your expression unpleasant. “Y/N,” he calls out softly, “Are you okay?”

You’re really not, and it’s obvious, but how else does Lyney approach this?

You take a too-long moment to respond, eyes distant. “I’m…fine.”

Lyney hesitates, wildly looking around the room for something to distract you with. “Do you want to spar?”

“No.”

He should’ve known the moment he noticed you were acting strange: there’s something bothering you enough to leave you trapped in the training room. He tries to think hard about it, looking back at the first moment you were acting off. He comes up with nothing.

“Lyney,” you say, “you should leave.”

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m not leaving if you’re going to keep this up.”

“Lyney,” you say, facing him fully with a scowl. “That was not a question. Leave.”

“Y/N, I…” Lyney thinks and thinks. What has been happening recently? He’s been sent off for missions far too often that he hasn’t been able to notice this sooner. How long has this been happening? Why is this happening?

If anything, you’re far too prideful to show your weakness. To break down like this so suddenly… How will ‘Father’ react to this? Surely, she would put a stop to it if you were always next to her. But he hasn’t seen you next to ‘Father’ in so long. In fact, he’s…

Lyney stares cautiously. “Are their words bothering you?”

“They’re always talking.” That’s not a yes, but Lyney feels like he should take it as one. “Lately, they’ve been talking much louder than before.”

“That’s it, isn’t it? It’s about ‘Father’’s successor?”

Your mouth curls up in a snarl. “Don’t rub it in my face. You, of all people, shouldn’t ask that to me.”

Lyney’s heart sinks. So it was him who was causing this. “Whatever you’re hearing isn’t true.”

“What? Don’t make me out to be so stupid. You spar with me to gauge my weaknesses. You want to become the next successor.”

“I don’t want to become the next anything,” he pleads, instinctively taking a step back when you inch closer.

“That’s what it is, right? You see me as a challenge? So that’s what you meant?” Something is terribly wrong. You’re looking in his direction, but he doesn’t feel the weight of your gaze—like you’re only seeing through him.

Lyney frowns. He’s being cornered. “No, what—”

“I changed my mind,” you say, your shoulders tensing and the grip on your weapon tightening until your knuckles turn white. “You don’t want to leave? Fight me. Now. Prove that you’re worth more than me.”

“Y/N,” Lyney says lowly. “You’re not thinking straight right now. I don’t want to—”

You strike at his side. Lyney only manages to block it because of his experience with close combat from you, but this one is different. His eyes widen. That one hurt bad, leaving a buzzing ache on his skin. That’ll leave a bruise that won’t leave for weeks.

“Fight me,” you whisper, desperate, crazed. “Fight me.”

You demand it, but you don’t give Lyney a chance to react, attacking once again. Lyney blocks it off with his body and bites down a whimper of pain at the impact; at what sounded like the crack of bones.

“Y/N, stop—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snarl. “Bring out your weapon. Fight me. You’re the next successor, aren’t you?”

“Y/N,” Lyney says, trying to get a hold of your wrists. “Y/N, you’re crying.”

“I’m—” You inhale sharply, a sob wracking through your shoulders. “Shut up. Stop talking. You don’t know what’s happening. Fight me—just fight me. Why aren’t you fighting back?”

Lyney hates that you’re right—he doesn’t know what’s happening. He feels entirely useless. The person he looks up to, who has made him the better version of himself, and made him want to excel in everything he does for praise, is losing her mind right in front of him—he can’t even give you what you want.

“Why aren’t you fighting back? Isn’t this what you wanted?!”

“I didn’t want this!” Lyney shouts, moving swiftly to dodge the swing of your polearm. It misses him by a hair's breadth. Your fervid cries are making him lose composure. He doesn’t know what to do—doesn’t know how to make you stop.

“Pathetic,” you say, knocking him down. “This is who they’re calling the next successor? Beaten by someone who doesn’t have a Vision.”

Visions. Lyney learned that oftentimes, they dictate the fate and the potential of the orphans here. Those with Visions are sent off on more dangerous missions, drastically stretching their capabilities. And it’s true—Lyney wasn’t allowed to join Lynette on missions when she was the first to get one out of the two of them.

“You are still weak.”

“Shut up,” Lyney says, forcing bile down his throat. He doesn’t want to believe it. He wants to convince himself that you don’t mean that, but that means nothing if he thinks it, too. “Visions mean nothing.”

“To you, they don’t!”

Then, to Lyney’s horror, you swerve your entire body and strike to attack him with your everything. The bruises all over his skin sting, and his brain chants danger, danger. He panics, forcing a wave of fire to crash over and protect himself, but blue washes over his vision for a split second, and then he’s face to face with a tsunami of ice.

Ice.

Lyney blinks once, then looks down at his arm and realizes it’s been frozen over. It’s covered in ice, extinguishing the fire that’s enveloped his skin.

“What…?” he says dumbly, more confused than anything.

He turns back to you and sees you shaking uncontrollably, clutching a Cryo Vision to your chest. You’re looking at it as if it’ll bite you.

“No, no…” You look back at Lyney, eyes round. “Lyney—”

His eyes widened. “No, Y/N, I’m sorry. I attacked you—you were just defending yourself—”

“Don’t console me, you idiot! I don’t know how to—get it off—” You cry out, roughly wiping away tears that are trickling down. The frost is creeping up on your face, turning your lips to blue. “Get away from me…!”

The numbness is getting to his arm, and he’ll probably get hypothermia if he keeps on ignoring it, but he can’t bring himself to do anything when you’re wailing and terrified of your own self.

Lyney’s hands hover around you, unsure if he should touch you and risk it. “It’s okay, I promise, just—just breathe—”

You slap his hand away, crumbling even more at the sight of his frozen arm.

“Y/N,” he breathes.

Then, your face is carefully blank, shutting him off—worse than any wall of ice. Then, you snatch your polearm from the ground and scramble away. Lyney rushes to follow after, but you’ve flicked your hand, and the door is blocked off by a thick wall of ice. Great. Just great.

Desperately, Lyney melts them away, but your footsteps have already gone out of earshot. It’s an answer in itself: Don’t bother. Take the hint, Lyney; you already messed it up.

“Fuck!” Lyney hisses, throwing his bow to the ground, causing it to crack and splinter against the cold tiles.

“Calm down,” he says to himself, thawing his arm with his Pyro. The sudden change in temperature hurts, but that doesn’t compare to what he’s feeling right now. “Y/N will be back. Calm down. Patience.”

It’s pouring uncontrollably outside. You shiver, shaking with each desperate step you take to get far, far away from the orphanage—from Lyney. The rain has melted the ice that’s crawling all over your face and fingers, but you can still feel it humming under your skin as if one wrong move and you’d kill something.

How ironic. Goading Lyney into using his Vision led to you getting yours. What a fucking joke.

You navigate through the crowd, hiding your Vision and speeding through. The gods have perceived you and blessed you because you’re worthy. Why only now? Why is it that it’s only when you’ve accepted you’re not worthy compared to Lyney?

You are still weak. You said it aloud, but you know more than anyone that it was not meant for Lyney.

A door swing opens, and you nearly slam onto it, if not for you skidding to a halt a second off.

The woman with brown locks and bright eyes who opened the door blinked curiously. “Hey, kid. What are you doing out here in this thunderstorm?”

You must look like a sight. Bruised and freezing, as flighty as a frightened animal. “I—U-Uhm…”

You’re given no script to follow this time. What should you say? What do you do?

You can feel all your limbs trembling. No—you can barely feel at all. “I’m fine. Miss. I was just… playing. I mean, running back home.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, taking it upon herself to ruin her dry dress and usher you inside. “Don’t worry. Come. Seek shelter here while waiting for it to die down.”

“I’m fine,” you try to say, but the inviting warmth inside has your next words dying. “You don’t have to do this, miss… I’m…”

Dangerous. Nearly killed the person that warmed his way through your heart. You frightened him. You frighten yourself.

“None of that.” She pokes your forehead, making you blink up at her in bewilderment. “You think too hard for your age. Come, I have tea and spare clothes.”

You obediently sit. Perhaps tea will help. With how tight you’re clutching your Vision, its frost is beginning to crawl up your arms.

i found it rly interesting lyney doesn’t wanna become the next successor, so i used it for plot! >:) ty for reading!!! if u reached all the way here im giving u a kiss on ur forehead

TAGLIST.

@thenyxsky @aeferkssr @1mewo1 @lacrimae-lotos @meigalaxy @hyacinth-daze @miwafei @popochakku @svasilios @heyhazelnut101 @kruinka @waveto-earth @superstar-ethereal @mxplesyrvp @achilleas-dream @episodecete @jellifizz

#606: THAWED #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #x reader #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n

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leossmoonn · 1 year

Text

All Along

masterlist

pairing - xavier thorpe x fem!reader

type - smut, fluff 16+

summary - coming to xavier for comfort, you get something else

warnings / includes - language, smut with plot!! (sorry not sorry) bsf to lovers, oblivious idiots in love, cheating, toxic relationship, semi soft sex, body worship, first time sex, unprotected sex (this is fiction, use protection in real life) alternate uni where xavier doesn’t like Wednesday (romantically)

————

*gif isn’t mine*

You wrap your arms around yourself tighter, sniffling as you walk through the forest. The leaves crunch under your sneakers, branches snapping with each stomp you make. You walk as fast as you can, needing some relief after the horrible fight you’ve just had.

