#Besides the English taking land

[oifaaa]

in united states public school we learn about the american revolution and the first three presidents (minus the fact that they had slaves and abused their families bc how dare we portray them as anything but heroes on a pedastal) every year from when we're 8 to when we're 14, we have one year for generalized world history and if you're lucky one year to learn about a very white-centric view of pre-1700's north america and prehistory

Doesn't that get a bit boring? Now I'm thinking about it tho I think I'd say 95% of my history classes would have been modern history basically anything from the industrial revolution onwards like the world wars, the Russian revolution followed by the cold war including modules on the Vietnam war and Korean war, and then obviously American civil rights movement, the Irish famine, Irish war of independence, irish civil war and finally a lot about the troubles - in fact I think the only two times I can remember learning about anything older is in primary we learnt about ancient Egypt and in first year of secondary we learnt about the native Americans

[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[rodolfoparras]

Don’t cry over spilled milk (or do)

Pairing: The Milkman x Male reader

Content warnings: 18+, anal fingering, Francis is one vocal fellow

Thinking about Francis Mosses who’s always been considered the perfect top, mostly because of his size- getting to bottom for the first time in his life.

Down on all four, with his ass in the air big fat cock uselessly hanging between his legs, and feeling himself flushing red from being in such a vulnerable position.

Besides the embarrassment brewing in his gut, he feels restless just laying like that , so used to being able to see what his partner is doing to him, now he can only rely on the feeling of your two thumbs prying his cheeks apart, and exposing the sensitive flesh to the cold air.

Goosebumps raise across his skin, a sharp breath escapes his lips and he can feel the impatience growing inside of him. “Come on come come on just hurry up!,” he hisses out, feeling even more vulnerable from the way your gaze seems to be burning into the pink flesh of his ass.

“Patience love” you say, hand firmly landing on his cheek, and as much as he’s embarrassed to say it, the action manages to silence him.

His dark eyes glare down at the bright white sheets, thumbs fiddling with the loose threads of it, trying to ignore how his face must be as red as the cheek you just slapped while you freely ogle at him.

“Anybody told you that you look pretty like this hm?” You say, thumbing curiously at his puckered rim, but not adding enough pressure to push your finger inside him.

Another wave of embarrassment washes over him, and he feel the urge to cuss you out with every curse word to exist in the English language but he knows but he knows by doing so you, you’ll further prolong this.

So he clears his throat, swallows down his pride before he mutters the word “No,”

A contended hum escapes your lips, your hot breath washing over his skin and this time he knows your face is just a hair away from his puckered rim. “Well you are,” you say, words as firm as your grip on him. “So so pretty”

And you’re so so close yet so far away.

He clears his throat again, swallows the last bit of pride in him before he utters the words “Please just please-“

“What is it sweetheart? What do you want hm?” You say, amusement clear in your voice. He can even feel the way the tip of your nose drags along his bottom half, doing everything and anything in your power to wind him up and he doesn’t know how much more he can take before he combust.

“Please just please fuck me!” He cries out, tears threatening to spill from his glassy eyes but all the air is suddenly punched out of his lungs when you slip the tip of your finger inside.

There’s a slight sting that comes with the stretch, body momentarily tensing as you carefully work your finger inside him”Oh! Oh oh fuck!”

“Francis? You okay?” You say, carefully massaging the pink flesh.

With each brush of your finger tip; the burning sensation dulls a bit and he feels himself relax back onto the sheets, a soft hum rolling off his tongue before he manages to properly answer you. “Good, it’s good,” he hums out, as he further relaxes into your touch.

Eventually the stinging sensation completely subsides and he starts feeling empty with only your fingertip inside. “More, please more,” he grunts out hips subconsciously buck up into your hand.

“Such a demanding little thing” you say to him as a chuckle escapes your lips but you don’t waste a second working your finger deeper inside of him til you’re buried knuckles deep, and tactically grazing the wall of nerves that sends sparks of pleasure through his body, specially down to his dick.”Mmph-God! Just- ah just like that”

This isn’t something he’s felt before, your touch feels ever so intoxicating especially when your calloused finger grazes the sensitive wall of nerves and before he realizes what he’s doing he finds himself begging for more, greedy as ever and drunk on pleasure.

It doesn’t take much before you fulfill his wish, pushing two fingers past his puckered rim, the stinging sensation briefly returning , as he gets used to the feeling of having two thick digits inside of him. “Come on sweetheart, you can take it yeah? I know you can” he hears you say, familiar word spilling past your lips and for a brief seconds he imagines the times he’d been the one to say it when he had someone under him.

Eager to prove himself, he starts fucking himself back onto your digits, something that starts off slow as he gets used to the stretch before he increases the pace. “Ugh fuck - fuck feels so so good yes yes yes!!”

By this point he doesn’t register when you work a third finger inside of him, only registering the fullness that comes with it and the way your hand slides between his legs, gently palming his ballsack

“Look at you love, haven’t even fucked you yet you’re already so close to cumming,” You say , puncturing every word with a thrust to his prostate while tugging at his hard and weeping dick.

Francis couldn’t care less about the fact that you’re taunting him, couldnt care less about how pathetic he looks like this, all he can care about is how every thrust - every stroke, has him inching closer to his orgasm.

“Please oh god please -“ He cries out, begs and pleads sounding something akin to a mantra, fingers practically digging holes into the mattress and the muscles in his thighs cramping up from how hard he’s fucking himself onto your hand.

It doesn’t take much before he feels his toes curl, pulse roaring in his ears as a wave of hot white pleasure washes over him.

“Ah ah God ‘m cumming ‘m cumming please-“ he cries out, feels himself spill all over the sheets and his thighs, body shaking as you continue to milk his cock.

“Stop- stop, please.” He finally slurs out, once there’s nothing but pathetic spurts of cum coming from his cock, hand blindly pushing you away from him before he finally slumps down onto the mattress.

Exhaustion creeps up his bones, eyelids feeling heavier than ever and all of a sudden he feels himself fading away in the dream land.

“Ah, ah ah,” he hears you say, the sound of your sharp voice snapping him awake. “We’re not done here,”

[januaryembrs]

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.

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!!

series masterlist | next chapter

[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!!

THIRD EDIT: we are now balls deep into this universe here's th link for the masterlist

[inkskinned]

in the time loop the only way out is to leave her there but you don't ever leave her there, never in the roughly one thousand years you have been in the same day. it is probably like "50 first dates" but you haven't stooped so low as to watch "50 first dates" yet. (but who is to say what another thousand years of the same media will bring to you, maybe you will develop a new taste).

you spent about 200 of these years sulking in a bathtub or on the couch or staring at the seaside. 300 of them have been spent slowly mapping the geographical distance you can actually get before the time loop restarts. you have a list of favorite places: one library in Western Massachusetts called "The Bookmill", which has weird hours and has never raised an eyebrow to you arriving out-of-breath and panting, asking to see a specific book on a specific shelf. There is one beach without a name in North Carolina; it is an accident of geography and ownership title disputes - and it is pristine, untouched, warm and cozy. you've taken her on a lot of picnics there. Acadia National Park. One specific birdhouse in the mountains.

you were stuck in the time loop with the money you entered it with: not enough to rent a private jet. you've robbed a bank a few times, you don't like the way it ends. maybe next century you'll get the hang of it. you don't like the look on her face when you say hang on i have to stop at the bank.

you just have to leave her, and you can go back to being a person again. you took 5 years just catching a flight and sitting in the Grand Canyon. if there's one thing you regret more than anything, it's that you hadn't gotten your passport renewed before this fucking time loop. maybe you should spend some time learning forgery - but also, like, you look like an english teacher. nobody is going to be cool about you asking to see their paper printing machines.

the world is very big. that is one of the things groundhog day gets wrong. there are no consequences, so you have literally all the time (or none of the time?) in the world. in groundhog day, he does a lot of very cool things, but in reality - your muscle memory never gets better. you can't necessarily learn how to play piano or sculpt ice, because your hands never remember the practice. but hey - maybe you'll try violin next. drums. synth.

you can open any door and walk into any conversation. money isn't really an object. you can try every meal off every menu, forever. take her on helicopter tours and into every museum and on every event that is happening right-now at-this-moment. parades and funerals and calligraphy classes.

but you are somewhat trapped by the limitations of your body. if you were reading a book, you still need to get up and go back to the library and find that book again when the day resets. (thank god for the internet). it still takes like 2 hours to board a plane, and then takeoff and landing and traffic. you've gotten off to run around on the freeway. one of the little thankful things: since your brain isn't actually developing (it's a muscle too), the days thankfully don't feel shorter to you. that would be agony.

all you have to do to leave the timeloop is let that man get away with it. that's all. in every version of yourself - forever - you have stopped him.

the problem is that this experience has convinced you of the existence of the human soul. after all, how else are you forming memories? your very cells reset. information has to be transferred somehow. and if timeloops are real, you can convince yourself other magic exists. so you have two choices here: this hell, or the next. there might be a millennia where you have been worn down to the point you can accept fate's decision. this is just not one of them. ironically - she is the one thing you have left.

and besides! if you can't always find something new in your partner, aren't you failing them? there is something new about her, every day with the same morning. every brutal day with the same orange sunset.

after all, you wanted to live with her in heaven, in eternity, and, well - isn't this second-best.

[rafesslxt]

Wrong tie | Mattheo Riddle

summary: y/n noticed a little too late what tie she is wearing.. explains the dirty looks her house gave her

warnings: language, y/n wearing the false tie, flirting, gryffindor!Reader

note: English is not my first language, have fun 🫶🏻

You woke up in a complete haze. You couldn‘t even open your eyes as the sun hit you right in the face through the open curtains.

Damn what time is it? You streched your arms over the other side of the bed and took your alarm clock in your hands. While rubbing your eyes and yawning you took a look at it and shoot up from the bed.

" Fuck fuck fuck!" As fast as you could you got out of bed, seeing that your classes start in 5 minutes.

You had been awake all night long with your boyfriend Mattheo. You sneak in his room at night due to his room alone. Harry borrowed you his invisibility cloak from time to time and every morning before class you would sneek back to your common room.

You put on your clothes and noticed that you don‘t have any books with you but you wouldn‘t get to your class on time if you‘d go back to get them. Then you remembered that you have the first class with your best friends Hermione, Harry and Ron.

You took your cloak and hurried to class, you fold it together and put in your bag. You got into the room, looking at all student, then at your teacher Professor Slughorn. " I‘m sorry Mr. Slughorn, it won‘t happen again." " Oh it‘s alright, dear.. " he looked at you confused for a second. " just sit down and open your books. " he kindly said.

Walking towards the place you shared with your friends you noticed how your house looked at you like you just killed somebody in front of the whole class.

You sat down beside Hermione, who looked at you with wide eyes. Slughorn started the lesson and you whispered " What is it? Do I have something on my face?" She shook her head. " No, uhm.. it‘s more about what‘s under your face." " Huh? "

At the same time some piece of paper landed in front of you. You looked around you and saw Mattheo, smiling devilish at you. You opened the piece of paper and read: " Nice tie baby, let‘s try it on your wrists tonight. - M.R. "

Oh no. You looked down at yourself, eyes wide open as you realised that you took one of your boyfriends tie‘s in a hurry this morning. " Oh my god Hermione, how should I explain this? " " Uhm, you could say that you switched it at the quiddish game in the cabin? "

You turned your head to mattheo seeing him winking at you and biting his lips playfully. Rolling your eyes you still couldn‘t hide your smile.

The things is, beside Mattheo‘s friends and your friends, nobody knew about you two. Both of you wanted to wait a little and just do your thing, without people talking about you all the time. I mean they already did but just because they know you are "friends". Imagine them talking about you If they knew you both were offical dating.

At first Harry was thinking that he used you to come near him and help his father, but he saw the way he looked at you from across the room. Hermione was understanding, even tho she wasn‘t the biggest fan too. But If you‘re happy they are happy. Ron took it badly. He was furious, told you you are a traitor for dating the son of the one who tried to kill them that often, but soon he realised too that you two were madly in love. What did not mean that he wouldn‘t gag sometimes If he heard you kissing in front of them.

A whistle came from the other side of the room. " ey y/n, why don‘t you come sit with us now what you‘re one of us huh?" Draco laughed. You showed him your middle finger and turned back, taking your tie off.

" Damn baby." It slipped right out of Mattheo‘s mouth. Everybody turned around and looked at him. The room went quit and waited for an answer.

" What? Can‘t I think my best friend is hot ? Now turn the fuck back around. " You giggled and shook your head.

What a start for a day.

—

Agaaaain hope ya‘ll like it. It‘s a bit shorter this time bit I‘m on a trip right now so I don‘t have that much time. Thank you for readinggg 🫶🏻

My masterlist 🪄

xoxo sarah

[girlsworldillusion]

Perzys se ānogar

Pairing: Aemond x Sister!Reader

Rated: +18

Warnings: Please, pay attention to the tags. This story contains sensitive topics, such as: DUB-CON/NON-CON, INCEST.

Contains forced sex, targcest and yandere behavior. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

-- English IS NOT my first language, forgive me for any spelling mistakes.

Summary: When you refuse to fly with him to Harrenhal and support his plans for revenge, Aemond loses his mind. Angry and afraid of losing the only person he has left, he makes a decision that will change everything.

Word count: 11k

Dividers: @zaldritzosrose

Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

"Sister."

His voice breaks through the quiet crackle of the night, setting off an irregular beat in your heart, but you give him no sign of recognition. Instead, you continue to dart your eyes with interest over the orange glow of the many lights coming from the houses and commercial points scattered throughout the streets and alleys of Kings Landing. There is a certain grace and comfort in the knowledge that these people, countless of them, have no idea of the cracks spreading through the walls of the Red Keep right now.

"We share the same blood, you and I. I know you wish no harm to anyone, but at a time like this, the good of the Realm depends on us." He begins, not at all put off by your apparent lack of attention, his soft, cat-like footsteps barely audible against the stone floor as he walks towards you, stopping only when there is a short distance between your bodies. "Our mother is not a dragonrider, she cannot understand that you and I have a true calling to hear."

From the corner of your vision you see him reach out to touch your arm, and the alarmed gasp that abruptly leaves your lips along with the flinch of your body in response is noticeable, obvious enough to stop him in his tracks. You both stare at his hand, raised in the air just inches from your wrist - your wrist that, though hidden by the material of your robe, still throbs with the memory of the pain from where he grabbed it and pulled violently this afternoon, the marks of his fingers now carved into your soft skin.

Aemond clenches his jaw, his one eye shining with something very raw as he quickly understands the reason for your reaction, but you don't deign to make any further effort to understand what that look really means. Your hurt eyes linger on him just long enough to make sure he won't try to touch you again, after which you slowly turn your head to face the solitude of the night once more, your slightly shaky breathing rising and falling in your chest as you try to calm yourself.

He falls silent after that, and you suppress the urge to look at him despite yourself, your fingers nervously gripping the cold edge of the small wall of your private balcony. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your brother’s presence disturbing your previous calm with every second that stretches, until all you feel is apprehension and anxiety.

“Come with me to Harrenhal,” he says after a long silence where it’s clear you won’t say anything, his demand wrapped in nothing but a raspy crackle of his voice, a tone almost trembling at the edges. “We will lay waste Daemon and his army. Let our enemy see that we will answer outrage with outrage.”

You take a deep breath, the chilly night wind gently rustling the strands of your hair.

“And if I refuse?” Despite your inner turmoil and fear, your voice is surprisingly flat when you speak, cool even. He doesn’t answer right away, but even as you stare straight ahead you can see the way his body stiffens beside you. “Will you burn me as you did to Aegon?”

There’s a pause around you, a dull echo of silence that’s too long and tense to ignore, where not even the background noises of the city below can be heard anymore — as if even the night has gone silent before the gravity of your accusation.

“That is a lie.” Aemond breathes beside you in a dangerously low tone, as if he’s gritting his teeth, and you finally turn to him, lifting your chin to glare at him in defiance. His handsome face is painted with disappointment and spite, clear to you from any angle, even though he’s trying very hard to keep it hidden with his sharp, tense features. The thin, watery film glistening in his eye, however, is entirely unexpected, unsettling enough to almost distract you.

"Really?" You say instead, swallowing the wave of discomfort at seeing such raw emotion on your brother's face. He doesn't respond, his single purple eye still shining with unshed tears, his expression pained and wounded, as if you'd plunged the blade of the sharpest dagger into his chest. You squirm under the weight of his gaze, uncomfortable, but trying to remain resolute - knowing your accusation is true, as much as it hurts both of you. Despite everything, you love your brother with all your might, knowing that you're the cause of that expression on his face hurts you to the point that you feel slightly nauseous.

"Is it really possible that I'm losing you too, sister?" He whispers intensely, breaking the silence as he approaches you, pinning you against the wall and his own much taler body. His expression slides into something that is less of a sad expression and more of a grimace. Hurt, angry, like an animal that has been kicked too much and now chooses violence as defense. You know immediately that something just isn’t right, just from his aura. He looks tired, overwhelmed, and irritated, a man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Aemond has always protected you, always looked out for you like a true older brother would. He was once your safety and security figure, someone loyal and caring that you knew you could trust no matter what.

But now?

Before you can think about it any further, you’re thrown off balance. His hand cups your jaw carefully, ignoring your scared, suspicious gaze, slowly sliding his knuckles down your face to your neck, rubbing deceptively gentle circles with his thumb over a pulse point on your skin — though his gaze burns into yours with a sharp stab of anger and raw hurt. You sigh reflexively, feeling a series of goosebumps on your arms and neck in response to that look, some kind of instinct ingrained in you telling you to retreat, to run away.

Your brother is a nearly empty shell of the man you knew, and even though you want more than anything to still be able to trust him — to believe that his true self is still buried somewhere deep inside this shadow of revenge and blind desire for power before you, keeping your faith is harder than any challenge you may have faced in the past.

“Hmm?” He presses for an answer, jaw tight and gaze dangerous, “Tell me. Would you do this to me, sister? Would you dare leave me like them?” His thumb stops stroking your skin in that gentle way so that his fingers finally wrap around the circumference of your throat with measured slowness, and you feel your breath quicken.

Run, run, run.

He’s not thinking — he definitely isn’t, because if he were, he would have realized that what he’s doing is scaring you — his sweet, sheltered little sister. He would have realized that the way he gradually tightens his fingers on your delicate neck wrings a shiver of fear from your body, tilting his head closer to watch with sick interest the way your plush lips part with a ragged sigh. He would have noticed how your eyes are now also filled with tears, a silent, alarmed question swimming in them. If he had been thinking, he would have been able to stop himself from taking the first step towards an act he was doomed to regret later.

He’s not thinking.

Aemond would never treat you this way – you’re certain of it, certain that he cared enough about you not to humiliate you so completely.

“I-I...brother, what-” His other hand travels to your waist, fingers tracing the opening of the robe you wear over your nightgown and you silence your fearful voice immediately. He stops at the hem of the soft material, caressing the delicate cloth beneath. With every movement of his fingers, he keeps his heavy gaze on you, dark, sharp features slanting over you, merciless and without compassion, his eye still bright with those tears he proudly refuses to shed. You tremble in shock, your hands finally thawing at your sides as you reach up to grab his wrist, struggling futilely to pull him away from your neck.

"Aemond...please, you're scaring me." Your voice shakes slightly at the pressure in your throat, at the grip he refrains from releasing, but you expect the growing desperation on your face to catch up with him at some point. It would have to, right? He's still your brother, after all. He's hurt, he doesn't know what he's doing, he wouldn't actually hurt you.

All of these statements run through your mind, keeping you stubbornly reluctant to face the painful truth ahead. (The stinging in your wrist is proof enough that yes, he would.)

"I won't lose you," he says so deeply, calmly and unfazed, as if he hasn't even heard you, as that hand on your throat presses your face up, to bring your forehead against his. "I won't lose you. Not you."

“A-Aemond,” you reply, your fingers still scratching his in a vain attempt to push him away, becoming genuinely frightened by his actions, by his complete dissociation from you - as if he were only talking to himself now. “W-what are you doing?”

He towers over you, his tall, lithe body unmoving even as you move your hands to push against his abdomen. You can’t utter another word with the combination of your heart pounding against your ribcage, the fear gripping your throat still gripped between his fingers, igniting a growing horror deep within your gut.

Could someone be watching this? Down below, right now, some unsuspecting person wandering through the gardens or peering through the windows of the same houses you were watching with interest just a few minutes ago. Could someone be watching the way the Prince Regent smothered the Princess on the balcony of her chamber? The way he held her against his body and breathed into her personal space as if they were intimate lovers?

