#I expect to get back into the swing of things soon

[https-milo]

Hi I was wondering if u could do a shinsou x reader x tamaki story (either separately or poly) where reader is on her period and having very bad cramps and is having a lot of mood swings

my period is bouta hit soon I can feel her presence </3 THANKS FOR THE REQUEST!!

AW, CRAMP!

Hitoshi Shinso x reader, Tamaki Amajiki x reader

(F/S) = Favorite snack

Summary Headcanons and oneshots with Shinso and Amajiki (separate)

m. list

HITOSHI SHINSO

He wouldn't ignore you per se

HOWEVER.

If you're unessccesarily mean to him, his ass WILL make you take a breather

He'll leave the room and come back with your comfort food and favorite drink, along with chocolates and a heated blanket

But before you can get them, you HAVE to apologize

Once you do, expect some quality time with him <3

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE WOULD YOU?" You shouted angrily at your boyfriend as you were curled in your bed. You hadn't moved from that position all day and Shinso was getting worried.

Taken aback, your boyfriend rolled his eyes, "Ok, see you later." He didn't bother turning back as he left the room. You started to cry. Your eyes were puffy and snot was dripping down your face but you couldn't stop crying.

"I'm so stupid! He- he- he hates me!" You sobbed loudly, curling into your balled position tighter. It had only been 10 minutes since he left, but you were feeling terribly guilty. You heard a deep sigh behind you and saw your purple-haired boyfriend with a plastic bag from the cornerstone.

"I don't hate you, babe," He sighed and sat beside you in the bed. He pulled you from your depressive curl and laid your head against his chest, not caring for the mess of snot and tears that now covered his hoodie. "I left so we wouldn't fight over something like this. Neither of us would want to say something we regret later, hmm?" He stroked your hair gently and your tears slowly stopped flowing.

"I- I'm so sorry, 'Toshi," You sniffled. "I shouldn't have been so mean."

"You're fine, princess. Don't worry. I bought you some stuff," He replied with a casual shrug. He grabbed the bag from beside him and showed you the contents. Your favorite drink, food, snacks, and chocolates were all in there. "I also warmed your heated blanket up while we were arguing." He pulled said blanket from the foot of the bed where you hadn't even noticed it.

"You're too good for me," You sobbed as you stuffed your face with (F/S).

He sighed again and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, "Shhhh, pretty baby, it's okay."

TAMAKI AMAJIKI

He's tweaking out more than you especially if you raise your voice at him

He calls Hado immediately after you have a mood swing

He gets a bunch of products she recommended

He also makes sure to tidy your room so you don't cry about it being messy (has happened before)

He gets scared :(

"You hate me!" You sobbed as you threw one of the stuffed animals he had gifted you at him. He dodged it easily and tensed immediately at your aggression.

"W-what?" He asked confused. "I don't hate you."

"Yes you do! I can feel it!" You replied.

"I- I don't know what you're talking about... I'm sorry if I made you upset," He said sincerely.

You sobbed harder, "You're too good for me! Get out!" You sobbed loudly and shoved your face into your pillow as you clutched your stomach in pain.

"O-okay," Tamaki replied as he sadly left the room. As soon as he closed your door, he pulled out his phone and called Nejire. Twenty minutes later, he returned with MULTIPLE heated blankets, chicken wings, ibuprofen AND Tylenol, chocolate, and vitamins. "Hado-chan said a lot of things... so I got them all." He walked over to your bed humbly and hesitantly, worried you'd explode at him again.

You sniffled and gratefully pulled him into bed with you, embracing him tightly and apologizing profusely. "I love you so much, Tama."

He let out a breath of relief, "I'm glad. You- you're the love of my life."

"And you're mine," You said as you took the pain reliever he brought and started eating the wings.

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

[drawn-corrosion]

btw i'm still alive and have art supplies again haby halofween

[fogclan-clangen]

are you alright?

aw thanks for ur concern anon :) im doing okay today, got a bit of a cold lol. had artblock for the two weeks since her death but its gone away so im doing a bit of drawing. there's a ton of clangen stuff i gotta catch up on, im like over 100 moons ahead from my posts bahah

[meiieiri]

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: so she tells him not to cry over the injustice of a life cut too short for at the end of all this, she’ll only be a dream.

pairing: ex-husband!toji fushiguro x terminally ill wife!reader | song inspo: soon you’ll get better, cancer

warnings: heavy angst, terminal illness (primary bone cancer, stroke and MS), mentions of divorce/past infidelity, allegories to cheating, major character death. please read at your own risk. | a/n: this was so heavy for me to write, i started writing at 2 in the morning, and it’s 6:34 now.

word count. 3k~

“Why can’t you do anything right?”

Toji should have noticed, he laments as he takes a sip of his cognac. He should have sensed that something was wrong sooner, maybe that way, he wouldn’t be begging to borrow some more time to make things right. Your fingers were trembling that day — the first time you ever ruined his morning coffee — your hands shaking uncontrollably as you washed the mug with a sorrowful look on your face, your eyes glossy with the tears you were desperately trying to hold back.

He shouldn’t have been so harsh, he realizes that now. Breakfast had been burnt to a crisp and ruined, sure, but nothing could compare to how he constantly ruins the one beautiful thing that has ever happened to him, who haphazardly spilled her smoothie on him when they first bumped into each other in Shinjuku just after he finally cashed in enough money with Shiu to get his laundry done.

Toji, whose senses have now been honed to pick up on the slightest of your sluggish movements and your pained and suppressed hisses, hears the bedsheets rustling and he instantly gets up before you could even force yourself out of bed. “Hey, hey, easy now.” He catches you before you could fall backwards onto the mattress, your skin appears cold and clammy, your thinning muscles stiff as a board — you must be having one of your episodes again. “What do you need?” he asks, his voice heartbreakingly gentle for the first time in months.

“Water.”

Your husband nods, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, hurriedly making his way to the dining table which was now kept in your bedroom so you aren’t forced to move around too much. The sound of water splashing into the glass fills the air and you feel another stabbing pain coarse through your joints.

Toji gingerly brings the glass of water to your lips and you sighed, an exasperated yet amused smile on your face. “I can do it, babe. Don’t worry.” Why did that sound like you were trying to convince not just Toji but yourself? You bring your bony hands to grip the glass and it takes everything out of your husband not to break into a fit of sobs when he sees your hand violently shaking with effort just to keep the glass steady.

His larger hands close around your defeated one. “I-I…I can do it, I did it yesterday. Y-you saw me.”

“Shhh, I know, it’s okay.”

You bite your lip to distract yourself from the anguish of realizing the truth behind the doctor’s words. Everything you feared was finally becoming your and Toji’s bleak reality.

“It’ll be a painful decline.”

Funny how you’re the one fighting to extend your life but Toji feels like he’s already gone ahead and passed on. Just a few minutes earlier, you were overjoyed to see him again. You didn’t think he’d see your text thinking that his new girlfriend must have asked him to block your number, and you most certainly didn’t expect him to arrive when you asked for him via a brief phone call to drive you to the hospital for your monthly checkup since he took the car with him when you separated. He made up a bullshit excuse when Yuko asked where he was going in such a hurry and he makes it to your old shared apartment to see you sitting on the driveway looking thinner and sicklier than ever — your eyes were sunken, and your cheeks were hollow.

Yet in spite of that, you gave him the brightest of smiles, waving shyly to him as he steps out of the driver’s seat. “Happy morning!” you smiled, greeting him with your signature good morning tagline which he used to happily wake up to everyday. There wasn’t a scintilla of resentfulness in your demeanor, and you genuinely looked so happy to see him for the first time since he moved out.

“How long?” Toji asked the doctor, his heart twisted into knots when he hears you happily humming in the MRI room as you put your clothes back on, oblivious to the solemn mood in the other room. You already knew what was going on, but you’ll just continue pretending that everything’s alright and that this is nothing more but a case of fatigue so as not to inconvenience Toji.

“A year, maybe even less.”

“And…you’re saying it’s best if she simply…doesn’t get the treatment?”

The doctor sighs heavily. She’s seen many cases like this before, but none as utterly hopeless as yours. Even if you did start the treatment, the lesions in your spinal cord have already entered the most severe stage, you were already exhibiting signs of autonomic nervous system distress — the tremors, the uncontrollable stuttering of your words, the growing loss of balance — and as if that wasn’t enough, the doctor also discovers that you were suffering from primary osteosarcoma.

There was no way to cure you now that it’s too late.

“I suggest we just focus on keeping her comfortable. The only thing left for us to do now is to bring her home. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re so fucking embarrassing. I can’t bring you anywhere.”

By some miracle, you and Toji went out one night around four months before the divorce proceedings. He went home that day, exhausted beyond all belief from another mission, but he was in a good mood. Yuko was out working late tonight, so, he decides to take you out to your and his favorite izakaya for some yakitori.

Some time during the night, after downing three full bottles of sake together, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. “I’ll be right back,” you told Toji, tipsily kissing him on the cheek as you hop off the bar stool in the direction of the women’s room.

You couldn’t tell if you were staggering from the copious amounts of alcohol you ingested, but your legs were beginning to feel heavy, and for some ominous reason, you were slowly losing all sensation in your left leg. You try to hold onto one of the izakaya’s shōji panel decor pieces to regain your balance, but it was a futile effort in the end. Your knees suddenly buckle, and a sickening crack tears through your tibia as you fall to the ground.

“Are you alright?!”

Toji picks up on the commotion instantly and he sees the izakaya patrons crowding around the hallway leading to the restroom. He quickly makes his way over and a look of disgust appears on his features when he sees you crumpled on the ground and the mortifying sight of you having relieved yourself on the floor, tears of embarrassment staining your cheeks at the thought of your body suddenly malfunctioning like this.

Muttering out an ignorant apology for his seemingly drunk wife, he roughly picks you up, growing increasingly infuriated with you when one izakaya employee offers him a damp cloth to dry out your urine with. It was funny how quickly other people came to your aid — people whose names you don’t even know — while your own husband seems very reluctant to even touch you right now. He doesn’t speak to you on the way home even as you apologize while he’s loading you into the car, grimacing when the leather seat gets wet. “Toji, I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened—“

“—Save it.”

What he should have said was: “Are you okay?”, “It’s alright.” or better yet, “I still love you.”.

At present, Toji decides on a whim to take you to Yokohama’s famed bayside today. It’s only a two hour drive from your place in Tokyo and Toji figures you must miss going on road trips by now with you cooped up at home all the time. “Toji, are you sure this is a good idea?” you murmured nervously as the car pulls to a stop by the bayside promenade. What happens if you can’t control yourself again? There doesn’t look to be a lot of public restrooms nearby.

Toji plants a reassuring kiss to your nose. “Babe, you remember what the doctor said, spending some time outdoors can do wonders for your health. Besides, didn’t you always love the coast?” He brings your hand to his scarred lips, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin before stepping out of the car to retrieve your wheelchair from the trunk.

“I know but what if I have another accident?” you said worriedly, rolling down the car windows so he could hear you. “What if I embarrass you again?”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about you.”

You’ve lost all control of your lower extremities three months ago, rendering you unable to walk and feel when you need to relieve yourself. Toji struggles with the wheelchair for a bit and a flash of sadness fills your heart when you see him take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He wasn’t angry, he was devastated. He looks wistfully at the boardwalk, a distant gaze trained on the sea. He remembers when you used to walk down this very lane, his hand protectively around your waist as you happily take selfies. He could still hear your fond giggles the last time the two of you went here.

“Why don’t you ever smile when I take pictures of you?”

Toji shoos away a pigeon from stealing a bite of his ice cream sandwich. He feigns an unamused look when you try to take another picture of him on your phone.

“Come on, I’ve been trying to get a shot of you all day! You still have to take pictures of me so I can post it on my Instagram feed!”

Your ever moody husband pinches off a small piece of bread and feeds it to the nosy pigeon. “You and your precious feed,” he bemoans jokingly.

“Please? Just one picture!“ you playfully nudged him. Truthfully, you just wanted to see him smile for once, a genuine one and not one of those lopsided smirks he usually gives you when he’s teasing you. “Please?” you pout knowing he can never say no to that adorable face you make when you really want him to do something or worse, buy something for you.

Sighing, he turns to look at your phone’s camera lens and you blush when a smile slowly illuminates his usually stoic face. Your thumb hovers over the stop recording function, not realizing you’re taking a video, but you can’t seem to press it. “What’s taking so long?” he holds the smile like he’s some cartoon character and you snap out of it.

“Oh shoot, it’s a video!” you laughed, and you begin to run down the boardwalk, eagerly getting away from Toji who demands that you delete it immediately. Of course, you’re no match for his borderline inhuman speed attributed to his athletic physique and he catches you by the waist, playfully swinging you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes.

Now, your giggles have gone silent.

Toji realizes now he should have indulged you more over the course of your relationship and subsequent marriage. Had he known that you won’t even make it to your third wedding anniversary, he would have allowed you to take as many pictures and videos of him as you’d like, he’d swallow his pride and he’d give you the brightest of smiles so you could happily post him on your social media accounts with a heartwarming caption about him being your “smiley hubby”.

More than that though, he should have taken more photos of you, mostly stolen candid shots, of course. You can’t catch him being all soft on you now. He still has a reputation to live up to after all. But more than that, had he known that your illness was intent on stealing every scrap of you from him, he should have made more effort in preserving all these memories. He should have kept everything from those toll tickets on your late night drives together when the two of you just needed a quick escape from the world, to receipts from your trip to Tokyo Disney Sea on your first wedding anniversary, and even simple convenience store receipts.

Toji should have kept everything down to the smallest of memories knowing one day, that’s all he’ll have to remember you by.

He opens the passenger seat’s door and he effortlessly gathers you into his arms, being extra careful with your fragile form as he sits you down on the wheelchair. He opens the backseat and he pulls out two different colored blankets, one sea-foam green and the other, rose pink. “Take your pick,” he smiles at you and you chuckled softly, pointing to the rose pink one. He happily covers your legs with it to keep you warm, stroking your cheek when you whisper a bashful ‘thank you’.

Suddenly, the wind picks up and your hair-clip that’s holding your locks in a low bun comes loose, and your head turns in the direction of where it flew off to. Toji is quick to take out his phone and he snaps a quick burst shot of you, your hair blowing in the wind, under the coastal spring weather. You turn to look at him and your face falls when you see him burying his phone in his pocket. Since you fell ill, you’ve become insecure of your appearance, banning your husband from taking pictures and videos of you altogether. “Toji, I thought I said no pictures.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The next day, you serendipitously find your photo on your Instagram handle with the caption: “Y/N — Yokohama, Spring, 2024” and when you swipe left, another picture, well to be more accurate, a screenshot of the video clip you accidentally took of him captioned: “Toji — Yokohama, Summer, 2022”.

“You don’t have to stick around for me. Please just go, I’m sure Yuko must be looking for you right now.”

Yuko, his new fiancé, had been blowing up his phone the entire day with texts demanding to know where he is and if he’s going to make it to their date that night. It’s 7 PM now, and Toji still hasn’t shown up to confirm their restaurant reservations. The damn witch will surely cuss him out when they see each other again, but for some reason, even if he tries, he simply cannot bring himself to give a flying fuck. Your immunologist and oncologist stepped out for a bit to allow you two a brief moment of privacy which had now stretched to an expanse of five hours since your results came in.

The air in the room is thick and heavy, not a single sound can be heard. Inside however, underneath this tough exterior he was projecting, Toji is throwing a fit, screaming at the sky like those broken men in those shitty Netflix romance tragedies he used to callously make fun of.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner? You knew, didn’t you?”

Toji’s bites his cheek trying to keep a lid on his emotions. He knows the answer. He just wants to hear you say it out loud. You hated him. You wanted nothing to do with him after he cheated on you with some girl he met at a bar in uptown Shibuya. That’s why you didn’t tell him, he didn’t deserve to know. “Shit,” he whispers harshly, crumpling the medical abstract in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Was it because you hated me? Is that it? You didn’t think I’d worry about you?”

You screwed your eyes shut, shaking your head. You didn’t hate him, not even when you have every reason to. He abandoned you, left you to waste away and to die and yet, even now, you can’t bring yourself to resent him for the simple reason that he is the literal love of your life, the reason behind your smiles, your happy mornings and passionate midnight hours. “At first, I thought I was fine, maybe just fatigued or something.”

“Don’t lie. You knew something was going on and that something in your body was seriously fucked up.”

“And we weren’t married anymore so, I didn’t think it was right to tell you…I wanted to though, but I didn’t want to intrude on you and Yuko,” you said meekly. Even in your greatest hour of need, you were still thinking of him, putting him first even when he doesn’t deserve it. “I-I…I don’t hate you enough to worry you, to make you feel that you could have done something to prevent this. Because I’m telling you right now, regardless if you were faithful or not, I was bound to get sick anyway. You couldn’t have done anything to change that.”