Another argument sparked with your boyfriend. Surprised? No. Hurt? Yes. Annoyingly, so. Each fight seems worse, and no matter how redundant the topics are, your boyfriend manages to say worse things each time. You’re always left sobbing and alone.

But tonight you decided to reach out to the person who always told you to come to him when you needed a friend. You were going to see how well he was going to keep his word.

You softly knock on his door, shivering in the chilly night. You put your ear up to his door, hearing silence. You purse your lips and look back, debating whether or not to go. He doesn’t need to be bothered at this time of night. Not when it’s over relationship drama.

You begin to turn around, but you stop as you hear the door unlock. You turn back around, seeing Xavier in his pajamas and navy blue shirt. His hair is tousled and tangled, sticking up every which way.

“Y/n? What’re you doing here?” he asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

You let out a shaky breath, about to start crying again. Just thinking about your argument made you shed tears. You didn’t know how you were going to be able to articulate it.

Xavier becomes more alert as he sees a few tears run down your cheeks. He softly but firmly grabs your hand, pulling you into his dorm. He pulls you into a hug, wrapping his long arms around your back. You melt into him, thankful for the warmth and the comfort. You begin to cry more into his chest, hiccuping and snotting all over his robe.

He rubs your back soothingly, presses a light kiss to the crown of your head. The hand that’s not rubbing your back cradles the back of your head, holding you ever closer. You two stay there for a few good minutes before you are ready to pull away and speak.

Your throat is scratchy and your eyes bloodshot. Streaks of tears seem to be imprinted on your face. Your lips are puffy and swollen, some snot drying from the corners of your nostrils. But Xavier notices none of that. He cups your face, wiping the remaining tears with his thumb. His brows are furrowed as he looks back forth between your eyes, trying to conjure up his own explanation of why you’re crying in his arms at 2:28 AM.

“Let’s sit down,” he says softly, his voice hoarse from just waking up. He leads you to his bed, wrapping a blanket around you to keep you warm. He interlocks hands with you, keeping them warm. “What did he say to you?”

“Same old shit,” you sigh. “Accusing me, blaming me, shit-talking me, making rumors up about me.”

Xavier sighs heavily. You see him roll his eyes out from the corner of your eye.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks. “I mean, yeah. I’m crying,” you chuckle sourly.

“Did he touch you?” he clarifies. “No,” you shake your head. “You know he’s not like that.”

“He’s still an asshole,” he mutters. “Definitely,” you nod. “First he tells his buddies that I’m great in bed, then he accuses me of cheating, again. I mean, if he’s going to accuse me of something, he could at least change it up. Like I killed someone, or something,” you scoff.

Xavier chuckles a little. You glance at him and half smile.

“He shouldn’t be going around telling anybody about your business,” he states.

“I know, and I’ve told him. And he always promises he’ll shut up, but the next day I’m the talk of the school again!” you exclaim, frustrated.

Xavier thinks back to what he’s heard his peers say about you behind your back. Over-sexualizing you to the point where it makes him sick to his stomach. He would be lying if he said he had never thought about you sexually, but only briefly. Mostly in passing when he notices the nice dress you might be wearing, or if his mind wanders too far when he’s about to go to sleep. But the comments he hears are vile and disgusting. And especially since they are from your boyfriend who is supposed to be respecting your boundaries.

“I hope you know that when I hear those comments, I try to shut them down,” Xavier says.

Your smile now is bigger than the one before. “Really?”

“Yep,” he nods proudly. “I almost punched a guy once,” he admits.

“I appreciate it,” you pat his hand. “But you don’t need to be playing hero for me. This is my issue. My problem. My relationship.”

“Just because it’s your relationship doesn’t mean you can’t have help,” Xavier states.

You nod slowly and huff, your shoulder sagging. “But this is my own mess. I’m so stupid, Xavi.”

Xavier furrows his brows, squeezing your hand for support. “You’re not stupid.”

“Yes, I am. I mean, we fight and don’t talk to each other for a day. Then he says nice things to me and kisses me and… and I’m reminded of the guy that I fell I love with,” you mumble.

Your words are like a punch to the gut for Xavier. His hand that’s not holding yours balls into a fist, his knuckles becoming white. He wants to tell you to leave him. That this vicious cycle is toxic, but it’s nothing you don’t know already. Your boyfriend just has you under his ridiculous spell.

Maybe he could tell you. If you’ll allow him.

“Tell me if I’m overstepping, okay?” Xavier asks.

You nod and sit silently, anxious to hear what he has to say.

“Maybe he was never they guy you fell in love with. Have you ever thought that this guy who constantly is hurting you is the real him?”

This makes your heart drop. You feel sick to your stomach. You feel ridiculous now. Of course you have thought about that. This is what Wednesday told you after your second fight with him. But you stay with him because, well, you’re naive enough to fall for his apologies and sweet talk.

You’re so worthless, you think. So pathetic. Staying with a guy who is a piece of shit, and treats you like a bigger one. You can’t help but cry again.

Xavier’s eyes widens in panic. He regrets what he said. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut. You came to him looking for comfort, not advice. Not the truth. And now he’s made you do the one thing he swore he would never make you do: cry.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, getting up and spinning in circles to try and find tissues.

“Xavier,” you call out, voice breaking. He ignores you, still trying to find those tissues and thinking of ways to make you feel better.

“Xavier,” you say louder. You groan as he still doesn’t face you. “Xavier!” you shout.

He spins around, box of tissues in his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re right. I know it, and you definitely do. It just.. sucks to hear,” you laugh breathily.

He nods, gulping hard. He sits back down next to you, holding out the tissues for you. You take them thankfully, blowing your nose and dabbing your eyes. You stay silent for a couple of minutes.

Xavier waits patiently for you to collect your thoughts, admiring you in the meantime. Your eyes are glassy from the tears, but you still have a spark in your eye that he loves to see. Your shirt, that’s ironically your boyfriend’s, hangs off of your shoulder slightly. Your leg bounces up and down as you twiddle with the hem of the shirt. In the dim light of his room, Xavier can see the dark circles under your eyes from the nights that he’s sure are full of screaming and crying instead of sleeping peacefully.

God, what he would to kiss you right now.

“I’ll end it with him tomorrow,” you decide.

Xavier’s eyes light up. He tries to contain the joy in his face, but fails embarrassingly. He grabs your hand that’s on your bed, squeezing it.

“I-I’m happy to hear that,” he stammers. “I know,” you chuckle. “You hate him.”

“Well, I can’t exactly like the guy that makes you feel like shit,” he snorts.

“Thank you for helping me,” you smile.

You hug him tightly, closing your eyes and burying your face into his shoulder. He quickly wraps his arms around you, holding you close to him. He kisses your forehead as you pull away. You smile softly, your breath becoming caught in your throat. You notice his eyes flutter down to your lips, eyeing them for a few moments. His hazel eyes meet yours. Even in the low light, you can see the golden brown flecks around his pupils.

His hand cups your cheek again, bringing your face closer. Your heart pounds in your chest. You can hear it in your ears. Your eyes frantically look over him, studying his body language. His other hand rests on your mid-thigh, warmth from his palm spreading to just below your waist.

“Xavier, what’re you doing?” you whisper.

“I…” he fails to get out the words. He’s so nervous, he can barely speak. He’s been waiting for this moment for a year now, as pathetic as it sounds.

“I thought you liked Wednesday,” you wonder.

Xavier’s brows raise and he pulls back. “Where did to get that idea?”

“You’re always following her around like a lost puppy. You even were excited about going to the Rave’N with her,” you explain.

“I was following her around because she found about my club, remember? And I wanted to get to know her more, but as friend. I don’t like her like that. Not like I like you,” he says. Saying that is like a weight has lifted off of his shoulders. Even if you don’t feel the same, which he is ready to accept, at least he is not carrying this huge secret with him. Maybe you two can still continue to be friends, too. He’d be willing to suck it up for you.

Your heart jumps with excitement. You never thought about Xavier liking you. Well, there was a tiny chance when you started dating your boyfriend. Xavier would hang around more, blatantly insult your boyfriend, try to get Ajax to stone him even. He stopped after a week or so once he realized you were serious about the guy. Not so say you weren’t, but you did miss Xavier’s efforts to get your attention.

But now you’re completely done with your boyfriend. You realize you’ve been for a while now. You’ve just been hanging on to whatever you thought you could still make work. It’s clear to you now that nothing could fix you, too, except for breaking up. That solution sounds very good. And to be frank, kissing Xavier sounds even better.

“Did I say too much?” Xavier asks, his voice a tiny bit above a whisper.

“No,” you shake your head, beginning to smile from ear to ear. “You’ve said just enough.” you bridge the gap between you two. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your fingers sifting through his tousled hair. You bring your body up close to his, lightly pressing your chest against his.

He’s shocked and you can tell. He doesn’t reciprocate until you pull away. He brings you back, his arms holding you even closer. You sit up on your knees, taking a shallow breath as you move him to the middle of his bed. He crawls backwards until his back hits the backboard. You straddle his hips, feeling his boner up against your thigh.

Your hands slips down to his shirt, lifting it up slowly. He raises his arms, your kiss breaking for a few seconds before your lips meet again. Your teeth clash with each other, tongues tasting each other. The kiss is sloppy now, needy and fervent, but passionate.