Your hands slide against his solid frame; feeling the hard, elegant muscles of his torso beneath his dark clothes as you stubbornly push him away, and the beginnings of tears appears to trickle from the corners of your eyes as you close them. You are afraid. Though he’s not exactly cutting off your oxygen completely, his unwavering grip on your neck makes you almost dizzy, and as he watches you gasp softly and struggle, he seems to be waging an internal battle, his fingertips loosening their grip after a few seconds of silent contemplation. He doesn’t pull away, though. Aemond still holds you tightly in place, listening to your ragged breathing and the sobs that begin to wrack your body. He exhales long and slow against your face, his forehead still intimately pressed against yours.

“Y/n…” he begins, waiting until your sobs subside and your watery eyes open to meet his, just as fierce and unforgiving as before. “You’re all I have left. You know that, don’t you?”

Despite the grip of fear squeezing your heart, you nod once, sniffling softly. You know that. There aren’t many people left by your brother’s side now — not that you blame them.

“Then you know I need to keep you with me.” He says darkly, his fingers curling into the fabric of your nightgown before he begins to push the material up towards your hips.

“Aemond!” You cry out when you feel his fingertips touch the warmth of your thigh, struggling to rock your body away. “S-stop, brother!”

“I can’t,” he tells you, his lips soft and warm on your cheek, and though he doesn’t stop his advance up your thigh, there’s an unexpected sense of vulnerability and hesitation in his voice now, as if something inside him is trying to fight his resolve: “It’s the only way to make you stay.”

He hesitates and relaxes his grip on you for only a second after that, but it’s long enough for you to push past him and slip between his body and the wall, running into your bedchamber on shaky, trembling legs.

He’s on you before you can take more than a few steps beyond the door, his hand gripping your wrist — your wrist already bruised by him. You gasp at the immediate pain of his possessive touch, flailing your legs in your own desperation and fear as he holds you captive. He suddenly releases your injured wrist and you realize belatedly that it’s only because he’s guided you unknowingly to where he wants you. In your panic to pull away, you cry out as the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, falling back onto the softness of your mattress, your other hand quickly cradling your aching wrist against your chest. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, eyes wet and wide, your cheeks streaked with tears and redness, your hair disheveled around your face, your wrist throbbing with the newly awakened pain.

Aemond blinks slowly, his features grim as he watches your frail state. He hovers over the edge of your bed in his black clothes and his tall, sinuous, dark body like a god of death. The disparity in height between the two of you is even more evident in this position. The flames from the fire on the opposite wall create eerie patterns on his ivory skin. The orange glow darkening to a somber hue in spots, making his presence all the more frightening.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he says, though his expression remains sharp and his posture tense. A serpent about to strike. “I won’t hurt you.”

And unfortunately, you are the rat he has chosen to devour tonight.

“Liar! You already did!” Your shrill voice sounds louder than intended, a byproduct of the fear coursing through your veins. He takes a low breath and instantly drops his gaze to your wrist, still carefully cradled against your chest. You swallow hard, your voice dropping to a sad shudder. “W-why are you doing this to me, brother?”

His gaze rises to your face again, following the trembling of your lips, the moisture in your heavy eyelashes.

"Because you're mine." He answers, easy and natural, as if he didn't even need to think about it. But you notice that his voice is deep and cracked, emotional, his eye shining with tears again, even though his posture is threatening. "You're inside me, sister. All the time."

And, as unreal as the situation seems to be, it's impossible not to see how between the cracks of his obsessive and terrifying words he seems...fragile.

And maybe that's what makes him so scary to you. His volatility and emotional imbalance - he's a mess of feelings and you don't know how to deal with it. He's an unbalanced man, about to fall over the edge of the abyss without knowing how to save himself.

Against all logic and common sense, you find yourself feeling...pity. Aemond is your brother and you love him with all your heart. It hurts and pains you to see him this way - alone and desperate.

“I won’t let them take you away from me,” he continues, pulling you out of your mind, kneeling on the bed to get closer to you. “I don’t give a shit about the others. But I can’t lose you.”

“I-I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, Aemond, with you. I’ll always be here.” You try to rationalize in a choked voice, trembling fingers gripping the edges of your robe, hiding from your brother’s greedy, sick gaze. “You don’t have to act like this.”

Aemond doesn’t care about your words. Instead, faster than you can realize, he’s on top of you, holding you close, his face buried in your hair as he presses you further into the mattress. You startle at the action, but you do nothing to push him away. Your brother’s unpredictability keeps you rigid beneath his body, afraid of what he might do from now on.

“I can’t lose you, I can’t lose you, I can’t lose you, not you, not you...” he mutters softly, over and over, the insanity taking deep, entwined roots in his mind. And you feel sorry for him. His body is a solid, undeniably intimidating presence above you, dwarfing and coercing yours with his tall frame, moon-colored hair brushing the side of your face as he digs into your neck until you mewl in discomfort. His broad hands are splayed at the sides of your head; long, pale fingers that have committed atrocities beyond anything you ever imagined he was capable of. He is unstable. A danger. And yet, he is so fragile.

His scent; ash, dragonfire, and something contradictorily sweet — like freshly baked vanilla cake, you realize — fills your nostrils, and you sigh a broken sound, cupping his face between your palms. Your fingers are shaking as you hold him, applying gentle pressure until he lifts his head and looks into your watery eyes.

"B-brother..." You lick your dry lips, ignoring the way he looks at your mouth when you do so, "please, just talk to me. I want to help. Please. Tell me what to do?"

His gaze sweeps over yours for a few seconds and then down your body with disconcerting intensity, your shoulders hunching in response — as if you're trying to make yourself smaller, as if you're trying to keep yourself safe — making you regret wearing a nightgown that's too thin to offer any remotely reliable protection from that gaze.

He doesn't say anything when he looks back into your eyes. Instead, he brushes his thumb under your right eye to touch the wetness of tears there, and it takes you a second longer to realize that he's not wiping them from your skin but spreading them across it, as if he wants to see more of that on you.

You don’t have much time to think about how disturbing this is, because soon he’s sighing deeply before slowly lowering himself, and the first thing you feel is the tip of his nose as it brushes against yours. He does it once, twice, three times; a series of teasing nudges that make you hold your breath in nervous anticipation. This close, you smell the soft leather of his eye patch, see how the heavy lashes on his one good eye curl until they almost rest on the top of his smooth cheek when he half-closes them.

The signs of what’s to come are all there, but it’s still a surprise to feel his lips slightly chapped against yours. You’re so shocked by it that you don’t react when you feel a hand coming up to tilt your face better so he can kiss you and taste you more deeply.

Spit soon coats the dry lines of his lips, making them slide over yours softly and fluidly, his fingers cupping your jaw, tilting your head back to lick your bottom lip in a silent plea. His saliva tastes like cinnamon and heat, you think distantly - almost dissociated from the situation, unable to understand how you ended up here; knowing the taste of your brother's mouth.

You frown at the feeling of wet muscle crossing your lips, tracing the roof of your mouth and your gums with hungry curiosity, your fingers inert and as dissociated as you, coming to life to hold his shoulders. You manage to push him enough to part your lips, your breath quick and wet as you try to assimilate what is happening: "A-Aemond, please...stop."

"You said you want to help, didn't you?" He growls impatiently at the corner of your mouth, sliding his fingers down your jaw and neck to tangle them around the back of your neck in a possessive grip. And when he presses the side of his cheek to yours and you feel something wet on your skin, for a moment you really can't tell if it's your tears or his. "This is how you help me, sister. I just need you to stay with me. Just let me have you. Maybe...maybe if you can feel me inside you too, then maybe you'll understand. Maybe it'll all make sense once more. I just need you to stay with me."

Even though the string of words that spill from his lips are delusional at best, there's no mistaking or ambiguity about what he's saying. Though you're still a maiden, you're no fool at all. You understand immediately what your brother wants.

Your bones ache, your eyes burn with more tears, and your throat itches with the immediate urge to scream a denial, to turn away from him, to run and hide under your bed — like you used to do when you were just a little girl and were so scared of something, hoping Aemond would come to you and soothe your fears with his whispered words in gentle Valyrian and his loving, innocent touches. But you know that this time it won't be like that. Because this time the reason for your fear is himself.

Yet it’s the sheer desperation in his voice that stops you from fighting; the helplessness mixed with agony, the urgent, jealous need — as if he’s on the brink of madness and only this can save him. It’s a sick, delusional thought and you know it. Irrational in every way. But as Aemond slides his hands over your body as if he’ll die if he doesn’t, breathing raggedly in your ear, burying his face in your hair to cover the tears you’re now certain are his, you know you won’t push him away — even if your mind begs you to.

His pain seeps into your ears, slides through your arteries and veins until it reaches your heart, a stranglehold you can’t shake. Your fear is so ingrained with your pity that you can’t tell the difference.

Maybe he just wants to feel loved. He hasn’t felt that in a long time, you know that…maybe he just needs help readjusting. Maybe you’re the good to his evil. The calm to his chaos. The balance to his disharmony. Whatever it is, if it’s you he needs to regain his sanity, you’ll give it to him. He’s your brother. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

If having you is what would make him at least half the brother you loved and wanted around you, then so be it. You’d embrace his sick need — because you love him.

So when he leans down to your mouth again, you hear yourself whimper, a surrendered sound as his thumb presses and pulls your lower lip, forcing your mouth open as his tongue brushes against yours. You don’t fight this time, or try to dissociate. Instead, your own tongue shyly mimics his movements, your hands coming up to caress the roots of his hair, eliciting a guttural moan from his throat. He’s rougher this time, licking your mouth greedily, using his sharp canines to bite into the soft plush of your lip until you hiss — but you don’t push him away.

(Are you proud of me, brother? Can you feel how much I love you? Can you understand how far I’m willing to go for you?)

His body is a weight that’s both comforting and overwhelming as he presses down on you, evoking a searing heat across your cheeks and neck, so intense it borders on fever pitch as the movement makes you feel the hard, thick ridge of his cock resting against your belly. You stiffen for a second, too horrified by it, but almost immediately force yourself to relax when he leaves your panting lips to kiss your jaw and chin — his hips undulating on yours as he leaves trails of pure heat on your skin. You can do this, you can do this. For Aemond.

“That’s it. A good girl, hm. Always my pretty little girl.” Outside, thunder rumbles as his tongue lathers your throat with saliva, seconds before he bites down. You squeal a high-pitched sound, hands tugging at his hair in response to the pain, and he groans hoarsely into your skin, licking the bite to soothe the sting. "Sorry, angel, I couldn't resist." The sadistic amusement in his tone confirms the lack of sincere regret in his actions.

But despite his apparent playful and mocking persona, Aemond seethes with impatience and uncontrollability. He is like a hurricane, an earthquake - untamable as the force of nature. His merciless hands offer no respite as they grip your body; no preamble. He is not interested in taking this slowly, and that becomes painfully evident to you in the space of a few seconds.

His hand, warm and eager, slides down the column of your throat, palming the fragile fabric of your nightgown to cup your breast. He palms the soft mound for only a moment before squeezing it tightly, almost trembling with anticipation. You groan under your breath, brows furrowing at the rough touch — but when your brother looks at you with that widened gaze, breathing deeply, all he offers you is a breathless, “So beautiful, baby.”

Even after everything that’s happened between the two of you up until this point, it’s this that makes your cheeks heat up and your stomach flutter with an unexpected feeling of butterflies flying.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts and needs that he barely seems to notice when you turn your head away, embarrassed and blushing, refusing to look at him, wanting to ignore the utterly foreign sensation of having his hands on your body like this. Because while the way his fingertips press against your stomach to lift your nightgown to expose your legs and skimpy underwear is disturbing and humiliating, there’s also a kind of confusing heat swirling in your loins with each small touch on your skin; something that doesn’t necessarily feel good, but isn’t entirely horrible either – though the very idea of your body, on some level, beginning to welcome this is repulsive to you.

You want to please him, you want to be the anchor that will restore and stabilize your brother’s sanity, and you will absolutely do that for him if it’s within your power. But you have no doubt how unnatural this all is – how damning the notion of giving this part of you to none other than your brother – the one you’ve never seen with such eyes until this very moment. Knowing that he’s seen you this way for gods only know how long, is a difficult thought to even consider.

Oblivious to your internal war, Aemond rolls the side of your underwear in his hand and pulls it down the length of your legs, parting them so he can kneel on them. His hands, broad and calloused from years of riding in Vhagar's saddle and extensive sword training, send shivers down your spine as they knead and caress the length of your legs, and you bite your lip at the new sensation.

Even with your face turned away and your eyes closed, you know the exact moment he looks at you. His gaze fixed on the delicate, untouched center between your legs is so intense that you practically feel it on your skin. The reflex to try to close your legs is overwhelming, but you suppress it with clenched teeth. You wouldn't deny him anything, it was already decided, no matter how humiliating and wrong it was.

He leans forward, his moon-colored locks tickling you and his breath is hot against your skin as he presses wet kisses against your neck, trailing down to your jaw before stopping at your ear, leaving behind bruises that you know would be hard to hide tomorrow.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” Aemond admits, his voice hoarse and slurred. “I love you so much it hurts. You’re mine. Mine.” You know he does, what he says is true. Aemond loves you. But it’s really ironic, isn’t it? He loves you with all the sincerity there is and yet, here you are. Lying in your bed, a place that once offered you safety and comfort, about to share an intimacy that you neither truly desire nor consent to.

Leaning on your thigh, you feel the hardness of his penis and your hands grip the sheets at your sides, keeping your eyes tightly closed, your eyelashes damp and trembling at the sensation of his fingers sliding like a cunning snake between your legs to trace the outside of your most intimate part. The discreet squishing sound of his fingers diving inside your folds sounds embarrassingly loud in the silence of your room and only makes you shrink even more, so focused as you were on keeping still and quiet.

"Fucking hell." Hearing him curse in your ear, with his jaw tense and his voice deep, awakens that chill in your stomach - the same butterflies taking flight again.

You want to disappear and pretend none of this ever happened.

(You want to open your eyes and look at him.)

His nose nudges your cheek as his thumb gathers some of your natural moisture to make its way to the hidden nub at the apex of your folds, rubbing short, wet circles against it before giving you any time to prepare. Your reaction is immediate and you jerk your hips a few inches off the bed, eyes flying open at the unfamiliar but utterly overwhelming sensation. You stare into the flames of the fireplace with wide, watery eyes, his continued stimulation of that spot making it hard not to visibly tremble beneath him. Against your cheek, you feel your brother’s lips stretch into a satisfied, cruel smile and a ragged sigh escapes you along with another humiliated tear.

But despite his obvious satisfaction at getting a reaction out of you, you can feel Aemond’s frustration growing by the second. “Is it good for you?" He murmurs, eager and expectant, as if he needs an answer to keep himself under control. “Do you need anything else, baby?” He purrs before you can respond — not that you thought you could. He bites your neck when you don’t say anything; punishing you.

“Aemond, p-please…” You gasp, unsure of what to say as he bites your earlobe hard. The circles on that sensitive mound of nerves begin to shift into a rhythmic up and down, rubbing the same spot until you feel your thighs trembling with…with…something. You can barely string two words together, but you know something is happening.

Your hands are clenched so tightly in the sheets that your knuckles ache, your heart threatening to race into your throat with how hard it’s beating, and by the gods, there’s a tingling sensation building in your lower belly that increases exponentially with each brush of the pad of his thumb against that sensitive nub, until you feel like something might literally explode inside you. It’s almost painful how intense it all is, but in a way that you can’t help but want more.

Wrong. This is wrong. This should be for Aemond, just for him, just to help him. It’s not about you, you shouldn’t feel things. You shouldn’t, no way. Because it only makes you feel worse…dirtier.

You almost thank him when he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you panting and overwhelmed and very very confused by your own body. Your teary eyes lift to see him kneeling between your legs, the same thumb that was on your folds now entering his mouth as he sucks hungrily on it — his gaze fixed and hooded on your scandalized face.

“You’re delicious, sister. The best sweet treat I’ve ever tasted.” He croons after sliding his thumb from his lips with a wet ‘pop’ and you hide your face with your palms, sobbing a mortified sound. Aemond chuckles at your reaction, but doesn’t scold you.

Instead, it’s the distinct sound of rustling fabric that makes you peek through your fingers, watching your brother pull the top part of his clothes. Strands of candlelight make him radiate like an otherworldly creature beneath the flickering flame, creating some artistic shadows on the lean, defined muscles along his arms and stomach, broad shoulders rising and falling with his rapid breaths. You watch him through the gap in your fingers, blushing deeper with every patch of skin your eyes skim. Aemond blinks slowly, his jaw tense and sharp, his pupil so dilated that the darkness almost eclipses the thin violet ring of his iris. And your heart, once racing, seems to simply give up and stop when he lowers his fingers to the waistband of his riding breeches.

Once again, refusal dances on your tongue and you almost scream for him to stop. This isn’t right. Your brother definitely shouldn’t be about to get naked in front of you like it’s a normal thing, and you almost say so…but you’ve both gone too far. Too far to turn back now. What’s the point in trying? And you’d hardly bet on the innocent idea that he’d listen to you anyway. Aemond would take what he wanted, as he always had.

He unzips his pants without looking away and pushes them down, stopping at a mound of fabric between his thighs. It seems to be all the patience he has for the act, barely able to take his clothes off completely. Your fingers tremble in front of your face as you watch with wide eyes between them. His hard length stands proudly between his legs, thick and long. Intimidating, really. Pale like the rest of his body, except for a few veins in soft shades of blue distributed along the base and the pinkish tone of the head shiny with pre-cum. You have no basis for comparison, of course, since you've never seen a penis in your life. But you don't need to be an expert to know that what he has there, without a shadow of a doubt, would not be easy to fit inside you. In anyone, you suppose.

Aemond shows very little sympathy for your alarmed expression, falling over you to rest on his elbows beside your face, long silver hair flowing around you both — smelling of smoke and vanilla cake.

He stares at you for what feels like a century, breathing raggedly, lips parted. You stay in that position for so long that you jump slightly when you feel his fingers grip yours, pulling your hands away from your face to lift them above your head, pinning your wrists in his hand. He makes sure you don’t move your hands from where he’s placed them, sliding his fingertips over your injured wrist with a gentleness that moves you, down the inside of your arm, to the side of your torso, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

He doesn’t take his eye off yours as he lifts those same fingers to his own face, gripping the side strap of his eye patch for a few seconds before pulling it over his head and tossing it on the bed. You’ve seen the sapphire in your brother’s eye a few times before. It would have been impossible not to have seen it, not with how close you were. You were the only person he felt comfortable and safe enough with to get rid of the piece of leather covering his mutilated eye. But, even though it wasn't the first time, the sight never ceases to amaze you.

The blue of the stone contrasts sharply with the paleness of his porcelain skin and his silver hair, evidenced by the long, jagged dark scar that starts halfway down his cheek to above his eyebrow. If you look closely, you can see yourself in the brilliant reflection of the sapphire - your face scared, embarrassed and amazed - all at the same time. The immortalized imperfection in this part of his face only serves to highlight the blatant perfection of the rest.

Physically, you have always compared Aemond to an angel; an ethereal and unattainable creature, a being of light and purity. But your childish daydream couldn't be further from reality. As much as appearances say it, Aemond is anything but an angel. His heart is as dark and gloomy as a night sky during a storm. The only times you’ve seen any semblance of light in his personality is when you’re around — and even that hasn’t been happening lately.

Gods, you hope that your unreserved surrender to him tonight can pull him out of the absolute void he’s hiding in. You truly hope it’s not all for nothing. There’s nothing left you can offer, after all. Aemond has already taken everything.

When his hips lower to bring your bodies together, your legs instinctively part to receive him, the solid, warm weight of his wet cock pressed into your belly is enough to send a full-body shiver through you. There’s nowhere to look but into your brother’s eyes — both that one functioning eye and the hollow that houses that precious stone. You’re floating with the overwhelming myriad of feelings, lips parted with shallow breaths, eyes watering, cheeks flushed, and your heart hammering so hard in your chest that for a moment you think you might actually die from it. It’s not healthy to feel like this, right?

“This has always been mine.” You lick your lips, blinking slowly at Aemond — it’s really an effort to try to understand and follow what he’s saying right now. “You’ve always been mine.”

He says this as he snakes an arm between your bodies to hold his throbbing member between his fingers. He’s deliberate with this, each movement slow and calculated to make sure you see what he’s doing. And indeed, your eyes — as hazy and confused as they are — follow the path of his hand after a few seconds, watching in shock and embarrassment as he pumps himself, a few slow up-and-down movements to get some relief, gritting his teeth as he growls another curse close to your ear.