“But I could have been there. I should have noticed. I shouldn’t have downplayed everything.” He says this as if he wants to shake this noble, self-sacrificing bullshit attitude out of your system. “I’m your husband. I should have been there.”

You flash him a heartbroken smile at his little slip-up, so, even now, he was still referring to himself as your husband, not your ex-husband. “To see me waste away? Babe, I don’t want you to see that.”

You begin to feel tears streaming down your face, the emotions you were experiencing now flowing like a free river after an entire dam is destroyed. Toji watches you unravel before his eyes and his bottom lip begins to tremble. What has he done? Dear god, what has he done to his poor, poor wife?

“I want you to remember me healthy, I want you to remember me as myself not this…sickly pitiful woman you’re unlucky to call your ex-wife…besides, after all this, I’ll only be a dream.” A mere passing second in his life. “And believe me, my life wasn’t so bad.”

He loses it at that.

“Just stop this, Y/N! Stop acting like you’re not scared shitless of dying, like you’re not gonna have regrets once all this is over! Stop pretending that things are gonna be alright one day because it won’t! Not when I’m now being forced to accept that you won’t get better, not when I’ve wasted so much time putting you through hell and back instead of taking care of you like a proper husband should, and certainly not when I’m suddenly supposed to learn to say goodbye and to live without you! Because fuck that, Y/N!”

You are left speechless at that.

Toji was never one to lose his cool, even during your worst arguments, he may slide a few snarky remarks here and there but Toji Fushiguro…never yells, and he doesn’t sob either.

You hesitantly stand up and walk over to him, crouching down in front of him as he covers his tear-stained eyes with his right hand while the other is crumpled around your medical abstract. Taking his left hand, you gently remove the medical abstract from his grip, and for the first time in so many months, you feel one another’s warm skin against each other. You press your forehead to his hand as you wept with him.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be a dream. I want you to be real.”

“Can’t you be bothered to clean up in here?!”

You wake up from your nap, you’ve been battling muscle and joint pain the entire day, the slightest of movement causing you to double over in agony and because of that, you weren’t able to clean the apartment today. You slowly get up from the couch, being extra cautious not to make any sudden movements. “Well?” Toji presses, his lips curled into a scowl.

“I’m sorry, I was feeling a little tired,” you sighed heavily, picking up a broom to sweep the living room floor despite the excruciating pain you were in. Toji rolls his eyes, handing you a Manila envelope. “What’s this?” you asked softly, peering inside.

“Divorce papers,” he shrugs nonchalantly. Everything stops, even the very rise and fall of your chest halts into an uneasy stasis. “I already signed them. I just need your signature then, I’ll move out by tomorrow.”

You must be dreaming. That’s the only logical explanation to all this. You’re asleep, in a deep REM sleep, utterly oblivious to the world. This wasn’t happening. But you could feel the rough surface of the brown envelope, and you could still feel the agonizing stabs of white hot pain throughout your body. Glancing at Toji, you see him texting someone with an eager look on his face that screams: “I’m free.”.

Instantly, it dawns on you.

“Will she make you happy?” you asked, putting down the broom to look around for a pen but Toji pulls one he stole from the law firm office out of his pocket.

“She will,” he answers simply.

And you are indeed grateful that he is completely upfront about finding another while the two of you are married. It would have hurt much more, you silently remind yourself, if he had just upped and left without another word leaving you to wonder what went wrong between the two of you. This was Toji’s final act of mercy in your marriage, and he’s not opposed to honesty and truthfulness either. Not once did he try to change his phone’s lock-screen passcode, nor did he try to conceal the identity of the woman who was texting him every night while you slept fitfully next to him. It was almost as if he wanted you to find out, like he wanted you to know so you could back off yourself.

But if there’s one thing Toji loves about you, it’s your unending faithfulness to your promises, to your marriage vows, and your willingness to endure anything he threw at you. You never checked his phone, you never brought up his affair, you never got angry with him. You just kept silent, simply content with giving and giving…and giving while he milked you dry by taking, and taking and taking, tearing you to pieces bit by bit without hearing a single complaint fall from your lips.

You were a devoted wife, through and through.

And it bored the hell out of him, on top of your recent mishaps, he was done. Done with everything, and done with you.

“Okay.”

Come morning, he takes everything he owns with him and promptly proposes to the girl he’s been seeing for the past year. Two weeks later, your divorce is received by the Tokyo Family Court and is summarily approved and finalized. From that moment on, you and Toji went on your separate ways never to look back, you were each other’s yesterdays, and the love that existed between the two of you was nullified in favor of acquaintanceship…or so you thought.

“Y/N, I’m home!” Toji calls into the house as he comes back from your neighborhood’s pharmacy. You look up from the book you were reading, smiling ever so slightly at your husband who seemed to have a wonderful sparkle in his eyes. “Hey, kid,” he kisses the top of your head when he reaches your wheelchair.

“You seem happy,” you remarked positively.

“Well, for one, they replenished their stocks today and I managed to get you your steroids and painkillers so you’ll be able to sleep easy tonight,” Toji smiles, taking out the items from the pharmacy’s paper bag. “And I got you this neat memory foam cushion for your wheelchair.” He fluffs it up as a form of demonstration before placing it behind your back.

When he sees you smile, a sense of relief washes over Toji. You reach towards him, and he pulls you into an embrace. “Thank you,” you said, pure sincerity dripping from your voice. “For everything you do.”

“Anything for you.” He suddenly moves back and reaches into the tote bag you lended him. “Oh, and wait, before I forget, I have another surprise.”

You laughed airily. “Another surprise? Now, you’re just spoiling me!”

He pulls out a piece of paper from the tote bag and he places it in your hands as your eyes quickly scan over the document. Your breath hitches in your throat when you realize what it is. Did Toji really—? You couldn’t believe it. “A marriage pre-registration,” you said in awe. You read it again just in case to make sure that this wasn’t a figment of your sick body’s imagination, that this was real, that Toji genuinely wants to make everything right again. Your fingers skim over your typewritten names. “It has our names…we’re really—“ You can’t even finish your sentence without bursting into happy tears. “Are we—?”

Toji nods, gazing into your eyes, and as emerald and (E/C) clash for what seems to be an eternity lost in one another, he plants a kiss to your temple, coming up to embrace you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“We are. The Tokyo Family Court, as far as I know, will approve our remarriage once we file this. So, you have to get stronger, okay?” He’s begging you at this point, despite your rapidly deteriorating condition. “Strong enough to see me fix everything. Strong enough to be there on our second wedding, strong enough to say our vows again.”

Your hand comes up to stroke his cheek from behind, and he nuzzles into your neck at your tender touch.

“I will. I promise.”

But you never really get to say your vows. Not comprehensibly anyway.

“Babe, can you say that again?”

Toji crouches by your bedside as you look at him apologetically. You were causing him trouble and pain again which is the last thing that you want to give him especially when’s fought and worked so hard to care for you, to keep prolonging this borrowed time you’re on. “To-ji. Toji.” You gaze at him apprehensibly, not really believing you can do it without crumbling.

“Come on, babe, you can do it. Say my name, please…Toji. I’m Toji.”

“Toooji-“ you slurred sadly. At this point, your Multiple Sclerosis has reached its end stage and has taken…everything from you: your ability to walk, your ability to control your muscle spasms and other bodily functions…and now, coupled with an unexpected stroke, your ability to speak. And you and Toji know that time is almost up, with you having come to accept it, while your husband still held onto hope. Your fingers gently graze over his face as best as your spasms and tremors allow you, starting from his forehead to his eyes, his nose, his cheek and finally, his lips, as if you’re memorizing it one last time. “Lo-ove you-“

Toji sniffles, and your fingers instinctively catch his warm tears. “I love you,” he whispers brokenly. “I do. I love you.”

You feel yourself tearing up as you’re forced to watch your beloved cry. And the worst part? You can’t do a thing about it. “D-oon’t c-cry—‘m okaay. Promi-miise…e’everyything ‘ill be okaaay.”

“Y-yeah,” he chuckles, trying to crack a joke even as hope dwindles. “You’ve been nothing but a fucking champ this entire time, you know? I’m so proud of you. So…so…proud that you’re still here.” He strokes your hair as you tread between the realms of the conscious and the unconscious. “Do you wanna go out today? The weather’s shit though. You’ll probably catch your death out there.” At the mention of the word ‘death’, Toji stops, falling into an uncomfortable silence.

You smile weakly at him. “Tiiredd—“

“You’re no fun,” Toji gently flicks your nose and you scrunch it up in displeasure. “Sorry,” he chuckles, holding back an entire waterfall of tears. He knows it’s today. It has to be. You woke up today without your usual ‘happy morning’ greeting, and you refused to drink anything, much less eat anything. “You tired? Any pain?”

You shake your head. You’re as comfortable as you can be for the first time in months. Hospice nurses say humans are built to live the same way they are built to die, no person in this world has ever had the uncanny privilege of being able to look up ‘How to die?’ on a quick Google search and actually find a Wikihow on the morbid subject matter, nor is there anyone else who can teach another how it’s done. It’s just something humans know how to do without a manual, deeply ingrained in the very fabric of human existence is the fear of death, the fear of what comes after, the fear of a nothingness that could follow after living such a vibrant life. Your life was short, barely spanning thirty years, but you lived well: you fell in love, you got hurt, but you fell together again. Now it all has to come to an end, Toji will just have to take care of the rest.

And you weren’t scared.

Or at least you can’t look scared, if you were to be more accurate, you have to look strong and ready to accept the cards you’ve been dealt with for Toji’s sake. When he feels your hand start to slacken, Toji intakes a sharp, shaky breath of sheer panic. “Not yet, Y/N. Please. Not yet.”

He climbs into bed with you, bringing you closer to this desperate man you call yours. There was no getting better anymore, there was no miracle he could hang onto, no deity he could beg for death to spare you, no pill bottle he could pray to. He knew that from the start. But what he witnessed these past months, you’ve been the braver one between the two of you, you knew how to make the most of the rhythm this cruel world gave you and you graciously took him along to dance to the last song of the evening with you.

“There’s still hope. Just keep your eyes open. Just keep them open.” He presses his lips to your forehead, his delusion getting the better of him. “We’ll just keep trying…you can’t leave. You have to stay. You have to.”

“Thaank yoou—“ you softly told your Toji, your voice shrinking in decibels as you become a little drowsy, sinking into the warmth of the requiem of a life well spent.

Toji listens to you, his lips pursed, intent on making this final act of love — a love that is strong enough to say goodbye — a memorable one. And should the afterlife exist, he wishes to send you off with a smile, with the reassurance that he’ll be alright even if that was far from happening.

“Toji.”

“I want you to be real. And I don’t care if we’ll live on borrowed time. Another extra second with you…is enough to last me my entire lifetime.”

[evie-sturns]

dreams - Matt Sturniolo

summary: the last thing you expected when you stayed over for the night at your best friend matt's house, was him rubbing himself against the mattress while moaning your name in his sleep, you obviously have to help him out?

contains: wet dream, switch!matt, teasing, fluff.

-----------------------------------------------—————

i've known matt since middle school, hes been my best friend since then. i stay round at his house often, its like my happy place when i get to be around him.

tonight is one of those nights where i stay round at matt's, we just finished watching stranger things season 4 for the 90th time and now we're heading up the stairs to his room.

"that show, is a fucking cinematic master piece." matt scoffs, walking up the stairs close behind me.

"it came out like 2 years ago matt, how are you not sick of it?" i laugh, my brandy melville shorts riding up my ass slightly as i reach the top of the stairs.

"it just never gets old," matt replies, i swing open the door to his bedroom and jump into his silk sheets.

"why does it smell so good in here?" i groan with a grin,

"don'tt lie." matt smiles, "i'm honestly not!! it does smell good for once."

"hey- i am a hygienic man." he points a finger at me before tearing his shirt off from over his head, he sorts through his wardrobe, looking through all the individually folded shirts.

he sets on a blue loose shirt, with the text 'it's been one of those days'

"cute!" i smile at him, he smiles back before jumping into bed beside me, launching me a couple inches into the air.

"matthew!" i hit him playfully, "oops." he teases back.

i lay my head on his chest, matt fidgets with my hair, i slowly drift off to sleep with his long fingers intertwined in my locks.

------------

3:38am

my eyes squint open as noises from the other side of the bed fill my ears.

matt is on the edge of the mattress, about 2 feet between us.

"fuck- mfgh, oh--" he moans lightly,

his hips repeatedly thrust into the mattress, his face is buried in the pillow but his hair flops with each thrust.

"y/n- please!" he whines,

my stomach sinks as soon as i hear my name fall from his lips,

was he having a sex dream about me?

i know matt would be embarrassed if he knew i was watching him, but i was kind of.. enjoying this? i've always thought about matt in ways i wouldn't like to admit, but he is hot.

i decide to wake him up, i place my manicured hand on his shoulder. i grip his boney shoulder tight and shake him.

"matt!" i whisper-yell,

his thrusts instantly stop, and his head snaps up. his cheeks are flushed red and his lips are a raw pink.

he looks down at the wet spot on the mattress, then back up at me.

"uh- um yeah? you okay?" matt stutters out, trying to play it off.

"what was that sweetheart?" i whisper, sitting up. matt rolls over onto his back, i take the opportunity which is in front of me and sit up, i straddle his thighs and look down at him

he attempts to string together a coherent sentence, but only random words come out "im sorry- you heard that?" he squeezes out.

i drag my nails over the large tent in his pants

matt squeezes out a loud whimper, "i think i heard something come out of your mouth while you were rubbing yourself on the mattress." i say, my voice soft.

"mm-" matt hums, rubbing his eyes

"i heard.. my name?" i tease, matt covers his face with his hands

"'m sorry- 'm so sorry" matt whines.

"tell me about your dream matt."

he shakes his head, i run my hand over his bulge again and matt starts talking

"you- were saying how- how you needed me, and-and i was fucking you- 'm sorry!" matt says, his voice barely audible and he cuts himself off.

"thats okay baby." i smile, tugging down his waistband.

"please-" matt groans.

"i know." i say, reaching out and grabbing his length. his tip is the same shade as his pink lips and leaking precum, he has veins travelling up his dick.

"you have a pretty dick matt." i tell him, pumping slowly and running a thumb over his slit.

"thank- thank you" matt breathes,

"you want me to ride you matt?" i whisper into his ear, matt nods frantically, i pull my shorts to the side slightly,

"such a whore, dreaming about fucking your best friend." i scoff, scooting up and hovering above his tip. i sink down onto his cock,

i bottom out quickly, the craving for his dick overpowering me. he stretches me well, his tip resting against my cervix.

"matt" i whine, matt lets out loud whimpers as he balls up the sheets in his hands.

"so- tight" matt mumbles, i bounce up and down on his length. "fuck! mfgh" he almost yells,

"you dream about me often matt?" i say with a light moan

"yes- yes!" matt whines, "how often" i press him, "god- every couple days?" he replies.

"i want you to fuck me, can you do that for me?" i whisper, matt nods frantically before flipping us over,

my back hits the mattress, matt doesn't waste time to start thrusting into me, just like how he was into the mattress 10 minutes ago,

his hair bounces on his forehead with each thrust, matt reaches his tattoed arm up to my jaw, forcing me to look up at him.

"im- im close" i warn him,

"i know, 'feel you clenching." matt breathes out,

i clench around him, matt reaches his spare hand down and traces small circles around my sensitive clit.

i feel my orgasm wash over me, my legs shake as i arch my back off the bed, feeling all of my built up pleasure release at once.

matt instantly pulls out and paints my stomach with warm white streaks, he flops down next to me with a groan.

matt pulls me onto his chest, breathing heavily into his ear.

"are you okay?' i ask him with a small giggle,

"more than okay-" matt sighs with a smile.

we lay in silence for a couple minutes before matt breaks it with a muffled laugh

"whats funny matt?" i sigh with a grin, exhausted and fucked out.

"i think if someone told me yesterday that i would be fucking my best friend at 4am tomorrow i would've laughed in their face."

i let out a loud laugh, "thats pretty understandable."

----------------

@luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @sonicmacks @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @sturniolo-simp4life @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @recklessmatt @ev3rgreenxtrees @lovergirl4387 @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @ecilphttlunar @bitchydragonparadise @thematthewlover r @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @chrisgetsmewetterxo @mattsonly @justalittle47 @mattsturnioloisbae @sunsetsturniolos @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz

[themultifanshipper]

So I read the your story about Logan, George, Max and paddock bunny reader. It was fucking amazing.

Could I maybe request a fluff one where some random man is very sexist and mean towards her. The drivers see it and become kind of protective. When she wants to reward them with sex, they are being like : No honey. You just rest and look pretty while we murder this idiot☺️👍

But please don't feel pressured to write it if you don't feel comfortable

You should have known as soon as the journalist approached you that this wouldn't end well.

“Would you mind answering a couple of questions, miss?”