You run your hands down his chest, his hot skin burning the palms of your hands. His hands snake under your boyfriend’s shirt, feeling your bare back. You place your hands at the bottom of your shirt, taking it off.

Xavier’s eyes practically bulge out of his head. Your tits sit so pretty, your nipples hard as a rock as the cold air nips them. He becomes impossibly harder, feeling the pre-cum soak the waistband of his underwear.

He doesn’t waste any time staring. He dives down and kisses your neck, sucking harshly on your smooth skin. He places sweet kisses along your shoulders, licking a trial down the valley between your breasts. He attaches his mouth to your nipple, raising his hand to massage your other boob.

“Enjoying yourself?” you snicker, your head tipping back in pleasure.

He looks up at you from your body, his lips sucking your boob. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire now. He smirks as he feels your body temperature rise. You smile shyly in reply. Without warning, he grabs your hips, lifting you up and flipping you two over. Your head hits the pillows, back sinking down into the mattress. You look up and see Xavier settling between your thighs. His hair cascades down his face, creating shadows over his cheeks.

Your run your hands through his hair, tucking the strands behind his ears. He smiles down at you, those smile lines you always loved so much creating ripples in his skin. His hands massage your sides, allowing you to relax even further into the bed.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n. I don’t understand how someone could treat you so poorly. You deserve so much more,” he beams, gazing into your eyes.

You lean up to his ear, nibbling on the skin just below it. A thrill runs up his spine, his eyes fluttering close. “Show me, then,” you whisper.

His head is spinning and heart pounding. He nods excitedly, kissing down your stomach, leaving no skin untouched. You let out a breathy moan in need. You want him so bad it hurts. You squeeze your thighs together, trying to obtain the friction you’re craving. He notices how much you’re moving in bed, taking one hand to trail down to your pants. He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours. His fingers hook under the waistband of your pants. You nod quickly, your own hands shooting down to your pants and practically ripping them off.

You kick off your pants onto the floor, leaving you almost naked. There’s a jolt of excitement that runs through his veins. His hands feels over your black panties, feeling a little wet spot right in the middle. His cock twitches in his pants as he thinks about how wet you must be, and all because of him.

Xavier picks the pace back up, trailing his lips down your stomach. You feel giddy as his lips get closer to your pussy. You feel the heartbeat between your legs, waiting painfully in anticipation for him to touch you.

He places a kiss over your underwear. You’re so pathetic you moan loudly. You buck your hips up, his nose bumping against your mound. He smiles against the fabric, bringing his head down lower to your thighs. He softly sucks your inner thighs, his hands creeping under your panties. His fingers part your pussy lips, slipping inside to feel the warm, slick center. He swallowed hard, throat becoming dry. You’re seeping juices out from your underwear and soaking his bedsheets.

You’re a little embarrassed. He hasn’t done much but kiss and touch you, and you’re already a mess. Despite your boyfriend bragging about you, you two barely ever had sex. And if you did, it wasn’t very good. Tonight was a big relief for you, especially since Xavier is doing so well, too. Your standards are so low, but you know that Xavier will raise them.

He slips two fingers inside, moving them in and out slowly. Your pussy makes a gushing noise, making him smirk up at you. He peers up at you from under his long lashes. You face feels hot as you see his cocky grin.

“You must really be desperate, huh?” he asks. His fingers go in deeper, moving up and down inside of you. He moves his body to tower over you, no wavering in his hand movements. His head hangs down next to your ear. His hair tickles your cheek. Your laugh and moan at the same time, his fingers fucking you feeling so good.

“Let me guess, he doesn’t pleasure you this well, huh?” he whispers.

“Mm-hm,” you shake your head. His other hand is on your thigh. He moves it down to your underwear, slipping under the top and finding your clit with ease. One of your hands flies up to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck, Xavier,” you say breathily. “Shit. Ah… ah, Xavier,” you moan. “Need more,” you whine.

You bring your other hand down between you two, tugging on the drawstring of his pants. Xavier pulls away, getting off the bed and taking off his underwear and pants.

You knew him being 6’2” would give him some length. His cock is an angry red, pre-cum leaking down and coating the sides. Your mind runs wild with how he’ll feel inside of you.

You take off your underwear, leaving both of you naked. He climbs back into the bed, sitting between your thighs. You place your hand on the back of his neck, your fingers entangling themselves in his hair. You bring his head down to yours, kissing him slowly. His heart flutters, ears turning pink as he becomes flustered. Your hand snakes down between you two, wrapping around his dick and giving him a few pumps. The pre-cum runs down your hand and drips onto your thighs.

“Wait,” he pulls away. “Do you not want to do this?” you ask, ready to get out of bed and put your panties back on.

“No, I do. Trust me, I… I really want to. But this is my first time,” he confesses.

You smile brightly, gently taking his hand and intertwining your fingers with his. “It’ll be mine, too.”

He furrows his brows. “I-I thought —?”

“Yeah, I never allowed him to go that far,” you chuckle. “I was waiting for someone special,” you grin, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles.

Pride fills his chest. He can’t wipe the smile off of his face. His cheeks already hurt from smiling so hard. He squeezes your hand, diving down to kiss you. You both are smiling, unable to properly kiss each other. He rests his forehead onto yours, looking into your eyes.

“I’ll go slow. Tell me if it hurts or anything, okay?” he asks.

You nod, spreading your legs. You try to relax as much as you can, but you’re too excited. You’ve always liked Xavier. You’ve always loved him. There’s no doubt in your mind he’s the right person for you, the right person to do this with.

He parts your pussy with his tip, slowly sliding in. Your nails dig into his hand and bicep. You bite your lip harshly, almost drawling blood.

“You okay?” he asks. “Mmhm,” you nod. You take a big deep breath in and out as he continues. “Stop, stop. I-I don’t think I can have you go any further.”

He nods in understanding, kissing your cheek sweetly. “Feels so good to me, anyways. No matter how much of me is inside.”

You giggle at his kind words, capturing his lips into a kiss once more. He slips out of you and slowly enters you, the small amount of friction making him moan in your mouth. One of his hands rests behind your head while the other goes down between you two, finding your clit. You let out a whiny moan, grabbing onto his skin.

He picks up the pace each second and you get more acquainted with his size.

“More,” you demand. He doesn’t question it, slipping another inch into you.

Your toes curl at the end of the bed. You plant your feet into the mattress, bucking your hips up to meet his. You both groan loudly, Xavier’s eyes rolling back while your head tilts back into the pillows, breaking the kiss.

“You feel so good, fuck,” he mumbles. He opens his eyes, looking down and watching as his dick exits and enters you. His pre-cum mixes with your juices, making a sloshing sound.

“Mm, Xavier. Right here,” you gasp. You buck your hips back up, his dick hitting your g-spot with just enough pressure. “Shit. Ju-just like that. Yeah, yeah. Ah, ah! Xavier!” you shout.

His thumb that’s on your clit circles it faster, his hips snapping with yours. Your muscles clench around him, and he’s almost done for. He doesn’t want to come until you do, though. He’s determined.

Your fingers scrap down his back, your body arching. Your chest meets his, the sweat from both your bodies mixing. Xavier presses his lips to yours in a messy, wet, hot kiss. His hot breath fans over the side of your mouth, his teeth clashing with yours.

“Xavi, I’m close,” you moan, eyes screwing shut. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. D-Don’t change anything. Ah, fuck.”

He keeps the exact same pressure and pace, looking down at your face. You look so beautiful when about to come. Your jaw dropped with sweat lining your neck. Your eyes are rolled back, head digging into the pillows.

“Xavier, I’m gonna, I’m gonna come! I-I’m gonna —!”

You muscles tense up and you feel the pressure lifting off of your tummy.

“Oh, fuck, Y/n,” he groans, gripping the pillow next to your head. He pulls out quickly, his whole body shaking as he comes. He manages to turn his body to the side, getting a little bit of cum on your thigh.

“S-sorry,” he stammers, quickly getting a tissue and wiping your thigh.

“No worries,” you smile. “Are you, uh, on birth control?” Xavier asks, still a little breathless.

“Yes,” you nod. “If I wasn’t, I would’ve asked for a condom.”

He smiles and nods, “right.” he puts his underwear and pants back on. He grabs your clothes, setting them on the bed next to you. “Would you like some water? Or a snack?”

“I would love some water, thank you.” you nod. You take your clothes and head to the bathroom. Xavier jogs over to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you back.

“Do you feel okay?” he asks. “Yes. I feel a little sore, but I’ll be okay,” you answer.

“Okay,” he grins. He leans down and pecks your cheek and forehead. “I love you.”

You sigh happily and wrap your arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I love you.“

He kisses the side of your head before pulling away. “What if your boyfriend finds out?”

“He’ll be my ex by then,” you shrug. “And I’ll be able to make up rumors about him. Like how he’s so bad and that’s why I went to you,” you wink.

Xavier smirks, “he’ll be pissed.”

“Mm, good,” you hum. You lean up and kiss him. “He deserves it.”