You glance up at his face, flushed and impatient — his eye, hooded with lust, glances back up at yours — before looking down, forcibly guiding your attention back to the long fingers that are barely long enough to close completely around his own shaft. There’s a hard-to-swallow lump in your throat that only gets worse every time his movements make a wet slurp that sounds too loud for your sanity. Your body is arching and your fists clench tightly in the sheets above your head as he guides his leaking tip into the crevice between your folds, parting them and sliding with a slow drag that ends in that same sensitive spot as before.

You writhe beneath him, “N-no…” suddenly hesitant at how insanely real everything is becoming, at how intensely your body is feeling. “Just wait a second, brother—”

“Shh…it’s okay, it’s okay. Just keep your eyes open for me, sister.”

“Aemond, please, I don’t like this!” You nearly scream, your eyes wide and watery, overwhelmed and scared — forgetting for a moment that your goal was to give him what he wants. No matter how you feel about it.

For a moment, Aemond looks genuinely distressed by your obvious desperation. You see the tension of his jaw and the bitter glint in his amethyst gaze. But as quickly as it appears, disappears.

"You will. I'll make sure of it, sister. I promise." He says with a brush of his nose against yours, the oppressive aura surrounding him growing heavier, swallowing any sympathetic feelings that had arisen in the face of your agony.

"You have my word that I will try to do this as gently as I can." With his other hand, he cups your cheek and, despite you not believing his words for a second, you find yourself leaning your head into his palm. The glint of sick affection in his gaze makes your chest ache, and you sniff in defeat. He hums a satisfied sound when he sees your surrender and leans forward. You don't deny his kiss, accepting the slow, languid, sensual rhythm he imposes with his lips. Deep in your chest, you break and cry, but on the outside you just accept it, returning the kiss to the best of your newly awakened abilities.

“There we go, there’s my good girl,” he coos, licking your trembling bottom lip. Despite your terribly tumultuous mind, your body is as connected to him as ever, a shiver running down your spine as he kisses your jaw, trailing warm, wet lips down your neck. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you try to obey his request and keep your eyes open.

"I've waited so fucking long for this. When Helaena was handed over to Aegon, I really thought we'd both be next. You just need to be patient, I told myself." Every part of your body tingles with sparks, hips grinding against yours, grunting in a husky, bitter tone as the head of his cock rubs against your entrance. "Tsk, but they're fools. All of them. The Council, our father, our mother, Aegon, the damn realm...none of them realized what was in front of them this whole fucking time." He frowns a little, leans to the side and puts two fingers inside his mouth for a few seconds before lowering them - you sigh and shudder when a fat glob of saliva is rubbed right in the center of your legs, in that entrance you know is too small for him, adding to the mess his wet cock had already made. "You and I, we were meant to be from the beginning. An unstoppable force. Fire and blood. We would be unbeatable together, sister."

"I-I didn't, ah!..." You try, only to be interrupted when a sharp bite on your ear makes you squeal and flinch.

"But it's okay, don't worry. I'll fix that horrible mistake, my little one. I'm the Prince Regent. I'm the one who gives the orders now. No one will ever try to separate us again." Between the agonizing anticipation of having your brother's penis threatening to enter your untouched intimacy at any moment, his rough touches and his disturbing words, you barely feel coherent, lost and adrift like a castaway washed up on an island. Before you can interrupt his seriously questionable reasoning, he holds your gaze with his with a sympathetic and pitying glint in his dominant iris, as if he were your saving grace. "I got you, pretty girl."

His words are far from comforting, but you don’t have time to dwell on that.

“You’ve been mine since the second we were born. Mine to protect and cherish. Mine to tame and take.”

Still propping himself up on one elbow, he uses his other hand to grip your thigh, pushing one of your legs up and to the side, spreading you wide for him until your joints scream with the sting. The head of his cock slides between two folds one last time, nudging your entrance with clear intent.

You hold your breath.

“Eyes on me, sister.” You blink back the tears in your eyes, your face darkening to another shade of crimson at the intensity with which he looks at you, his warm, sweet scent surrounding you from every corner. “And keep those little hands where I left them.” He finishes with a sadistic smile that startles you when he see how your fingers are trembling and fidgeting above your head.

“That’s it. Stay with me. There we go.”

He finishes by saying your name against your lips before taking it all.

...

The first thrust rips a broken cry from your throat.

...

There’s no real surprise in that, though. You’ve seen how big he is, and despite your complete inexperience in the matter and all that saliva and other fluids between your legs, you just know you’re not prepared enough to take him – not that Aemond cares.

You cry out in humiliation as he tilts his head back, shuddering and letting out a breathy laugh that sounds decidedly arrogant.

“Oh fuck, so tight. I should have taken more time preparing you, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, sister. I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you next time. I promise I won’t enter your body until you’re slick and spread wide for me. Fuck, I promise.” His free hand grips your hip tightly, bruising your flesh, and you sob, knowing his apology isn’t sincere — scared of the hint that there would be a next time.

You don’t know if you could handle a second time. You don’t know if you’ll survive the first.

He was going to rip you apart, and that possibility became more and more real with every inch he forced inside you. You gasp in denial, mumbling a nonstop series of pleas for him to slow down, hoping he’d find some compassion within himself — something to back up all that love he proudly boasts about you. But Aemond is truly an unstoppable force, and once he’s gotten what he so desperately wants, there’s no going back. Not even for your sweet little sister. All you can do is press your nails tighter into your palms and bite your lips until you taste blood as the round head of his length continues to push and push, slowly but mercilessly, inside you. And even through it all, you keep your watery eyes on him - like the obedient little girl he wants you to be. All for him.

You watch him as he still has his head tilted back for a second too long before he looks at you again, his gaze once again frighteningly fierce.

“You have such a tight pussy, dear sister. I can’t even –” he grits his teeth, sweat gathering at the silver roots of his hair and at his temples “- I can barely fucking move!”

It’s really hard to tell if he’s complimenting you or insulting you with that growling, sullen tone, but you cry out anyway, barely able to handle the way his cock hurts you with one powerful thrust forward. There’s a very short window of time where you get some relief as you feel him slowly pulling back, your walls returning to their original shape. Unfortunately, your relief is short-lived. He snaps his hips forward again, rearranging your insides to make room for his girth. Your breathing is shallow and uneven as more tears trickle down your cheeks and onto your chest. And honestly, as much as you’re trying to be obedient, it’s actually almost impossible to watch your brother with all the blurriness of your tears making it difficult.

“Look how well you’re taking me, little one, all swollen and tight around my cock. It feels good, doesn’t it? To have your brother like this and know that only I will have you like this? To know that only I will make you cry like this? Yes, fuck…” He rests his forehead against yours and cups your cheek. “I’m the only one, sister. You’re the only one. You’re mine and I’m yours. We belong to each other from the day we’re born until the day we die.”

Heat envelops your cheeks and heart and you sigh at his devoted words. Aemond really does love you. He loves you in a fiery, obsessive way, an irrational feeling that will ruin everything around him - including the two of you.

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size when he finally reaches the end, barely waiting half a second before pulling out and pushing back in hard thrusts; as if seeking more of that intense, visceral sensation. It hurts so much and you flinch every time his hips slam into yours. But your walls keep clenching and pulsing around him, eliciting grunts and moans from the man above you.

You can barely bear to look at him during your own violation, no matter how much you force yourself to. That fulfilled, needy look making the embarrassment and humiliation coil tighter in your gut. When you finally turn your head away in shame, unable to keep up appearances any longer, he goes straight for your throat like a wild animal. Sucking and biting the flesh to make you scream, thrusting at a different angle that makes you immediately writhe on the bed. Your walls tightening around his cock in something that, surprisingly, horribly, isn't pain.

“See, you feel good too, right?”

You can't bring yourself to respond. Eyes half-lidded and lips parted as your body twitches with each of his thrusts, something funny coiling in your belly, warming your insides and leaving the dull pain of his thrusts behind, like a background noise that almost loses its importance after a while.

“You feel so good, baby.” He pants against your lips, kissing every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth, slamming his lips loudly against the exposed patches of your shoulder and collarbone, thrusting his hips into yours with feverish abandon. A wet sequence of ‘tap, tap, tap’ sounds in the silence of your sleeping chamber, until you’re worried the guards might hear you outside. You want to tell him to slow down, you want to tell him to stop. But his movements and intentions are those of a barbarian – he seeks only to claim, to conquer, to claim you for his own.

“You’re perfect, I love you so much. I love you. I love you, sister.” He chants, thrusting relentlessly – obsessively – into your walls, sweat making his strands stick to his face, a salty drop running down the bridge of his nose and onto your cheek. He releases his grip on your thigh to roughly pull your nightgown over your breasts, immediately cupping and squeezing the soft flesh until you squeak at the sensation, rolling a small nipple between his index and middle finger.

To propagate and keep the blood of Old Valyria pure, unions between direct relatives were common among the Targaryens. Aegon and Halaena were the closest example you had of this. It's normal. And yet, it feels anything but normal. From the possessive way your brother's fingers sink into the soft curve of your waist to keep you contained while he corrupts you, the continuous and violent slap of his hip against the inside of your thighs, to the way his other hand holds a fistful of your hair in a tight tug, exposing the column of your throat to the air that smells of sex while his lips growl acidic words close to your ear. Everything feels wrong, dirty. As if all the purity that existed around the world suddenly ceased to exist, leaving behind only sin and cruel intentions.

Unforgivable.

Still, you grumble in frustration about how your body responds so well while your mind simply doesn't.

You hold Aemond tightly, finally lowering your hands from where he’d placed them, feeling his broad, toned back easily cover your smaller form like a protective shadow under your fingertips. The conflicting emotions are only tinged with more unexpected lust, as if he’s summoning the feeling from deep within you by force, as you involuntarily arch your back against him, feeling the searing heat of his chest pressing hotly against your breasts. A kind of heat only a Targaryen could share.

Your soft walls clench against him in response to the sensation, and Aemond curses again, pulling you closer, fucking you deeper. The burn in your lower half almost seems entirely muted now, that trickle of treacherous pleasure snaking through your core with unstoppable force as his cock brushes against a bundle of nerves inside you that —

And you moan.

Long, loud, undeniably aroused.

The sound is unmistakable, even over the loud slapping of skin against skin and Aemond’s ragged breathing.

You moaned for him. The first truly explicit, unfiltered sound you had made since this all began.

Aemond blinks and stops moving, staring at you with wide eye, mouth half open, cheeks flushed and skin sweaty — as if he’s noticing you for the first time. In the dim, flickering light of the chamber, his pupil were already dilated. But in that moment, it darken and explode completely, right before your eyes. He growls and grabs your chin with a tight grip, pulling your mouth to his to kiss you as if your lips were water to someone walking under the desert sun. His teeth hurt your lips, but you don’t complain, kissing him back with the same devastating intensity.

He thrusts into your pussy again as if he hadn’t stopped, hard and relentless, thrusting his tongue into your mouth at the same pace. You moan again, this time into his mouth. Thighs aching from how hard he’s pounding into you. Legs spread wide as he fucks you into the mattress with years of pent-up desire.

Everything is a blur, wrong yet right, burning with need and blood ties as his body rumbles and heats against yours. His hungry lips leaving yours to kiss every bit of flesh they find. You can’t stop yourself from trembling around his length, clenching tighter and tighter as he groans and murmurs his adoration for you.

“A-Aemond, brother…” you gasp, unsure, afraid of what you want from him, how much you want this — whatever it is.

Your arms, trembling and weak, wrap with all your remaining strength around his shoulders, your nails digging in to anchor you to something – anything – as he loses control above you. Pleasure and pain intertwine until you don’t know which is which. You can’t think straight, barely able to breathe between strangled moans and the fresh wave of tears that spill from your lashes as your pussy clenches around him tighter with each thrust. The sensation burns so deliciously that you cling to it, afraid of it but needing it.

“You’re mine,” Aemond demands suddenly, pulling away from your ruined neck to meet your starry eyes. “Tell me you’re mine.” He has that delirious look in his face, you think uncertainly, violet eye slightly wide and too focused on you and only you, the stone of his sapphire shining in the dim light of the room. Overwhelming, possessive. "Say it." He presses, less controlled, more ruthless.

"I-I'm yours." You respond quickly, your voice nothing but a fragile, brittle whisper, panting with each hard thrust into your delicate body, earning a hiss and a throb from Aemond's cock. "I'm yours, brother. All yours." He groans fiercely, barely allowing you to finish speaking before pulling you into a deep kiss, all tongue and saliva, as the brute force of his hips begins to increase in rhythm.

The wooden canopy of the bed slams loudly against the wall with each hard thrust, the entire bed creaking and weeping in a continuous back and forth, your cheeks burning with flames because now you're certain the White Cloaks outside your door can hear what you're doing.

A strangled cry rips from your throat as he uses his thumb to sloppily rub your clit while he digs the short nails of his other hand into the sides of your cheeks to force you to look at him, your own nails digging into the back of his neck as you hold him tight.

“Say it again; tell me you love me. Tell me you need me. Fuck, say it, say it now—” He whispers into the fat of your cheek, watching you with a manic, clouded gaze, leaving a trail of saliva from your jaw to your mouth as he bites down, his hips thrusting into yours in desperation. You can only whimper when he pulls away, his thumb slowing his ministrations when you take too long to speak.

“I love you, oh…I-I love you so much, Aemond—” You’d said those words to him a million times before, but they’d never carried this emotional charge, this much sentimentality and anticipation — words of desire and heat that were so unfamiliar and intense to you that they barely made sense. But, gods, you could feel the truth of them in your veins. “I need you. Please, brother — don’t leave me!” Your mewls and pleas answered to him, and him alone.

“Never. I’ll never let you go. We belong together, you and I…always.” Aemond’s breathless but ravenous words began to fade into the nothingness of pleasure. There was no more pain, no more guilt or disgust. That was for sure. All hurt dissolved into the overwhelming, magnificent feeling of being here, trapped in your brother’s arms. Your soft cries were a higher register than the wet slap of your joining, you discovered, giving yourself over entirely to the feeling. It encourages him to push harder and chase those beautiful sounds that reward him. You can feel him against your tight walls, nudging deep, carving a place for himself — a place that didn’t belong to him, that wasn’t his to take.

But maybe it was. Maybe it was always his to take. You were his to take.

“Y-yes, Aem…I need it. I need you, brother.” You respond softly, your eyes matching his, hooded and delirious, gently cupping his face in your hands. He turns his head slightly, just brushing his lips along the bruise around your wrist without taking his eye off you, silently apologizing for hurting you like that.

Of all the things he should apologize for —

You wish you could tell him that was the least of the evils he had inflicted on you. Instead, tears stream down your cheeks and you nod at him once, accepting his request with a shaky smile and a hoarse moan.

The candles scattered about your bedchamber burn brightly, wax dripping down the length and hardening on the brass holsters and mantelpiece. Your numerous books lie open on the floor, quills and assorted inks scattered in calculated disarray. Thread and needles rest delicately on your sofa, scraps of embroidery you had recently begun. Your dressing table is strewn with finely ornamented ribbons, pins, and jewels. Your riding clothes hang neatly behind the privacy of the screen.

All supporting an appearance of virtue belonging to a Targaryen Princess, a lady who had only recently flaunted an innocent purity in her body and mind. But now, right there, precariously hidden by the delicate veil that covers the canopy of your bed, fluttering gently in the warm breeze of the room, it is anything but a virtuous and innocent scene.

His tongue traces the outline of your lips up and down, and soon you find yourself gasping for air as you focuses on the heat that seems to radiate from the center of your belly to between your legs. That same tension from before is quickly rebuilding and you shake your hips, yearning for more of him, but unsure of what exactly is happening - Aemond, as always, seems to know what you need before you do, and soon he is back to sliding his thumb in a steady rhythm around your clit.

Your legs tremble as you approach something grand and overwhelming, hips rotating against your will. All the willpower in the world couldn’t stop you from chasing this heady feeling right now.

“I’m…” you mumble, confused, breathless, desperate, scared, “I feel…brother…”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he pants, eye shining with something you can’t define, “Trust me.”

It’s like you’re being torn apart — being burned and torn apart from the inside out and you’re enjoying it. Gods, what’s happening?

“Oh, sweet girl…” his thrusts slow slightly as he applies more pressure to your clit, “Just let go — I’m here, I got you…that’s it, just like that, let go—”

A very raw, primal moan escapes your throat as his thumb is suddenly sliding with agonizing friction along that spot between your legs, his thrusts angled at a different angle that hits a sensitive, tender place that, until this unholy night, you never imagined had. Your brows furrow in sweet agony and you tighten your grip around his shoulders, pulling him closer and closer until your sweaty foreheads are pressed together, the tension in your stomach rising impossibly until your back arches off the bed.

The hand on your face drops and he circles your throat, gentle, just pressing, keeping your body pinned beneath him as you begin to writhe and cry out loud. It’s a moment of absolutely glorious release, like the feeling of flying for the first time on the back of a dragon - you feel your entire body explode in waves of shock and ecstasy, adrenaline coursing through your veins as if you’ve never been so completely and truly free before. You barely see Aemond, even though he’s literally nose to nose with you. All you see are bursts of light in front of your blind eyes, your hips bucking against his and your insides clenching desperately around his cock for what seems like hours until finally, finally, exhausted and sobbing, your weight falls back onto the bed.

“Ao issi sīr gevie, mandia. Sīr gevie.” Vaguely, like someone shouting from far, far away, you hear your brother sing praises for you. You are beautiful, sister. So beautiful. A tired mewl is all you offer in response, head still light and floating like cotton. He’s losing his rhythm, snapping his hips into you, pulling his hand from between your legs to prop himself up on both elbows and claim another quick, breathless kiss from your sensitive lips. You barely have time to respond before he pulls away again.

"Rūsīr ao ondoso issa paktot īlon jāhor pryjagon tolvie azantyr bona dares naejot sīmonagon īlva. Hēnkirī īlon jāhor se vys." He's moaning more, babbling obsessively about destroying every army that stands against you and conquering the world with you by his side. The determination and heat in his voice leaves you breathless, and you watch through bleary eyes his flushed, delirious expression. The way his parted lips are slightly swollen and red from the intense kisses you've exchanged, his brows furrowed, sweat gathering and running down his hairline onto his temples and cheeks, moonlight hair sticking to the sides of his face and swinging over his shoulders with every stroke of his body, the intense blue of the stone in his empty eye - and the dark violet in the other.

He’s beautiful and terrifying too, like a fallen angel.

With a strangled grunt that raises the small hairs on your arms and a few more uncoordinated thrusts, Aemond pushes his face into the crook of your neck, your pussy still quivering sporadically around him, shuddering as he curses and spills himself inside you.

“Fuck, fuck, this is...this is perfect...” He’s mumbling into your skin, thrusting his hips into yours with a lazy, deep drag, as if to ensure he spills himself as deep inside you as possible.

And though you know it’s impossible, you almost think you can feel it — the heat of his cum spurting in thick streams inside you, so deep that nothing could possibly get it out. The thought makes you both satisfied and sick.

Your eyes are staring up at the canopy of your bed, staring unseeingly, lips parted with panting breaths and a racing heart. All you can do is make a soft moan as he slowly pulls away from you, though he's hissing something about not wanting to leave the heat of your tight pussy just yet. He’s pulling you with him as soon as he’s out, as if he’s physically incapable of keeping himself apart from you for more than a few seconds, rolling you onto his side and pulling you face-to-face next to him.

You blink slowly as you stare up at him, letting him do the same to you. And surprisingly, where before your mind screamed and throbbed with conflicting thoughts and guilt, now everything is… silent. There’s no energy left to continue this now, you realize. All fight has been drained from you and all you want now is to rest. To close your eyes and pretend none of this happened - no screaming, no sharp words and no pain.

Just sleep.

Aemond seems to understand the surrender in your eyes. Silver hair falls over your cheeks as he leans in and kisses your sweaty forehead, murmuring a 'my beautiful girl'. A soft, tender kiss, the kind of innocent and pure kiss a brother would give his little sister.  

A sad tear falls as you close your eyes, hiding your face in his neck, so close to him that you can feel his heart beating - as fast as yours.

His arms tighten around you, holding you as close as is physically possible. “You were so good to me…” He gently kisses the top of your head, the exhaustion still evident as he pants slightly between words, a small, satisfied smile on his lips. “Get some rest, little one. And don’t worry. I’m here now and I’ll take care of what’s mine.”

The words bring you no peace. But you don't think he needs to know that.

****

“That’s a good girl,” Aemond purrs, “keep shivering for me, sister.” He pushes your legs further apart, grabbing your bare ass and pulling your cheeks to rub your drooling entrance against his insatiable mouth. That slick, sinful tongue makes its way around your folds, probing and teasing your clit before dipping between them, gently massaging your aching, abused walls — by him, of course. You shiver, just as he wants, feeling the soft muscle slide deeper and deeper into your core, licking what just hours ago had been the secret parts of a virginal lady.