You naively said yes, not expecting the line of questioning that was about to come.

Part 3 of "One of the Boys"

Warnings: a smidge of angst, lots of fluff, drivers being protective, a lil smut at the end but it's skippable, i've put a *** where it starts, dirty talk, sleepy sex, smut with Oscar and Lando, mentioned smut with Charles, Max and George just being good friends

“Care to comment on the rumour that you are in the paddock as a sexual companion for the drivers to use to relieve stress?”

Your breath got caught in your throat.

“Excuse me?”

The man cleared his throat and continued.

“Sources say you have slept with multiple drivers, is it because you have some sort of agreement or contract? Or are you just that promiscuous?”

You stared at him open mouthed, not knowing what to say.

“Or are you perhaps doing it for money? Do you have a sugar daddy in the paddock? Do you limit yourself to drivers or do you also let team officials have a go at you?”

What the fuck.

Tears prickled your eyes at the onslaught of invasive questions as rage filled you.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? What gives you the right to ask about my sex life?! What I do in my free time is none of your fucking business, and for your information, I do not receive money from any member of the paddock, and I am NOT just a toy to use for men whenever they feel like! Just because I'm a woman you assume I have an ulterior motive for being here but-”

Your voice was getting louder as each word left your lips and the shouting attracted the attention of George and Max that were passing nearby.

“What's going on here?” Max asked the man as George noticed a tear run down your cheek. “Are you okay?”

You wiped at it furiously and nodded “Yeah I'm fine!”

Max stared daggers between you and the man “What the fuck did you say to her?”

The man rolled his eyes dismissively.

“I wanted to know if the rumours of her being the paddock's whore were true… I guess I have my answer”

The sudden urge to swing at him almost overtook Max but he held himself in check. George put arm around you and lead you away, managing to spit out a ‘go fuck yourself’ to the man.

Max ripped the man's lanyard off and checked the name on it.

“Well done, Jonathan, you've successfully managed to get yourself banned from ever coming to a race again, good luck salvaging your career after I'm done making sure you never work in sports journalism ever again”

He stormed off straight towards the offices, ready to bribe the entire FIA top brass if it meant protecting you from ever living through that again.

You and George made your way through the paddock and ran into Oscar on the way, who noticed your distress immediately.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Another tear ran down your cheek as you all but threw your arms around him and squeezed him, tears dampening his team polo.

He widened his eyes at George in question, who ran a hand up and down your back soothingly.

“Some dickhead journalist was being a cunt and calling her the paddock whore. Max is sorting it”

“Shit, I'm so sorry baby. That shouldn't have happened”

George hummed in agreement. “One thing's for sure, it won't happen again if Max has anything to say about it”

You sniffled and let Oscar go, straightening yourself out before the next session as the other drivers had to go and get ready.

Qualifying was nerve wracking. It was Monza after all.

Oscar made you stay in the McLaren garage to stop any unwanted attention falling on you.

Him and George came to find you after, at least one of them staying by your side at all times like guard dogs until it was time to go.

You were still a bit shaky as you spotted Max waiting for you by the entrance.

“I've sorted it. That guy won't be coming anywhere near the paddock for at least 5 years, and I've sent a request for a GDPA meeting to discuss the need for extra security for drivers and their guests”

George made an impressed face and Oscar hummed.

“I don't know how to repay you guys for today” you fiddled with the hem of your top as your eyes shifted from one driver to the other until they landed on Max “At least let me do something for you”

Your hand went to Max's chest but he took it and squeezed.

“Absolutely not. That would be taking advantage of you and I refuse to prove that asshole right”

The other two readily agreed.

“You're free to stay in any of our hotel rooms if it will make you feel better, but we’re your friends and our priority is keeping you safe”

You started getting emotional again as you hugged them before swearing you'd be fine on your own and going your separate ways.

You once again ended up staying in the same hotel as the McLaren drivers.

And as you unwinded after your day you started getting a bit stressed out at the idea of something like this happening at every race and before you knew it you found yourself in front of Oscar's hotel room, on the verge of an anxiety attack.

It wasn't Oscar that opened the door however, it was Lando. And he was shirtless.

You stared at him as you tried to collect your thoughts.

“Hey baby, you okay? Oscar told me what happened earlier”

You surged forwards and hugged him, making the man stumble a bit.

He wrapped his arms around you protectively and squeezed while you inhaled the comforting scent of his cologne.

Oscar, wondering who was at the door, came to investigate and awed at the sight of you two cuddling in the doorway.

You looked at him only in his boxers, and were suddenly hit with the realisation.

“Wait, shit. Were you about to fuck before I knocked?”

Oscar laughed and patted you on the back. “Don't worry about us baby, if you need company we're always available for you”

You had to hold back tears as you asked to take a shower, which you did, before climbing into bed in a borrowed shirt, the other two climbing in either side of you.

Oscar turned the light off and you snuggled up to him.

As your beathing synced up with his, your hand wandered over his chest. “You sure you don't want a quick blowjob?”

He snorted and slapped your hand away as Lando cackled behind you. “Absolutely not! Go to sleep and we'll see what happens tomorrow, I'd rather earn it by beating the others on track”

He gave you a quick peck on the cheek before wrapping arm around you.

You fell asleep like that, Oscar drawing patterns on your arm and Lando snoring softly behind you.

***

You woke the next morning completely tangled with another body.

Turns out it was Lando's, and he was shifting around, letting out soft puffs of breath against your forehead.

And you couldn't blame him, you were almost panting yourself, both at how hot you were because of you being plastered against his body, and at the fact that his thigh was between yours and rubbing against your clothed pussy with all his shifting around.

You moaned softly and that seemed to wake him up with a start, eyes darting around until they focused on your face and he realised what was happening.

His hard cock was rutting against your hip and he shuddered when your hand went down to palm him through his boxers.

“Fuck baby, I hope you're feeling as needy as I am right now”

You giggled into his shoulder and nodded, hand slipping into his boxers to thumb at his wet tip.

He quickly stopped you, lest he come too quickly and kissed your forehead before trailing your own hand down your body.

“Touch yourself” he whispered “tell me how wet you are for me”

You slid a finger through your folds and your suspicions were confirmed as it almost slipped right in with how slick you were.

“So fucking wet, Lan” you whispered back, you didn't know if Oscar was still sleeping behind you but you didn't care.

“Shit you're right” Lando’s finger had joined yours “I could slip right in. Can I?”

You nodded and he lazily slid your slick panties out of the way and rubbed himself through your folds a couple of times before pushing in.

It was a tight fit, but he was right, he slid inside with no resistance and he groaned as he bottomed out.

“Fuck. Shit. Hell, I'm not going to last long, baby” his voice was tight as he started rocking his hips gently.

You just got wetter as he went deeper and deeper, hooking your leg over his hip to drive into you with more force.

You bit into his shoulder to try and keep your noises at bay but it was useless as Lando used you to chase his pleasure and it didn't take long for him to start whimpering into your skin.

“Can I come inside you, baby, please?”

“Of course, Lan. Come for me, good boy...”

“Fuck” his hips slammed against yours twice more as he filled you up.

You quickly ripped the covers off you and breathed a sigh of relief as the slightly cooler air of sunny Monza hit your over heated skin.

He kissed you sweetly and it almost escalated into more but you heard a chuckle behind you.

Your two heads snapped to Oscar.

The fucker was laying on his side, head propped on his hand as he watched you with a smile.

“Well that was quick” he teased, eyes full of mirth “I'm glad you interrupted us last night if that's the performance I was going to get”

You giggled and Lando huffed “Oh fuck off. If you felt how fucking sweet her pussy is you wouldn’t have lasted either”

“Challenge accepted” Oscar said with glee as he slid towards you and plastered himself against your back.

“You can go shower while I take care of her” he unhooked your leg from Lando's waist and lifted it as he lined himself up and pushed into you slowly.

Your eyes rolled back at the stretch (because Oscar was slightly thicker than Lando) and the change of angle which made him grind into your g-spot dead on.

Lando rolled his own eyes, crawling out of bed to go and shower, grumbling on the way.

“That's not fair, you've got the better angle you bastard…”

Oscar chuckled and thrusted into you harder, ripping a moan from your throat.

You were about to move to get on top of him but Oscar held you firmly in place.

“No baby, let me do all the work”

He rolled over you and pressed your body into the mattress, his weight comforting on top of you as he jackhammered his hips into you at the perfect angle to make you see stars.

One of his hands squeezed itself in-between your body and the mattress to find your puffy cunt and rubbed calculated circles on your clit.

You came so hard you almost blacked out and you started begging for him to come inside you, knowing how to make him weak in the knees.

“Please Osc, fill me up with your come, make me carry a part of you inside me while you race”

Oscar let out a punched out moan and there's nothing he could do to stop it as he did just that, pumping you full to the brim with his cum as he growled into your shoulder, teeth probably leaving indents on your skin.

Once his brain had stopped melting he landed a sharp slap to your ass.

“That wasn't part of my plan. Fucking witch.”

You laughed as he got off you to go join Lando in the bathroom.

“I know my way around my boys' kinks, what can I say?” you laughed as he flipped you off.

“Yeah, yeah. I want a rematch, tonight if I win. I'm not stopping until you're crying”

Fat chance, you thought.

You giggled and got up to follow him in, also desperately needing a shower.

Well, he didn't win, so you didn't get to see him that evening (though your celebrations weren't anything less than extraordinary, after all, it wasn’t every day that Il Predestinato won at Ferrari's home race).

What you did get however, was a video the next day.

As you lay in bed with Charles, you clicked on the icon curiously and almost spit out the coffee he’d gone and bought in an attempt to nurse your hangovers.

It was from Oscar's point of view, fucking Lando missionary, and the older man was covered, and I mean covered, in what you assumed was his own cum. He was whimpering as Oscar fisted his cock in time with his hips' movements.

“See? I told you I could last longer. Made him come so many times he can't even speak” Oscar growled into the microphone

You (and a curious Charles) watched in silent horror as Lando came again with a sob, completely dry.

It was an unhinged thought, but you secretly hoped Oscar would win the next race, and every single race until the end of time.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Lights Out {9}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: You finally find out just how perfect your boyfriends are as birthing partners. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, all the birthing glory one can expect (it’s not a pretty thing irl) WC: 3.3k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || 6.5 || Seven || SMAU || Eight || Nine NAV: Away We Go One

You woke up to too much warmth but the thrill that shot through you washed away all lingering sense of sleep. Charles and Lando were curled around you having arrived home sometime during the night, replacing the giant Pokemon teddy that was dumped unceremoniously onto the floor beside Lando. 

“Lan,” you whispered, gently shaking his shoulder. A deep groan exhaled with a snore before he slowly blinked his eyes open and found you grinning down at him. “There’s my Winner.”

His smile was drowsy as he rolled onto his back and pulled you into his arms so your head could rest on his chest. His steady heartbeat thumped against your ear and you didn’t realise how quiet the nights had been without hearing that sound beneath your head. 

“Did it for you, babe.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm, I had to do something big to make sure you didn’t forget me while we were gone.”

“Showoff.” You giggled and draped a leg over his, cozying up as much as you comfortably could. “I missed you.”

“Missed you. Glad to see you are in one piece too. I knew my little girl would wait patiently for us to get home.” Lando carefully unwrapped himself from you and shuffled down the bed, brushing up the oversized Quadrant shirt you had stolen from his new merch line. “You can come out anytime now, sweetheart. The sooner the better, if you are ready. Please be ready.”

Lando waited a moment to see if he would get a kick in response but there was nothing and he sighed as he flopped back onto the pillow. “Silent treatment already.”

“She’s probably still sleeping,” you said as you kissed his disappointed frown. “You should go back to sleep too, baby.”

You carefully climbed over him but he caught your hips and trapped you straddling him. You couldn’t see clear enough in the dim light but you were sure his eyes were darkening as he hummed happily. “Can’t sleep with you teasing me like that.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I was trying to get up to go pee.” You wiggled enough for him to bite his lip before swinging your leg off and dashing to the bathroom while he groaned at the loss of your body. 

“That wasn’t very nice,” you heard him whine as you closed the door. You would not miss the rapid fire bathroom breaks that came with the last trimester, that was for certain. 

The relief of emptying your bladder was short lived as you wiped and the loud sound of disgust you made had a thump sounding on the bedroom floor before quick feet sprinted into the bathroom, busting the door wide open. Lando squinted against the bright light before finding you still sat on the toilet with the tissue paper still in your hand. 

“What’s wrong? Is that blood? Shit, Charles!”

“Stop!” you hissed before he woke your mother up from her room down the hall. “It’s not…blood…at least I don’t think so…”

Charles skidded into the bathroom looking absolutely dishevelled as he tried to take in what he was seeing. “Amour, what’s wrong?”

“I think I’ve lost my mucus plug.”

“Mucus plug…” he murmured, rubbing his tired eyes as he mentally scanned the pregnancy books he had read with Lando. 

“Yes!” Lando shouted, his hand turning to an enthusiastic fist. “That means you might be going into labour soon.”

Charles’ eyes widened with excitement and they embraced each other with a laugh, proudly chatting about how their daughter was a good girl waiting for them to come home. 

“Excuse me,” you interrupted, clearing your throat. “Can I have some privacy?”

They looked a little sheepish and backed out of the bathroom, closing the door so you could finish your routine. It was only when you were washing your hands, facing yourself in the mirror that you saw the excitement in your own eyes. Praying the old wives tale was right, you dried your hands and stepped back into the bedroom. 

The bedside lamps glowed warmly and a cosy space was created for you on a mountain of pillows between the two men who nearly vibrated with anticipation. “Please don’t get your hopes up, it may still take days,” you said as you crawled up the bed.

“I know,” Lando replied while he fretted about getting the pillows in the right place to support your back and belly, as well as one between your knees. “You should try get as much sleep as possible while you can.”

Charles smiled at the doting father-to-be, falling even more in love with him. Lando had always been portrayed as the carefree one and the most immature driver on the grid, but this was the side the tv show never aired. Lando was a caretaker and a homemaker at heart, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for those he loved. 

When Lando looked up after tucking the blankets in around you he found Charles staring at him and lifted a brow in question. Charles just smiled and shook his head. “I am the luckiest man.” 

A smirk kicked up on Lando’s lips as he pointedly looked over you and him. “Debatable.”

“We are the luckiest men,” Charles compromised with a laugh before brushing his knuckles softly over your relaxed face. 

“Yes, we are.”

“Charles, can you come help me?” 

The shower was steaming up after spending the last 15 minutes unsuccessfully shaving. The cloud of steam cleared out when he opened the glass door but as soon he saw the position you had got yourself into he barked out a laugh that drew Lando into the bathroom too. 

“Har-har, laugh it up,” you drawled. “I’m not having my baby’s first introduction to the world through a forest, now can one of you please help me?”

“Mon amour, I am sure women were giving birth before these were invented,” he said as he accepted the bright pink razor with an uncertain look on his face. “You don’t have to…uh…landscape.”

“Lando, will you please get rid of this bush before I call in the professionals?”

He was still eyeing up the length of your leg you had managed to kick up onto the lowest recessed shelf that had a few half empty bottles of shampoos knocked over. Even with the position you hadn’t been able to reach around your belly to get to the place you wanted to. “Who are the professionals?” he asked curiously as he took the razor off Charles and got down on his knees. “Kika?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll never understand female friendships,” Charles chuckled, leaning back against the tiled wall to critique Lando. Your main focus was on balancing and keeping as still as possible because you did not want to get cut in such a delicate area - though it couldn’t be worse than what you had read about episiotomies during delivery. “Shave with the hair, same direction.”

“Sorry, not all of us have to shave daily,” Lando muttered sarcastically before holding the razor out. “Why don’t you do it then?”

Charles rolled his eyes but took it and knelt beside Lando. “Can you…?” You couldn’t see what he gestured to Lando but you got a fair idea when you felt Lando’s hands working with Charles to keep the skin taut, and mortifyingly, when he parted your folds to get the stray hairs that grew there. 

“I never want to talk about this,” you said as they both rose up and shared a laugh. 

“You might want to start trying to kick start labour then,” Lando teased. “You have about five days before it’s time for another trim.”

“If you have any ideas, I am all ears.”

As it turned out, his idea to kick starting labour was actually what had got you pregnant in the first place. Though you felt breathless and bloated, sex was a good way of distracting yourself of what was going to come because whether you were ready or not, a baby could not stay in utero forever. 

“Are you sure?” Charles asked when Lando suggested turning the lights down low and locking the bedroom door. They were both more than eager to reacquaint themselves with your body after being away but Charles was certain Lando had just made it up as an excuse to get laid. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I know I’m horny but it’s also true.”

You had let them towel dry you after washing away the shaving cream and let them bicker about the merits of the idea while you climbed onto the bed. You had been planning on getting up for the day after your shower but now that you were again in the soft sheets you realised how much more comfortable it was on your back. 