————

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auras-moonstone · 8 months

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girl, i’m in dire need of some jack angst!! (i know, i’m crazy for wanting my heart to be ripped out by your beautiful writing in the saddest way possible😂)

maybe he and the reader have been dating for a few months and have their first big fight, maybe he’s been a little too close to a girl the reader has been having weird gut feelings about. they break up after some harsh words were said, and a few weeks later the reader sees that he’s dating the girl he told her not to worry about 👀

a few months pass, and jack and the girl break up bc he can’t get over the reader, and he tries to win her back, but soon realises he lost her for good when he sees her ar an event or something with someone else, and it’s clear that they’re more than friends.

(i kinda envision this as actress!reader x jack. and the event could be the oscars + the reader’s new bf could also be an A list celeb)

lyrics that could inspire you:

“'Cause there we are again when I loved you so, Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known” - All Too Well (Taylor’s Version)

“I'm sitting eyes wide open and I got one thing stuck in my mind, Wondering if I dodged a bullet or just lost the love of my life” - I Don’t Wanna Live Forever

thank you so much and i’m sorry if this req is all over the place 😂😂❣️

hii! this might be one of the saddest things i’ve written yet. hope you like it<3

break me like a promise — jack champion

word count: 2,949

pairing: jack champion x actress!fem!reader, louis partridge x fem!reader (brief).

summary: jack breaks y/n’s heart, and after ten months he is determined to win her back, he sees her being happy with someone else.

author’s note: when i read “readers new bf could be a celeb” i knew i had to include the other love of my life aka louis partridge aka london boy.

Y/N AND JACK HAD MET THROUGH JENNA ORTEGA. The latter and Y/N both worked for Netflix, so they bumped into each other in lots of events and eventually became super close. And, knowing how big of a Scream fan Y/N was, Jenna invited her over to set and that’s where she met Jack.

No one could deny that sparks flew instantly between them, not even the two people involved. And that scared Y/N a bit, because her last relationship had left her with insecurities and trust issues, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to dive into another relationship.

Jack had been very understanding about it, and told her that they should start as friends. He assured her that he would wait as long as she needed to, that she was worth it. And after months and months of therapy, Y/N finally felt ready to try things with Jack.

They were in a lavender haze for months. Her relationship with Jack was unlike anything Y/N had experienced before. The love she felt for him was so strong that there was no way to put it into words. Jack was her best friend—he had held her hand as she healed, and drew stars around the scars that the previous relationship had left on her. And she never would have thought he was going to be the one who made the wounds bleed again.

Jealousy is often seen as a toxic feeling, and after talking with her shrink about it, Y/N came to a conclusion—the toxicity depends on the way you handle that feeling. So Y/N decided to put her fears on the table, instead of jumping into conclusions. That’s what she thought would be the most healthy thing to do. Jack would be honest with her, and the thoughts that had been eating her alive would disappear.

But as soon as she said the words and saw Jack’s expression of irritation, Y/N knew she should’ve kept her mouth shut.

“Seriously? I can’t have female friend now” Jack spat furiously.

“What?! Of course you can. That’s not what I’m saying” Y/N said calmly. “I just… she clearly has feelings for you. And I’m not saying you should stop hanging out with her, I just need to know if she’s just a friend to you… or if there is room for more.”

“I can’t fucking believe you’re telling me this.” he shook his head in disbelief.

“Jack, I’m not accusing you of cheating or anything, really. You’ve been spending so much time with her…” more than with me, she wanted to add. But that would make things worse. “and I just have this weird feeling. I need to know how you really feel, that’s it. If you tell me you don’t like her, I’ll believe you. But please be honest with me.”

“What I really feel is that you’re suffocating me with your shitty problems.” his demeanour was so calm, but his words were sharp as knives, and they cut right through her heart. She had trouble believing the words had actually left his mouth. “I’ve waited for you for months, I helped you through all of it. And now you’re making this shit up? Grow up.”

Y/N felt like throwing up. She felt like she was about to spit her heart. “You don’t mean that.” her voice broke. “In all of these months, when have I ever brought up one of your female friends? Not once. Because I know they are only friends. But with her, Jack, I just feel like there is something more. And yes, maybe I’m overthinking, but that’s why I’m asking. That’s it. I’m just asking, Jack.”

“Stop being so fucking paranoid. I get that your ex cheated on you, but stop seeing ghosts everywhere.”

“Why are you being so mean? Why are you avoiding the question? It’s simple, Jack. Do you have feelings for her?” Y/N asked, the knot in her throat grew in size when she noticed he couldn’t look her in the eyes. “Jack?”

“We’re just friends, jesus!” he said annoyed. Y/N wanted so bad to play dumb, to pretend she couldn’t see he was lying.

“You know I can read you like a book, right?” she asked softly, sad. “When you lie, you can’t look me in the eyes, you play with your hands and bite the inside of your cheeks.”

“Y/N… fucking drop it. I’m tired of this”

“We are over, Jack” she tried to walk towards the door, but he grabbed her and pulled her against his chest, trapping her in his arms.

He saw the tears steaming down her face and cursed himself. “Shit. No, please. Let’s talk. I’m sorry” he sound like he was about to cry, and Y/N knew she needed to leave. Because even though he had hurt her, the soft spot in her heart was still reserved for him.

“No, let’s just leave it like this because if you keep talking, I’m afraid I might end up resenting you, and I don’t want that.”

“I love you, Y/N” Jack hugged her tightly. “Please let’s fix this. I promise you nothing happened with her, and nothing will.”

“I love you too, but I don’t believe you. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore” and so she stepped away for the arms she loved the most in the world and left without glancing back. If she did, she knew she wouldn’t be able to leave.

EVER SINCE SHE WALKED OUT OF JACK’S HOUSE TWO WEEKS AGO, Y/N HAD BEEN OVERWORKING HERSELF TO AVOID HER THOUGHTS OF JACK CREEPING INTO HER MIND. She had stayed out of social media, and had deleted Jack’s number from her phone to avoid temptations. Her friends kept their eyes on her all the time, worried about the inevitable breakdown. You can only hold back for so long before it becomes too much.

Louis, her co-star, had been by her side as much as he could. And, like every morning, he was waiting for her on her trailer with a caramel macchiato and a shiny grin on his handsome face.

“And a chocolate chip muffin?” Y/N asked, seeing the mouth-watering treat next to her Starbucks drink. “What’s the special occasion?”

Louis stared at her, frowning. Not any indications of having had a break down, not even puffy eyes, which meant one thing—she hadn’t seen the pictures yet. “Nothing” he blurted, showing his charming smile. “Just saw it and had to buy it.”

“You really need to stop buying me these breakfasts, Lou. I’m going to get cavities” Y/N said taking a sip of her overly sweet drink.

“But look at how happy it makes you. Cavities will be worth it, don’t you think?”

“You may have a point. Scoot over” she told him, nudging his leg with her foot. Louis moved his body so that she could sit next to him on the small couch. It was not made for two people, so they were basically pressed against the other, yet they found it comfortable. Especially Louis, whose insides melted because of the closeness between them—his not so tiny crush on her was painfully obvious.

“What are you doing?” Louis asked, trying to keep his voice calm as she unlocked her phone.

“I forgot to check which surprise songs Taylor sang last night” she answered as she opened twitter. “Oh god”

“What?!” Louis squealed.

“She sang Cornelia Street and You’re on your own kid! And I wasn’t there, Lou!” she dramatically dropped her head on his chest. He couldn’t help but sigh in relief. “What is going on with you?” she laughed.

“Nothing. Why?” he laughed awkwardly.

“I don’t know, you’re extra jumpy and panicky today.”

“I’m always jumpy and panicky around you.” he said, trying to brush it off.

“No, you’re not” Y/N furrowed her eyes, locking her phone. Louis eyed the action and his chest relaxed. The girl noticed that, so she unlocked it again and started scrolling through Twitter. On her periphery, she saw the boy’s body tensing again. So it had to do with social media, she guessed. “Louis, I’m not dumb. Tell me what is going on.”

“Nothing” he repeated. “Let’s rehearse our lines.”

“Lou, I love you but you’re getting on my nerves right now. I hate being lied to, you know that.”

Y/N’s vulnerable eyes were his weakness, so he sighed and took her hand in his. “This weekend, some fans caught Jack walking around the city with a girl… and they… um, saw them kissing and holding hands.”

Y/N felt her heart drop, and her eyes started to sting. No. She wasn’t going to cry. She hadn’t let herself cry for two weeks and she was not going to start now. “Oh.”

“Give me your phone” Louis said softly. She was too lost in her own mind to question it, so she just obeyed. “I deleted Tik Tok and Instagram. And silenced any Jack related stuff on Twitter. You don’t need to see those pictures.”

“Louis… the girl… is it her?” Y/N asked, trying to keep her voice in control.

“Stop” his voice was firm.

“I want to move on, Lou. And for that, I need to know I was right first.” she pleaded. “Is it her?” her friend nodded slowly as he brought her to his chest. Y/N did a little nod too, and tried to stand up. “Let’s rehearse our lines.”

“Y/N…” he grabbed her elbow to push her back.

“Lou, please. I don’t want to cry, I don’t want to think about it.” he noticed she was two seconds away to burst into tears. And as much as he knew he would hate the sight of her weeping, it was necessary.

“I know you don’t, Y/N/N, but you have to if you want to move on. You’re never getting over this if you keep ignoring your need to cry.”

“I’m just afraid that if I do, I won’t be able to stop.” she confessed, tears starting to blur her vision.

“It feels like that now, but I promise you it’ll be good for you. You have been holding it back for weeks, and once you let it all out, you’ll start to heal” he said as he played with her hair.