"B-brother, I need...please, that's enough...I need to rest for a while-" you're crying as you beg, your hands stretched out at your sides, too weak to stay tangled in his hair, your body sweaty and exhausted, shaking with the orgasms he'd wrung from you until your throat was raw from screaming.

You shiver, despite indisputable evidence to the contrary, a new tingling is clouding your brain, driving you crazy with every stroke of his tongue, your body clenching and clenching in a new delirious spiral of pleasure.

Aemond growls and continues abusing your clit with his thumb as if you hadn't said anything at all, the bed shaking with the force with which he's grinding his hips against the mattress in search of his own release. It's dirty, wet, the room smells of sex, sweat and tears, the sheet you're lying on is stained with the blood of your purity, and you can't even think about allowing any of the maids to come in to clean it when daybreak comes.

Aemond, unlike you, seems completely at peace - content to fuck you like this, with no signs of wanting to stop any time soon. Thrusting his cock into the mattress at the same pace as he thrusts his tongue into your pussy, flicking your clit with his thumb in short circles until you scream and cum, your juices spilling over the Prince Regent's tongue once more. You sob and grip his silver hair as he mercilessly continues to lick and suck without stopping, somehow hungrier than before.

"Aemond!! Please, I can't! It's too much!!" Your cry is loud as you feel yourself overcome by pain and pleasure, shaking your head from side to side, trying to push your brother from between your legs. He pulls away from your wet heat briefly, only to murmur a quick, breathless “yes, you can do it, be a good girl and give me one more” before flattening his tongue to continue licking your folds again.

You have no choice but what he allows you.

****

“Will you fly with me to Harrenhal?”

He asks a few hours later, as the first light of dusk filters through the cracks in the windows and you’re both still tangled together.

Aemond bites the side of your neck, leaving another mark behind, his lower body rising to meet yours, quickening at a pace that makes your thighs tremble. His hands, wide and possessive, slide to your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

“Y-yes, brother.” You respond, breathless and sweaty, using your hands flat on his broad chest to support yourself as you riding to the rhythm your brother has set for you, being pulled deeper and deeper into the whirlpool of desire, unable to steady yourself. “I will follow you wherever you go.”

Nothing has changed, you think seconds before you come - (how many times has it been again? Eight, nine? By now you’ve lost count.)

Aemond would lead and you would follow.

He’d tainted and stained you, stolen a part of you that shouldn’t have been given to him. But he’d taken it anyway, like a conqueror would. Molding both your mind and your body to suit his demands, to answer his jealous, possessive call. And you would follow him. Until the day you died you would follow him. Because your heart belonged entirely to your brother, even if it wasn’t in the way he want.

He has you, your dragon, your body, your soul, and your blind loyalty. Your hands would be intimately clasped, dripping with blood and sin.

Inevitably.

As it should be.

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (11/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: loss of virginity, dubcon, sex content, unprotected sex, description of the battle, wounds, burns, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Looking at her peaceful face, listening to her quiet breath as she finally fell asleep in his arms, he felt fulfilled as a man, a brother and a lover. At last he had taken her for himself, whole, and she lay beside him, filled with his seed, through which she could bear his inheritance in the future.

He had desired this for a long time, had thought about it for a long time, had planned it for a long time, however, his concern for her had always prevailed – he understood what the loss of maidenhood meant for a woman and that if he took it from her without having serious intentions for her, he would humiliate her and expose her to defamation.

Now that he had made up his mind, however, his judgement was unable to stop his members, and he forced his way deep into her warm, tight body, with one aggressive thrust taking what was rightfully his.

His hand muffled her cries of despair and pain that he fully understood – he knew that this part of the act would not be pleasurable for either of them, that he had to be brutal to tear apart what made it impossible for him to sink fully into her.

If he had been gentle, she would have agonised and cried for long minutes, surely losing her desire for him to ever touch her again.

He knew that she understood that.

That he would never cause her pain for his own satisfaction.

That he did it for her.

"– shhh – shhh, little sister, the worst is behind us –" He breathed out, looking at her with tenderness and concern, stroking her hot cheek with his palm, all wet with tears.

He didn't know if it would have been comforting to her to know that he was in pain too – her walls were too tight and pulsed with panic against his erection.

He knew what she felt because he had experienced something similar himself when he first lay in bed with Madam – he guessed that for her, too, the experience of a stranger's body in such intimacy and proximity, invading her space in every possible way, made her feel terrified and cornered, unable to escape from him.

She looked at him with her big doe eyes as he took his hand from her mouth, breathing loudly, trying to be brave and take it, for him, just for him.

"– I'm scared –"

He froze, looking at her in pain, feeling a sting in his heart at her words, so innocent, childlike: she was completely vulnerable and terrified, at his mercy, revealing to him what she really felt.

He felt shame.

"– do you want me to stop? – I will if you want me to – forgive me –" He whispered, pressing his forehead against hers as he always did when he wanted to reassure and soothe her, his hand stroking her hair.

She shook her head, breathing loudly through her mouth, looking up at him with confidence and hope, as if she believed he meant her no harm, that this sudden act was dictated only by lust and hot desire.

He sighed and leaned in, placing a tender, soft kiss on her hot, sweaty cheek with an affection that filled his whole heart, his manhood pulsing deep inside her anew, wanting to continue what he had started.

"– don't be afraid, zaldrītsos – we'll do it slowly – I won't hurt you –" He whispered, stroking her head as if she were a small child.

He watched her face intently, breathing loudly as he slid out of her almost fully with a slow, gentle movement, only to sink into her heat again a moment later. All he heard was her gasp, her lips parted wide, her eyebrows arched in indecision, her fingers clenched tightly on his shoulders.

She was so warm.

He groaned, feeling a wave of pleasure surge through his body as, with each successive thrust, her throbbing, fleshy cunt began to offer him less and less resistance, as if she were adjusting to the shape of his swollen erection – the act began to be pleasurable for not only for him, but to his relief, also for her – she closed her eyes and moaned quietly, her insides increasingly wet and slick, as with lazy, precise stabs he hit again and again the spot inside her that he had always teased with his fingers or tongue.

If he was grateful for anything Madam, it was for showing him exactly how and where a woman should be touched to give her pleasure while being inside her – to his surprise, it wasn't a matter of simply moving within her, but of pushing against her upper wall, rubbing against her to tease the soft bud inside her from which she melted into bliss.

"– ah –" She mewled, opening her eyes, looking up at him in a way from which his cock throbbed aggressively inside her, a pleasant shiver ran along his spine as he felt her hands slide from his shoulders down his waist to his buttocks, clenching on them.

He sighed and moaned quietly, surprised by her boldness, having never been touched by a woman in this way – it was a new sensation, but it aroused him as it made her hips begin to meet his, rolling back and forth.

"– does it hurt? –" He muttered, stroking her cheek with his thumb, placing soft, warm kisses on the tip of her nose and lips, thrusting into her a little more confidently – he felt a drop of sweat run from his neck down his torso, the tightness in his testicles testifying that his whole body was screaming for him to quicken his pace.

He wanted it so badly.

"– n-no – not anymore – but – how should it look? – how have you done it with other women? –" She asked in a trembling voice, as if she were embarrassed, and he stopped moving, looking at her in disbelief, feeling his swollen cock twitch inside her.

"– do you want to see for yourself? –" He breathed out and saw that she nodded.

"– fuck me –"

Fuck me.

Something in those words, in how direct and ungodly they were, unworthy of a wife, a lady or a sister made him start pounding into her as if he'd lost his mind, their hips bumping against each other with the loud smacks of their naked bodies, their moans and grunts pathetically helpless, on the verge of crying, their silhouettes pressed against each other in a passionate, tight embrace, her legs crossed over his back.

"– fucking mine –" He hissed through clenched teeth, thinking that neither his brother, nor his mother, nor anyone else could have changed what he had just done, the fact that he was taking her for himself, that he was fucking her like a whore, and she was moaning beneath him in pleasure – his tongue thrust deep into her throat, sliding in and out to the rhythm of his fierce, sharp stabs, repeating the same movements in her mouth and deep inside her throbbing core.

They were both panting loudly, hot and sweaty from the exertion, rocking their hips so that their bodies hit each other again with a loud slaps – he pressed his forehead against hers again and looked down, unable to deny himself the sight of what he was doing to her, opening her small, warm cunt wide with sticky clicks of her moisture on his fat, swollen cock, all soaked in her juices.

"– vok syt nyke (perfect for me) – ao se aōha byka orvorta (you and your little cunt) –" He exhaled with satisfaction and heard her girlish, innocent cry of delight.

"– Aemond –" She mewled pleadingly as if she wanted him to save her – he sighed and closed his eyes as he felt her come on his erection, her wetness oozing out of her with each of his pushes, his thighs and her buttocks all slick with her release.

He looked at her face curved in an expression of utter bliss, at her glistening mouth open wide in a sweet moans, at her closed eyes from which tears of relief flowed, and felt a squeeze in his stones testifying that this was it.

"– oh gods – oh gods, yes, yes, yes, hāedar –" He breathed out and closed his eye, feeling that his peak was so overpowering that for a moment he could hear or see nothing, dull to any sound or sight, panting hard and moaning like a little boy, feeling with relief as his seed spilled deep inside her in waves.

He came inside her.

She was his.

And even though he knew she didn't believe him, he was going to make it stay that way.

No fucking Grejyoy had any right to the hand of her, the Targaryen, the dragon rider, his little sister.

Only he could be her husband.

He was awakened by her touch – as he opened his eyelids lazily the first rays of light blinded him – he murmured, feeling her body snuggled into his chest, her head laid on his shoulder. He stroked her hair with his hand and she looked up at him, in her eyes tears, sadness and terror.

He understood why she felt that way.

He had taken from her something that was most precious to a woman, even though he was not yet her husband.

"– you have a right to resent me – but I swear to you that we will marry – even if it means I have to burn my brother myself –" He said coldly, and she rose quickly on her elbow, startling him, her eyes and mouth wide open in horror.

"– no – no, I beg you, don't do it – I'll bear it, I'll bear it all, just don't burden your soul even more –" She whimpered pleadingly, grasping his hand in hers, kissing it as if he were some kind of saint.

He stared at her in disbelief, breathing heavily, feeling a squeeze in his throat, tears of emotion gathered under his eyelids at the thought that no one had ever cared about what was happening deep inside him.

And yet she had seen it.

"– hāedar –" He whispered as she wept loudly, hugging her cheek to his hand, tears of despair and pain again running down her beautiful, smooth face.

He leaned towards her, gripping her in his arms and placed a sweet, warm kiss on her plump lips, one he would have been ashamed of if he had been with someone else, one he would have hated himself for, considering himself weak and pathetic, but not with her, never with her.

With her, gentle, tender, warm, soft caresses were natural and desired.

"– ñuhon (mine) –" He whispered between one sticky kiss and another, sinking his full lips into hers again and again with loud clicks of their saliva, running the tips of his fingers over her cheek, jaw and neck.

"– aōhon (yours) –" She sighed softly right into his mouth, and he groaned quietly, feeling his morning erection swell unbearably, causing him pain.

She didn't stand up to him when he lay down on top of her, and her thighs, in some natural, innocent reflex, spread out in front of him, allowing him to look at her sweet, pink shell, from which a pearly trickle of his spend was leaking.

He settled himself on his knees in front of her and guided the thick head of his cock against her warm opening, sliding into her flesh with a slow, soft thrust of his hips.

She moaned with exertion, clamping her hands on the fabric of the bedclothes around her head, her beautiful, long hair scattered in disarray, surrounding her face the way the night sky surrounds the moon, looking up at him with the gaze of her doe eyes, her eyebrows arched in discomfort and pleasure.

"– shhh, sweet girl – we will do it slowly – very slowly –" He assured her, leaning over her, and she nodded with a soft little smile.

He nuzzled his face into the hollow of her neck and she sank her lips into to the skin of his shoulder, letting his whole body press her to the bed – she threw her legs over his back as with lazy, tentative thrusts he began to move in and out of her with their quiet grunts of pleasure, their fingers clenched tightly on their naked bodies.

This time her flesh didn't resist him – her cunt was hot and slick from their shared wetness, ready to welcome him inside her, her breath deep and steady, as if by having been through this before she already knew what to expect and it reassured her.

"– just like that – my sweet little sister – your brother is here – right here –" He whispered in her ear, stroking her soft breasts, her waist with his broad hands, clamping them finally on her plump buttocks – she threw her head back with a sweet moan, her walls squeezing his erection tightly at his words, showing him that she indeed loved it when he spoke to her.

She was so eager, so thirsty for his caresses, while remaining almost naively innocent.

They both groaned lowly as they felt her begin to leak, their hips pounding against each other with loud splats, sticky from her wetness, making his cock pulsate inside her greedily, delighted that he was sinking into her fleshy walls again.

She was so warm.

It felt so safe.

"– we'll do this often after I return – all day and night we'll breed our heir –" He gasped with a sigh, rolling his hips back and forth, sinking into her faster and more aggressively – she moaned with a sweet smile, driving her short nails into the soft structure of his firm buttocks.

"– and once I give you a son? –" She hummed warmly, stroking his neck, and he looked down at her – her gaze was full of peace, as if, despite her earlier words that she didn't want to be a wife or a mother, she was imagining herself now, holding a baby in her arms, his son with his white hair – she was panting hard along with him, her lovely breasts bouncing with each of his thrusts, making him involuntarily clamp his hand over one of them, playing with her hard nipple with his thumb.

"– then you'll bear me another –"

He and Aegon had left the Red Keep on horseback, informing their mother that they were going on patrol together, which was of course a lie – Criston Cole had sent him word that the place where he was to wait for his signal had not changed and that was where they were to head to finally really begin this war.

He wondered who Rhaenyra would send to face them.

As he soared into the sky on Vhagar he spotted Sunfyre and Aegon circling above Dragon's Pit in the distance – both of them headed in the same direction.

It took them a couple of hours to reach the location, but he was relieved to see that the battle had not yet begun and they had arrived in time – he and Vhagar had landed far from the battlefield to preserve the effect of surprise, and his brother had followed his lead.

Aegon slid off Sunfyre, knowing that they would surely have to wait a long time for a sign from Cole, deciding to stretch his legs. He did the same and sighed, not looking at him, feeling uncomfortable now that they were left alone, just the two of them.

He felt resentment towards him for trying to take her away from him, but he was also filled with satisfaction because his brother didn't know what he had been doing to her all night.

Aegon finally approached him, keeping his hands on his hips, as if he was struggling to finally say something to him.

"You are aware that I did not do this out of malice, are you? I'm the King now. We need the Greyjoys, we don't have the fleet to stand up to the Velaryons, and they can provide it for us. I don't expect you to abandon her, and I won't say a word if you decide to secretly continue to… see her." He said in a way as if he was trying to throw out something simultaneously wise and comforting, to him, however, it sounded like pathetic gibberish, his hopeless attempt to clear his conscience.

"Do you want me to humiliate her? Make a ridicule of her and myself?" He snorted, shaking his head, looking away from him, unable to bear the sight of him.

Aegon licked his lower lip and laughed nervously.

"Gods, what's wrong with that? Even our mother enjoys the pleasures of life and male companionship as she sees fit. Am I to punish her for this, knowing that she spent her youth looking after the rotting, decaying old man that was our father?" He asked, and he froze, looking at him in shock.

"Did you know about this?" He muttered.

Aegon burst out laughing.

"Servants are not blind, brother, and it so happens that I, unlike you, do not despise gossip. You don't want to listen to it, while I do just the opposite, because there is always a grain of truth in it. This is what has always made us different: you look away from what disgusts you, what you are ashamed of."

"I should be proud of it then? Of my mother, whose bed is warmed by her guard, that they can beget a bastard and humiliate us all?" He howled with rage, not understanding what he wanted from him, how he could expect him to accept such behaviour from her.

"Our cousin warms your bed too, but I don't recall you asking me to marry her before you began to do so. Where was your honour and your affection for her then? And as for our mother, she is no fool: she knows what to do to make sure that no unwanted…consequences of her little secret arise." He said, combing his white hair with his fingers.

He swallowed hard and lowered his gaze.

"I regret it."

"What?"

"I regret the fact that I didn't ask you for her hand sooner." He muttered.

His brother sighed loudly and approached him, surprising him by simply patting him on the arm as if to comfort him.

"You said yourself that you didn't take her maidenhood, so don't torment your conscience. What our tongues and hands do to women should remain our secret." He said lightly, as if he considered the matter settled.

"The situation is different now." He said with shame.

Aegon blinked and shook his head.

"Just yesterday, during our conversation – you maintained that she is a maiden."

"Because she was. But she is no longer." He whispered in trembling voice.

Aegon closed his eyes, hid his face in his hands and leaned back with a low groan of rage.

"FUCK! Gods, why do you always have to fuck everything up? Like with Luke it was also an accident and your cock slipped into her unintentionally?" He exclaimed exasperated and angry, pacing back and forth, unable to calm down.

He lowered his gaze, feeling like a small child, wanting just to cry.

"Tell me you showed at least enough forethought to make sure she wouldn't carry your bastard." He said finally, looking at him expectantly and crouched down, burying his head between his knees seeing his pale face.

"Wed her to me."

"I've already told you. We need –"

"Faithful hound. That's what you called me behind my back. You laughed that I barked when I fucked my whore. Do you really think gossip doesn't reach my ears?" He asked coldly, feeling that he was shaking with terror and rage.

Aegon looked at him uneasily, clearly feeling discomfort at the thought that he knew this.

"If you wish your hound to remain faithful to you, give him what he asks, or he may bite his master's hand. Hard. And that's not what any of us would want, is it?" He cooed with a broad smile, cocking his head.

His brother swallowed hard, his lips pressed together in a thin line out of rage.

"Are you fucking threatening me?" Aegon hissed, and he grinned even wider.

"I'm only warning you, brother."

Aegon stood up and opened his mouth, apparently wanting to explode with anger, but they heard the sound of a trumpet in the distance, getting louder and louder.

"Choose wisely." He growled to him and left his brother with terror in his eyes, climbing up the long ropes to Vhagar's back.

"Sōvēs!"

His dragoness rose lazily, making the ground around them shake, terrified fowl flew away from between bushes and tree branches. He heard his brother give the same order to Sunfyre and after a moment they both took to the skies, heading to meet their destiny.

He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, wondering with a rapidly beating heart if it was worth the risk of his brother disagreeing.

Wouldn't it be better to be sure.

And then he saw her face swollen with tears, her cheek nestled in his palm.

Don't burden your soul even more.

He swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in his throat as he saw their army in the distance and a large red dragon he recognised immediately.

Meleys.

Of course.

Daemon was in Harrenhal, and Rhaenys was the most experienced of them all.

After what happened to Luke, his sister-whore did not dare send her children into battle.

Their appearance caused loud cheers from their army and cries of horror from their enemy – he glanced sideways, surprised to see that his brother was holding back, hoping that he would attack first.

He was afraid, he thought with a sneer, recognising that he would show him what true courage was.

Who was more deserving of being king.

Vhagar and Meleys collided in the air, grabbing each other's hind legs with their claws, causing both beasts to spin around, and he had to hold the ropes tightly in his hands to keep from falling.

"– DRAKARYS! –" He shouted, also hearing Rhaenys voice from afar, pillars of fire erupted from the throats of their dragons making the temperature around them unbearably hot.

He tried to steer Vhagar so that the flames would not touch him, and after a moment he heard a second voice coming from the side.

"– DRAKARYS! –" His brother roared, and Sunfyre breathed fire straight at Meleys and her rider, making the beast let go of Vhagar with a loud screech, throwing itself at him in pursuit.

"– DARKARYS, MELEYS! –" He heard, and before Vhagar could make a full turn back he heard his brother's loud scream – as he turned over his shoulder he saw his silhouette sunk in fire, trying to cover his face with his hand.

Meleys claws sliced into Sunfyre's flesh, her fangs bit into his neck and let go, allowing both him and his rider to fall inertly to the ground.

Even if he wanted to, there was nothing he could do.

He had warned him, and he had disobeyed.

If his hāedar had been with him, he would have made sure she stayed away until Meleys was weakened, so as not to endanger her.

But his brother?

He smiled.

"– angōs, Vhagar –" He called out, and his dragoness opened her maw wide and roared, as if remembering her great battles of Old Valyria centuries ago, pushing against the fleeing Meleys like a great mountain.

You won't escape me, you old whore.

He thought and blinked, seeing surprised that Meleys had turned back suddenly, spotting flames at the end of her throat.