“...nipple stimulation, see, says it right here.”

You did a small ab crunch to peek over your stomach and saw Lando and Charles comparing their phones, but the small pressure the movement put on your belly caused a strange sensation between your legs. Warm liquid leaked over your thighs and onto the sheets and you thought you couldn’t get anymore embarrassed as you scrunched the sheets tight around your body. 

“Can I have a moment alone?” you asked quietly, their faces freezing at the question that interrupted their discussion on best positions to start with.

“Pourquoi? You know it won’t hurt the baby, you don’t have to worry, amour.”

“It’s not that,” you muttered, self-consciously hiding deeper in the covers.

“Don’t be shy, baby, you are still the most beautiful woman.”

You swallowed twice with your dry throat and shook your head as tears began to roll down your cheeks. “Please?”

“Non, what’s wrong?” They both stepped closer and froze when you cried even more, confusion, hurt, worry all flitting across their faces.

“I wet myself,” you whispered as you hid your face, “and I can’t move.”

Their phones were abandoned, all thoughts of lust erased for good reason as you waited for disgust to replace it. “You run the shower and I’ll change the sheets,” Charles said, taking charge. “Come on, amour, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I can’t move,” you said with a vehement shake of your head. “It keeps leaking out.”

“Uh, baby,” Lando said as he reached for the sheets clutched in your hands. “That sounds like your waters have broken.”

The plans changed quickly when you finally loosened your grip enough to let Lando pull them away. The damp spot was much smaller than your mind had made you believe but when they helped you to stand up a full torrent of it gushed out. 

“Yup, time to call the midwife,” Lando said aloud as he confirmed you wouldn’t have to die of embarrassment. 

“On it,” Charles answered as he made the call while getting dressed. Lando still followed his first order and helped you back to the shower while Charles spoke in French, too quick for you to understand. 

By the time you had been washed for the second time in under an hour Charles had gathered the hospital bag and laid out some clothes for you and Lando. The bedsheets had also been stripped and dumped in the corner of the room but you still spotted the wet patch on the carpet beside the bed. 

“I’ll have someone clean it up before we get home,” Charles assured you with a kiss to your temple. “We should go tell your mother that it’s time.”

She reacted as expected, a squeal of happiness, a strong hug, a touch of worry, before more excited laughs. Parking at the hospital was always a nightmare so the plan was for her to drop you off outside the maternity ward and go to Pascale’s to wait for updates with her. 

Phones rang and messages beeped to the point you told everyone to put their phones on silent. As much as you were happy to hear the best wishes and updated on Lando’s family travelling from England, the sounds were messing with your concentration. 

It didn't feel like long but by the time you were dressed, the car was packed, you had chosen your snacks and your immediate family were contacted, almost two hours had passed. In those two hours the tight feeling in your back was getting more painful and no matter what position you were in, sitting or standing, there was no easing the aching pressure on your belly.

“Baby, come see this,” Lando called out, pointing to Max’s apartment. You shuffled your way to him with Charles offering his arm to steady your steps and found a large banner spread across your brother’s balcony. 

MODE: PUSH!

Despite the pain, you laughed as you saw him waving from the other tower apartment. You waved back before letting Charles guide you back inside. You took one last look around the apartment as you headed to the front door, knowing the next time you stepped foot inside it would no longer be just the three of you. The next time you returned, everything would change.

It seemed too easy. The hours passed by with the numbing assistance of gas and air, and the shadows crossed the room as morning turned to afternoon. The birthing pool became your favourite space to relax until you were a wrinkled prune. Floating in the tepid water took the weight of your belly off your spine and Charles had a cloth that he dipped in and used to wipe the sweat from your forehead.

“Open up, baby,” Lando said softly as he took a seat at the edge of the oversized bath and held a fresh ice chip up to your lips.

Doctor Turner had arrived not long after the hospital midwives had settled you into the room and announced you were 5cm dilated. You thought that meant you were halfway but time seemed to slow in response. The doctor that had been your regular OB GYN since moving to Monaco was happy to take a backseat and let Lando and Charles take care of you. She actually seemed quite impressed with them, not as much as you were.

“Is it okay if we dim the lights?” Lando asked. He had noticed your eyes squinting against the harsh fluorescents overhead and Doctor Turner reached for the switch that was behind her makeshift desk she had taken up by the door. Her hand jotted down notes, twisting her wrist to check the time on her watch before writing more.

“That’s better,” you sighed as you opened your eyes and looked up at your boyfriends. “It’s a shame there’s no jets in this jacuzzi.”

Charles chuckled and dragged the wet cloth over your shoulders and collar. “You make this sound like a spa date, ma chérie.”

“You didn’t happen to bring a face mask, did you?” you teased.

“Sorry, wasn’t on the checklist,” Lando replied with a snort. “Do you want music on again?”

“I never would have pegged you to be a mother hen,” you murmured as you shook your head and smiled. “I’m okay right now.”

Another hour passed and that calm state soon came to an end as the contractions grew stronger, strong enough to take your breath away, and Charles had to remind you to inhale and exhale slowly. The plastic pipe full of gas started to dent beneath your gritted teeth as you bit down with each contraction and groaned deeply. The sound had Doctor Turner rising from her chair to check how far along you were.

Your self consciousness had recessed to the back of your mind as you focused solely on what you body was doing. It was almost the same tunnel vision you had when you were racing and the rest of the world faded away from the track in front of you. You didn’t even blink when her gloved hand dipped into the water and disappeared between your legs.

“Would you like to move to the bed? You’ll be ready to push soon.”

You shook your head as another wave of pressure clamped down on your abdominal muscles, contorting them until it felt like they were going to snap. Just as quickly as it came on the contraction ended and the pain vanished as you slumped back against the pool edge. Water splashed over the lip but Charles and Lando didn’t even notice as they flexed their hands you had clenched tight.

“Can I stay in here?”

“Of course,” she said with a reassuring smile as she took her gloves off. “We are going to do whatever is most comfortable for you.”

She went back to add the latest note to her records but rather than sitting down she returned back to the edge of the bath, a fresh pair of gloves on her hands and a towel on her lap.

“When you said soon…?” you trailed off as another painful contraction began and it felt like your body was going to split in two.

“Do you feel the urge to push?” she asked as she leaned over the edge to look.

You couldn’t answer her as your feet found purchase on the bath walls and braced, your body bearing down on its own accord. An arm curled under each of yours, holding you up as you pushed with more effort than any of the workouts Kristian had ever put you through.

“Lovely head of dark hair,” she said with a grin as the contraction ended and both of your boyfriends couldn’t resist taking a peek.

For all his bravado at preparing himself, Lando blanched a bit and they both shot back up.

“When the next contraction starts, I want you to give me a really big push, okay?”

You were exhausted, and you were sweating. God, you hated how it clung to your skin and warmed with your body heat. You just wanted to sleep.

“You’re doing great, Spitfire. It’s nearly over. Just a little more, baby.”

Charles washed your face and neck with cool water, and you realised you had spoken aloud.

There was no warning or build up as your muscles contracted and you folded over yourself, crunching up as you screwed your eyes closed and pushed. It felt futile. All the effort of the last couple of hours had nothing to show and you didn’t think you were anywhere near being finished. The painful stretch between your legs had you ready to tap out and ask for something stronger but then the pressure flooded from you and the breath you held whooshed out with it.

“Here she is,” Doctor Turner exclaimed as she lifted the tiny form out of the water and carefully laid her on your chest before draping the warm towel over the both of you. She gently rubbed your daughter and by the third pat a warbling cry filled the air.

It was only then that you could breathe. Suddenly you were present once again in your body and you could hear the soft cries echoed by Lando and Charles’ happy sniffles.

“She’s beautiful,” you whispered through your hoarse throat.

As if she recognised your voice, her little eyes peeked open and her cries settled. Flecks of gold broke through a myriad of green shades reminding you of when summer ended and the trees began to change colour and fall.

“Did you have a name picked out?”

You shook your head, unable to tear your eyes away from hers until your vision blurred and you had to blink away the tears. “I think I know one.”

“Yeah?” Lando asked as he carefully caressed her cheek like she was the most precious thing in the world. “What is it?”

“Autumn.” You looked up to see them both smiling at the name, your heart doing a little jump. “Autumn Norris-Leclerc.”

“It’s perfect, mon amour,” Charles agreed with a nod as he kissed your temple. “Princesse Autumn.”

“Ha!” Lando suddenly exclaimed, drawing everyone’s attention to him and his proud grin - but it was aimed at Charles. “Told you my pullout game was better than yours.”

Click here for the next part.

[mimasroom2]

My tennis star! (∩˃o˂∩)♡

Secretly dating jock!ellie

C/w: smut but for like 2 seconds. Mention of weed lol. Uhh that’s it this is pretty laid back. This is my first time using those fake texting things I think I like it? Idk

W/c: ≈ 800

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

- She plays tennis bc I said so 🎾

- She’d win a match and she’d post on her instagram story something REAL cheesy like “only reason why we won is because someone special was in the crowd💖” and everyone thinks she’s talking ab a guy but it’s really you >•<

- She’d pull you aside into an empty hallway and lean over you with her arm up (yknow. The classic masc move.) and whisper “You comin’ to the game tonight, baby?”

- It’s so fucking cheesy but you swear she makes your knees weak every time she talks with her sexy ass voice.

- “Too bad I can’t have a massive ass sign that says your name on it all big or something.” You grin widely and she laughs, leaning in to give you a soft kiss.

- You guys go on dates to the mall so she can buy new workout clothes & equipment. Every time you guys see someone you know in a store you split up and pretend to be looking at different things on other ends of the store. Eventually when they leave you two come back together and giggle.

- “Heya stranger.” She grins, showing you some knee high socks she found while she was pretending to look around.

- Only your two best friends know ab you and Ellie, so you’re always having to make up excuses as to why you’re going to the tennis games.

- “They needed help with grilling hot dogs and hamburgers for the game, and you know I always need more service hours!”

- “Man I’m sorry I can’t go to the movies tonight. I already told the tennis coach I’d do face painting for the little kids that come😕”

- You’re studying at your desk when the first message from Ellie absolutely jumpscares you. The girl really needs to learn about context 🙄

- Absolutely all the girls in the crowd and on the opposing team would swoon over her. She lovesssss the attention and always waves at the crowd and blows kisses to them. Sometimes she winks at the girls on the other team to purposefully distract them as they’re serving. You don’t feel jealous though because you know as soon as the game’s over you’re going back to her place to celebrate ;)

- You feel so fucking lucky you’re dating a jock as her toned muscular arm is pumping in and out of you.

- “Fuck,, guess all that racket swinging comes in handy when I’m fucking you, hm?” She smirks, and she was actually right. She could practically finger you forever and never get tired.

- She’s a perfectionist with her playing and in bed. She’d have to make you cum at least twice before she’s satisfied.

- The next morning Ellie has to leave early for practice so she lets you stay in her room to sleep in. She texts you a WHOLE BUNCH, effectively spamming your phone and waking you up:

- She comes up to you one day out of the blue and says “Hey y/n, I’m like so serious can you hide all my stoner shit until this season is over…?” You knew she smoked but she told you she only does it when she’s off in tennis, so you’re surprised when she hands you a shoebox full of all her stuff.

- “Yeah ‘m fine. Coach has been gettin’ on to me. Jus’ more stressed out is all.” Is all she has to say when you ask about it. She runs her hands through her hair, thinking you’re frustrated with her. You’re just glad she trusts you enough to make her keep her promises to herself.

- She’d ask you what your favorite color is and get a special racket in that color for whenever you see her play. She’d say it’s her lucky racket :,)

- You were never super into sports but you loveeeee spending time with Ellie, so she decides to give you some one on one lessons.

- “Yeah, thas’ it, baby.” She’d mutter in your ear from behind you. She’s holding the racket with you and helping you swing your arms the right way.

- You guys didn’t expect to see anyone on the tennis court this early, so when other people come and Ellie recognizes them, she quickly guides you guys behind a tree.

- Your stomach is filled with butterflies as she tucks your loose hair behind your ear and kisses you !!

- You feel like a little kid playing in the woods again because now you and Ellie are sneaking around the park/tennis court trying not to be seen by the other people

- She gets really cocky sometimes and posts soft launches of you on her insta stories

- It would be a picture of you in her lap WAHH! Her tattooed hand is on your thigh with the caption “keeping me occupied”

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

[januaryembrs]

THE KID SWINGS BACK | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [4]

Description: The THREE times things feel weird between Spencer and you because you're just best friends.

Length: 21k (this is HALF of what I wrote for this chapter before I split it into two parts :0)

Warnings: explicit hints of suicidal ideation, as I have said in the last two chapters, Bugsy has really struggled with losing Emily and has been in a bad place. it is mentioned once or twice but please read with caution if you feel topics of mental health, not vividly described but the effects of it, are mentioned. Spencer's addiction is also mentioned. Violence, blood, swearing, usual CM warnings. Also there is a brief mention of SA (bugsy gets spanked by a stranger in a casino), again if this is triggering please be cautious. EXPLOSION. Emily and bug argue + fight. Bug + hatch fight. Bugsy takes no prisoners in this one won't lie. Spencer and bugsy turn each other on accidentally.

authors note: this was supposed to be a lot longer (I've had to split it with the next part released in a few days time) and yet every time I tried to upload to Tumblr, it crashed because it was over 30k words ;-; OTHER HALF IS COMING SOON.

previous chpt | next chapter

‘If you take a swing, the kid swings back,

she say I’m not your punching bag,’

The one where Emily comes back.

She felt the headache as soon as she woke up. She’d experimented with Molly her first week of college, hated every second of it after she had prattled on for two hours to some other random freshman about the breakthrough research in enzyme-replacement therapy like she was catching him up on an episode of the Kardashians. She’d tried the odd few brownies, though they usually turned her stomach the next day and made her paranoid for about a week, before she swore them off entirely for their yummy, sober counterpart. 

She should have known what to expect when she woke up, but then again, if she had been smart enough to pre-empt how awful she’d feel the next day, she probably wouldn’t have taken the little pink pill with a candied love heart on the top at all. 

The duvet was soft against her face, and for a moment she didn’t care about anything except chasing the warmth it provided; just that she was cosy and it smelled nice, smelled familiar. 

Her eyes pinged open when she realised that whatever that familiar smell was, it was very much not her own sheets. And she was very much not in the clothes she left the house in last night. 

Bugsy sat up too fast, that much she knew, because in the time it had taken her to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, reach for the side table where she hoped to find her phone, a home phone, or just any working phone she could call someone off, she felt the room that smelled like a dream spinning around her. 

Her legs turned to jelly, her stomach tossed with a mix of nerves and nausea, and, graceful as ever, she fell face first to the ground with a thud, smacking her temple off the corner of the bedpost on her way down. 

“Fuck,” She whined, raising a hand to her brow that thudded with more than the side affects of last night, and she was quick to hear footsteps approaching as if in a half run. The door to the bedroom dragged on the thick sherpa carpet as it swung open, and she blinked wearily up at the culprit. 

“Alright, up we get,” There were hands slipping under hers before she got a chance to see anything that wasn’t a blurry mess of brown hair and worried eyes, and it wasn’t until she heard his voice she felt herself sigh in relief, “Of course you wake up the second I turn around,”

“Sencer?,” She cleared her throat, hands latching onto his shoulders as he lifted her back onto the bed, “Spencer?” She tried again, her lips chapped, her skin clammy. 

“Good morning, to you too,” His voice was soft, quieter than usual, like he knew just how delicate her head was and changed his tone accordingly, “Did you sleep well?”

“Morgan- where’s Morgan, I thought we…” She murmured, turning her head in confusion to the window where Spence had gone so far as to pull the curtains closed for her, seeing just the smallest crack of daylight filtering over the bed sheets. Her hands ran down his chest, her eyes lost and dazed, like someone had taken her batteries out, and Spencer took it as an opportunity to hand her the glass of water he’d got her and two advil. 

“Morgan’s safe; he went home, he said he had a wonderful night,” Spencer lied, hoping she was just a little out of it that she didn’t catch him in it. She always knew when he was lying. But, as he’d suspected, she barely picked up on it, her lips pouting in confusion when she took note of the medicine he’d given her, “Drink up, Morgan said you did a lot of dancing last night, you’re probably dehydrated.”

“I did…” She echoed him, trailing off when the blur of the nightclub caught up to her, and she remembered exactly the last time someone had handed her a little tablet like those ones. Her heart plummeted, her eyes widening into saucers, and she swore she might have felt the glass crack beneath her palm with how tight her grip became. She looked up at him, and instantly picked apart the pity and the sadness swimming in his honey pooled eyes, “You know,” 

He nodded softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair away from her face, his gaze falling to where she felt something sore and achy forming on her forehead, bleeding into her brow. 

“Spence-” Her own groan of pain cut her off when he brushed over the bump on her temple, and she understood she had perhaps hit it much harder than she’d initially thought.