“Two weeks… it took him two weeks to go off and date her. And it’s not only some girl… it’s her. He told me I was paranoid, and now he proved me right.”

Jack had promised nothing would happen between him and that girl, and now he broke his promise just like he had broken her heart two weeks ago.

After the realisation, it was like something snapped inside of Y/N, and one sob turned into desperate crying. Her fragile body shook under Louis’ arms, and he wished he could stop her pain. But he couldn’t, so he just stayed there with her holding her as she let it all out.

AS MUCH AS SHE HOPED THE CRYING WOULD EASE THE PAIN, IT DIDN’T. It had been months of being in a rollercoaster of feelings, sometimes she was okay, sometimes she was great and sometimes she was so low not even Louis’ hugs could lift her up.

The days where she didn’t have to shoot were the worst, because she spent hours in bed and her brain betrayed her by bringing the memories of Jack back. She missed him so much, it was completely agonizing. Why?, she asked herself when the room was dark and she couldn’t sleep. Why did he get to move on while she had to spend her days like that? She has been trying to pick up her heart while Jack was all lovey-dovey with the girl he swore was just his friend.

Jack continued her life without her, while Y/N woke up everyday with his memory over her. She longed for the picture of Jack’s dazzling smile to be gone from her mind. She prayed to forget the sound of his voice as he whispered the sweetest of things on her ear. She wished she could stop hearing his angelic laugh everywhere. She wanted to stop feeling the ghost of his touch against her skin. To forget that his lips were soft and that every time they were pressed against hers she could feel goosebumps all over her body. Y/N just wanted to stop being haunted by the memories of Jack.

Louis had slowly helped her through the process of moving on. He was there to offer his warmth when the wrenching thoughts triggered the waves of tears, and he was also there to make her break a smile once the sobbing stopped.

After eight months, the flood of her tears successfully carried away the thoughts of Jack, and Y/N knew she was finally clean. Not that she didn’t miss him, because Jack was her first love after all, and a small part of her would always love him.

It took her a few more months to be sure if she was ready to risk it again, but Louis’ sweet disposition, how he saw the best in her even in her worst times, showed her that he was worth it. And so she she watched it began again with him.

JACK AND THE GIRL LASTED FOR TWO MONTHS. He never intended to have something with her, but she was interested and he was lonely and sad, so he said yes. But reality crept in soon—he loved Y/N with all his heart and no matter who he was with, his thoughts would always go back to her.

He had been texting her for months, but she had blocked his number. He knew he could easily drive to her house, but he didn’t want to add salt to the multiple wounds he had inflicted on her, it would be selfish. So when Jack saw that Avatar 4 and Y/N’s drama film were both nominated for the Oscars, he knew it was his chance to make things right. To bring back the only real thing he had ever known.

But he didn’t plan on seeing her with someone else. And he knew they weren’t there together just as co-stars, they were each other’s date. The spark in Y/N’s eyes when she looked at Louis was familiar to Jack—it was the way they used to shine just for him. Jack had been the one to extinguish the spark on her eyes, and Louis had managed to light them up again.

And he wasn’t even mad or jealous. He actually felt happy and sad. Jack didn’t understand how it was possible for two opposite feelings to co-exist in his body at the same time. He realized it was a lost battle, yet he needed to do talk to her. For the sake of their once marvellous relationship.

Y/N got out of the bathroom and into the crowded room, but the thousands of people in it became blurry once she recognized the silhouette of a handsome tall boy leaning against the entrance. “Jack?” his name left her lips in a mix of anguish and surprise.

“Hey” he said softly. You look beautiful, he wanted to add, but restrained himself. “I wanted to talk to you.” Jack saw her grimace and continued before she could stop him. “I know. I know it’s the last thing you want, I just need to get this off my chest. You’re not paranoid or insecure. You never overwhelmed me with your problems. You were right, and I was a shitty boyfriend, friend and person, and you have been so amazing and patient… and I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never deserved your love.”

“You did… up until that night.” she said in all honesty. “I loved you so much, and then you said all of those things. I can’t forget about it, because I never expected those words to come out of your mouth.”

“I know, and I really don’t expect you to forgive me. It’s okay and understandable if you don’t, but I needed you to know that those things I said weren’t true at all.” Jack said, pressing his lips in a thin line. “To be honest, I came here with the mind set of trying to win you back” he confessed, and let out a little laugh, as if the idea was now ridiculous. “But I saw you with him and I know that I’ve lost you for good. Are you happy with him?”

Y/N saw his deep brown eyes starting to get glossy and her insides melted. She didn’t see him with romantic eyes anymore, but it didn’t mean the love was gone. She still cared for him with every bone in her body. “I am. He’s amazing.”

Jack smiled. Genuinely smiled, so widely that it made a few tears drop, and before she knew it, Y/N’s cheeks were wet too. “That’s great, Y/N/N. Really great. I’m happy for you.”

And that was the moment Y/N knew Jack honestly regretted the words he had said before their breakup. “I forgive you.”

The tall boy’s eyes widened “What?”

“I forgive you.” she repeated. “And you deserve to be happy too, okay?”

“Thank you” Jack said breathlessly, wiping away the tears.

“I need to go. But it was nice to see you, thank you for coming to talk to me. For real. I really needed that, I think we both needed that.”

And so they both smiled to each other one last time before parting ways. There was nothing left to say, staying friends had never been an option with them. They loved each other too much for that. When it came to Y/N and Jack, it was everything or nothing at all.

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sickeninglyshoujo · 2 months

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God you’re gonna hate me for this thought but after reading dad!simon all I kept thinking was

What if the daughter did die? Like id imagine reader being fuckin PISSED and kinda being closed off with Simon cus she didn’t want her daughter being in the army and Simon wasn’t hearing her concerns

oh i do hate you

but i had to write it

teared up twice writing it and said i cant cry tonight about this

part 1 - dad!simon

word count: 750

warnings: death, grief

buy me a ko-fi

They brought your daughter home in a plain pine box.

They wouldn’t let you see her no matter how you wept and tore at the lid that had been nailed tightly shut.

“Just let me see my baby, I need to make sure it’s her…Let me see her just once please…” You cried to her C.O. The man gave a pained look above your shoulder at your husband, ever your shadow, who took his silent plea and wrapped his hands around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest.

He didn’t know you could scream like that.

The days immediately after the funeral are the worst. You sit in the kitchen chair where you woodenly placed yourself after returning from the graveyard. Your eyes stare into the air in the space in front of you, unfocused and unseeing.

The kitchen hurts the most.

This was where you had so many family dinners, first with your messy baby in her high chair, a headstrong toddler demanding her own utensils, a gap-toothed child rolling her eyes at her parent’s sneaking kisses over lasagna, a moody pre-teen who insisted that she be allowed to go to base with Simon, a teenager too pretty for her own good asking her father about his time spent in the field.

You knew it was a matter of time. She took after her father more than you. When you argued with her, it was like staring into your husband’s face. Quiet determination and a total lack of regard for anything except their motives.

At 18, she enlisted. She laughed at your worried frown as her father clapped her on the back and shook her hand, “Welcome, Recruit.”

Her training with the SAS was supplemented by her father, making her truly a force to be reckoned with when put against her fellow recruits. She began bragging to you on her phone calls home, telling you all about how she planted the men flat on their asses in sparring!

Then she was no longer a recruit, but a fully enlisted member being sent onto missions with real gunfire and real danger.

You had never been one quick to prayer, even when Simon was in the service but that changed when your daughter started getting sent all over the globe in order to serve her country, until she makes one final journey home.

Simon stops eating at the table. He can’t bear to watch you sit there, eyes staring into nothing. Any words his mouth could form wouldn’t fix this. How he groomed your daughter for military duty from the cradle. Which of those trips to base was the one that had lit the spark that destined her for service? Was it one too many war stories told to her in the cradle when he was explaining where he had been? Why he hadn’t heard her first words, but that he was here now and ready to hear her talk his ear off.

You start to slowly leave the kitchen table: Perching yourself on the sofa in the living room, watching the corner she usually sat in.

Simon stops sitting in his recliner, opting instead for his office. He can’t watch you stare at the empty seat even if he had been doing the same.

It comes to a head nearly a month after her burial.

“Why can’t you look at me Simon!”

His head whips around, you hadn’t spoken much for weeks and now you were yelling at him, just this side of hysteria.

“I lost my daughter and now my husband can’t even look at me! I’m hurting Simon! I never wanted her to enlist, but you had to play war hero! You always had to be her hero and now she’s gone Si! She’s gone and I’m losing you at the same time!” Your tears are overflowing now, you’re swiping at your eyes and trying to not let them travel down your cheeks in a losing battle.

Simon’s mouth is agape, “Dove, I-”

“Don’t ‘Dove’ me! You haven’t talked to me Simon! You haven’t held me! You haven’t tried to tell me it’ll be ok and that we’ll get through this! We haven’t even slept in the same fucking bed together Simon!”

He had hoped you wouldn’t notice how he had opted for the uncomfortable loveseat hidden in his office. He had hoped you were too lost in your thoughts and grief to notice.