Fuck.

He forced Vhagar to change course and shield them with her body, making the biggest wave of fire pass them by – he heard her squeal in pain as Meleys' claws slammed into her stomach again, tugging hard, creating wounds from which her hot blood flowed.

Vhagar needed no more of his commands – his dragoness was so enraged that she threw herself at Meleys, finally sinking her fangs into her throat, tearing her head from the rest of her body.

He watched with satisfaction, panting heavily, as the rest of her body, along with Rhaenys, fell downwards, finally hitting the ground, bursting into flames, their army, led by Criston Cole and his uncle, surged forward with a roar of joy for their victory.

His victory.

When it was all over, he flew to where he believed Sunfyre and his rider had fallen – indeed, he could see from above the soldiers around the body and the golden dragon writhing in pain, trying to reach its rider.

Had he survived or not?

He landed in the distance, walking unhurriedly towards the panicked physicians and servants surrounding Aegon, feeling powerful, invincible, proud, content.

He finally stood over them and hummed with satisfaction, seeing the state his brother's body was in – he was breathing, however, most of his skin was burnt, the only things coming from his mouth were moans and grunts.

"– it is a miracle, Your Highness – Sunfyre took the entire fall on himself, he saved our King's life –" One of the men said.

"– your brave King moved into battle with you and was severely wounded – you are to take proper care of him and relieve his pain –" He announced, and the soldiers around him nodded.

"Of course, Your Highness."

He sighed quietly, looked up at the sky and closed his eyes, trying to hold back a smirk of satisfaction.

The gods had heard his prayers.

His brother would be unable to hold his function, and he would finally take his rightful place.

He will rule the Kingdom in his name.

He will win this fucking war.

He will marry her.

[moonxytcn]

Shadows of Dragonstone

| Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!reader

summary – You have been Rhaenyra's servant since you were a child and you will always be there for her, no matter what

tags & warnings – rhaenyra x fem!servant!reader, angst, a little dark themes?, fluffy if you squint your eyes.

a/n – I'm just back in my era of love for her. My queen! 🤭

| English is not my first language so there may be some errors.

| Masterlist —✽— Pinned post

 ㅤㅤ✯ ━━━━━━ ✿ ✫ ✿ ━━━━━━ ✯

–––

The halls of Dragonstone are cold and silent, a far cry from the warmth and bustling life of King's Landing. Here, the stone walls seem to echo the turmoil in your heart, reflecting the stark isolation that Rhaenyra must feel. She has always been a flame in the darkness, a beacon of strength and defiance, but now, that flame flickers dangerously low.

You have been her personal servant since childhood, a constant presence by her side. The bond you share goes beyond duty; it is a secret love forged in the crucible of court intrigues and whispered promises. It began on that fateful night when Daemon took her to the house of pleasure, a night that changed everything between you. Now, with Harwin Strong's departure to Harrenhal, Rhaenyra's heart aches with a new kind of pain, one that you feel deeply within your own soul.

The morning is bleak as you approach her chambers, carrying a tray of breakfast. You hesitate at the door, listening for any sound from within. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the distant roar of the sea. Taking a deep breath, you knock gently before entering.

Rhaenyra sits by the window, her silhouette framed against the grey sky. Her eyes are distant, lost in thoughts you can only guess at. The fire in the hearth struggles to warm the room, much like your presence struggles to warm her heart these days.

"Good morning, Princess." You say softly, setting the tray on a small table. "I brought you breakfast."

She turns her gaze to you, and for a moment, the mask of the future queen slips, revealing the vulnerable woman beneath. "Thank you." She murmurs, but makes no move to eat.

You approach her cautiously, your heart aching at the sight of her so desolate. "Rhaenyra." You whisper, daring to reach out and touch her hand. "Please, you must take care of yourself."

She looks at you, and the pain in her eyes is almost unbearable. "I am tired." She admits, her voice barely audible. "So very tired of losing those I care about."

You kneel beside her, your fingers entwining with hers. "You are not alone." You say, your voice fierce with the depth of your feelings. "I am here. I will always be here."

Her grip tightens on your hand, and for a moment, it seems as if she might break down. But Rhaenyra Targaryen is nothing if not resilient. She takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders, the mask slipping back into place. "We must be strong," she says, though you can hear the strain in her voice. "For the realm."

You nod, understanding the weight of her words. "For the realm." You echo, though in your heart, it is for her that you would do anything.

The days pass in a blur of duties and stolen moments. You do your best to be a comfort to her, to remind her of the warmth and love that still exists in the world, even in the shadow of Dragonstone. It is a delicate balance, keeping your relationship hidden from prying eyes while giving her the solace she so desperately needs.

One night, as you help her prepare for bed, she turns to you with a look of determination. "I need to feel alive again." She says, her voice trembling with emotion. "Will you help me?"

You nod, your heart pounding. "Always." You whisper.

She leads you to the bed, her hands shaking slightly as she begins to undress. You follow her lead, your own nerves taut with anticipation and fear. This is different from the secret moments you've shared before. There is a desperation in her touch, a need to forget the pain if only for a little while.

As you lie together in the dim light of the chamber, you hold her close, your bodies entwined. Her tears dampen your skin, and you kiss them away, each touch a silent promise of love and loyalty. In the darkness, the walls of Dragonstone seem to fade, leaving just the two of you in a world of your own making.

Afterward, you lie together, her head resting on your chest. The storm outside rages on, but here, in this moment, there is a fragile peace. "Thank you." She whispers, her voice breaking. "For being here. For loving me."

You kiss the top of her head, your own tears mingling with hers. "Always." You repeat, the word a vow.

But peace in Dragonstone is fleeting. The next day brings more bad news, more reasons for Rhaenyra to steel herself against the world. You stand by her side, offering what comfort you can, but the shadows are ever present, threatening to consume you both.

One evening, as you sit together in front of the hearth, she takes your hand in hers. "I fear I will lose you too." She admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

You squeeze her hand, your heart aching with the weight of her fears. "I am not going anywhere." You promise. "No matter what happens, I will be by your side."

She looks at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and sorrow. "Promise me." She says, her voice trembling. "Promise me that you will stay."

"I promise." You say, the words a binding oath. "I will never leave you."

The days grow shorter, and the nights colder, as the weight of the realm's troubles presses down on you both. But through it all, you hold onto each other, finding strength in the love that binds you.

One night, as the storm outside rages, you wake to find Rhaenyra standing by the window, her silhouette a dark shadow against the flickering light of the fire. You rise and go to her, wrapping your arms around her waist. She leans into you, her body trembling with unspoken fears.

"We will get through this." You whisper, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "Together."

She turns in your arms, her eyes searching yours. "I do not know what I would do without you." She admits, her voice breaking.

"You will never have to find out." You say, your voice firm with conviction. "I am yours, Rhaenyra. Now and always."

She kisses you then, a desperate, searching kiss that speaks of all the things words cannot express. You hold her close, pouring all your love and devotion into that kiss, hoping to banish the darkness that surrounds you both.

As the storm rages on, you make love again, finding solace in each other's arms. In the heat of your passion, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by love and necessity.

In the aftermath, as you lie together, spent and sated, she turns to you, her eyes soft with affection. "Thank you." She whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

You smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Always." You say, the word a promise and a vow.

The storms of Dragonstone may rage on, and the shadows may threaten to consume you, but in each other, you find the strength to carry on. Together, you face the darkness, knowing that your love is a light that will never be extinguished.

And in the end, that is enough.

[maikissed]

a secret sweetheart

jude bellingham x reader

summary: an unexpected article containing an appaling gossip is out. everybody wants to know who Jude's secret sweetheart is... warnings: none, maybe some misspells, I'm sorry, I'm writing like crazy to release some stress as of late...

You jumped up on you seat as soon as your eyes landed on the article. Your mouth wide open, you were hurriedly eyeing the words written in the most outrageous and presumptive manner. And the pictures too, how was it that the moment captured by lenses of a camera was showing such inconsistent image? Giving off the impression that everything described below might most likely be real. Your eyes turning wider and wider with every read word, you turned restless in a span of a second. You huffed analysing the photos, your lip nervously placed between your teeth, you were fuming. It perfectly presented your wide smile, little summer dress on you, his hand placed on your hip, he was looking down at you, his eyes engrossed in something you might have had said seconds before the picture was taken, delicate, tender smile upon his lips. It was indeed sending some kind of message. And you were furious.

“Jude” you called after energetically entering the living room.

His eyes shot up from his phone, he eyed you curiously.

“Have you seen this?” you approached him quickly, the screen of your phone practically in his nose.

He groaned, grabbing your wrist to steady your hand and fleetingly eyed the article. Not even giving it a proper attention. He didn’t seem bothered at all, your eyes widened at his reaction, or lack of it, truth be told.

“What about it?” he asked nonchalantly in a calm voice.

“What about it?! Can you see what it says?!” you screeched, feeling almost hysterical.

“I can see they called you stunning” he beamed at you, relaxing on the sofa.

“Jude!” you almost yelled “The whole world now believes that I am your secret sweetheart!” you accented the last two words using your fingers to present the quote gesture; these were in fact words used in the material.

He opened his mouth to comment on that, but you silenced him angrily with a quick flick of your hand and started to read:

“Now we can say that it is kind of unexpected turn of events for us. Jude Bellingham, an English professional footballer who plays as a midfielder for spanish La Liga club Real Madrid and the England national team, finally presented his secret sweetheart! Not yet spotted accompanied by any lady, despite many rumours of dating the prettiest lot of models and famous influencers, was seen strolling the streets of California with an… unknown beauty. We must say she is stunning, true pleasure to the eyes. And we are surprised, we’ve been hearing so much about his latest infatuation with the Dutch model, Laura Celia Valk” you could hear him scoff but you did not avert your gaze from the article, raising your voice to make sure he won’t interrupt you “But there weren’t any unveiled revelations about their relationship and now we can openly say – multimillionaire star has his eyes and attention somewhere else. And his eyes are full of adoration! We have it all on pictures! Just take a look and tell us this is not the most enjoyable view of a young love blossoming between these two. Why all this secrecy, Jude? Scream, shout and show your happiness to the whole world! We’re waiting for some more sweet content from these two!”

Your cheeks heated, your chest rising and falling in exasperation. You looked at him expectantly. You could see he was fighting a smile, the corner of his lip rising in a smirk. He was amused, you were vexed and anxious.

“When will all this shite with Laura end?” he frowned and you grabbed the nearest pillow placed beside him to throw it in his direction.

“It ends now because the whole of Internet will blow out with these pictures!”

“Wait a second, let me call them and tell them to delete it this instant. What was the name of the site again?” he leaned to grab the phone from you but you swiftly yanked your hand up.

“Be serious” you growled.

“We were on vacation, they were smart and took the pictures. It’s how media and paps work, there’s not much we could do” he shrugged, still way too calm about this for your liking.

At some point you were prepared that the ongoing, growing interest in his persona would make him more vulnerable and seen, followed. You knew people were very much interested in private lives of stars, especially the rising ones that were the hottest subject around, but you hoped that none of such assumptions would be brought regarding the relations between you two. It was a threat for your own life, your privacy. You feared the repercussions, yet somehow you turned a blind eye. And there you had the consequences. Right in your hand.

“What happens if Kit sees these?” you murmured looking away from your friend.

“Is he that insecure?” he mocked, but you didn’t answer him, your gaze timid and withdrawn as you looked at him briefly “What is it? You didn’t tell him who you’re friends with?” he asked in a simple voice, you stayed silent and a second after you could hear him let out an amused gasp “Ooh, were you keeping me secret, sweets?”

You sharply turned your head to spot a cheeky grin painted on his face. You started to look for that pillow once more.

“Why would I bring up the subject of Mister Jude Bellingham so soon? It’s very fresh, he’d probably end up pining over you” you spat, crossing your arms on your chest.

“Is your choice in men that poor?” he chuckled.

“Don’t be rude” you fought “Like your choice in girls is most tasteful”

“From that appealing article I’d say it is”

Your hands fell down your body and you squinted your eyes at him, agitated by his unmoved attitude and ignorance.

“You will not use me for your good press!” you hissed turning around with intention to leave the room, but Jude quickly grasped your hand before you stormed off.

“That’s not what I meant, y/n” his voice calm and gentle when he pulled you closer to where he was seated.

You stood between his knees, upset and worried, your head down.

“Come here” he murmured making more room for you to sit beside him.

Many thoughts kept raging through your brain. You’ve been thoughtless and silly, hoping that your lives would stay easy and uncomplicated no matter the odds. There was worry blooming inside you, but not exactly about your own self, your own private life; you worried such events would made you both have to choose. Choose to be close, or choose to finally part. You were fearful.

“What’s on your mind now?” he whispered, gently nudging your side.

“How can we be friends amongst all this?” you asked turning your head to look at him.

He had the extraordinary ability to calm your nerves with a soft blink of his eyes, delicate, reassuring smile and tenderness seeping into his gaze as he looked at you. You held it in highest regard, the fact that he always was your safe haven. It should worry you, it did sometimes, but you relished in it still.

“Oh no, don’t start with it” he whined with a funny look on his face “I’m not breaking up with you because of some gossips”

You snorted at his reaction.

“How will I be able to date if any man I meet would most likely compare himself to you?”

The sarcastic question made him laugh loudly and you slapped him briefly on the arm, feeling abashed. How infuriating this boy could be.

“Too bad for them” he shrugged “You can date me then, everybody thinks you already are” that added sentence making you scoff.

“Fuck you” you retorted.

“Sure, why not, we could start with that to break the ice”

“Jude!” you gasped in protest, adding a frustrated groan at his flippancy, trying to stand up from the sofa, but he was quick to snatch you back into his arms.

Your life would most likely complicate much more as long as he was present in it.

[ghosty-writes-23]

Let Me Be Your Inspiration. - Leon S Kennedy.

!TAGS!: Fluff, Leon being husband material, !CONSENT IS KEY!, SoftDom!Leon, Praise, Hints Of Degrading, Cockwarming, Blow Job, Eating Out, !WRAP IT, BEFORE YOU TAP IT!, Mating Press, Choking, Spit Play, Aftercare.

Pairing: DI!Husband!Leon + Writer!Fem!Reader.

Rating: Mature.

Summary: “Want Me To Fuck You Like The Characters In Your Books.” After a cozy night in with your husband editing your books, you decided you want to recreate the smut scene you had written early in the back with your darling husband Leon.

Word Count: 4.5k

Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

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18+ Content // Minors DO NOT Interreact // 18+ Content.

On a cold winter’s night you were snuggled into your comfortable and cozy marshmallow couch, with Oreo curled up by your side purring softy as she enjoyed the warmth of your warm blanket and affection. You were wearing one of your husbands’ oversized hoodies since the weather was a little chillier than usual tonight and you couldn’t be bothered lighting the fireplace, you had been engrossed in your story writing for your next coming book project, that you had been working on for the past couple of months.

It was a spicy enemies to lover’s dark romance about a girl that is a rookie agent that falls in love with a higher up government agent that is her boss, they don’t get along at first but after a steamy training session things get a little more heated between the pair, and yes you did use your husband Leon for inspiration with his consent of course.

Finishing your final sentence, you glanced down at the time on your computer seen it was almost 6pm, which meant you had to start making dinner soon, since Leon had cooked last night even when it wasn’t his turn, but just as you stretched your arms above your head, your back popping slightly as some of your bones moved back into place, you heard the front door open and the familiar heavy boots on the hardwood floor that belonged to your darling husband.

Ace your German Shepard came flying into the room excitedly but panting, before he disappeared into the kitchen to get a drink, turning your head your eyes landed on Leon as he was taking off his jacket and placing Ace’s leash on the hook beside the door.

You didn’t say anything but you let your eyes run along the curves of his body, his t-shirt was tight around his biceps, showing off his muscles he worked hard to maintain for the sake of his job and bedroom activities, since he liked to go for multiple rounds especially after a stressful day, or being away for long periods of times because of missions. Sometimes you wonder how lucky you were to meet Leon when you did, you will admit it wasn’t the most romantic setting and was in the middle of a zombie outbreak, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

*Flashback.*

September 30th 1998 was a night you would never forget, it was night filled with unspeakable horrors, zombies and other creatures, the smell of rotting flesh and gunpowder and even an unexpected romance between yourself and a young rookie cop, you were at university and an English major with a love of book and writing even your own stories. You lived in raccoon city at the time of the incident; you had headed to the RPD as they were promising shelter and medical care for all citizens and you didn’t have much option since your university dorm room had been over ran with your classmates who had now been turned into flesh eating monsters.

When you had reached the police department, having had to go through the back and through the back fire escape and into a bloody hallway with bodies everywhere, you tried not to gag as you headed to what you hopefully thought was an unlocked door, luckily it was and you found yourself in the east office area on the first floor.

You were surprised to see some of the sections had already been opened, almost as if somebody had been through, you had armed yourself with a pistol you found on a desk and you decided to go and see if you could find anybody alive. You had walked around looking for anybody, but there was no sign of life expect for zombies and these gold awful creatures that looked as if they had been skinned alive, you had found out they were very sensitive to sound so you had to tread very carefully, you were on guard the whole time.

It wasn’t until you were on the 3rd floor balcony when you meet the man that would make this night of horror a little easier to bare. He wore a police uniform that was currently soaked with rain, his dark blonde hair was sticking to his forehead, he was an officer and was trying to make the same sense of this situation as you were. for a moment you both where speechless as if you were studying the details of each other’s face.

“I’m Y/n.” you say softly breaking the silence between you too, the male reached up and tucked some of your fallen wet hair behind your ear. “I’m Leon.” He says causing you to smile softly at his gesture, you felt yourself blush slightly and you could see him smiling as well, you were covered in zombie blood, creature gut juice and god knows what else and yet Leon looked at you as if you were the most beautiful woman in the world.

You two had survived the night together, not leave each other’s side and fighting side by side, when you finally got out of the police department and where on the outskirts of the city you breathed a sigh of relief, even though you had gotten injuried in your leg by landing on a piece of broken glass after you and Leon where chased by the sewer monster that was an alligator but that was no normal alligator.

You had been leaning against Leon for support as you both walked down an old dirt road. “you know this would make a great story.” Leon says as he helped by supporting your back, he had offered to piggyback you but you knew he was just as exhausted as you were and you didn’t want to be a burden on him.

“I am not writing the horrors we witness into a book.” You laughed shaking your head at him. “come on you could write an amazing story.” Leon says making an embarrassed blush to come onto your cheeks, you had told Leon about your passion for writing stories and he wanted to read your work.

“If I write something I will send you a copy.” You tell him and he gave you a smile, the same one he gave you when you two had meet not even 24 hours ago. “I look forward to it.” He says as you both traveled to the next city and you could finally have the shower you so desperately wanted.

*End Of Flashback.*

It was one hell of a night, and as perfect as your marriage seemed now, there were times that isn’t wasn’t so easy and balanced, you were there when Leon used to drink himself to sleep because he couldn’t deal with the trauma of Raccoon city, you where there when he blamed himself for every person that he loved and cared about dying, he pushed you away thinking all he ever brought you was bad luck, there where times he would purposefully not come home after a mission because he didn’t want you see him in the state he was in.

you were both nearly driven to a divorce because that is what you thought Leon wanted, you even had the papers mailed to you, but after a dangerous and life threatening mission and when he saw the signed papers that were on the kitchen counter when he returned home, he knew things needed to change, he made a vow to get better to be the husband you needed and deserved, he went to therapy and you both went to marriage counselling and now you were in the best possible place you could be and are even stronger as a couple now.

You also knew that your pets had an positive impact on your marriage as well, Ace was like your younger son, even thought he was an older police dog he acted like a big puppy, always full of energy and wanting to play games especially around Leon when he was home, but he loved affection from the both of you and he was a handful, then you have sweet but slightly temperamental Oreo that mostly keeps to herself and will only show affection when she wants too, but she like cuddles on a winter night or staying around either you or Leon when your home.

As your eyes meet his blue ones there was a small smirk on his lips. “What sweetheart.” Leon asked as he walked over to you and placed a gentle kiss on your neck, his slight stubble softly scratching your neck causing you to giggle softly. “just happy.” You replied before feeling another kiss being placed on your neck this time you could feel his teeth softly grazing your neck making you shiver in delight. “Well, I’m going to shower and then I will make dinner for us.” Leon says as he moved away from you, but quickly you reached out and grabbed his hand before he got too far.

“its my turn to cook tonight, you cooked last night.” You tried to argue with him as you gave your husband’s hand a soft squeeze, but Leon shook his head as he leaned down and gave your lips a soft kiss. You could still taste the faint hint of his sweet sports drink he takes when he is working out on his lips, it was berry flavoured.