“Let’s get you breakfast, and then we’ll talk,” He whispered softly, concern thick in his voice, and for the first time in months, she didn’t fight it. She just listened, and let him love her.

-

“God, I am truly pathetic,” She muttered, sipping her coffee with a scowl in between the maple ladened pancakes going down with a vicious chomp on her fork. Her other hand was occupied holding a bag of frozen peas to her head, where a nice dark bruise was spreading its way over the right side of her face, spider webbing out into a black eye. 

“You’re not pathetic, everyone makes mistakes,” Spencer tried reassuring her, but he couldn’t help but smile as she devoured breakfast with the anger of a raccoon being dragged from a garbage bin, “You’re safe, that’s all that matters,” 

She sighed, and Spencer didn’t actually think she had ever been so grumpy around him before, “Spencer, look at me,” He did, he had been all morning, but he did as he was told anyway, “I’m a federal agent who took molly from a frat boy all because I can’t just grieve like a normal person and cry my pathetic little heart out and be done with it. I crashed your night because I can’t even handle a little ecstasy without needing supervision and I just got into a fight with your bedframe,” She finished with a huff, dipping her next mouthful of pancake in the puddle of maple syrup she’d created on the plate, “And the fucking bedframe won.” 

He smiled despite himself, reaching out to hold her wrist gently, making sure it was her turn to listen to him now, “Bug, I grew up being shoved into lockers and swirlied my whole life. I was the only kid in a classful of seniors that used to wedgie me so hard I had to have the school librarian, Mrs Addler, walk me between classes. Believe me, I’ve seen pathetic and you’re not- why are you crying, Bug, don’t cry,”

He remembered this bit, the mood swings, when he would pendulum between exhaustion and irritation straight into sadness and hopelessness, like there would never be an impasse between them unless he did more of the thing that had made him feel so awful in the first place. Still, he gently took the bag of now slightly soggy peas from her head, wrapping an arm around her back and scooching his chair to sit next to hers as she dropped onto his shoulder with a weepy sniff. 

“I’m crying because I just thought of baby you all alone with Mrs Addler-” She sobbed loudly, and his heart bled out in his chest with warmth. No one had ever cried for him. “How could they be so cruel to you, I swear if we ever see those bastards, I’ll show them how we settled things in Russia-” 

He chuckled, shaking his head, and she snuggled closer to him the way she had last night when the only thing keeping her on earth had been his body heat. 

“It wasn’t all bad, she used to share her butterscotch with me,” He said with a small smile when she raised a wet glance at him. 

“You know, you never have to be alone again, right?” Bugsy murmured, and he swore his heart might have just jumped right up into his mouth then and there, “You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I promise I’ll never leave you again. That was… selfish of me, I’m sorry I was so selfish.” 

Spencer felt his throat tighten as he looked at her, innocent and entirely truthful, like he could ask anything from her right this second and her god’s honest words would be ‘Anything for you, Spencer, I’d do anything for you.’ He had never had anyone look at him like that, nothing even close. 

“You’re my best friend too. And you weren’t selfish, you were grieving,” He choked out, and she tucked herself beneath his chin then, satisfied with the response, but his stomach turned sour when he remembered what he was going to tell her last night, what he should have told her months, years, ago instead of lying to her. Because he knew she would understand, knew she would get him the way no one else had even tried to, because she was just her. “I have to tell you something,”

She sat up straight, sensing the seriousness in his tone, and looked at him with imploring eyes, still sleep-addled and slightly wet around the edges. 

He cleared his throat, “When I told you I was allergic to narcotics since I was born, that wasn’t entirely true, and I’m sorry I lied to you,” Her brows softened, creasing in a way that told him she was worried, or she knew where he was heading but couldn’t find a voice in her to say anything. He ran clammy palms over his pyjama pants, “There was a case, a while back, where we were tracking an UnSub to this farmhouse in the middle of Atlanta. Me and JJ got split up and the UnSub took me hostage in his father’s shed,” 

She stayed quiet, but she quickly took his hand in hers when she saw him fidgeting with it in his lap. He smiled at her weakly, and squeezed her fingers gently, telling her he was okay to talk about it no matter if his chest was rattling and his face felt like fire. 

“He was very sick, the UnSub. Tobias. He took on an alter of his dead father because he couldn't handle life without him. Even though his father was extremely violent and abusive, he still loved him enough to never want to let him go,” His lip pulled between his teeth for a moment, and he couldn’t look at her for what he was about to say, “Tobias tried giving me something to stop the pain of his father’s beatings when he would front and being a drug addict himself, the best thing he had was dilaudid. So, he gave it to me for the three days I was with him before the team found me,” 

“Spence,” She said softly, knowing he would hate to hear an ‘I’m sorry’ because she hated those two words with a passion, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” 

“No, I want to, it’s just a little… fuzzy in parts,” He whispered, and she nodded, gently knocking her head against his jaw to let him know she was there to listen, “After the case wrapped up, everyone got home and just sort of pretended things went back to normal, even though I felt like I was drowning in everything that had happened, and the only thing I could think that had stopped the pain was the dilaudid. So I took more, and more, until I was using every other day, sometimes even at work to cope with the cases,”

“Did anyone know?” She asked, lips pressed tight as she scolded herself for talking, but he stroked her hand with his thumb to show he didn’t care if she asked questions, “Did Emily know?” 

He nodded gingerly, “Everyone knew, but no one could do anything, or say anything, because otherwise Hotch would have to file a report on me, and I’d be forced to leave the team,” 

“So no one helped?” She said, and there was an unexpected trace of anger in her tone that he knew too well. He’d be lying if he said that there were more than a handful of times when he was at his lowest he didn’t curse the team out for not giving a single shit about his condition. But when he’d sobered up, when he’d got clean and back to his usual self, he knew they were trying to do what was best, that they were in uncharted waters as to what would be the correct approach to helping him that wouldn’t diffuse a bomb that could ruin all of their careers. 

“There was nothing they could do, Bug. If they said anything they would be just as liable as me for what I was doing, the same way Morgan and I aren’t going to say a word about what happened last night,” He pointed out, and she seemed bitter as if she knew he was right but hated the point of it anyway. 

She held onto herself for long enough hearing that, and he saw it coming before it came as a shock when she threw her arms around him, hugging him tighter than she ever had before, not crying like she had been, but full to the brim of sadness and grief and mourning, as if she was trying to squeeze it all out of him so she could take it on for herself. 

“You’re never going to be alone again, I swear, Spencer,” 

And he believed her with everything in him. 

–

Bugsy had been back in the field for five weeks now, looking healthier than ever thanks to Hotch’s insistence she joined Beth for triathlon practice despite the fact she really had started feeling more like herself. 

It had only taken six months, but who was counting, right? 

Sure, walking past Emily’s desk had stopped her in her tracks the first day she got back, and Morgan had quickly jumped in to distract her with a cup of coffee, leading her over to the kitchenette and far away from the empty table her sister’s things had once been on. 

She was still adjusting to this alternate reality version of the BAU where Emily wasn’t there to protect her and watch out for her, and where they didn’t bicker about who got to ride shotgun with Hotch because Bug loved when he would drive fast (he pretended not to notice but would floor it when they hit the freeway), or when they would butt heads over who finished off the biscuits Emily kept in her secret stash (it was almost always Bugsy sharing them with Spencer and Penelope, when the three of them would gossip in Pen’s lair at lunchtime.)

She was adjusting, slowly yes, but there was one thing to keep her going, to keep her holding her head high as she walked past Emily’s picture on the way, full of smiles and dark hair the day she’d been instated in the bureau, her excitement tangible even through a piece of paper and a thin sheet of glass. 

There was one thing keeping her going, and it wasn’t Penelope’s cheerful good mornings she showered her in the minute she entered the building, it wasn’t Beth’s runs that would take everything out of her even though she felt stronger than she ever had, it wasn’t Rossi’s insistence on cooking for her once or twice a week because ‘he had more wine he could ever need alone and she could stir the pasta while he chopped the meat’, and it wasn’t even Spencer sticking to her side like damn velcro since she had been back. Although, they played a pretty big part in it. 

No, the one thing keeping her going was revenge. 

Morgan had let it slip accidentally, the morning she had come back into the headquarters to fill in some forms with Hotch and Strauss before Hotch was reassigned to Pakistan, when she had slinked into his office with an apology ready at her lips for the way she had behaved, to which he was going to say he had no idea what she was talking about because that was how things had to be, only to find file upon file upon caseload on Ian Doyle splayed all over his desk, and she quickly realised Derek was not one to let sleeping dogs lie either. 

And, reluctantly, he had let her help, because he hated the idea of them keeping secrets from her. Especially ones that involved them secretly tracking down the guy who killed her sister, who had threatened to abduct, torture and kill her if Emily hadn’t gone after him first. 

Because Bugsy was always going to be her little sister, no matter how grown and headstrong and stubborn as an ass she was. And Emily had had zero intention of letting Bugsy come even close to danger at the hands of Ian Doyle or any other motherfucker dumb enough to think they’d get away unscathed making threats to her sister. Which was why Emily had been the one to track him down first, no matter who she had to trample on, what lines she had to cross.

And now it was Bug’s turn to reciprocate the favour. 

The one thing that bounced around her head with every step she took across the BAU floor was how Ian Doyle would look when she dragged him to hell and back and everything in between, when she made him burn the way she had burnt. 

Hotch had been away on temporary duty for the month, bar the occasional phone call where he checked in on her directly or through Spencer, and it wasn’t until she walked into Morgan in a blunt exchange with his own cell that she realised he was perhaps closer to coming home than she’d thought.

The man nodded, and bid the mystery caller goodbye before he flicked a look up to where Bugsy had entered his office with a cup of to-go coffee and an expression of intrigue. 

“We got him,” Morgan said, and it was the three words she had been waiting to hear for two hundred and fifteen days. 

They had found Doyle. 

She was in the back of an SUV not even two hours later, strapped to her neck with tactical gear and two loaded pistols holstered at her hips. 

“You’re sure you’re alright to do this?” JJ asked from her place beside her, noting the way the girl’s leg was bouncing, her fingers twitching as the three of them crowded around the screen linked to the surveillance camera set up outside Doyle’s apartment, Spencer and David watching an identical feed in the next block over, outside the safe house his son, Declan, was supposed to be in. 

Only, when they’d arrived, the little blonde haired, blue eyed boy that was the only thing Doyle gave a damn about in the world was gone, two agents and his nanny lying dead on the floor. 

“Put it this way, JJ, I’m going in after that son of a bitch whether you guys cover me or not, and it would be real nice to have back up,” Bugsy said simply, like she was reciting the weather, not ready to rain hellfire on anyone who got in between her and wringing Doyle’s neck. 

The blonde woman exchanged a look with Derek, the two of them cautious about her behaviour, but thought better than to try stop her when she had just as much right as any of them for justice. 

Before any of them could say another word, a car sped around the corner of the cul-de-sac, veering and wavering between parked cars, narrowly missing theirs by an inch, and red-blue blaring lights came racing after it within seconds, the siren full blast and no doubt waking the neighbours. 

Or at least one neighbour in particular, as they spotted the curtains twitching in Doyle’s apartment, and they had their first sign of life in hours. 

“He’s in there, someone’s in there,” Bugsy pointed to where the fabric moved in the dead of the night, unholstering one of her weapons and bursting the back door to the SUV open. 

JJ clicked her radio on, speaking into her shoulder as Morgan was a hair width behind Bugsy, equally armed and ready, “We got movement on Doyle, we’re heading up to search his apartment,” 

“Be careful, keep an eye on the kid,” Rossi ordered, he and Spencer adjusting their positions in their SUV, waiting for forensics to show up and investigate the nanny’s house. Spencer licked his lips nervously, and he could only imagine what was going through Bugsy’s mind at that moment, wishing more than ever she could have just stayed with him and let Morgan and JJ catch Doyle. 

But she would never. She had nearly ripped Rossi’s head off for suggesting it even. 

–

She’d seen him move up to the roof, had taken the stairs in twos, and she felt like kissing Aaron the second she saw him for all that cardio paying off a treat. She heard Morgan panting behind her, urging her to wait up so she wasn’t going in alone, but she didn’t listen, not when she was this close to getting that rat in her grasp and squeezing the life out of him barehanded. 

She kicked down the door leading to the roof from the stairwell, her pistol drawn high and sharp and Morgan’s steps racing up behind her were the only sound for a moment. 

He was here somewhere, watching them, god only hoped they had caught him unaware before he could call in his own backup. 

Taking a careful step out onto the concrete, willing herself to take a deep breath and calm herself; she checked her nine o’clock, checked her three, before her boots crunched under her and she moved further out onto the roofing. Flicking a look around again, her eyes squinted against the moonlight that did little to no good, searching for even the smallest movements that would give him away. 

“I heard you wanted to see me, Doyle,” She said loudly, hoping he would fit the profile they’d put together and want to tie up his loose ends once he realised who she was, “Truth is, I’ve been wanting to see you too,”

She had barely a second to react as she felt something hard slam across the back of her head, and she realised he had hit her with a rogue, loose pipe, hard enough for her to stumble forward, dropping her pistol when his body soon followed to tackle her completely to the ground in the effort to grab for the gun himself. 

But she felt like body was alive with excitement, like the pain in her skull didn’t ache, didn’t matter, because she had him in her reach. 

It took her barely a second to bring her elbow into his stomach, winding him hard enough he weakened his grip on top of her, then another hit square across his jaw, another to his temple, one to his already crooked nose and she threw a downward thump into his groin for good measure. 

He hissed, cursing her something vile, and it was only then she saw the grey-blue eyes of the man who had killed her sister with no remorse, who had taken the person she loved unconditionally within a blink of an eye. 

“You recognise me?” She said, a manic smile on her face as she raised the other gun from its holster, kicking him hard in the knee she’d seen him limping on, a bullet wound shaped scar giving his weakness away in seconds.

She wasn’t the only enemy he’d made in that business of his, but she sure as hell would be his last one.  

He fell to the floor, his eyes wary as he looked up at the girl he had spent weeks collating photos of, the girl he’d had two of his best men tracking, snapping pictures of her going about her day to day life before he sent them to Emily. Because she would know what that meant no words needed. 

This was her sister. Her little sister she had fought tooth and nail for, that she had given her life for. Her sister, who had the same rock solid loyalty to her family as Lauren had. 

“Do you want to know where you went wrong, Doyle?” She asked, and her voice wasn’t calm like her body was, it was hiding the glee she was taking from his alarmed expression, like they both knew she was the last person he would have expected to be grabbing him in the night, “Your mistake, Doyle, was not killing me first,” 

She raised her finger to the trigger, feeling for a second the same thrill as when she popped that molly just to forget everything that was happening. Because she had tunnel vision, and pulling the plug on Ian Doyle’s pathetic existence was the solution. 

Until Morgan’s hand came over hers, and his voice was closer than she’d expected to her ear. She’d barely heard him creep up on her, she realised with a jolt. 

“Don’t do this, kid,” 

“He deserves it,” She spat, hating the sorrow in his voice when he pointed the gun away from Doyle who wiped his fingers beneath his nostrils and pulled back with a wince and a blob of blood over the back of his hand. 

“I know he does. But we need to find Declan, and we can’t do that without him,” Morgan’s voice was deep and bitter, knowing full well he had to be the one to take the reins as much as he would love to just let her have at him. 

Her nose scrunched in disgust when Doyle laughed at her annoyance, and she quickly holstered her weapon, pulling the cuffs out of her back pocket and helping Morgan yank him off the floor. 

“I got some friends that would love to meet you, honey,” Doyle said through a wheezing breath, despite Morgan’s rough hands shoving him forward towards the stairwell. 

She chuckled however, her face still bitter, her eyes something nasty and wild as she flanked his other side, “Don’t worry, I have some friends for you to play with too, Doyle.” She tightened her grip on his arm just to make it hurt, “I wonder how the Chernuses would feel about you and your men being so close to their turf. You ever fucked with the Russian Mob, Ian?”

His smile wiped clean off his face at that.

-

“How’s it going?” Hotch asked, and she barely had time to comment on the fact he looked rather dashing with a beard and a tan, or that he had lost ten pounds, before he was straight back to business, even after an eighteen hour flight. 

“He won’t talk. He said the only person who could have helped us find Gerace would have been Emily.” She replied, rubbing her hands over her eyes with a huff, “Just another dead end,” She threw the file onto the roundtable, which was slowly piling up with documents relating to anyone Ian Doyle had ever had relations with.

Hotch’s face tightened. He took a single moment to enjoy the calm that overcame the room, took a second to enjoy the fact she was looking normal and healthy compared to when he had all but barged into her apartment to force her on a run. 

Because he knew the normalcy they had found themselves in now was about to be flipped on its head, JJ confirming with a nod from the other side of the room that she was on her way. 