“Simon I can’t do this with you if you won’t help me. I need a break. I’m living with two ghosts now.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fanfic #simon riley #grave writes

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weirdfishy · 9 months

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gotta urgent need for some not-quite-yet punkflower where hobie is chillin in some rubble post-(successful) battle all knackered out n miles is visiting (idk bc he just told his parents abt spiderman n it went well so he's bursting at the seems with love at being accepted n all yea? he's gotta tell someone, and why not him? why not hobie? it's no one else but hobie he's gotta tell, if he's being honest with himself [denile is not a river in his egypt, ok pav?] so yeah, he finds himself on 138) n catches the tail end of the battle, tracks down where hobie decided to make a couch outta concrete and lands in front of him, buzzing with cheezy lovey dovey feelins of elation, top o' the fucken world, and asks on abt hobie, rambling until hobie just lifts a hand, a silent ask for help up, (always asking for connection always makin sure they're actually there) n miles, have i mentioned he's happy? he's straight up a sap, so he takes that hand.

he takes that hand gently, bending at the waist a bit, dramatically sweeping back his other arm, bowing, for hell's sake, n plants a kiss on the back of hobie's hand, nice n proper, with a cheeky wink to boot (he'd finally fixed the eye mechanisms last week, thanks to penny), before pulling up new london's own spiderman chest to chest with a bright laugh that puts a different kind of stars in hobie's eyes, half dancing half belting out a song in spanish he doesn't quite understand but knows all the words to (it's some continental dialect, nothing his mami speaks, but would filter out the headphones of that kid in his building he walked w in middle school everyday)

before the sirens start getting closer n hobie can feel the warmth of miles-- the warmth of his smile, his hair that's still sparking from transdimensional travel, his arms, chest, laughter, everything, n all at once it pulls every affectionate n pining bit of hobie to the surface, if he weren't wearing his mask his blush would be so impossibly visible it's straight mad how much hobie loves n adores miles, how much seeing miles be happy lights hobie's whole fucking world

and oh, hobie's never seen a god he didn't punch, never believed in any one he couldn't, but right now, with his fingers entwined with miles', aches leaving his bones like he's never felt his left shoulder twinge the second it drops below 21 just because miles just yelled fuck off to the approaching pigs, he could fall to his knees n swear pious fealty to milesmilesmiles.

but hobie is cool (never has a label stuck to him like the one miles has given him), and his real, livin n breathing god is starting to ramble, so hobie webs them upupup, heat along his back as god wraps arms around him, breath on his neck as home weaves tales into the leather wrapping it.

then miles hears hobie's stomach growl, so he starts pulling them away from the path of what he knows is towards hobie's flat, and towards what he swears is the only good puerto rican food in the whole of hobie's haunt, his excitement steamrolling over his usual stuttering spanish, exchanging shouts n jeers with everyone behind the counter

bc everyone knows him, like miles has lived here, earth-138, new london, his whole life, like hobie brown being dragged into the shop every other week by miles morales to get the same two plates (n an extra something for miles to gush over n hobie to taste) is how the rest of this life will go, like hobie n miles are together, in a way that the unsubtle looks the owner's kid at the register is aiming at miles' left hand are correct, but don't involve stuffy socially religious systems like marriage

but they're not, as much as hobie would love to kiss miles, gaze into his eyes for ages, hear his laughter, his off-key singing, his scritch-scritch of something on paper everyday-- bc he can't go abt this like he does everyone else, can't do it with half a foot out the door n a shrug as agreed; it's gotta be both feet on the floor, n it's gotta be for the rest of this life, so he'll take what he can get, and he'll take the distance n devotion, take the faith n the heartache. take what he can get from his god, glad to be touched by his god, glad to be loved by his god, across universes n the fall from his bed to the futon on the floor where miles decides to lay his head for choice holy nights

(hobie doesn't know miles is putting himself at the base of his god's shrine, hoping for his deity to fall into his arms, spikes n all, (ready, so ready to tear apart dimensions again for hobie, to bleed and cry n go to war for hobie) fingers splaying on the side of the mattress warmwarmwarm after hobie starts snoring, before they slip down softly, a prayer imparting from the pads, memorizing the patterns of his god's breath, the smell of the room, the borrowed shirt he wears, the sounds of a second city he calls home, thrumming full with a bass note plucked from an electric guitar, usually shaky hands sure n still picking out a different shape to hobie's eyebrow piercing, deftly screwing a star onto the bar. miles brings offerings to his god in pins n patches on clothing, stickers n torn out sketches decorating a shrine)

so they'll song n dance in new york, in new london; learning each other's cities, earths, haunts, people, arts, each other, like new scars for the collection- permanent and signs of living, odes to loving and protecting.

chest to chest, fingers entwined, warmth in the skies above cities, right on the edge of it all until they fall together, eyes wide open, gods broken down into blood and teeth and lovelovelove

not-quite-yet 2 - 3

. my ko-fi 💛

ao3 link

#flowerpunk #punkflower #i'm havging some major fucking brainrot apparently #look i've been listening to lets fall in love for tonight all day while reading flowerpunk fics #spiderverse #fishy write the fucking fic already challenge #hobie x miles #miles x hobie #yeah no yeah i'm goin fuckin bonkers over them apparently #the fic mutualism altered my brain chemistry for fucking real #fishy's bubbles #this got so fucking long my brother watched two episodes of the bear while i lost my shit over them #all i was gonna come on tumblr for was to say that i will probably get a lip ring bc i've always wanted to but instead i wrote this #not-quite-yet #nqy 1

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stanfanfiction · 8 months

Text

Taste of You - Ken x fem!reader - PART FOUR.FIVE

Heeyyy babes!! Your constant support and outpouring of love it SOO amazing, I truly never expected anyone to even read my writing and having so many of you tell me how much you like it is beyond anything I could have hoped for.

I hope you enjoy the latest .5 chapter, which, as has become custom, is simply the fun sm*t stuff that we all enjoy. Today’s entry had some sub!/dom! Roles, on both sides ;) so I’m eager to see how everyone likes it, what they like more, etc!! Also thanks to @aloheem for suggesting trying out a tickling idea to see how Ken reacts to it.

AND thank you for sending in your requests!! I love reading what you enjoy consuming fan-fic wise and I hope I can bring your ideas to justice <3

Alright, without further ado, warnings and then let’s goooo.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY / sub!Ken/dom!reader / dom!Ken/sub!reader / mild non-con (never fully non because the sub! Is enjoying themselves and makes that clear) / light choking / spanking / bondage / overstimulation / new sensations / tickling / praise k!nk / oral fem! & male! receiving / ball touching / edging

Ken lay underneath you, helpless as you straddled his hips but bent down, eyes staring into his the entire time. He gasped and his entire body clenched as you bit down into the area where his hip bone and groin meet and sucked hard. The headboard rattled loudly as he attempted to jerk his hands toward to free them, but they remained tightly bound above his head much to his frustration. His eyes, never leaving yours, pleaded as loudly as they could, as you had forbidden him from speaking for the time being, begging, BEGGING you to let him do *something,* anything other than lay there and suffer this insanely incredible torture that he still wasn’t quite sure how to take.

“Mmmmm, yes baby.”

Ken’s voice cut through the experience just enough for you to open your eyes, blinking, your body hot and horny and your head trying to navigate the fact that you had just been dreaming.

“You’re finally awake.” Ken was spooning you, arms and legs tangled with yours, his forehead pressed into the back of your skull. He leaned forward so his lips were perfectly caressing your ear, sending a slight tickle down you when he spoke. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for ages.”

Your eyes adjusted and you saw the clock. 4 a.m.

“Why would I be awake at 4, Ken?” But you already knew why. It had become almost routine at this point for Ken to somehow wake you during the night for your sexual escapades that hadn’t even begun to slow in their frequency.

“You were moaning in your sleep,” he snuggled closer to you. “I was hoping you’d wake so we could do whatever you were dreaming about in real life.” His lips captured your ear lobe and bit down just enough for another little spark to shoot down to your core. You giggled and tried to pull away but he held you close and started attacking your neck, which made you giggle more.

“Keeennn! Please,” you laughed, struggling.

“Mmmmm not until you tell me about your dream so I know what I need to do to you,” he chuckled.

You paused, thinking. Ken had become incredibly confident sexually in a very short period of time, but you wondered if having him submit to you would be something he would enjoy. You knew YOU would love it but you also worried perhaps he might take it the wrong way, or feel scared or…

“I’m waiting,” Ken reminded, breathing in your scent as he nuzzled into your neck again.

Well. You *were* incredibly horny right now, and honestly pissed off that Ken had woken you before your dream had reached completion. You decided you would try, and take it slow, and let him lead everything based on his comfort level.

You managed to turn yourself to face him, and he smiled so beautifully at you.

“Ken…I think I want to try something new tonight.”

His eyes lit up. Fair enough, he did always love learning new things whenever you would teach him.

“I need you to let go of me so I can show you.”

One of the only ways lately you *could* get Ken to let you out of his embraces was to bribe him with anything even mildly related to sex, and this was no different. He relaxed so you could move as you pleased, and you sat up and turned on the bedside light.

You looked serious and were working through how to start, since you hadn’t ever tried to be dominant in bed other than what you had done with Ken, and you wanted to work out how to make this hot for him without scaring him.

You reached your hand out and he took it, and you pulled him to the front of the bed until the two of you were both standing. You had on your tiny silk nightie that he loved to pull off of you, and of course he stood completely nude, tall and muscular and…ugh, those eyes, all smiling down at you so lovingly and just waiting.. oh fuck, okay fuck, focus.