“I rarely get to cook for you, please let me tonight.” He says resting his forehead on yours it was true Leon rarely cooked for you since he was rarely home because of his job and never getting time off work, the only reason he was home at the moment was because after his last mission to Alcatraz, he insisted on having some vacation time afterwards which was luckily approved.

Once it was approved Leon rushed home like an excited puppy, finally gets to spend some time with his beloved wife. His callous hands gently cupping your face and his thumb softly caressing your cheek, it always melted your heart when he did something like this, you knew you weren’t going to be able to argue with him.

“Fine but I’m cooking tomorrow.” You tried to playfully argue with him, but he just smiled and gently kissed you again. “whatever you say sweetheart.” He mumbles cheekily against your lips before kissing you again then pulling away going upstairs to the bathroom.

Shaking your head at his goofy antics you couldn’t help but grin slightly to yourself, as your head rested on the back of the couch, even after all of these years Leon still makes you feel the same butterflies you felt all those years ago on the RPD balcony, even thought you where both older and more wiser to you he will always be the man that saved your life and for that you were enterally grateful for meeting him.

*Later That Night.*

After eating the dinner Leon made, it was a simple pasta dish since he asked you what you where craving and you said carbs, he always knew exactly what to make you, it was a chicken and cheese pasta. Currently you were in the living room, a random movie playing on Netflix in the background so it wasn’t dead quiet.

Ace and Oreo were sleeping together on the large pet bed in the living room since it was big enough for the both of them and fluffy, while Leon was reading over what you had written today, as you wanted his approval on it and for him to proof read it since he can always find mistakes where you can’t and his grammar skills were slightly better then yours.

Leon edited your chapter from today, one of his hands was on your laptop his blue eyes scanning your words and fixing a few grammar mistakes, his other hand was in your hair as he gently massaged your scalp as your head rested on his sweatpants covered thigh while his cock rested perfectly in your mouth as you cockwarmed him, you wanted to show your husband how much you appreciated his help and what better way then to let him use you for his own pleasure for a while.  

You used your tongue softly to feel every bump, vein and ridge as you made a soft slurp noise, so you weren’t drooling everywhere. He was heavy on your tongue, but the weight brought you a sense of comfort as your eyes were closed happily. When you felt a gentle tug on your hair your eyes fluttered open before you looked up at Leon through your lashes. “you really do spoil me doll.” He softly praises you as his hand moves from your hair to your face, his callous hands gently stroking the soft skin of your slightly blushing cheek.

Instead of replying you took him deeper in your mouth causing you to gag slightly, but you pushed that through aside when you heard Leon’s deep groan, the sound alone was enough to make you clench around nothing. “Fuck princess.” He grunts before he moved your laptop onto the couch beside him and gives you his full attention, with his now free hand he used it to pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail to keep your hair out of your face.

There was a slight pain in your jaw, but you pushed that thought to the side and lifted your head up slightly to give yourself some room to swallow the precum that was already in your mouth, you gently sucked on his cock tip causing a soft whine to leave his lips before you started to bob your head at a steady pace as you sucked in your cheeks.

You could feel him moving his hips slightly to the rhythm of your head as you tried to take him deeper, but it caused you to gag slightly, you could feel his thumb gently caress your cheek wiping the stray tear. “don’t push yourself to much sweetheart.” Leon tells you causing you to look up at him.

You could see the lust in his eyes but also the love and affection, you wanted to make him feel good like he had done for you countless times, You used your hands to pump what you couldn’t fit before you felt him twitch on your tongue, you knew he was close by the pitch of his moans, breath a deep breath through your nose you decided to push Leon’s cock deep into your throat until your nose was touching his pubic area. “Fuck Y/n.” You heard Leon curse loudly as you felt his body tense up then a thick steam of cum filled your throat and mouth.

A few tears ran down your cheeks as you tried your best to swallow what you could, pulling off with a soft pop you placed your hand over your mouth as there was quite a bit of mess, you swallowed the rest before coughing slightly.

Leon looked at you worriedly as if all the pleasure was gone from his face and he was worried about you. “I’m okay.” You reassured him after you coughed a few times and caught your breath. “you sure?” Leon asked you as he gently rubbed your back, you nodded your head before you felt his thumb on your bottom lip.

“as pleasurable as that was, it was very stupid of you.” Leon says looking into your eyes, you could hear the seriousness in his tone, but also the worry and care. “I know I’m sorry, I just wanted to make you feel good.” You say to him with a soft pout, but Leon couldn’t stay mad at you felt him press a soft kiss to your lips as he rested his forehead on yours. “knowing your happy and comfortable makes me happy.” Leon says making you playfully roll your eyes. “that’s not what I mean.” You say as you look up at him to which he just grins at you.

Getting off the couch Leon picked you up with ease causing you to giggle softly as you clung to him. “where are we going?” you asked as he started to walk upstairs to your guys shared bedroom. “to bed sweetheart.” Leon says but there is a smirk on his lips, he was up to something, and you knew it. On the way to your shared bedroom, you started to kiss and softly bite your husband’s neck to tease him, you could tell he was smiling and even felt a gentle smack on your ass.

Once in your bedroom he kicked the door closed and laid you on the bed, his neck was covered in little love bites done by you which caused you to grin as he hovered over you. “my turn.” Leon says as he pressed a kiss to your lips and then one on your jawline then your neck, his hands going under his hoodie you’re wearing and gently caressing the soft skin of your body.

His touch alone made a shiver run down your spine as he started to trail his kisses down your neck to your chest, then pushing his hoodie you were wearing up and placing more kisses down your chest trailing down to your stomach.

When he reached the top of your shorts Leon’s loving blue eyes looked up at yours, nodding your head he hooked his fingers into your shorts and carefully pulled them down, leaving you in your panties on your bottom half, you could see the hungry and lust clouding his eyes as he licked his lips when he saw the wet patch on your panties.

He gave your clit a soft kiss through your panties causing you to gasps soft and grip the blanket under your body. “Leon.” You whine his name softly causing a deep chuckle to leave his lips.

 “I know baby I know.” Leon says smirking to himself before he pulled your panties to the side and ran his tongue up your wet folds in one swipe, causing a sweet moan to leave your lips as you bucked your hips slightly, your fingers finding their way into his dark hair and softly tugging, pulling him closer to your wet heat.

Getting your message Leon used his index finger and middle finger to spread your pussy, before sliding his tongue inside and slowly thrusting it as his nose gently bumped your clit, as his stubble gently scratched your inner thigh with every movement.

You where withering under him, your toes curling as your thighs trembled against his head. “Fuck.” You cursed slightly as your back arched slightly but he didn’t stop, only gripping your hips slightly harder keeping you steady for him. You could hear him softy slurping and even feel him suckling, it was getting to much for you as you felt a knot forming in your stomach.

“I’m cumming.” You moaned sweetly as you gripped the pillow under your head, you could hear Leon groaning against you as he doubled his efforts and pulled you closer to his face as he buried his face in your wet core.

“Cum for me sweetheart.” Leon groaned against your core, his deep and raspy lust filled voice alone was enough to push you over the edge, the knot in your stomach finally snapped you came with a loud cry of Leon’s name, your back arched off the bed as you felt your whole-body tremble.

When you finally came down from your high you gently pushed Leon’s head away with how sensitive you were, when he reluctantly pulled away his face was wet and there was a wide grin on his face.

“seem after all these years, I can still leave you breathless.” Leon says as he licked his lips, you playfully roll your eyes but there is a laugh on your lips as well. “it seems you do, now are you going to hurry up and fuck me.” You say back at him with a smirk. “yes ma��am.” He says before reaching into the bedside table draw to grab a condom and some lube.

As Leon ripped open the condom packet with his teeth and placed the rubber protection around his cock, you had grabbed the bottle of lube and applied some to your soaked heat. You knew you were wet enough but this was just a safety precaution to not cause you any discomfort.

“You ready darling?” Leon asks as he tapped the tip of his cock on your pussy a few times, you nodded your head biting your bottom lip as your legs rests on either side of his hips, slowly he began to push in the familiar starching making you moan softy and slightly dig your nails into his muscular shoulders.

He always stretched you perfectly like nobody else could. One he had fully bottomed out and you had adjusted to his size comfortably Leon leaned forward and gently kissed your head. “you okay?” he asks looking down at you.

Looking up you gave him a smile and leaned up and softly kissed his lips, as you gently kissed Leon you could feel his hips start to move slowly and steady, pleasure ran through your body causing you to moan against his lips as you both moved with each other, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

But as slow and sweet as his thrusts where you needed more, you needed him to be rougher with you, reaching over you grabbed one of his hands there was gripping the pillow by your head you placed it around your throat.

“be rougher with me Leon.” You moan softy wanting him to choke you, he stopped for a second his hips stilling, you through you had said something wrong and possibly made him uncomfortable, but before you could ask him what’s the matter, both of your legs are placed on his shoulders in the mating press position as his hand that was currently around your throat slightly tightens.

“Is this what you wanted doll, for me to fuck you like the characters you write about in your books.” Leon asks as he leaned down to your ear and gently bites the lobe as his once gently thrusts where hard and deep causing the deep to creak slightly.

You wanted to argue with him, but you couldn’t deny it you loved it when Leon fucked you like this, you liked it when he was loving and gentle, his touch careful and delicate, but other times you liked it when he was like this rough and slightly mean, when he bent your body for his pleasure, but you knew his ultimate goal was to please you. “Yes.” You choked out as your eyes started to roll back as Leon’s cock was hitting your sweet spot perfectly causing you whines and moans to leave your lips.

“then I’ll give you some inspiration.” Leon groans feeling you tighten around him as he picks up the pace, he pressed your legs closer to your chest and tightened his hand around your neck slightly more causing you to hear your heartbeat in your ears, as you start to feel lightheaded. Your moans were getting whiner and higher pitched, soon you felt Leon’s other hand came up to your face as his thumb was on your bottom lip as he gently pulled your mouth open.

Knowing what he was going to do, you laid your tongue flat for him before you felt him spit into your mouth causing a whine to leave your throat as you swallowed. “dirty slut.” Leon grunted as he grinned down at you, he knew how dirty you liked things, he had read all your books and he knew you used your bedroom activities for inspiration for them, he was just glad that he could bring these scene you had written down to life for your pleasure.

“Leon.” You moaned loudly feeling the familiar knot in your stomach, you knew there was a mess of lube, precum and your juices on the bed beneath your ass. “I know sweetheart, I know.” He grunts moving some of your sweaty hair out of your face as he thrusted into your soaked pussy, your gummy walls sucking him in and never wanting him to leave.

“You going to cum for me baby?” you heard Leon ask and you nodded your head quickly feeling the familiar tightening in your stomach. “Yes.” you choked out in between moans; your thighs were trembling, and your head was feeling light and hazy. “Cumming.” you cry out as you let out a high pitch moan and came around Leon, you felt him soon follow filling up the condom.

After a couple of moments, you both found yourselves laughing and smiling with each other as you leaned up and brushed some of Leon’s wet and sweaty hair from his face. “so, I take it you like what I wrote today.” You say with a grin as this was exactly how you imagined the chapter you had written today.

“I did but maybe next time we can do some roleplay, I might even dress up as this government agent you seem to love writing about.” He says with a soft smile before he slowly and carefully pulls out of your now oversensitive pussy and discards the condom on the bin beside your shared bed.

“now that would be a treat.” You say before you move over and nuzzle into his side, your head resting on his chest as his hand is softly running down your back. “I love you.” You say to Leon as you looked at the matching black bands on your fingers, the sight of them still brings a smile to your face.

“I love you too sweetheart, did you want to shower or cuddle.” Leon asks as he kisses the top of your head. “a shower can wait.” You said closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth and feeling of Leon’s body next to yours. “okay honey.” Leon says pulling you closer to his body as you both just enjoyed the company of each other…

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Bonus Head Canons for Writer!Fem!Reader.

Leon will take you on his motorbike to bookstores for dates, you can pick as many books as you would like.

He will carry all of the book he purchased you not wanting you to strain yourself.

Leon will listen to you rant about your favourite fictional characters.

He likes it when you use his head as a pillow while you read your books, or cuddle together on the couch while you are writing, he just likes being close to you.

Yes he will recreate your favourite smut book scenes.

He is your number one fan of your books and comes to every signing when he can, if he isn't working.

He will talk about you at work and even recommend people your books.

Leon is the model for some of your book covers, but you kept his face hidden for privacy reasons.

He doesn’t get jealous when you have a new fictional husband from a new book you read.

If he can’t find you, he knows you’re in the in-home library he built you for valentines day. (!One-Shot Link!)

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©Ghosty-writes-23, 2024. all rights reserved. !I DO NOT! consent to translations or replications or reproduction of my work on any other social media platforms and or make AI Bots without my explict consent and permission.

[k0juki]

heyyyy!! trying my luck here😅

imagine a smoker!joost x non smoker!reader hanging out or smth, and joost just had a cigarette and tries to kiss the reader but since they don’t like the smell or taste of it they don’t give him a kiss😭😭😭 and then he gets all sad and starts pouting and the reader just giggles and stuff😭 just a lot of cuteness and fluff💗

also ps! you’re literally my favorite author who writes for joost!!!

A/n: someone is lucky🤞🍀 and that's you anon🫵

Kisses and cigarettes

Joost Klein x fem!reader

English is not my first language, so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors! Also the picture is not mine. Credit goes to owner!

Wc: 452

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Joost leaned against the railing, a cigarette held loosely between his fingers as he took a drag, letting the smoke curl up into the evening sky. It was a long day for him, but you were here to help him with anything, and he was glad.

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over everything, and he couldn't help but think how perfect the moment was. His eyes flicked over to you, sitting on the porch swing, a soft smile playing on your lips as you watched him.

With a final drag, Joost stubbed out the cigarette on the railing and made his way over to you. He could see the way your nose wrinkled slightly, a sure sign you weren't a fan of the lingering smell. But he hoped maybe this time you'd let it slide.

"Hey." he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. You turned your head the last second, and his kiss landed on your cheek instead. "Joost, you know I don't like the smell." you said, trying to keep the teasing out of your voice. Just messing with him a bit.

He pulled back, eyes wide and a pout already forming on his lips. "But... I missed you." he said, his voice taking on a whiny edge that made your heart melt a little. He looked so crestfallen, like a puppy who'd just been told no.

You couldn't help but giggle at his expression, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. "Oh, Joost, you're adorable when you pout." you teased, pressing a kiss to his forehead instead.

He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away, though the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "It's not fair." he muttered. "I just wanted one little kiss."

You laughed outright then, the sound bright and musical in the evening air. "Well, you can have as many kisses as you want." you stated, "as long as you don't smell like an ashtray."

Joost's pout deepened for a moment before he finally cracked a smile, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "Fine, fine," he said, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against yours. "I guess I'll just have to brush my teeth and freshen up for you."

You giggled again, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down onto the swing beside you. "Now that sounds like a plan." you said, resting your head on his shoulder. "Besides, I love you more when you smell like you and not smoke."

He sighed contentedly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I love you too," he murmured. "Even if you are a bit of a kiss tease.”

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A/n: sorry I wasn't here xdd I had finals, but now I'm free and ready to start writing again! Also my last post "Wolf in sheep's clothing" I spent so much time on it and I would love to if you give it try...:))🩷🩷

[blackdollette]

"riding the ride." | spencer reid

get free. - lana del rey

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: it was a win-win for you. you could finally shut spencer up, and managed to get a good orgasm too.

fill out the taglist form!

female!reader x spencer

word count: 1.6k

contents: cunnilingus, cum-eating, snowballing (inverted), not proofread

date night. the one night a week where neither of you were working late and finally had the chance unfold in each other’s arms.

as cool breeze blew through the living room window as you flipped through tv channels, spencer’s arm wrapped around your torso as you rested your head on his chest. “what do you feel like watching tonight?” you asked, his thumbs rubbing slow circles onto your flesh. “i don’t mind, baby. i’m not picky.” you nodded, clicking the down button on the remote and landing on a reality show.

spencer hissed and you looked back at him. “what’s the matter?” you asked. “i don’t mind it, but i’m just worried about you. you know i found a really intresting article about reality tv. statistics show that around 47% of people use them as guilty pleasures and 92% of that is the female population who admit that they feel pressure to conform to the unrealistic beauty and relationship standards portrayed in the shows. besides, everything is one-hundred percent staged anyway.”

with each word he spoke, you felt braincells getting killed off in your brain. you nodded, consdiering what he said. “alright then. no reality tv, got it.” you scrolled further down the tv guide, landing on a horror film this time. but he spoke again. “are you sure you wanna choose that, babe? horror movies have been proven to desensitize viewers to violence, major disturbances and other dangers, which may all end up messing up your perception of risks.”

you felt your eye twitching as he droned on. you decided to find something that he couldn’t nitpick and analyze. you click on a weather forecast. boring, monotonous, but no dangers in sight. or so you thought. “did you know tha-” you rolled your eyes, snapping at last. “god, don’t you ever get tired of working that mouth of yours?” 

you squirmed at how provocative the statement came out. surprised at your outburst, spencer smiled proudly. “i have yet to, darling.” his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you in even closer to him. you rose an eyebrow, eyes narrowing at him ever so slightly. “is that a challenge, spence?” he caught a glimpse of the cheeky grin on your face in the corner of his eye. 

as the weather man blabbed on in the background, your face lit up as an idea popped into your head. you clicked the off button on the remote, making the tv screen turn black. you crawled so that you were fully sat on his lap, your hands starting to play with his hair as you whispered in his ear. “i’ve got a better idea for date night…”

spencer reid, the human computer who could sense even the slightest change in atmopshere seemed to be having a malfunction as you gently pressed his face into your chest. his breath heat up, the warmth seeping throug the thin fabric of your tank top. you moved your hips against his lap, taking the air from his lungs. “how about i put that tongue of yours to good use..?”

it was at this moment that he knew he was powerless. his hands were at your waist, clinging to them like he was afraid to let you go. his eyes trailed down to where your two body connected, taking in the sight of your legs in those little pajama shorts. he brought his hand down and began twirling the drawstring between his fingers, gazing up at you with those deep brown eyes. he tugged at the waistband, silently begging for the shorts to come off. you grinned, seeing that he was finally lost for words. “use your words, spence…” you never thought you’d have to tell spencer to speak, but here you were, watching as he struggled to formulate basic english.

he pressed his chin into your soft chest, muttering under his breath. “can you take ‘em off, hon..?” his biceps flxed slightly under his t-shirts as his grip tightened. you dug your thumbs under the waistband of your shorts, giving him a teasing glance of your bare hips and listening to his breath hitch.

you grinned as his eyes widened like saucers at the sight of your panties. “why don’t you lie down for me, spence.” he nodded, following your command in an instant like an obedient puppy. you stood up from the couch, his eyes glued to your body as you finally took off your shorts, letting them fall to the ground before kicking them off your feet.

the tension in the room grew thick enough to cut through as you lowered yourself onto his chest, not wanting to move too fast. spencer was panting like a dog, eyes triling down to where you cunt with covered by that pesky little strip of fabric. he longed to tear it with his teeth, to finally have access to the honey between your legs.

you slowly rose up once again, crawling slowly until you were hovering over his face. spencer’s mouth watered at the area of saturated fabric that was the perfect telltale of your arousal. your hips swayed slightly, hypnotizing him and making that familiar sizzle burn in this grey sweatpants.

a taste of heaven was just a touch away, and he didn’t know how much longer he could wait. you took a deep breath. “a-alright, just lemme know when you’re rea-” he couldn’t bear the torture any longer. he grabbed your ass, tearing off your panties and connecting his lips with your dripping cunt. 

completely taken by surprise, you yelped, gripping the couch cushion as your whole body tensed. he was going at it like a starved dog, his tongue greedily lapping up all your juuices as he tossed the leftover fabric of your panties to the side, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your ass as he flicked his tongue over your puffy clit.

he groaned deeply as he finally tasted you, desperate to have you. his pulsating cock twitched in his pants, begging to be let free. he bucked his hips into the air, moving against anything he could. “you taste so good, baby…” he muttered into your pussy, moving a hand down to rub quiet circles on your clit.

you tossed your head back in pleasure, grinding against his face as he found the perfect rhythm between his tongue and his fingers. he jutted his tongue in and out of your hole, hasilty bringing a hand down to his sweatpants and needily palming himself through the plush fabric. the contact made his vision go starry, the abundance of pleasure doing wonderful things to his head.

he snaked his hand into his pants, whipping out his precum-glazed cock. the tip was red and swollen from being neglected for so long. he gave himself a few lazy strokes, more focused on your right then than anything else. 

his tongue ventured deep inside of your hole, desperate to taste every fold and crevice. you were sure that he wasn’t even breathing at this point. he was completely drunk off the taste of your body. he pumped his cock at a more rapid pace, feeding his moans into your core and sending powerful vibrations through you.

the base of his hand slapped against his balls each time he went back down, his thumb ghosting against his tip when he came back up again. the living room filled with the succulent noises of him devouring you like your were his last meal.

your back arched as he suckled your hard pearl between his lips. you attempted to rise up from his face to let him have a breath of air, but he gripped you even tighter. “c’mon baby, i’m not done yet…” he had your cum pouring down his neck, grool bubbling from his lips and nostrils. he was making an absolute mess of you, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

his hips violently thrusted into his fist as the sounds of your moans and whimpers fueled his desire even more. he growled into you, eating you up like a starved predator who had finally caught its prey. your legs clenched aorund his head, nearly suffocating him. you rode his face rapidly, tits bouncing through your tank top.

the sight from above made him run wild. he moved his hand from your hip, sneaking it under your shirt and starting to knead your breasts, toying with your hard nipples.

you were so close to reaching such a satisfying climax. every nerve in your body was responding to his intimate touch, never wanting him to stop. your hands grabbed his hair as the band in your stomach snapped, utnring you into a screamed mess as thick white liquid cascaded out of your pussy.

he hungrily lapped up every last drop, not wanting to let a single drop go to waste. his cock had ejaculated hot strings of cum so far that they had hit your back, painting you like a piece of art. he took his time finished you off like the last scoop of a sweet dessert before finally letting you off his face. as you got back to your feet, he sat up and pulled you into a sloppy kiss, feeding your cum into your mouth and groaning softly. “...see how good you taste, my love..?”

your lips began to swell at how deeply he took you in, the heat in your body reaching an all time high. after several long minutes, he pulled away from you, a string of saliva connecting you two before breaking. he looked down, seeing the cummy mess on his t-shirt. but it was nothing compared to what streamed down his neck. you giggled softly, patting him on the cheek. “such a messy boy…”

he stood up from the couch, picking up your shorts for you. “how about we take this date night to the shower? would you like that, baby?” you smiled, nodding as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. he walked away with you, a smle on his face and a sticky mess flowing down your inner thighs.

author's note: thank you everyone for 1,000 followers! never thought i'd live to see the daythat i reach my longest goaal

[loveanton]

melting point | lee anton

ꕤ DESCRIPTION: after spending the last few months as anton’s hidden secret you finally reach your limit with his inconsistency.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: situationship!anton x f!reader

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 2.8k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: desperate anton, some jealousy, kissing, and brief mentions of sex and alcohol

⏤ 𝑎/n: first riize post ^-^

You’re at your limit.