He turned to look where Morgan, Rossi and Reid had walked in, Reid stroking a gentle hand over Bugsy’s hair where she hunched over the table and flicked through some files for anything to keep her mind off of going into that interrogation room and ripping into Doyle. She flicked a small smile up at him as he passed her, leaning over her shoulder to take half her workload off her. 

She looked happier than she had in months, and he was about to take it all away again. Hotch swallowed the self loathing that threatened to choke him alive, and opened his mouth. 

“Everybody have a seat,” The team looked up at him in confusion, but followed orders, JJ moving around the table to stand beside him, the same reluctant look on her face when she saw Bugsy’s frown.

“Why?” Morgan asked, seeing as no one else was going to, “What’s going on? Everything alright?”

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Hotch began, his eyes immediately flicking to where the youngest Prentiss faltered, “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilise her,” 

Bugsy’s ears started ringing just hearing her sister’s name coming from his lips, said so casually and blunt that it felt like he had punched her in the stomach and she thought she was maybe over estimating how well she had overcome the grief. 

And that hadn’t even been the worst part, she quickly realised. The doctors were able to stabilise her. 

“And she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need to know. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security,” Hotch said, avoiding the piercing eyes that were slowly melting between confusion to heartache to one she finally could land on, horror. 

No one breathed for a moment, no one said a thing as the words sunk in, and she felt her entire body wash over with a gut wrenching numbness as it dawned on her what he was saying. 

Emily never died on that table like JJ had said. She had never died at all. 

“What?” Her voice was tiny and childlike when it came out, and she felt like she was stuck in the world’s worst nightmare, like she could claw and scratch and rip at her skin just to wake herself up from this terrifying dream where Hotch had lied and Emily had left her and everyone who was supposed to care about her had kept her in the dark. 

“She’s alive?” Garcia asked, tears in her own green lined eyes, looking at Hotch with utter shock. 

“But we buried her,” Spencer found it in himself to murmur, because none of this made sense and if any of what Hotch was saying was true, then he knew things were about to become really ugly. 

“As I said I take full responsibility for the decision; if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me,” And it was only then he looked at Bugsy fully, properly, since he had opened his mouth. 

He could have swore he had never seen such complete and utter betrayal written across someone’s face, let alone directed towards him. Because he knew that’s what it was. He knew he had taken every scrap and shred of trust she had placed in him since that day she ran away from her own wedding and found herself stuck in that very same office, hugging him tightly with her sodden veil and even more soaked white dress, he had taken everything vulnerable she had ever given him and spat it right back at her. 

He felt like crying but before he could think too hard about it, he saw Emily walking down the hall and her own face was just as, if not more, devastated than his own and he knew he had to be the one to stay strong. 

Garcia’s head snapped to the doorway, the sight of it leading Spencer and Rossi to do the same, and Morgan’s face morphed into anguish when he took a look for himself. 

Because there, looking like a glowing beacon of everything they’d been missing in seven months, was Emily Prentiss, alive and well. 

She seemed lost for words, her eyes falling to her sister who seemed to force herself to look up at her from where she was staring in wide eyed terror at the table, as if she was struggling to comprehend any of this, or like the building was falling down around her and she was in complete fight, flight or freeze. 

But she did, she looked up at her after a second, her face unrecognisable to Emily for a moment, and it took all of three moments where she seemed relieved to see her, before it curled into a vitriolic anger Emily had never, never seen from her. 

She looked like she was ready to kill her with her bare hands herself. 

Penelope was first out of her seat, practically flying across the room to grab her close friend in a hug, a complete bubble of sobs and wails, her pigtails shaking with her rattling chest as Emily hugged her tight to her. 

“Oh, my god, it’s real-you’re real- like I can actually touch you and you’re safe and not in that god awful box-” Penelope was a catalyst for the rest of the team standing up to take their turn crying on the woman’s shoulder. 

That is, the rest of the team except Bugsy. 

She remained in her seat, her gaze falling back to the mess of files that all of a sudden felt a complete waste of time, felt irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Who cared who was Doyle’s financial advisor between the years of 2005 and 2007 when Emily was alive and they had known the whole time. 

And the more she thought, the more furious she got. And then the more furious she got, the stiller she became; an atomic bomb ready to detonate at the slightest prod. 

“I am so sorry, I really am,” Emily said as Spencer had wrapped his giant arms around her tentatively, smelling her perfume and feeling his heart ache with how warm and alive and healthy her body felt. “Not a day went by that I didn’t-”

But a sound cut her off, one none of them were expecting in the slightest. 

Bugsy was laughing. 

Not the sweet chirp she normally gave, or the hearty one that came from her gut that they hadn’t heard in months, but something manic. Something frenzied, beserk. Deranged. 

Hotch’s head snapped to her, Emily’s too, though she had already taken note of the fact her sister hadn’t so much as moved from her feet, and stupidly she had hoped it was the shock sinking in. 

But her eyes were cruel, her teeth more of a snarl than a smile and the laugh she gave was that of a person over the edge. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back, she believed it was called. 

“She never made it off the table,” Bugsy imitated woefully, her eyes snapping to JJ, who felt smaller than she ever had under the hatred in them, though the girl’s nasty smile hadn’t let up, “You are good, Jennifer. You really got me there, hey maybe if the agent thing doesn’t work out then acting is alway an option for you,”

“Bug-” Hotch started, only for her to stand up so harshly her chair nearly tipped back, but she didn’t seem to care as she rounded the table towards him in a bitter chuckle. 

“And you! I didn’t know you had it in you. But very good, Hotch, very well played out. For a second I thought you actually gave a fuck about me,” She fist bumped his shoulder, a little harsher than something innocent behind it, before something spiteful settled in her tone, “But then again, you are nothing if not professional, aren’t you? I guess a suicide on your team would look terrible on your report card,”

“I think you need to calm down and let’s talk about this for a second,” Hotch tried to jump in, his brows furrowed enough to make him look annoyed but anyone with two eyes could see the worry that brewed there, that chased her as she retreated to where her jacket was slung over the back of her seat. She laughed again viciously, shaking her head. Grabbing her coat, she headed for the door where Emily stood helplessly, not knowing what to say for the best, and she thought for a minute her little sister was going to address her. 

But she didn’t; didn’t even look her way as she approached, and it wasn’t until Hotch rounded the room after her with a fixed gaze she showed any sign of stopping. Not until he reached for her arm with a tight grip, a call of her name, did she even halt in her step. 

“Stop, let’s just talk,”

“Let go of me,” Bugsy snapped, and it was the first time she actually gave way to the anger she felt, the amusement coming from a place of distraught long gone. She sounded pissed.

“Listen to me, we had no choice here,” Hotch barked, because it was the only way he could communicate when he felt this lost. And that’s what he was; he was losing her. They all were. “And I would have thought you’d be able to stop being so spoiled for one god damn second to see we were protecting-”

Her palm whirled around faster than he could have ever anticipated, slapping clean and sharp against his cheek, hard enough the air was sucked out of the room and his words died in his throat. 

Penelope gasped. Spencer’s eyes widened. Emily took a heavy gulp. 

“Bugsy!” Emily said in horror, and it was then her little sister’s eyes actually set on hers, every bit as cruel and hateful she’d expected.

“I want nothing to do with you, do you hear me? I don’t want to talk to you, or see you, don’t even speak that name, I don’t want it from you anymore,” Bugsy pointed at her with crooked, bitten nails Emily knew all too well, “You left me. You left me.”

With those three choked words, the other’s could only watch hurricane Bugsy whirl and burn and crash her way out of the room.

–

She sat on the steps to the federal building, perfectly dressed agents filtering around her with the occasional tut in disgust. 

She couldn’t really blame them; her face was wet with tears, she was pretty sure there was snot running out of her nose hastily, and between her free hand, the other of which was pulling at her hair, was a cigarette that swirled its grey smoke around her head with a horribly addictive smell. 

She heard footsteps approaching her from the back, different from the rest, and felt someone stop beside her, sliding to their ass on the step.

“Spencer, if you’re going to tell me this is taking seven minutes off my life then please can it wait for another day-” Bugsy started with a tearful cadence, only to be cut off by a woman’s voice. 

“I was actually going to ask if you had a lighter,” Erin Strauss said, pulling her own menthol cigarette between her lips, and Bugsy dug around her pocket for the cheap ‘I <3 Virginia’ lighter she had snagged on New Years, clicking the flame out long enough for her boss’s boss to light the tip, “I heard you gave Aaron a shock,”

Bugsy stayed silent, taking a drag that burnt her lips and tasted awful, but it was the only thing she could turn to that would calm her even in the slightest, even if it was just the chemicals.

“Bit of an understatement,” She mused, exhaling softly with a frown, “Did you know?” 

“Are you going to slap me too if I said yes?” Erin asked, and Bugsy gave a small, wet chuckle, shaking her head, “Would it matter if I did?”

 “No, I guess not,” She replied, breathing in through her nose, “I want to feel sorry, but all I feel is just … empty. Why did JJ and Hotch know what happened to her but she didn’t think to tell her own sister?”

“Probably because you’re the one she loves the most,” Strauss picked over the hem of her navy blue midi dress that had been pressed neatly just that morning, and now here she was sitting on the steps to her building helping a girl in crisis chainsmoke, “It was how she ended up there in the first place, right? Because she wanted to protect you,” 

 “She left me torturing myself for months that her death was all my fault; believe me protection was not what I needed,” Bugsy said harshly, her final drag reaching the brown stub, and she scowled as she doubted it on the concrete floor below her, tucking her knees up to her face and resting her head on them. 

Erin sighed, patting her on the back gently, not wanting to cross any lines for such a fragile girl, but not wanting to leave her entirely alone either. 

“Our most basic instinct is not for survival but for family.” Strauss quoted, taking one more breath of her own cigarette before she squished it under her heel quickly. “Paul Pearsall,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bug asked quietly, tilting her head onto her cheek to look over at the woman.

“It means you can hate her as much as you can right now, but sooner or later, you’re going to need her, or she’s going to need you, and you’ll wish you never pushed each other away,” 

2. The one where you pretend to be a couple.

Her hair was shorter, Bugsy noted, where she saw the back of her sister’s head from her desk. It looked nice, not that she would tell her that. 

She wouldn’t tell her anything. 

It had been eight weeks, three of which Bugsy had spent taking a leave of absence and been forced to see the designated federal councillor for her behaviour towards Hotch. She had gone to the handful of sessions to keep him off her back, but had stayed quiet for most of them, except the one where she got the psychologist to tell her the dirt on her recent, messy break up so they’d have something to talk about at least.

She had only really been speaking to Spencer the weeks since she had returned to work, had handed the slip of paper that declared her fit to work to Hotch with a smug look on her face, daring him to extend her sick leave as punishment for the tantrum she’d thrown. 

She knew it was dragging, knew most of the team were at least trying to adjust to the shellshock of Emily being back from the dead, but then again, the rest of the team hadn’t been writing their own eulogy so the burden wouldn’t fall onto someone else if they ever found her unresponsive. 

In the time Emily had supposedly been dead, her mind had wandered someone cold and dark and alone. Worse than any of them had ever thought it had been, worse than they gave her credit for. 

Only for it to be fake. As though she was the star of her own Truman show, with a laugh track playing on loop in the back; her own friends, people she’d considered family, watching her kicking and screaming and fighting through every breath for some sort of relief from the pain, a pawn in their little sitcom of horrors. 

Morgan had forgiven her sister with little resistance. She’d always known that, to Morgan, trust was higher than anything in his books. Yet with some soft words and tears shed, Derek had cracked and accepted Emily back warmly like nothing had happened. Rossi and Penelope had just been happy to see her, happy to have her back and very much not dead, so convincing them she was innocent had been no big feat. The only other person who had put up nearly as much fight as her had been Spencer. He had told her about the spat he and JJ had gotten into for being an accomplice to their pain, but even he was beginning to warm back up to her sister, not that she could really blame him. 

Emily was putting in overtime trying to get back into her good books, while she couldn’t even stand to look at her without remembering how hard she’d cried when she realised Nico and Sergio would be in her apartment alone and confused if she had been sad enough to do something rash. 

“Good Morning,” Emily’s voice was nails in a chalkboard, two arms winding over her shoulder to plonk two take out coffees in front of her and Spencer, one with his name written in black ink on the lid and the other with a dozen hearts dotted over the cup, a little doodle of a lady bug and a bumble bee cuddling. What she supposed was meant to be the two of them. 

Spencer watched Bugsy fight the urge to roll her eyes, surprisingly somewhat progress for her since the first two weeks of Emily even being near her resulted in the two of them screaming at one another until they were separated. Emily was growing tired of being punished for trying to keep her sister safe, Bugsy was full of hatred for every lie they had told her. 

But he saw the way she immediately knocked the coffee into the trash without a second thought, ignoring the fact she would need to take out a very heavy and wet bin liner later, if only to drive the point home to her older sister. I don’t want your charity. 

Emily faltered for a second, her eyes snapping to him as if he could do or say anything to help her out, but he could only give her one of his awkward, straight smiles, because he had absolutely no intention of pushing Bugsy to heal any faster than she was doing like everyone else was, nor did he want Emily to feel like he didn’t care she was hurting too.

Emily gave a resigned nod, daring to pat her sister on the shoulder. “Better in the trash than thrown over my face, right?”

She moved away from the woman’s desk, shooting a disheartened look at Reid as she passed him and he murmured ‘thankyou’ for his own coffee, until the sound of JJ calling them into the round table room cut off whatever she was going to say back. 

Spencer thoughtlessly handed Bugsy his own latte, smothered with caramel and cream the way he liked it, and she took an appreciative sip without a word. 

He hadn’t brought up that night, hadn’t spoken about the way she’d pressed her lips to his for a split second the night Morgan had dragged her over to his apartment to sober up. And because she hadn’t brought it up either, he assumed she didn’t want to talk about it anymore than she wanted to talk about what had got her there in the first place. 

He had helped her brush her own teeth more than once in the early days of her grief, hell he had even had her lips against his, so when she handed him the coffee cup back, he didn’t think much of it when he continued drinking the hot caffeinated goodness. 

Bugsy was wired differently in his brain, everything about her was different than how he felt about everyone else. So if she didn’t want to talk about kissing him, if she wanted to forget it ever happened, then he would swallow his feelings and accept she didn’t ever want to do it again. If she wanted to keep the bond they had carefully crafted through days and months and weeks of being each other’s solace, then he wouldn’t fight it. Because he didn’t want to ruin it either. 

He just nudged her gently with his shoulder as they meandered up the stairs to the round table room, looking at her with the puppy dog eyes that usually followed her around when she was in one of her silent moods. 

“You okay?” He asked carefully, noting the way she tugged her files to her chest, smiling up at him nevertheless. Because she could never be mad at him, it was Spencer. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” She said, lowering her voice as Morgan trailed behind the two of them his own mug of fresh brewed coffee sloshing in his hand, “Pretend like you don’t forgive her for my sake. I want you to be friends again if that’s what you want,”

She’d noticed his sheepish glances when he met Emily’s gaze, unmoving from her side like he wanted to make it clear he was there for her above everything else. But she saw how he would smile and joke with her sister when he thought she was in the bathroom, or when they would return from a crime scene, working together again like a well oiled machine. 

They were still friends, even if she felt sick every time she saw her sister’s noir black bangs flick her way, even if her heart was aching and her chest heavier than she would have ever let on. 

“But you’re upset with her?” Spencer muttered back, with a frown on his face, “I’m upset you got so hurt by the whole thing. I’m essentially hurt by proxy,” 

She snickered, leaning into his side for a moment, pulling away when they reached Rossi’s office and began walking past the long window she saw everyone settling down behind, “I appreciate that, Spence, I do. But you were her friend first, and she’s my sister. It’s different for you guys. And it’s not like we’re dating, because then I’d be allowed to be upset if you were still friends with her,” She explained lightly, though she felt her chest pick up at the very fact she had let that silly little dating word slip past her lips. 

She had no idea where they were. He was the only thing keeping her together some days, the only one who understood her for all her silly, complex feelings and didn’t make her feel dumb or crazy for feeling the world so deeply. He was special to her in a way no guy had ever even come close. 

She just wished she hadn’t made such an idiot of herself that night with Morgan; wished she remembered anything of what was said or done, because things had felt electrified since then and she had no idea why. All she knew was she was falling harder for him every time he stood so close, or offered her his drink, or every time they had a movie night at his and fell asleep on his couch pressed together like they were meant to be that way forever. 

He sighed, still stuck on the situation, and shot her a frown, “I’ll never understand the rules,” Though he hoped she didn’t see how his cheeks tinged pink at the fact she’d brought up whatever it was between them too. 

Because he wasn’t entirely talking about her and Emily. Sometimes, he really didn’t understand the rules of telling your best friend you were in love with her. 