“Ken,” you said quietly, your hand reaching out to rest on his lower abs. He took your free hand in his and kissed it, patiently waiting for you to explain.

“What I want to try tonight isn’t something we have really done before.”

He leaned his forehead into yours and hummed. “Okay?” He encouraged you to continue.

“Uhm…uh, what is a word you could automatically say, no matter what state your mind was in, to make someone stop what they were doing?”

He looked confused. “I would just say ‘Stop.’”

You stared at him, so innocent in his new confusion, and you smiled. I mean, you would definitely stop anything ever if he told you to. You raised up on tip toes to kiss him.

“Then ‘Stop’ it is.” You stepped back, watching him closely to gauge all of his reactions as you reached down and pulled your nightie off, now standing naked in front of him.

His eyes shone and he immediately reached forward to grab you, but you caught his wrists. He cocked his head.

“I…don’t understand -“

“Tonight,” you said, walking towards him with his wrists still in your grip, “you can *only* do as I say, when I say so.”

He frowned. “If you tell me to just go back to sleep, I’m not going to do it.”

You laughed. “No, so, there’s this type of, well, sexual play, where one partner kind of controls the other. Like if I tell you to do something you have to do it. Oh! But, ONLY if you actually want to. Which is why saying ‘stop’ is how I would know not to make you do it.”

“But why would you ask me to do something I wouldn’t want to do?” He ignored you holding his wrists and instead used it to his advantage, wrapping his arms around your waist and thus imprisoning your arms behind your back. “I can’t think of anything you would ask me to do to pleasure you that would make me say no.”

“What if what I asked didn’t *seem* like it would pleasure me, but it actually would?”

He remained silent, working to make this make sense to him.

“Like the first time you spanked me, you asked first, because you were worried it might hurt me? Kind of like that.”

His face softened. “Ohhh, okay. So you ask me to try things to you to see if they feel good?”

“Kinda?” You felt like this wasn’t going to work, but then the image of him struggling under your touch from the dream came back, and it snapped your mind back into place. Your voice became firm. “Ken, let go of me. Now.”

Surprised, he loosened his grip, not completely but enough to where you were able to pull free. “Keep your hands at your sides.”

He still wasn’t playing along 100%, and you knew a lot of it was that it still wasn’t making sense to him. You decided you’d just have to show him.

“From this point forward, if you tell me to stop, I will. But anything else you say or do, I will keep going.” You grazed your nails from his groin up to his hip bone, and he shuddered, immediately grabbing your waist.

“No, Ken.” Your voice startled him. “Hands at your sides.”

He looked helpless. “No, I …I don’t understand.”

“I want to pleasure you slowly without you doing anything to me for just a little while.” You made your voice sound all dreamy as your fingers danced across his lower abs, and he watched you, his breath becoming a little more shallow. “Part of the pleasure I am seeking is getting to fully immerse myself in *your* pleasure, and yours only, at least for a little while. Do you understand?”

Ken seemed to be in overthink mode, trying to figure out how to get a grip on what was happening. “Stop.”

You did immediately, taking your hand back from him, watching him closely. He looked almost….angry? No, not quite that, but -

“Give me ten minutes,” you interrupted his thought process. “If you still don’t like it by then, I will stop and not try again.”

Ken struggled with accepting this, like it made so little sense that he couldn’t see how accepting your terms would actually make you happy. You reached out and slowly wrapped a hand around his cock, which had been hard and straining ever since he first got off the bed.

“Do you want to make me happy, Ken?” You kind of hated how manipulative the words sounded, despite them only being for play, but still wanted to make sure he would enjoy playing along once he figured it out.

Your question seemed to throw him off guard. His blue eyes melted into yours, his body relaxing a little, less defensive now. He gulped. “I do.”

Your grip tightening on his cock now and he groaned, reaching for your wrist again but stopping himself this time, glancing at you. You smiled, small but sexy, and that seemed to do something to him. He pulled his hand back to his side and your other hand came up to caress his cheek.

“Good boy,” you purred. You LOVED the way his posture always changed a little when you praised him, his chest puffing out a tiny bit and his face looking just a bit proud. “You remembered to keep your hands to yourself. Now let me touch you for awhile.”

He nodded, watching you like a tiger watches its prey, as you started rubbing his cock while your other hand traced lazily up his abs with your nails, his shudders indicating how sensitive he was already just by being denied control. He giggled a little when your nails grazed over a certain area, and you tried to hold back a smile at how cute his reaction was. Instead, you looked up at him and touched the area again.

“It tickles.”

“Mmmhmm, it does, sweet Ken. Can you handle it? Can you deal with it for a little longer?” Ken’s fists clenched and unclenched in time with the way you were pumping him as you kept your nails on his abs. He was desperate to touch you, to force you down and fuck you until you were exhausted. His skin broke out in goosebumps when you took his nipple in your mouth and he moaned loudly. You took your hand off of his cock and he groaned irritably before all of your nails were dancing up and down his abs and groin, and he shuddered and unintentionally leaned into you a little. He was gasping, ohhh fuck, he had probably never experienced anything even close to overstimulation other than the first time he was having sex with you. And he was so fucking stunning trying to take it to make you happy. You bit his nippled and he cried out, his hands now balled into tight fists.

You stepped back. “Fuucckkk, what a perfect boy you are. You’re doing so well for me.”

His cock twitched and he let out a small whimper. He definitely was struggling with this, but as it seemed he wasn’t actually in pain or telling you to stop, you decided to keep playing to see where it went.

“You can lay down now, Ken.”

He stared at you, his head hung a little, his neck and shoulders tight. Fists clenched, cock throbbing. Panting, eyes boring into yours. Oh my god, you stared at him to make sure this image forever stayed in your mind.

“Now, Ken.”

He slowly obeyed, pulling himself backwards onto the bed and sitting at the top against the pillows.

All you could think of was how beautiful he was going to look tied up for you.

You pulled a pair of pantyhose out of your drawer and climbed onto the bed to him. The new item in your hands made him curious, but he was still focused on only one thing.

“Can I touch you now?”

“Not yet. But you’re so patient.”

“When can I?” How the fuck did his voice sound so broken over…

“Ken,” your voice was calmer, now talking to him in your normal tone. “I want to tie you up and fuck you.”

His eyes widened a bit, realizing the pantyhose you had been twisting into a long, thin, but sturdy rope, was meant for…

He glanced up at you, and an eyebrow cocked. You wanted to slap him for making you feel out of control, again..not when you were supposed to be the one who -

“How long do you need me tied up for?”

“Until I’m finished with you.”

Ken smirked, and to your surprised offered his wrists willingly. “Then tie me up and fuck me, y/n.” He grinned, knowing he took you off guard, literally challenging you.

OH, now he was in for it.

You bound his wrists quickly, securing them to the headboard. He smiled at you the entire time, suddenly entertained by your whole new desire for play, but the smile left his face quickly as you took him into your mouth, lowering down onto him. His hips bucked at the sudden shock that went through him, and his moan of pleasure turned into one of frustration when you immediately pulled off of him. He looked down at you.

“You aren’t allowed to move while I suck on you, Ken.”

He looked incredulously at you. “How am I supposed to -“

He was cut off when you gently squeezed his balls, knowing his one particularly sensitive spot, and he gasped loudly, hips bucking again. You usually didn’t touch him here that often, as it seemed to drive him mad with passion and, well, horniness, and usually you didn’t get the chance to see how much he could take because he would tackle you and fuck you until you were exhausted.

But now, this time was different. You massaged that area again, and his head pushed back into the pillows, wrists straining against his bonds.

“Jesus FUCK.” He panted. You hadn’t ever heard him raise his voice that loudly. You felt yourself becoming wet, and you continued your gentle but consistent assault on his balls, watching him in silence as he gasped and moaned and shuddered, waiting for him to surrender to you.

He actually held out way longer than you had expected, and you felt so impossibly hot watching as he slowly went from an alpha-state to one of literal physical submission, his body no longer trying to violently break itself free from the headboard except for some exhausted tugs, his voice almost hoarse, his body completely covered in a cold sweat.

“Please, please, pleassee….” He begged, voice breaking a little. “Please, y/n, I can’t. I can’t - ahhhh, FUCK, please.”

You stopped your torture, and a huge exhale rattled through his body, attempting to soothe itself. You climbed on top of him, straddling his waist.

“Hi, sweet boy.”

He looked up at you, completely at your will, still panting, and his sweaty hair and mildly wet eyes made you feel so deeply for him. You leaned forward, placing your hands besides his head.

“You’re so good to me, Ken,” you whispered, and he leaned up to kiss you then caught himself, lowering his head back down onto the pillows. Fuck, he was trying SO hard to please you.

“Am I doing good, y/n?” He whimpered.

“You’re doing so good, Ken. You know why I had to exhaust you, right?”

“Because I wouldn’t stop moving,” he choked, gasping for another breath.

“Good, Ken. You learn so quickly.” You glanced at the clock and saw he had held out almost the full ten minutes now, but you wanted to make sure he was okay before delving in any further.

“Ken? Is it alright if I keep going?”

His entire body went rigid, his biceps clenching tightly, as if ready to jerk himself free of his restraints if necessary - or if he actually could this time. He never took his eyes off of you, contemplating his answer. You leaned down to his ear to whisper, and you felt the shiver that ran through him.