The bass pounds in sync with the rapid thump of your heart. The club is a kaleidoscope of pulsating lights and swirling laughter, but your focus narrows on one person: Anton. He's across the room, surrounded by a cluster of people, his magnetic charm drawing them in like moths to a flame. And there she is, Minji, hanging on his every word, her laughter tinkling like glass wind chimes.

You clutch your drink, the ice cubes clinking against the red solo cup in a rhythm that matches the turmoil in your mind. This isn't the first time you've found yourself in this position — watching Anton flirt effortlessly, his attention a fleeting commodity you crave but can never fully grasp. 

You take a deep breath, trying to quell the rising tide of emotions threatening to engulf you. It's a familiar battle, one you've fought countless times before. But tonight feels different, heavier somehow, as if the weight of your unspoken desires has become too much to bear. The two of you aren't exclusive, you remind yourself. You’re just...something. 

Yet, seeing him engrossed in conversation with another girl ignites a flurry of emotions within you.

As you stand there, grappling with your emotions, the thumping bass seems to echo the rhythm of your racing heart. A familiar voice breaks through the haze of your thoughts, pulling you back to the present moment. "You okay?"

Turning, you see Heejin, your closest friend and roommate, her concern etched into the lines of her face. She knows you better than anyone, sensing the storm brewing beneath your calm facade.

You offer her a small smile, though it feels feeble against the weight of your emotions. "I'm fine," you reply, though the words ring hollow even to your own ears.

Heejin studies you for a moment, her gaze searching and knowing. "No you're not. I can see it written all over your face."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you meet her gaze, the floodgates of your emotions threatening to burst open. "It's just... Anton," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Understanding flashes in Heejin's eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the pain you're feeling. "I know," she murmurs, her voice soft but steady. "I've seen how much he means to you."

As you stand there, with Heejin's comforting presence beside you, memories flood your mind, tracing back to the moment when you first met Anton.

It was a late summer night in Seoul, and you were still adjusting to the bustling city, the unfamiliar sights and sounds overwhelming your senses. A craving for a midnight snack led you to the nearest convenience store, where you stumbled through the aisles in search of something familiar amidst the sea of unfamiliar products.

Lost in your own thoughts, you barely noticed the figure standing nearby until he spoke, his soft voice breaking through the fog of your confusion. "Need help finding something?"

You turned to see Anton, a friendly smile on his face, his easy demeanor putting you at ease. Relief washed over you as you realized he spoke English, a rare find in a country where you struggled to navigate the language barrier.

With his guidance, you found the sweet treat you were looking for, and as you parted ways, a sense of gratitude swelled within you. Little did you know, that chance encounter would become the start of something more.

Every Friday night after a long week of lectures, like clockwork, you found yourself drawn back to the same convenience store, hoping to catch another glimpse of the stranger who had shown you kindness in a foreign land. And without fail, there he would be, waiting for you in the back near the ramen section, a knowing smile on his lips as he greeted you with a simple "Hey."

In those moments, surrounded by the hum of refrigerators and the soft glow of fluorescent lights, you found solace in Anton's company.

You shared stories and laughter over steaming bowls of ramen, forging a bond that grew stronger with each passing week. And as you navigated the complexities of life in a new country, Anton became your anchor, a constant presence amidst the chaos of change. Eventually though the late night ramen runs shifted into late night hookups at his dorm.

You never intended to fall so hard and so fast for Anton but something about his soft spoken nature and charming smile rendered you a fool and now, as you stand here, grappling with the ache in your chest, you can't help but wonder if your bond with Anton was nothing more than a fleeting moment in time. The uncertainty of your situationship weighs heavily on your heart, overshadowing the warmth of those Friday night encounters.

You take a shaky breath, the weight of your unspoken feelings heavy on your chest. "What should I do?" you ask, your voice tinged with desperation.

Heejin listens to your question, her gaze softening with empathy as she considers her response. She reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder before speaking. "You deserve someone who sees you for who you are, not just a fleeting lay in the dead of night," she says gently, her words carrying the weight of truth.

You bristle at her words, a surge of defensiveness rising within you. "But maybe he just... he's busy, you know? Maybe he's just not good at showing his feelings," you protest, the familiar excuses falling from your lips like a well-rehearsed script.

Heejin's expression remains unchanged, her gaze unwavering as she meets your eyes. "You've been holding onto this hope for so long, but deep down, you know it's not enough," she says firmly, her tone gentle but resolute. "Anton's status as an idol may complicate things, but that doesn't excuse his lack of effort outside of those late-night meetups."

You falter under her scrutiny, the weight of her words sinking in with each passing moment. She's right, of course. Anton's gestures, while comforting in the moment, were little more than crumbs of affection scattered at your feet, never enough to sustain the hunger in your heart.

"He invited you to this party, right?" Heejin continues, "But look around you. Do you see him anywhere near you? Or is he off, charming someone who's 'socially acceptable' to be seen with?"

A bitter taste rises in your mouth as you glance around the room, taking in the sight of Anton across the crowded space, his attention focused on Minji, someone who fits seamlessly into his world of fame and glamor. And suddenly, the illusion shatters, leaving behind nothing but the harsh reality of your situation.

You take a shaky breath, the truth settling over you like a heavy blanket. "You're right," you whisper, your voice barely audible above the noise of the party. "I've been fooling myself, thinking there was something more between us."

Heejin squeezes your shoulder in silent solidarity, her presence a source of comfort in the midst of your turmoil. "It's okay to let go," she says softly, her words a gentle reminder that sometimes, the hardest part is acknowledging when it's time to move on.

Tears sting your eyes as you feel the weight of regret settle upon your shoulders. "I feel so stupid," you admit, your voice trembling with emotion. "I wasted half my summer on a boy who wasn't worth it."

Heejin pulls you into a comforting embrace, her arms a shelter from the storm raging within you. "You're not stupid," she reassures you, her voice soft but firm. "You took a chance on something that felt real, and that's nothing to be ashamed of."

Despite her comforting words, you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment in yourself. You had allowed yourself to be swept away by the allure of Anton's charm, only to realize too late that it was nothing more than a facade.

"But hey," Heejin continues, her tone brightening with a hint of optimism, "at least you made some fun memories to last you through the upcoming semester, right?"

You manage a small smile through your tears, grateful for Heejin's unwavering support. "Yeah, I guess you're right," you concede, the weight on your heart easing ever so slightly at the reminder of the good times you shared.

Just as you and Heejin decide to leave the club, your resolve wavering but firm, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. As you navigate through the crowded space towards the restroom, a familiar voice calls out to you, stopping you in your tracks. "Hey, can we talk?"

You turn to see Anton standing there, his expression unreadable as he pulls you aside, away from the prying eyes of the partygoers. Despite the ache in your chest, you can't help but feel a flicker of curiosity at his sudden appearance.

"He invited you to this party, right?" Heejin's words echo in your mind, a stark reminder of the reality you had tried so hard to ignore.

Anton's voice interrupts your thoughts, his words cutting through the noise of the club like a beacon in the darkness. "I missed you, angel," he confesses, his arms encircling your waist in a familiar embrace.

You freeze at his touch, the conflicting emotions raging within you like a storm. His warmth against your skin, once a source of comfort, now feels suffocating in its familiarity. You remain silent, unable to form coherent words amidst the chaos of your thoughts.

Unfazed by your lack of response, Anton leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers softly, "Do you want to head home with me tonight?"

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with unspoken implications. But before you can consider his offer, a surge of frustration and indignation rises within you, breaking through the haze of confusion and growing horniness.

"No," you reply firmly, your voice tinged with a hint of defiance. "I need to know, Anton. What are we? What do you want from me?" You pause, your gaze searching his face for any sign of sincerity. "Because this... this isn't fair to me."

Anton's expression shifts, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before being replaced by a mask of indifference. "What do you mean?" he asks, his tone casual, as if your question holds no weight.

But you refuse to back down, the fire burning within you fueling your resolve. "You know exactly what I mean," you insist, your voice rising with each word. "You reel me in with compliments and empty promises, but you never follow through. You only ever want to see me at night, where no one else can see us. I deserve more than that, Anton. We both do."

Anton's grip tightens slightly around your waist, his brows furrowing in frustration. "It's not that simple, okay?" he retorts, his voice tinged with defensiveness. "You know how hectic my schedule is with my job. I can't always be there when you want me to be."

You shake your head, the bitterness of his words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. "It's not about being there all the time, Anton," you counter, your voice tinged with disappointment. "It's about making an effort, about showing me that I actually mean something to you."

He opens his mouth to respond, but you beat him to it. "I'm tired of the excuses, Anton," you continue, your tone weary but resolute. "I need more than empty promises and late-night hookups. I need someone who's willing to put in the effort, someone who's not afraid to show me off to the world."

Anton's jaw tightens, his frustration palpable as he struggles to find the right words. "You think I don't want that too?" he finally blurts out, his voice edged with exasperation. "Do you have any idea what it's like to live under the constant scrutiny of the public eye? To have every move you make dissected and judged?"

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with the weight of his own insecurities. You understand the pressures of his career, the sacrifices he's had to make to maintain his image in the spotlight. But it's hard to reconcile his struggles with the hurt you've endured in silence.

"I know it's not easy," you concede, your voice softening with empathy. "But that doesn't excuse the way you've treated me, Anton. I've been patient, I've been understanding, but I can't keep pretending like everything's okay when it's not."

Anton's gaze flickers with a mixture of regret and resignation as he takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush against your cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice laced with sincerity. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just... I don't know how to do this."

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his eyes, the raw honesty of his confession stirring something within you. But before you can respond, he closes the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a desperate kiss.

For a moment, the world falls away, leaving behind only the heat of his touch and the softness of his lips against yours. And in that fleeting moment of intimacy, you're tempted to forget all the pain and uncertainty, to lose yourself in the familiarity of his embrace.

As Anton pulls away from the kiss, desperation flashes in his eyes, pleading with you not to leave him. "Please, don't go," he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. "I can't lose you, not like this."

His hands tremble as they cup your face, his lips trailing soft kisses across your cheeks, each touch a silent plea for forgiveness. "I'll do better, I promise," he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm against your ear. "I'll put a label on what we have, I'll make it official. Just give me another chance."

You feel a surge of conflicting emotions coursing through you, torn between the pain of the past and the hope of a future where things could be different.

"I don't know, Anton," you murmur, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "I want to believe you, but... how can I be sure this time will be different?"

Anton's expression softens, a flicker of determination crossing his features. "I'll show you," he vows, his words laced with conviction. "I'll make it up to you, every single day. Just tell me what I need to do, and I'll do it."

You hesitate, torn between the desire to believe in him and the fear of being hurt again. But as you meet his gaze, a glimmer of hope flickers within you, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there's still a chance for redemption.

"Okay," you whisper, your voice barely audible above the chaos of the club. "But this is your last chance, Anton. No more empty promises, no more excuses. Show me that you mean it this time."

Anton leans in once again and captures your lips in another kiss, this time with a depth of emotion that leaves you reeling. It's as if he's pouring all of his love and regret into the fervent press of his mouth against yours, a silent plea for your forgiveness.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the space between you. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry for everything."

You feel a lump forming in your throat as you listen to him speak.

"Can I make it up to you?" Anton asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “Come home with me, let me show you how sorry I am, angel.”

You take a step back to look into his eyes but Anton quickly scoops you back towards his body. His other hand is on the side of your face, pulling you in. He dips his head and crashes his soft lips against your waiting lips. You let out a moan at the force behind the kiss but don’t object. He turns his head to deepen the kiss and slips his tongue into your mouth.

The kiss only gets hotter and hotter as you continue, Anton tilts his head to the side and you move yours in the opposite direction. Parting from your lips, he moves down gently to the corner of your lips, the tip of his nose buried in the junction of your jaw to take deep breaths of your intoxicating scent.

The male lays more open mouthed kisses down your neck, making you feel nothing but pure bliss. Your eyes shut as you moan into the air.

His hands move from your waist downwards, sliding over your jeans to caress your ass and thighs. He places one more love bite on your neck before bending a bit and lifting the back of your thighs as if you weigh nothing. You gasp in surprise and wrap your arms around his neck tightly so as to not fall.

You tug at his hair before responding to his previous question. “Take me home, Chanie.”

[wileys-russo]

small intimate interactions II l.williamson x reader

this one might just be up there with some of my fave fics i've written so far small intimate interactions II l.williamson x reader

"can i help you with anything cheffy?" you turned to the voice of your best friend, meeting her beaming smile with one of amusement. "i don't know, can you?" you teased the older girl at her lack of culinary skills making her scoff and hold a hand to her chest in offence.

"i come in here offering myself and my services to you and you mock me, you know now i think you can do it all alone!" leah scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest and looking dramatically off into the distance, though she still made no move to leave the kitchen.

"and yet, here you still are." you grinned tossing a tea towel at the blonde which landed on her head. "ow! leah." you squealed as she flicked you with it, sending a sharp crack around the room and a mischievous smile in your direction.

"take the tray of chicken out of the oven please, if you can manage that." you teased her, turning back to what you had going on the stove. "yes chef!" leah saluted with a serious nod, grabbing the oven mits from beside you and doing as you'd asked, careful not to burn herself or drop what you'd spent the last couple of hours preparing.

"need a hand?" steph appeared next closely followed by jen, both girls looking at you with raised eyebrows as you flittered around the kitchen.

"if you could start taking everything out to the table and get the girls to take a seat would be great, thank you!" you smiled appreciatively, starting to dish everything else up and chuckling as you heard a strong scottish accent scream that dinner was ready from the table.

"i could have done that jen!" you laughed as the woman only grinned with a shrug, helping steph to carry everything out. "it all looks delicious, as always you've gone above and beyond. our little hostess with the mostess!" leah kissed at your cheek fondly causing them to heat up as you turned away from her, attempting to hide your blush.

the english skipper been your best friend for a few years now, having gravitated toward you from the very moment you moved from australia and signed with her beloved arsenal.

seeing your obvious nerves at joining the team and the lingering homesickness of moving so far away from everything you'd ever known she'd offered to help you get settled and given you your very first tour of london.

and once you got to know one another properly you followed each other like a shadow, one very rarely ever seen without the other much to the teasings of all of your friends about codependency issues.

the two of you had always had quite an affectionate friendship but it wasn't anything that raised any sort of red flag for you, after all you'd always been a touchy person with your close friends back home.

so you never thought anything of it when leahs hand would intertwine with yours as you'd walk somewhere together, or gently brush your thigh as you sat beside one another in the locker room, or even how closely the two of you would sit pressed together and practically on top of one another on the bus to games, avidly chattering away.

it didn't seem out of sorts when you'd cuddle up together when watching a movie or would have regular sleepovers and share the bed at one anothers homes, or when her long arms would wrap around your waist from behind and she'd cling to you tiredly after a particularly brutal training session.

the two of you would regularly mess around with one another, play fighting and pushing, poking and wrestling like hyperactive school children.

you'd often spend your sleepovers not even sleeping, instead laying down backwards on the bed, legs draped against the headboard and heads hanging off the edge of the mattress as you spoke about anything and everything, suffocated by your laughter at how utterly absurd your topics of conversation would become as time gradually ticked into the early hours of the morning.

it wasn't out of sorts for her warm lips to press fondly against your cheek or forehead, or for her slender fingers to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you rambled on about something. in fact the english girl could read you like a book, always knowing exactly what you needed sometimes before you even knew yourself.

none of that felt weird for you, or at least it didn't until you'd gone out for a nice meal with a small handful of the girls after training one evening, though you were minus leah who was unwell and had headed right home to sleep.

it was then that steph had casually asked when you and the english skipper had started dating, sending you into a flustered spiral. you'd of course denied it right away and asked why the older girl had even thought that, your national teammate rapidly back peddling at her mistake and apologizing profusely at her assumption.

caitlin however had taken a much less apologetic approach, stating that it was obvious to absolutely everyone but you and leah that the two of you were clearly and hopelessly in love with one another.

katie and beth backing her up right away it sent your cheeks bright red and you'd left the restaurant early, needing some fresh air and to go home and sort out the immense wave of emotions which washed over you at the thought of loving your best friend as anything more than just that.

that was around a month ago and you'd tried your very best to push it to the back of your mind and carry on as you always had with the blonde.

though now things that once seemed like a comfortable second nature for you raised alarms that hadn't been there previously, leahs slender fingers tracing shapes on your bare legs as you watched a movie and they sat stretched across her lap. or her arm draped across the back of your shoulders as you curled into her side on the lounge, even just the lingering hugs you two shared at every greeting or goodbye that maybe lasted a minute or two too long to just be friendly.

each and every small intimate interaction left you reeling and your mind a disgustingly complicated mess of overthinking. you had no idea what you were going to do about it, especially given that you couldn't even work out within yourself how you felt about the blonde.

you'd always loved her, but the thought of being in love with her was a foreign and terrifying one, and something you avoided dwelling on at any and all costs.

it seemed easier that way, to just be in sheer denial of anything at all changing or shifting, to just carry on as you always had which was of course an impossible task.

it left you clouded with doubt and plagued with the ever prominent and growing fear that acknowledging any of this could mean losing leah all together, in every capacity.

"oh there's another tray in here, do you want me to take it out?" the taller girl realized as she went to close and turn off the oven. "oh those are yours! i almost forget, yeah if you could please." you nodded, flicking off the stove and quickly running the now empty pots under some cold water, leaving them by the sink to be dealt with later.

with eight hungry footballers in your home that you were about to feed and entertain you were sure you could whip them into an assembly line to help you clean up later.

a lot of you not having had the chance to spend any sort of quality time together since the season had commenced you'd invited a few of the girls around for a dinner party. you'd always adored hosting and cooking for those you treasured, it was one of the main ways you showcased your love, and your team mates were always the most grateful of guests.

after all as they often said the way to someones heart, was through their stomach.

"you made me smileys?" leah grinned in disbelief as she grabbed out the tray and her crystal blue eyes lit up at the sight of the much cultivated childhood food.