-

The press was calling him “The Circle of Eight killer,” no matter how much media liaison JJ had tried to do to stop them from giving him notoriety and possibly boosting an already inflated ego. But the team had already managed to profile that the killings were some sort of ritual the UnSub was using to turn his luck on a gambling addiction, or whatever suspicion he had mentally linked from the victims needing to die and being dealt a royal flush. 

“Eighty eight dollars, the UnSub’s getting generous,” She said grimly, her gloved fingers counting the wad of cash tossed over the victim’s body. Where they had usually found eight, single dollar bills and an eight card of any suit, his signature seemed to have changed on the most recent body and he had dumped a much larger sum of money, “There’s more remorse with this kill too; shot from behind so he didn’t have to see the victim when he did it,”

Bugsy slipped the cash into a clear baggie to send to forensics to see if they could pull prints, but then again bills usually gave a million possible UnSubs with how many people touched them. “There’s less rage here, an undoing,” Emily chimed in, her own gloved fingers checking the victim’s pockets for anything off. 

When they were in the field, Bug could hold her eye rolls and sharp tongue and resting bitch face for the sake of helping the victim’s families find closure. Because, despite how much she seethed in private about how Hotch, JJ and her own sister had conspired without her, she knew she could choke it down if it meant she could help someone, if it meant no one else had to grieve as deeply and gut wrenching as she had when Emily ‘died’. 

“There’s no sign of robbery either, wallet is still intact except his ID,” Spencer added, standing back from the body while Bugsy handed the evidence off to CSI and the chief on the case headed their way. 

“Is it even the same guy?” Agent Goslin asked, looking between Hotch and Emily for an explanation, Hotch shaking his head with a stoney look on his already tired face. 

“The ritual’s too similar to discount,” He said, Bugsy frowning and tugging her lip between her teeth in thought. 

“The change in MO makes sense if the UnSub is still refining his system, maybe killing the cashier at the gas station didn’t work so he’s back to the drawing board.” Emily speculated, her little sister nodding along with her in the first sign of agreement she’d seen all day. 

“Two eights instead of one could also be significant; I know in China the number eight symbolises prosperity, the more eights the better. As a matter of fact, in Chengdu, a telephone number consisting of all eights recently sold for over a quarter of a million dollars,” Spencer said, and Bugsy flashed a look up at him, her eyes thoughtful. 

“In ancient Egypt, the number seven represented completion in this life while the number eight represented success through ambition and determination in your reincarnated life,” She replied, peeling the gloves down her hands as they clung to her skin with tight clamminess, “And the eight pointed star is associated with the Babylonian goddess, Ishtar, or the light bringer,”

He nodded with her and he hated to admit that he loved that she managed to fill in the gaps in his own knowledge, like they were two puzzle pieces finding a way to fit together; like they were two halves cleaved from the same brain that hadn’t stopped growing in the entirety of her twenty seven years. 

That, and he’d always found her brain one of the most attractive things about her. One of the long list he could think of. 

“Why would he be doubling up on his luck out here, away from all the casinos?” Emily asked, because she was trying not to stand in awe of her sister’s fat brain that rivalled even their pretty boy. 

“There’s been another killing,” Agent Goslin stated, hanging up the phone with a tense frown on her face, “A guest in his room at the Sapphire Lady,” 

“Same ritual?” Hotch asked without a pause, because they were on body number five now and they were barely closer to understanding him than they were a few hours ago.

“No. His neck was broken. And he was robbed of $50,000.” Goslin replied, shaking her head, “Strange thing is? The killer left another $20,000 behind with the body,” 

“Money isn’t his motive here,” Bugsy input, crossing her arms while Hotch got on the phone to Garcia, “Atleast, not that guy’s money,”

“Garcia, is there a casino in the neighbourhood of Penrose and Morningside Avenue?” He asked, clicking the perky woman onto speakerphone. 

They heard a quick clatter of typing, “Uhhh, No casinos per se, but there’s a private gambling establishment right around the corner.” She replied helpfully, with another bout of her long, delicately painted nails against her keyboard. 

“Is it legal?”

“Yeah, but it’s ultra exclusive. They have a monthly high-stakes poker tournament,” She paused for a second, “Today being the day for the month, coincidentally enough,”

“Or no coincidence at all,” Emily said, as they began putting together exactly where this chain of events had come from.

“What’s the buy in?” Bugsy asked, though she already guessed the answer. 

“Yikies, $50,000,” And with that Bug and Reid exchanged a knowing look, her suspicion confirmed, “But, it’s a million dollar guarantee if you win,”

“What time does it start?” Hotch asked, Bugsy already rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingertip, willing herself not to be right about what they were going to do. 

“Later this evening,” Pen replied and Hotch thanked her, hanging up the phone. A second of silence spread around the crime scene. 

“So, if anyone’s got fifty k lying around, now would be a great time to share with the group,” Busgy humoured herself with a straight face, realising the paperwork that would almost definitely be declined if Strauss had anything to say about it the would enable them to borrow fifty thousand from the government. 

Because if they missed their chance tonight, she had no clue when they would get another. 

–

“Any luck?” JJ asked, Emily sat to her right, Rossi across from her. Spencer and Bugsy sat on the end of the table, the girl breaking a KitKat in half to share with him, which he accepted happily. 

“No, they don’t want to allocate emergency funds for the buy-in, I’m still working on it,” Hotch said shortly, his phone blowing up with messages, no doubt needing a lot more details if they were really going to get the money they needed. 

“Well, I can’t imagine why not, we’re only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money, so that FBI agents can play Texas Hold ‘em,” Rossi drawled, shaking his head with a cynical humour that was all they had to hold onto while they waited in limbo. 

“Hey, what about you?” Emily asked, something mischievous in her eyes as she watched David freeze in his seat, so like the old Emily that Bugsy felt her stomach turn.

“What about me what?” David said with a frown, pausing in his writing for a moment. 

“You could stake us the buy-in,” She suggested, and the other three members of the team turned their attention back to Rossi’s palling face. 

“You’re a best selling author,” Spencer chimed in, devouring the last of the chocolatey biscuit snack as she pulled another out of her bag. 

“No,” Rossi replied, slightly wide eyed at the suggestion of it, to which Emily jumped in. 

“Why not?” 

“One, it’s against regulations and I’d like to hold onto this job for a little while longer.” David said, his arms out in a defensive stance towards the four people who suddenly felt like his kids asking for the newest IPhone on the market for Christmas. 

“It’s a minor administrative violation,” Bugsy pointed out between bites, offering the second half again to her best friend who took it without delay. 

She could have given the whole thing to him to start with, and had the first one for herself, it would have ended the same, but she liked sharing with him. She liked being the one to split things with him when he cringed in horror at other people touching his food.

“And, two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork,”

“Poker chips are things!” Emily tried to reason, but it only ended with David scoffing in her cheeky, hopeful face. 

“Maybe just think of it as a new experience, I mean at your age how often does that happen?” Spencer said innocently, licking the chocolate from the tips of his fingers, noticing how Bugsy tensed up and Rossi slowly turned in his seat to face the BAU’s youngest members. 

“At my what?” He asked in an aghast tone, Bug grabbing onto Spencer’s forearm with a gentle squeeze. 

“Reel it in, reel it in,” She whispered, and he looked at her with a lost expression, willing her to explain to him where he had gone wrong, because he knew she would, “What he meant to say was this may be our only chance to get this guy,”

David chewed his words for a second, as if he was trying not to bite at the kids who looked between one another hopefully, and he wondered if this was what being a father felt like; handing his credit card over to two twenty something year olds and watching his bank deposit plummet in seconds. 

“All right. Fine.” He sighed heavily like he’d seen the fifty thousand burned there and then, “I’m a decent poker player, but I can’t promise that I can stay in the game long enough to…”

“You know what? I bet you’re a great poker player,” Emily started kindly, her gaze drifting over to the hazel hues that watched between them curiously, “But what if we sent in Reid?”

“I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin and Pahrump because of my card counting ability,” Spencer said, and Bugsy rolled her eyes. 

“They can’t ban you for maths, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” She said, nudging his side with her shoulder, “They hate to see an underdog win, it’s Rocky all over again,” 

“Tell me about it,” He murmured back, even though he had never watched any of the Rocky movies, he just liked humouring her. 

“Look I know I’m not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not black jack. It’s about bluffing; reading human nature, head games.” Rossi pointed at Reid, who badgered over Bugsy’s shoulder for the cookies she had packed in her rucksack, “The kid does not have a poker face.”

“Which is why we’re going to send him with someone who does,” JJ chimed in, and it was then that the youngest members of the team looked up from where they had cracked open the packet of chocolate chip delights, near identical looks of innocence painted on their faces, like they really were kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. 

Bugsy looked between JJ and Rossi, who had equal parts hopeful and worried looks on their faces, before she glanced over to Spencer to see if he had any explanation. He looked as lost as she did. 

“Huh?” She asked cluelessly, as Rossi buried his head in his hands. 

At this rate was going to have to remortgage his house for wedding number four, he thought sourly. 

–

“I swear to god if this dress rides up anymore, it will be me who’s charging fifty thousand per head,” Bugsy growled, her hands frantically tugging the dress down her legs more. She couldn’t deny it was a beautiful dress, bunched around certain areas that made the most of her body, but goodness was it shorter than she would have ever picked out for herself. She was the last person to be a prude when it came to showing off just how alluring she could look when she made an effort, but this was something else. 

It was a striking red, meant to match the ruby of her lipstick and the vermillion of the diamonds and hearts on the cards spread around the tables in the room, flushed in between little plastic chips worth thousands of dollars, handfuls of dice being tossed over the green velvet surfaces, deciding whether the players lost their cars or paid off their kids college fund. 

They queued up to be patted down, as if they were heading through airport security or into a packed nightclub. A handful of bouncers waved metal detectors over patron’s clothing, dipping hands into coat pockets, trousers, even some shoes were ordered off in the name of a fair game. She swore she had never seen so many sets of weighted dice confiscated off one man who swore blind as he was kicked out. 

“Only fifty? You could rinse them for a hundred at least,” Spencer replied, his arm entwined behind her back, if not to hold her up in the clunky heels one of the women on Goslin’s task force had loaned her along with the dress. She smirked at him, pressing herself closer to him when they both saw a dozen eyes shoot towards her as they entered the building, and he tightened his grip just the slightest with a calculating coolness. 

He wished his cheeks didn’t feel so hot feeling her body so close to his, wished she hadn’t made such an effort to look the part of the expensive call girl they knew the UnSub had a history with, not because he didn’t like it, but because she made everything a little more difficult when she looked like that. 

He was having a hard time trying to calm the way his manhood brushed against his pants whenever she showed some of that saccharine affection, even though he knew it wasn’t real. Or atleast, was an extreme version of the love she usually showed him. 

The bouncers called them up next, and he let her go first, because getting her through would be easy. He was the one with the panic alarm disguised as a shot of Halitosis in his pocket. 

Spencer would never admit that his eyes fell straight down to the curves of her butt that seemed to be spotlighted by that damn dress. 

Why did she have to look so irresistible? He supposed that was the point; he was the mysterious young gambler that was going to keep them in the game long enough to spot the UnSub, she was the attractive, woman of the night brought only to boost his ego and as his good luck charm. She certainly wasn’t the only one, she’d already seen a handful of other women, tall as models and so toned it looked as though they hit the gym every morning and didn’t leave until sundown, primped and primed for their player’s delight. 

They were ten times better looking than she was, but to Spencer, she was the only woman in the room who he was envisioning ripping that dress right off. 

She was making it very hard, no pun intended, for him to accept the idea of them as just friends. 

The bouncer patted her down, Bugsy flashing him a cheeky smile just a little too forced for it to be one of her real ones, when the woman patted around her waist and hips for any hidden pockets or stashed bills. 

“You wish this was you, huh, baby?” She teased him with a wicked look in her eyes, and he could only smirk back, hoping his blush didn’t give him away as quick as he reckoned it did. 

He felt his knees weaken, worrying he might just fall to the ground there and then and be forced to crawl towards her if he had any hope of getting into the casino alive, but even that sent a new wave of lewd thoughts through his head, and he was grateful when the other bouncer called him forward to inspection. 

The muscled guy waved a metal detector over his torso, moving down to his trouser legs where he wondered with cynical humour if the rod he now sported in his pants painfully would set off the alarm. It didn’t, and he begged his crotch to let up even the slightest if he had any hope of keeping his head on his shoulders during this game, but the detector sprung to life the minute it waved over the alarm in his pocket. 

He produced the medical looking device, one they’d already planned and checked for faults, showing the fake prescription clearly to the guard, “Halitosis,” 

The guy seemed to frown, took another look over the gangly guy who was with a woman way, way out of his league. A woman who waited for him after her own inspection, a very real diamond necklace that had been a sixteenth birthday present from Steph around her neck, courtesy of her dad’s bank account and ten years worth of emotional distance. Whether he took pity on Spencer because Bugsy looked like the kind of girl who could chew up a guy like him and spit him right back out, or he really didn’t care about his medical condition, he didn’t know, but he waved him through without another thought, and they both took a sigh of relief. 

“You want a drink?” He asked nonchalantly as possible, wrapping his arm around her waist again, and he tried to not let his flustered demeanour show when he found slits cut into the side of the fabric, and he felt the softness of her hips under his fingertips. 

“My treat, to get you started,” Bugsy replied, something unreadable in the teasing of her eyes, and she leaned up to his jaw to steal a quick kiss there like any other girl wanting to be paid the full sum of her night would have done. 

At least that’s what she told herself, pretending as if her brazen action hadn’t caused her heart rate to spike. 

She got him an iced tea, because she knew he wouldn’t want alcohol, and got herself a half shot Moscow Mule, sipping the lime rim appreciatively. 

“See anything yet?” She asked under her breath, one hand trailing over the back of his neck, playing with the curls that sat there with vixen sly eyes that scanned the room. 

He forced himself not to moan at the sensation, and he worried it was too obvious to the other patrons in the gambling room just how easily he melted beneath her fingertips. He felt like a dog drooling after a bone, like she was shaking a lead in his face and asking for walkies, and he was panting beneath her, tail wagging and dopey eyed. 

Not the look of suave, mysterious stranger they were initially going for when they were coming up with identities for their covers. But at least it sold the part of a man desperate to win the jackpot if it meant he could spend the night with the siren woman that clung to him with a giggly sip of her pink straw. 

“No one looking particularly suspicious,” He noted; everyone was almost too good at a poker face, though he supposed that it made sense seeing the value of the prize pool, “You are getting a lot of attention however,” 

And she was. In fact, he was quick to take her hand in his own free one when he saw a group of men dressed to the nines, solid gold rings along their knuckles, diamond encrusted Rolexs staring back at him from their wrists, their faces dead yet starved when they drank in every inch of her skin, their eyes falling to where her dress rode up high, as she had whined about the entire way there. 

She chuckled, and something about it sounded like her own, not the woman she’d had to become for the evening, and she kissed where his jaw clenched in annoyance, “Not from anyone that matters, boy wonder,” 

And he felt his heart rest for a moment, because as long as she was with him he knew he could shift that big brain of his into gear. He loved nothing more than the click he felt when he was with her, like their brains and bodies just seemed to bluetooth to one another and they weren’t Spencer and Bugsy they were just them. A since cell amoeba. 

He smiled at her, and she preened under his attention, so genuinely her that he felt the vignette that had clouded his vision shift into focus, and he knew he could find their UnSub if she was there with him. 

He sat at the nearest table to them that was about to deal in, and within twenty minutes he was racking up a nice, fat pile of poker chips next to his iced tea.

Bugsy knew he was a smart man, knew he was good at magic tricks, but if he had turned to her then and there and pulled a rabbit out her ear hole she wouldn’t have questioned him otherwise. Watching him play was something else. 

It was entirely sordid, the whole hour of his first game was spent trying to keep her focus on any patrons sat at their table and the rest that seemed to be twitching, whilst also trying not to look awed at just how amazing his brain was when he won damn near every time. 

But she did manage to rip her eyes off him when she could, not enough to seem suspicious, just enough to scan the area for someone who could be their UnSub, her eyes quickly jumping to the guy on the table across from them with a large magic 8-ball tattoo across his bicep, unsurprisingly already looking her head to toe as he waited for his hand to be dealt out. He winked at her, a smarmy, cocky grin on his face, almost too confident in his ability to be someone to turn to suspicions and rituals in order to win. 

A serious contender, but nothing that screamed their UnSub. 

She looked around a little more, ignoring the handful of men who tried to grab her attention, who thought they were somewhat validated or interesting for having her look at them for a split second. They were just part of the wallpaper compared to Spencer anyway. 

It wasn’t until she spotted a guy in a baseball cap a few paces away from them fiddling with yet another magic 8-ball, though this time a key chain, giving it a gentle touch every time he picked up his hand as if it really had the power to change the values once they’d been dealt. 

From the quick glance she got of his face, he seemed to be running on an hour’s sleep tops. His eyes were rimmed redder than her lipstick, and his hair was damp with sweat and grease against his temple. 