“If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you touch me for a moment.”

He nodded then. “Yes, please, anything, I’ll do anything -“

You captured his lips in yours and he moaned into you, almost as if he was thanking you and his lips pulled yours roughly into his mouth, his tongue darting into yours to clash with your tongue for a brief moment before you pulled back. He looked devastated.

You reached for the restraints and his eyes brightened.

“Only one for now,” you said, untying his left hand and making sure that his right remained firmly connected to the bed. “Because if you need me to stop, I might not be able to hear you. If you need me to stop at anytime, I want you to slap my leg, really hard, so I know. Okay?”

He held onto your every word, nodded when you were finished, trying to figure out what it was you were going to do. He began moving his hand to your waist then caught himself and paused, waiting for instructions.

“Mmm, I have the best Ken,” you cooed, and he smiled a little. You allowed him to rest his hand on your waist as you straddled his face, slowly lowering yourself down onto him.

You had barely come into contact with his nose when you felt his free arm tighten around your thigh, pulling you closer into him, and you cried out, grabbing the headboard for support as his lips roughly sucked on your clit, pulling hard. He moaned hungrily into you, and you forced yourself to make sure you didn’t fully collapse onto his face, his tongue and lips so eager and rough, and his moaning into your opening was the most vulnerable yet hot you could remember feeling in your life.

You began moving your hips a little, trying to maintain your attempt at dominance, but fuck if it wasn’t almost impossible while working against Ken’s strength and enthusiasm. He wrapped his arm around your thigh tighter and almost forced you still as his tongue penetrated into you, licking and flicking and then his lips sucking around your opening in a dizzying sequence.

“Ken…I…ah, fuck, okay, I need -“ You yelped as his arm freed itself of you momentarily only to spank your cheek sharply, the pain shocking you but not having time to react because he immediately forced you back down onto his face and held you until you came, your knuckles white from holding onto the headboard and you cried out over and over as an intense orgasm washed over you. Ken didn’t stop until your body began becoming limp, from which he then removed his arm and you un-straddled him, sitting next to him on the bed.

He lay there, one arm bound above his head, his hair a mess, his face flushed and covered in your juices, and he was grinning at you.

"I like you making me submit to you. That was fun." His free hand reached for you. "Now untie me so I can fuck your dripping pussy. I am losing my mind."

You forced yourself to maintain control as you quickly grabbed his hand and began tying it back up.

"Hey, hey!" he protested, but you were quicker and he was bound again within moments. You moved back to look at him, confused, and *now* he looked a little angry, but you knew it wasn't from actual anger, more just not getting his way, which is something he didn't enjoy. *Especially * when he was this horny.

He grit his teeth and jerked hard on the restraints. "Let me out of these."

You cocked your head. "Mmmm, no."

"When, then?"

"When you've orgasmed."

He growled. "That's what I am actively *trying* to do!!"

You sunk down onto him then, no warning or buildup, and he cried out in ecstasy, his entire being melting as if relieved.

"Ohhh, fuck, y/n, my love…thank you, thank you, thank -"

You reached up and placed a hand around the base of his throat, just barely, not even applying pressure. He looked up at you, and despite not experiencing this before, the look he gave you made you all the more hot, and you wrapped your fingers around his neck, squeezing ever so slightly. He moaned loudly, and his eyes had that gorgeous teary look that you had seen the first time you had fucked him - his own special mix of love and pleasure and experiencing something amazing for the first time. He thrust up into you then, and the sharpness of it told you he was already way too close to climaxing.

You pulled your hips off of his, sitting on his waist but keeping your hand around his throat. The noise he made when you left his cock was like a mangled cry, and his eyes went into dominance mode, that look he gave you when he was warning you things were about to go his way.

"But you're not the one in control this time, Ken." Your hair brushed his face and you squeezed his throat a little harder. "I am. And you don't get to cum until I say so."

You swore you saw stars in his eyes when you sunk back down onto him then, fucking him the way you knew he loved, and you removed your hand from his throat to press down onto his hips like he always did to you. That did something extra for him and he groaned, jerking against the restrains again, and the image of him slowly coming undone because of you made you so tempted to just untie him and finish you off the way he wanted - the way you knew you both wanted - but you had come too far to quit now, and once again when you knew his orgasm was close, when his abs began their gorgeous tightening and his hips bucked up into yours, you let him slip out of you again, and he literally sobbed.

"You're not doing a very good job at not moving, Ken."

You tried to keep your head together as he glared down at you, and you knew *exactly* the thoughts that were swimming through his mind: jerk himself free of the headboard, force you down onto the bed, his fingers bruising themselves into you as he fucked you like he was in heat as you held on for dear life.

You had one more trick up your sleeve, and decided you had best do it now because you weren't sure if you would ever be successful at getting Ken tied up again after tonight. You got your only other pair of pantyhose and ripped them in two.

Ken's eyes grew huge and you expected him to fight back, but to your surprise he didn't. He lay, watching you while you pulled his legs open, tying each one to an opposite best post, until he was splayed out in front of you, unable to thrust up even if he tried.

He remained silent as you climbed back onto the bed and leaned down, gently taking one of his balls into your mouth while massaging the other. His head fell back and his moans were beautiful, as you decided you wanted to be gentle the rest of the night but still wanted to see how far you could push his stamina.

After he began squirming from a little too much sensation, you moved back up to his cock, your lips wetly sucking and licking around his tip, and you loved watching how much he was trying to move his hips. He seemed to be working really hard to play along now, though, because the gritted teeth and glaring eyes had morphed into your name almost being sung as you touched him, sucked, licked, loved on him, before kissing and biting your way back up his abs and chest to his face.

You looked down at him now and he at you, those baby blues lost in you, telling you he was yours to do with as you pleased. "I surrender," he whispered, and you gasped. How was this so…incredibly…

"I love you," he said.

You took his face in your hands and kissed him then, and he allowed you to lead to how deep and invasive the kiss became before leaning down to mark his neck with your lips. He moaned contentedly every time you did that, and this time was no different.

You were going to make him feel *sooo* good.

You lowered yourself back down onto his cock slowly, clenching yourself around him as hard as you could until he was fully inside you, and his head rested on one of his arms still bound beside his head.

"You're doing such a good job, Ken."

"Mm…I…good..Ken…" His moans were accompanied by an attempt at words every few breaths as he became less coherent.

You fucked him gently and he was so sensitive that his body began to tremble a couple of time. Each time you would stop fucking him until he calmed down and then you would begin again, his voice becoming more of a whimper the longer you edged him on, and at last when it seemed every ounce of energy had been drained from him, you gave him what he deserved.

He lay limp, shuddering, moaning incoherently, muscles still spasming of their own accord as much as they could muster after becoming exhausted.

"You've done so, so incredibly well, Ken." The shock of you allowing him his release was like a lightning bolt shot through him and he sobbed your name endlessly, head thrown back, eyes clenched as his body convulsed underneath you.

You watched him closely as he began to calm down, tears stinging his eyes, his body still shaking a little. You got up and tore off his restrains one by one, untying his hands last, and his tired muscles fell by his sides as he lay underneath you, panting.

You were scared now. Was this how he felt when he had spanked you for the first time? Like, that he could have actually gone too far? Had YOU gone too far?

"Ken?" you didn't meant for your voice to come out in a whisper. "Are you okay?"

He looked at you, rolling his head on the pillow to do so, as he seemed too tired to even raise it at the moment. "Kiss me," he demanded, soft and delicate, but you knew it was a command.

You kissed him deeply and he did the same, and his eyes locked on yours when you pulled back. "I love you so much, y/n."

You spent the next hour taking care of him. You sat upright against the headboard and he relaxed into your body, his being nestled against your chest and in-between your legs, humming sleepily as you massages his hands and wrists, peppered him with kisses, told him how much you loved him and cuddled his face. At one point he took your legs and folded your ankles across his waist, his forehead leaning into your neck.

"Just like being close to you," he murmered.

After having come down for awhile, he began to shiver a little and you coaxed him into the shower where you gentle bathed him off, the heat making him comfortable again, as your fingers danced across his body with soap suds, and he held you under the running water close to him, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other holding the side of your face as he languished himself in your kisses.

You both ended up back in bed just as the sun was beginning to rise, and you thanked the gods that you didn't have class today as Ken pulled you into him like always, but unlike usual, he fell asleep almost instantly, and you got to experience him sleeping around you, hearing his little moans and breathing, feeling his body limp and relaxed all around you. You hugged the arm that held you to him and nuzzled into the pillows, drifting off.

"Hey."

Ken's voice broke through your sleep, and you blinked your eyes open. The room was bright with the day's sunlight, and you had a moment of struggle to come to, you had been so deeply asleep.

The moment your eyes adjusted, you looked up and saw Ken beside you, kneeling, his cock looking painfully hard and a smirk on his face. You attempted to move but realized your wrists were bound above your head tightly, and you saw Ken's fist clenched around a leather belt in his right hand. You sucked in air sharply, already overwhelmed when you hadn't even been fully awake a whole minute ago.

Ken leaned over you now, your mind racing as he stared down at you, kissing you lovingly before nipping at your lower lip and running the belt gently up your thigh.

"Now," his words made you already want to tremble, "it's my turn."

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