"yeah, i know you don't like most of this so i wanted to make sure you'd actually get something to eat." you glanced over your shoulder with a sincere smile, not an ounce of teasing in your tone as leahs cheeks now flushed bright red at the sweet gesture.

"i'd have eaten. i always love your cooking!" she defended, quickly turning around to move them onto a plate to hide her flushed cheeks.

"that's because i only cook things that i know you eat whenever you come over lee, your palette is like my four year old niece. though even she can handle some mayo." you teased, bumping your shoulder into leahs as you appeared beside her, moving the chicken onto a serving platter with some tongs.

"oh i miss her! can we facetime her again soon?" the blonde asked hopefully and you nodded, the young girl just as much a fan of leah as leah was of her, even though she'd only briefly met her when she was in australia for the world cup it seemed to be an instant connection.

"my mum keeps asking when you're going to actually come to australia for a proper visit and not just for something football related." you chuckled with a small shake of your head, the woman forever on your case about not having met half of the people you held dear in your second home, much as you tried to remind most of them had their own lives and families scattered across the world to spend their minimal time off with.

"i'm just waiting on an invitation." the older girl smiled teasingly as you smacked her on the shoulder. "please like you don't know you'd always be welcome, i'd love to show you round properly. sometimes i swear you know me better than i know myself, plus my family already adores you and they've only technically actually met you like twice that wasn't over the phone!" the words slipped casually off your tongue and in the moment you thought nothing of it, but the thought of your family accepting her and you showing her around what she knew was your favorite place in the whole world had sent leah spiraling.

"i do apologise for the lack of ham sandwiches tonight though, tesco was all out." you grinned, nodding for her to join you as you grabbed the last of the food and headed for the table where the rest of the girls were sat and ready, leah shaking it off as she followed you out.

"you guys seriously couldn't wait?" you laughed at how most of them had already dished themselves up a plate, placing down the chicken in the middle of the table as forks clashed to grab at it. "some of us did!" steph rolled her eyes gesturing to herself and viv who indeed had empty plates.

"your loss, it is delicious!" laura grinned among a mouthful of pasta, viv sternly telling her not to talk with food in her mouth before she and steph dished up for themselves and you took your seat in between leah and beth.

"oi why's leah get her own special food!" katie realised the small mountain of smileys on leahs plate in leus of any of the other sides with a scowl.

"cause she doesn't eat most of this." you answered for her with a shrug, smiling gratefully at jen who handed you back your plate piled high with food from the other end of the table. "so she gets special treatment cause she eats like a weeun?" katie rolled her eyes and tried to snatch one, your hand reaching out to swat the irishwoman away on leahs behalf.

"smileys! i've not had those in years." beth gasped as the table errupted over leahs seemingly controversial meal, the blonde covering her food protectively as multiple hands tried to snatch at it.

"did i not cook enough food for the rest of you that you all feel the need to complain about one tiny thing?" you called out loudly over the top of them with a raised eyebrow, the complaining ceasing and immediately replaced with a shower of compliments sent your way.

"much better." you grinned, shoveling a forkful of pasta into your mouth as everyone settled, normal chatter resuming as you all enjoyed one another's company.

"thank you, you're the best." leah murmured quietly, her hand landing on your thigh and squeezing gently, pressing a grateful kiss to your cheek before turning back to her conversation with laura.

the blush coating your cheeks didn't go unnoticed by your australian teammates, both sending you a knowingly smug smile as you glared back at them from across the table, kicking caitlin harshly in the shin as she began to make kissy faces at you.

"ow, fuck you!" the older girl hissed quietly, trying to kick back at you as you tucked your legs under your chair, her feet instead finding poor beths ankle who cursed her out for it.

the rest of dinner passed through rather uneventfully, and sure enough it didn't take much convincing to have them all band together to help you clean up afterwards, the group of you now gathered in your living room piled on top of one another.

"-please don't be in love with someone else! please don't have somebody waiting on you!" you and beth belted out, twirling one another around as you sang the rest of the chorus.

all of you far too wound up after dinner for a movie you'd opted to bust out the karaoke machine some the girls had bought you for your birthday earlier this year instead.

"I was enchanted to meet youu!' you sang loudly, handing the mic to steph and collapsing basically on top of leah as beth finished off the final two lines, the blonde serenading a very rosy and loved up looking viv.

"what a natural, you're really wasting your life away as a footballer my girl." leah teasingly fanned you as you posed, head dropping onto her shoulder. "god its exhausting being hot, funny and talented." you sighed dramatically as steph and katie were next up and started to sing cruel summer.

"at least we can tick humble off the list then." leah grinned down at you as you smacked her chest halfheartedly. "hey can i stay tonight? i don't think i can be bothered driving home and i've hardly seen you this week with my rehab amping up." leah asked quietly and you nodded without a moments hesitation, moving around so your head was in her lap and your legs draped over laura who sat wedged on the other side of you avidly chattering away to jen.

"you missss me!" you sung out with a grin, wiggling happily as the blonde rolled her eyes and forced a sigh. "i mostly miss your king size bed and massive tv, don't flatter yourself." the older girl pinched at your cheeks as you pulled faces up at her.

"you missed me too though, just a little." you held up your thumb and pointer finger leaving a decent gap in between. "more like-" leah pushed them closer together so there was hardly a gap as you gasped and leah tangled a hand in your hair with a soft smile.

"you wound me lee, and after i made you smileys and invited you oh so graciously into my home!" "i have a key so really i'd just let myself in if there was no invitation, plus you always eat all the snacks at my house so consider us even." "i do not! i'd like to contest that accusation." "i, the honourable judge williamson, hear your case and find you....guilty." "wow i don't even get a lawyer?" "you don't even get a phone call kid, lock her up boys!" "i would like to once again point out that i am only exactly eleven months younger than you leah catherine." "the key word here being....younger." "you're truly insufferable sometimes you know that?" "oo that was a big word, where'd we learn that one from?" "your mum actually, when we were speaking about you." "i'd love to argue that but really i'm quite certain she likes you more than me sometimes." leah sighed with a shake of her head, covering your smug looking face with her hand and shaking your head to and fro for a second before you pushed her off with a grin and a teasing wiggle of your eyebrows. "oh speaking of she wants you to come round for dinner soon, something about missing you? i can't relate though, she's not yet been around you enough to know how positively irritating you really are." "fighting words for someone who just asked to sleepover because she missed me." "i don't remember the words 'i miss you' ever actually leaving my mouth?" "crazy, i just heard them?"

"excuse me lovebirds, we're gonna head off!" your cheeky smiles both dropped at beth's words and leah frowned as you picked your head up out of her lap and quickly shuffled away as if burnt by her touch.

most of the girls all agreeing to head off after checking the time you were yanked out of the small bubble you'd previously occupied with leah, standing up and walking most of them out, leah hugging her friends goodbye before sitting back down on the lounge.

"you not leavin?" katie frowned, lingering behind as leah looked up from her phone and shook her head. "nah gonna crash here, i'm tired." the blonde shrugged, eyebrows furrowing at the look on the irishwomans face at her word.

"what? i stay here all the time." "i know...exactly my point." "and what is your point?" leah asked the brunette with a sigh.

"why don't you just tell that poor girl you love her? the two of you do this little dance around your feelings every day and surely thats exhausting?" katie crossed her arms over her chest as leahs face flushed with embrassment.

"i don't feel that way about her. i wish you'd all drop this you're making it weird between us and its not appreciated, she's my best mate!" leah denied with a firm shake of her head, though she knew the words leaving her lips was a filthy lie, and katie did too.

"yeah leah, she's your best mate so just talk to her. whats the harm in that? i see the way you look at one another, i really don't think you'll be left disappointed." the older girl smiled sincerely, squeezing her shoulder supportively and striding out of the room.

which left leah to sink back into the sofa with a deep and troubled sigh, alone with her thoughts as she dragged her hands down her face and tossed her phone beside her, her head swimming.

unbeknownst to the defender you'd been cornered in the kitchen and given a similar talking to by your national team mates, both girls like older sisters they'd known you for years and made an avid point of stating they'd never seen you look at someone the way you looked at leah.

and similar to katie they pushed you to just talk to her about it, affirming they saw the way you both interacted and it was obvious to everyone that neither of you were being honest with one another, and over time things would eventually boil over if that continued to be the case.

though shortly after you'd waved everyone off and shut your front door for the final time, dead bolting it and flicking off the lights one by one as you made your way back to the living room.

not even needing to ask leah was already on her feet and following you to your bedroom as the rest of the house was engulfed into darkness. "oh hello gorgeous." leah breathed out as she belly flopped into your bed, sighing as the memory foam melded perfectly to her body.

rolling your eyes at her you disappeared into your wardrobe, grabbing out some of leahs clothes from your drawers, the two of you having spent so much time at one anothers homes you had clothes and belongings littered everywhere at each place.

"oi!" leah yelled out as the bundle of material hit her in the face where she lay down on your bed, peeling the hoodie off her face and sending you a look of disdain as you only grinned and dipped into the bathroom to change and wash your face, leaving her to do the same.

both of you now changed you settled into your bed where leah had already loaded the wizard of oz on the tv, the movie a favourite of both of yours making you clap happily as leah clicked play.

after around a half hour you found yourselves already tangled with one another, not an uncommon occurrence as you'd grown to be incredibly comfortable around one another over the years.

leahs head resting on your sternum the older girl was entranced by the consistent rising and falling of your chest beneath her, one hand tucked under her head as the other sat dormant on your hip, pointer finger lightly stroking the slit of tanned skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly.

your left arm had slipped up the back of her hoodie, nails scratching gently at the bare skin of her back, your right hand lay tangled in her hair which she'd pulled up into a messy bun, absentmindedly tracing circles on the back of her neck with your thumb.

as much as leah was relaxed and would normally be humming along to each song as she could hear you doing, internally she was a flustered mess, shocking herself with how still she kept her body despite how freaked out she was by her conversation with katie.

it lead her to overthink every little interaction she'd had with you, worrying if she'd ever made you uncomfortable with the small intimacies you shared almost daily.

which then just lead her to stumble blindly down the path of how she felt at all the silent ways you showed one another how much you cared.

like the way you'd lean in and fix her collar when it was crooked on nights out, or how she would always grab your boots for you when you inevitably left them behind after training or games.

how you'd hold your hair up and ask leah to put on your most prized necklace for you after you'd had to take it off for a game, or the way you'd mess about with her fingers and twist her rings sometimes when she knew you were overwhelmed.

or how leah knew you would always underestimate how suddenly british weather could change, never bringing a jacket when you needed to so she made sure to always drape hers over you instead.

or how occasionally you'd demand leah stay still as you ever so gently collected a stray eyelash off her cheek, holding it out on your pinky and ordering her to make a wish before you'd blow it away with a soft smile.

so caught up in her thoughts leah hadn't even realised the movie had finished, only yanked back down into reality as you nudged her and called out her name. "you okay?" you asked her with a concerned frown, noticing she was clearly out of it as leah wordlessly nodded.

pulling her head off your chest you quickly withdrew your hands from her body, shuffling backwards a little as the two of you settled in your new positions, laid on your sides and looking right at one another.

"have i got something on my face?" you teased quietly at her staring, leahs lips curling into a smile. "no its ugly as ever don't worry." the blonde quipped with a smirk, flicking at your ear as you gasped and kicked her.

which suddenly jolted the pair of you from your previously calm and settled state, leahs cold hands tickling at your sides as your laughter echoed around the room making her grin. yanking them away you pinched at her hips, the two of you smacking and slapping one another around giggling manically like naughty kids, hushing one another as if worried you might be caught out and told off at a moments notice.

"no!" you grunted out with a laugh as leah tried to sit on top of you, her slender fingers digging into your ribs mercilessly with an evil smile. wiggling your body furiously beneath her you shoved her off, quickly straddling her hips right as the blondes back hit the mattress.

attempting to pin her hands down was a pointless task as the stronger girl interlinked your fingers and pressed your hands together, trying to throw you off of her as her knee pushed into your side, causing you to collapse back into the bed with a loud pelt of laughter.

both of you now struggling to breathe among your giggles you called a truce, chests heaving and faces flushed bright red from the rumble, leahs head turning to admire your side profile momentarily.

feeling her gaze on your cheek your eyes flickered sideways, meeting her curious look as your laughter slowly ceased and you found yourself lost in one anothers wondering orbs.

for once her mind finally quiet leah ever so slowly began to lean in, her eyes flittering between you and your lips.

your heart hammering in your chest you made no move to stop her as the two of you edged closer and closer into one anothers personal space.

your lips now just milimetres from one another you turned your head ever so slighty, your nose brushing against leahs as the blondes tongue ran across her lips somewhat apprehensively, eyes seeking out any sort of green light from you before she made her next move.

before you could withdraw your mind from its scattered places leahs arms were around you, her hold familiar and comforting. though at the close proximity of your nervous bodies you felt again the rush of helplessness, the sinking yielding, the surging tide of worry that what happened next could make or break the two of you.

"can i kiss you?" "please."

consent gained leah closed the tiny gap between you, rosy pink lips soft and alluring as they pressed against your own. leahs head spun at the dizzying sensation of her mouth molding perfectly with yours, ravishing in the feeling of kissing you.

her hand moved to rest on your cheek, palm rough and callous but her touch tender as you lent into it, tilting your head slightly as leahs breath caught at the new angle.

her tongue traced along your bottom lip, dipping in the small cracks and grooves, your lips slightly chapped but still so plump and inviting as they moved in rhythm against her own.

her insistent mouth was parting your shaking lips, sending wild tremors along the tips of your nerves, evoking from you sensations you had never known to be capable of feeling from the simple action as her tongue swirled around your mouth sending you into a silent frenzy.

you'd kissed people before obviously, but never ever had one plunged you into such a swimming giddiness that spun your head round and round, almost drowned in the overwhelming pleasure of the small but intimate act with someone you trusted so dearly.

then suddenly, lungs screaming and vision foggy you both surfaced for air, lips parting from one another with a slight pop as your chests heaved and your eyes scanned one another features for the first sign of any kind of reaction.

"we should talk about that." you were the first to speak, voice cracking slightly as leahs eyes dropped back down to your lips which seemed to be calling to her like a siren from the very moment they departed her own.

"yeah...we should."

though it seemed that was all that needed to be said as now much more feverishly your lips smashed into one anothers, your hands tangling in leahs hair as hers traced down the curvature of your back, drawing your body closer into her own as your bare legs tangled, kicking down the sheets exposing your bodies more to the chill of the brisk autumn evening.

and it seemed that without really needing to talk about it, the two of you had finally unlocked what would become the much more apparent act of intimacy between the two of you.

that wasn't to say future conversations wouldn't happen, but right now as your bodies began to greet one another in an entirely new fashion you'd both got the confirmation you'd been struggling for oh so desperately that the internal battle wasn't one sided.

and one day you'd lay down together and laugh that all it took was some stupid smiley face potatoes.

[onsomenewsht]

She may be the song that summer sings

About the time you look at her, she laughs, and you keep literally falling with each other

》 Aitana Bonmatí x Reader

》 word count: +1.2k

》 La guardavo e m'innamoravo

Accepting Barcelona’s deal on a summer day during your vacation is really not that difficult of a choice. 

The tropical island you’re on for the off-season is treating you even better than the season itself - and you managed to win the domestic treble with your club, so saying it was a good year may be an understatement. 

When your agent’s number appears on your phone one morning, too early to be acceptable, you’re tempted to refuse the call altogether and blame the remote resort you’re in. Then you remember you’re out of contract for the first time since you started playing professional football at the impressive age of 16 and the idea of hearing the woman’s voice is suddenly very exciting.

“You know it is barely six in the morning here, right?”

“Yes, but the sun is up in Barcelona”

“You’re in Barcelona?”, you ask, still not functioning enough to realise what she’s implying.

“Not yet”

As the saintly woman she is, despite the time difference and being an entire ocean away from you, your agent manages to wake you up enough to have you on the phone with a Barcelona’s representative just an hour later. 

Cutting your vacation short is not a big deal after that, too eager to be on the first flight to Spain and have an in person conversation about your future. You’re ready to sign without even reading through the contract properly, but thanks to your people’s rational response to your trepidation, you manage to negotiate a deal worth your actual value. 

There was no chance you’d have accepted an offer for any other club anyway.

You meet Aitana that same day on your way out of the club’s offices. 

She radiates pure joy and genuine excitement, greeting you with a hug as you’re long time friends who finally reunite. At that point, you’d count on one hand the previous encounters you two had on and off the pitch.

This is the first time you’re close to her long enough to realise how enchanted by her you are, captivated by her effortless charm.

“I can’t wait to see you in pre-season”, she says with a cute accent around her words and a knowing grin on her face.

“I haven’t sign anything yet”

“You will!”

The Catalan rushes her goodbyes, late for a meeting herself.

“At least try to not drool”, your agent says suddenly, startling you.

You totally forget she’s next to you in the first place.

~

The next time you run into Aitana, you literally run into her. 

Trying to avoid a pissed Lucy Bronze, who you waist no time to tease for the surprisingly low rate of success she has against you when you both played in the WSL, you’re too distracted by her sprint to notice Aitana on your path.

You trample over the midfielder, making sure to soften her landing as you both fall down with a mixture of giggles and legs.

“Could you not threaten the old lady’s knees and the well-being of our Ballon d’Or winner this early in the season?”

You haven’t seen Keira walking beside the Catalan, who is still trying to catch her breath with both her hands on the sides of your head. She has a really beautiful smile.

“You have a two time Ballon d’Or winner right there, you will be fine”, you retort while pointing at Alexia, gaze still fixed on the brunette on top of you. 

Aitana’s response comes in the form of an even louder laugh. 

It takes you a moment to realise you’re the only one still on the ground, more and more of your new teammates gathering around you with questioning smiles on their faces.

“¡Val, benvinguda a Barça!”

~

Picking up a new language is never easy, but you had no idea learning Spanish could be so difficult.

The club provides you with an excellent - but most important, patience - teacher. Yet, you’re struggling to come up with simple and coherent sentences. It’s getting on your nerves. 

The girls are nice enough to talk in English when you’re around, but you want to be able to understand your manager’s instructions during practice and games or just order on your own when you’re out.

Aitana notices right away your discomfort whenever your teammates slip into their mother language without malice, cutting you out. You know she doesn’t like to speak English if she absolutely does not have to, but she always slows down her excitement to let you rejoin the conversation.

You mean it as a joke, asking her to help with your Spanish.

The sportscaster just thanked you for your time after a Champions League’s game. The Catalan answered some questions, but happily let you take the lead as you didn’t ignore a subtle implication hidden in a comment from the studio broadcasting the interview.

She seems so happy about the idea of teaching you that you have no intention to correct her assumption.

“You’re talking too fast again, Tana”

“Esto es exactamente– no, en realidad, no es verdad!”

Your raised eyebrow and her half finished sentences make her frown in realisation, just a little defeated by not being able to turn you into a fluent speaker in the amount of time she tutored you. 

It’s been barely a month.

“Your Spanish is awful”, she declares, dropping the elementary grammar book between you two on the sofa to cross her arms.

“I have a shitty teacher”

“Don’t you dare!”

The tickle battle you started ends pretty quickly when she pins you on your back, fallen on the ground with loud laughs filling your apartment. The midfielder may be shorter than you, but any display of her actual strength it’s always a surprise.

“Take it back”

“Or what?”

“Or I stop teaching you”

“Bold to you to assume that’s not exactly what I want”

It’s not, it’s definitely not what you want. The afternoons she spends in your apartment are the highlights of your week and what you look forward to after a particularly intense day. Even if you understand very little of what she says most of the time.

“Mentirosa”

“Ah! I know what that means”

Aitana drops her fake disappointment to join your giggles, helping you sit back on the sofa and picking up the book to resume her lesson.

“¡Ándale, I’m turning you into a proper spaniard!”

“I thought you were turning me into an independentista”

You know that could spark a fire into her, loving the way the brunette sits upright to start speaking with great passion about all the things you absolutely need to know about Barcelona, Catalonia, the culture and the people, even how you should be learning Catalan too.

She slips into her mother language pretty early in her dissertation, you’re too enchanted by her excitement to point it out.

The rest of the afternoon is filled with Aitana’s enthusiasm and your never ending fondness.

~

It takes you an entire year of double lessons and the immense amount of patience of your actual teacher to be able to hold your own in a Spanish conversation.

Sometimes your teammates still have to speak in English with you, but you don’t feel cut out anymore if they rant slow enough and you can be left on your own devices around the city.

You’re able to ask Aitana out on a date in Spanish, surprising her with yellow weavers and red poppies as you pick her up at her place. You put an effort to speak the language for the entire day, driven by her infectious laugh and your intertwined hands.

~

fine.