Unstable if there ever was a man for the word.

She quickly looked back to Spencer’s cards, her hands weaving over his shoulders to rub his muscles gently, the signal that she’d seen something important masked as an affectionate gesture. 

The House called the end of the round, Spencer being awarded a heaped pile of tens, hundreds even a small few thousands thrown in there, to which he collected onto his tray they had handed him at the door. 

Bugsy leaned down with a girlish squeal, giving him another big, cherry lipped kiss to his cheek, to which he felt himself blush under immediately. Quickly dodging to whisper into his ear, it looked to the other patrons as if she was simply promising him an even bigger reward later for his winnings in exchange, “Nine O’Clock at table two, guy in the green jacket has an eight ball keyring he ritually plays with before drawing,” 

Spencer nodded, standing from the table with his winnings, using Bugsy’s as an excuse to angle himself to where she was talking about. He pulled her to him effortlessly, his long arms wrapping over her bare back, his neck craning over her shoulder to serveill the table she had indicated, and she quickly hugged him back with that fake giggle of hers, her body pressing to his desperately like the other ladies of the night he had seen with men three times their age. 

He clocked who she was talking about almost immediately, running a hand down her spine and squeezing her waist gently to let her know he’d seen him. 

They moved in tandem, just like they always had. 

A hostess came over to them, all big smiles and a tight fitted black dress, a log book in her arms of where everyone was sitting in the next round to keep a fair game. Bugsy took a look at him, wiping away the smudged lipstick on his cheek with a loving swipe of her thumb, nodding at him for a small bout of reassurance. 

“I’m going to go get another drink, honey,” She said loud enough for the hostess to hear, as she flashed him a flirty smile, “Don’t forget to wait for your lucky charm,” 

He bristled, a smile twitching at his lips at that, “I wouldn’t dare,” 

Because her message was clear. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m updating the team. 

She swanned through the crowd as if she owned the place, but then again a packed scene had never been an issue for her. She felt through her concealed inseam of the tiny cardigan she draped over her shoulders, until she felt the long bullet shaped object stuffed into a tampon wrapper that Penelope had geniously planted there to look like a feminine product. 

Her own alarm, the one meant to let the team know they had sights on the guy and to be ready. It was Spencer’s that would give them the signal to enter. 

She was fiddling with the damn thing when she felt it, a sharp crack across her ass as she was walking towards the bar, heard the laughter in the second she froze up. 

Turning on her heel with a tight expression, the anger burnt hot in her eyes when she saw the guy with the tattoo who had been trying to get her attention not even a half hour ago, watched him sidling up to her with a conceited smile. 

“So, has that twiglet over there paid for you in advance or are you going home with the highest bidder?” He said, his head flicking to Spencer who now sat at table two, counting his chips out onto the table and paying himself in. 

She smiled at the assailant widely, and it would have been pretty had it not been for the crazy look in her eye that twitched when he made a move to step towards her more. 

“I’m spoken for in advance,” She said lightly, eyes trailing down his outfit like she was trying to commit it to memory, over his defining markers like the slit in his brow and his tattoos that looped over his hands, “But I’m sure I’ll be seeing you real soon, sweetheart,” 

And she flashed him a toothy smile again, yet something was wolfish about it this time, like she was ready to lunge for him there and then. 

The guy wasn’t their UnSub but he had made it to the very top of her hit list in a split second decision. 

She waltzed away, securing herself another Moscow Mule she had no intention of drinking, and headed back to where Spencer was being allotted his hand of cards.  Their round started, Bugsy keeping a close eye on the UnSub who sat directly to Spencer’s right, and she found a little solace in the fact he couldn't have brought in any weapons since they had all been patted down at the door. 

It didn’t shake the feeling of edge the guy with the tattoo had put her into when she watched their guy flick a look over Spencer’s shoulder to look her head to toe, glancing back at Spence who was already glaring at him. 

“Is she part of the winnings?” The other guy to his right chimed in, sliding a stack of hundred dollar chips into the centre, two of the players already bust as they watched the others play on for the house. 

She saw her partner tense in his spine when he heard the man’s drawling voice, and she knew he was struggling to keep a lid on the facade they were putting on for the evening. 

Snickering, she ran a gentle hand through his hair, down the nape of his neck with a sickeningly sweet simper, “Sorry, boys. Only person who’s taking me home tonight is the pretty boy,”

One of the guys who had already busted out scoffed, grumbling under his breath, “Lucky fucker,”

And Spencer knew it too. He felt almost rejuvenated just feeling her near, a damn near cocky smile on his face when he pushed his chips into the centre of the table, barely flicking a glance at his hand when he realised he had almost certainly secured a winning run. 

Maybe she was his lucky charm, he thought cynically. Maybe he couldn’t blame the guy to his right for carrying a silly little trinket around with him in the name of luck if he was no better. 

“I’m calling,” The guy on the far right declared, shuffling two piles of his chips into the middle with the total pooling. 

“I’ll raise,” The UnSub cut in, grabbing some of his black thousand dollar tokens and clinking them one by one next to his opponents, “Eight thousand,”

What a surprise, eight thousand, Bug mused, squeezing onto Spencer’s shoulder again as he was quick to match the bidding and then some with his own checks. 

“$8,000, that’s fifty six months’ wage for the average person in Bangladesh,” Spencer said, doubling the bet with a flick of those long fingers of his. It was heinous how much his brain managed to warm her insides, Bugsy thought, hoping she kept her poker face intact, “Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it?”

The two remaining players, UnSub included, looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and Bugsy fought off the urge to laugh in their face, because for a minute he was so Spencer like all she wanted to do was quip something back equally as smart. 

“Look, it’s eight thou’ to you, are you in or are you out?” The first man snapped, perhaps seethin with jealousy that the pretty woman wanted nothing to do with him or perhaps just pissed that the fresh faced teenager of a man was serving their asses up cold. 

“I am in,” He moved some more chips towards them, his eyes falling back to the guy they suspected was their UnSub with a challenge in his eyes, “And I raise,”

“Three raise,” The dealer declared, and the first guy huffed in defeat. 

“That’s too rich for my blood,” He growled, crossing his arms and flipping his dead cards over. 

“Sir, are you in?” The dealer asked the UnSub, and for a minute his eyes snapped to Bugsy’s where she was keeping a calm look on her face despite the fact her insides were stumbling with nerves. But she never doubted Spencer’s maths, she would stake her life on it in fact. 

“I’ll call,” The UnSub replied, flicking his cards over with another small token of a hundred, an okay run of cards but not an entire failure. 

Spencer met it with a couple hundreds of his own, revealing his four and his eight that met the five, six, and seven he already put down. A winning flush. “Straight.” 

Her smile was genuine, dazzling, when the pile of chips were pushed over to him, and she would have laughed with glee had the UnSub’s face not dropped into something devastated, borderline demented, when he saw his ritual had meant nothing. That he had lost despite killing his own friend and four more people as a sacrifice. 

He was unravelling fast, and it was then Bugsy knew they had only moments to confirm he was their guy obsessed with his suspicions and that damn lucky number eight. 

“I guess you won’t be needing this anymore, will you honey?” Bugsy reached over for the charm with a cheeky grin as the other patrons grumbled at their losses, only for the guy’s hand to come slamming down on top of hers with a brutal grip, hard enough she knew it was going to bruise by morning. 

“Don’t,” He hissed at her, and it seemed to click with confirmation in Spencer and Bugsy’s mind there was no doubt this was their guy.

Spencer stood up to defend the woman, only for both of them to be grabbed by security second’s later. 

“You’re going to let a man put his hands on a woman like that- would you relax I can walk,” Spencer snapped, watching the other security guard manhandle Bugsy just as roughly, pinning her arms behind her back, though she complied with a victorious grin, “Real tough there pal, grabbing on a woman half your size,” 

“Relax honey, I got a taser in my pocket if they really want to behave like bad boys,” The bouncers looked at her in alarm, and it was the distraction Spencer needed to reach into his jacket and trigger the signal. She gave the three of them a shit eating grin, and Spencer thought he might just love her even more, “Don’t shit your pants, I’m kidding. I charge extra for the rough stuff,”

Spencer was still laughing when Hotch and Emily barged past them after the UnSub, who was by now leaving out the back door. 

–

“Spencer, really, we can go back to the hotel and forget about it,” After revealing their cover with the bouncers, courtesy of one David Rossi and his famous face clearing their names, and the UnSub caught and well on the way to the nearest jail cell for questioning, Bugsy was more than tired and ready to strip out of the impossibly tight dress. 

“I want to see this guy brought to justice, think of him as another UnSub,” Spencer said, his arms crossed over his chest as they sat on the bonnet of a squad car out the front of the building, the tournament slowly trickling to an end with its patrons leaving for the night. 

She rolled her eyes, his jacket over her arms the only thing keeping her warm against the evening air. It would have been so much easier if they had been allowed back in, but FBI agents or not, the guards had clear rules against breaching the peace in such a high stakes game. A bad rep for having the feds show up on their busiest day of the year was not welcomed, just as much as they weren’t. 

“Except he’s not murdered anyone,” She replied, eyes darting between the guests leaving with their earnings spilling out of their pockets, “He’s just some dumb asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself and- it’s him,”

The guy with the tattoos, Mike Folio as would later be printed on the police report, had barely a second to grieve his losses of the night before Spencer had him cuffed against the squad car, yelling and spitting about his rights as an American citizen. 

It wasn’t until he saw the gorgeous woman donned in the candy red dress looking down at him with amusement that he felt the colour drain from his face. 

“Hi sweetheart,” She smiled viciously, “I told you I’d see you again. Spence, read him the Mirandas,” 

3. The one with the bank explosion

The tweed trousers irritated her thighs, the head band fluffed her hair away from her face in a way she kept trying to fix, and the brown pumps squeaked every time she walked, but her smile was dazzling nevertheless. 

“Okay, the TV movie is at Hall H at nine, can we go to that?” Penelope asked, reading from the pamphlet as Bugsy and Spencer all but ran to keep up with her. 

“Absolutely!” Spencer chimed in, “Do you think we can make it to the Captains of Enterprise at eleven?”

“Obvs,” Penny replied, fixing the bow tie necklace her and Bugsy had made not even the week before. She looked over at the younger woman, who had a matching K-9 pendant, because apparently FBI salaries did not take into account life sized robot dogs, “Thanks for coming with me,” 

“Ofcourse, I’ve been knitting this scarf for weeks,” Spencer replied, his eyes falling down to where Bugsy donned a Sarah Jane Smith cosplay. 

“Who are you going as?” She’d asked, the minute he’d asked her to go, because there were few things he did these days without her. 

“The Fourth Doctor,” Spencer replied, because he had explained in length to her about the concept of regenerating and had even flicked on some of the newer series for her to watch with him, “Tom Baker’s Doctor, he’s a fan favourite,” 

He showed her a picture of the time lord stood outside the TARDIS, a younger girl stood opposite him in a pink suit, large white peter pan collar hanging wide over her chest. 

“Who’s that?” She asked, pointing the girl with the cute bangs and pleated skirts. 

“That’s Sarah-Jane, or Sarah-Jane Smith. She’s one of the longest starring companions since she was the Third Doctor’s companion first and also was in the spin off show for her dog, K-9,” He explained, warming inside when Bugsy listened with raptured interest. 

“So like, is she his girlfriend or-”

“No, no! The Doctor is often speculated to be asexual when it comes to relations with humans. Sarah Jane was one of his closest friends however, and in the Tenth Doctor’s third season he even comes back to rescue her from a wedding set up by one of his enemies,” He said, and her smile pulled out widely when an idea popped into her head. 

“Well, can I be her? For your convention?” She asked, somewhat shyly, still a little unsure how the show worked in the fine details, “You know, since you saved me from my wedding?” 

He paused, because she’d never really spoken about that day she’d jumped into his arms in the elevator, holding him to her like he was the only thing that made sense. Bugsy was like that alot; giving him everything he ever dreamed in the moment and then acting like it was never a big deal the next. 

“S-sure! Yeah, that would be really nice.” He said, and she immediately started searching up what she should wear for it, “I didn’t really save you though, you know, you saved yourself,”

She snickered, nudging him with her shoulder, “You all saved me, I don’t know what I would have done if Em-” She stopped herself, swallowing thickly, and he saw the glow leave her eyes. 

If Emily hadn’t been there. 

Things were still awkward between them. There were no more catfights, thank goodness, though there also wasn’t any doting between the sisters anymore. It was like a clean break had slit between them. Emily had given up trying to warm to her, given up trying to get her to come around, and had instead taken the high road of waiting for Bugsy to make the first move. 

But Bugsy was nothing if not stubborn. So Emily would be waiting a while longer. 

“Hey, listen, next time I promise I’ll be the first one to object and then you can say I saved you,” Spencer joked, because he knew the subject of Emily stung her, because he knew she needed to stop thinking about it or she’d unravel into self hatred. 

She chuckled aghast, “Next time? I was kind of hoping to keep the next one, Spence, whoever the unlucky guy is,”

He shook his head, a fake look of disapprovement, “Sorry, rules are rules. You wanted to be Sarah-Jane, I have to crash your wedding with the TARDIS I’m afraid,” 

She laughed, resting her head on his shoulder as they flicked through the TV some more together. 

“Well, I mean if those are the rules,” She simpered, snuggling under his chin, “Does this mean I get a sick robo-dog too?”

She looked every bit the part he would have ever expected her to look. Down to the maroon tie, and the white dress shirt, and the matching tweed blazer and pants that made her look embarrassingly hot. 

He was about to tell her just how great she looked because she still seemed unsure, being a casual fan of the show not nearly as religious as some of the surrounding guests were, when Penelope cut them off in a near gutted voice. 

“Oh my god,”

“Penelope?” 

Bugsy and Spencer looked up to see Penelope’s ex beau, Kevin, dressed in a nearly identical outfit to her (though in Bug’s opinion he didn’t have the same pzazz as she did with the glitter and the sparkliness,) a red headed woman beside him donned in a police woman uniform. 

“Kevin, hi, you came,” The blonde woman replied, her face mortified as she took in just how pretty the other woman was, “And you brought a friend, CSU technician Sharp, how are you?”

Hannah Sharp, from two floors below them in the BAU, grinned tightly, as if she could sense just how disastrous the situation had suddenly become, “I’m fine, uh, you?”

Bugsy gripped onto Spence’s arm tightly, hating the turn this was taking, every second of it. 

“I am also fine,” Pen replied, though she looked as though she was ready to float outside of her body any minute now. “Okay, well, see ya,”

“You’re not gonna go in?” Kevin asked, his eyes crestfallen when he saw Penelope also grab onto the boy genius’ arm, and he cursed Spencer Reid for getting so many attractive women. 

“Actually, we just went in and it’s super lame,” Bugsy interrupted, flashing a disjointed smile at the two of them, turning to usher her best friend away before he could call her out in her lie. “So we’re leaving,”

“Oh, okay,” Kevin replied, his date all but forgotten as the three of them made a sharp exit, a wince on the youngest Prentiss’ face when they got far enough that the girl could cringe in peace, “Well, great costumes,” 

“Yeah, you too,” Penelope called back, her heels practically leaving tire marks with how fast she had sped away from her ex that was opening fresh wounds as they spoke. At work they were separated by a whole floor, so it wasn’t quite so scathing to see each other around or even hear of one another, but to be brought out in front of what she could only assume was his new woman was horrifying.

Bugsy was at her side immediately, grabbing onto her hand with a squeezing grip. 

“Well, that was awkward,” Spencer noted aloud, and Bugsy lightly slapped his arm for him to shut up, her eyes wide with worry. 

He looked at her in alarm, but her face told him everything he needed to know. Girl rules. 

He hated girl rules. He never understood them. 

“Oh my god, we used to come every year, I can’t believe he brought someone else,” Penelope sighed to the younger girl, who watched her with furrowed brows. 

“Well you brought someone else,” Spencer pointed out, only to have his arm whipped at again in a chiding motion, and he watched Bugsy stroke Pen’s back with a bite in her tone. 

“Girl rules, Spencer, girl rules,” He tutted at her, rolling her eyes as if they were a married couple and she was nagging him to wash the dishes. 

Sometimes it felt easy like that with them. Like she really was just his best friend and not the only girl who held any sort of romantic connection to his heart. 

“Yeah, someone I couldn’t possibly be attracted to,” Penelope stated, “Besides, he always thought the two of you were a thing anyway, oh god what if he thinks I’m your guys third-”

“Woah, woah, what?” Bugsy asked with wide eyes, “He thought me and Spencer were, like, dating?” 

Penelope nodded, and Bugsy couldn’t even look at him without stumbling over her words. 

“Well he knows we’re- like I mean we’re not even each other’s seconds so how could you be our third you know?” She said with a forced laugh, because she could feel her face going hot. 

Spencer watched her tongue tie herself into oblivion, thinking of any and every excuse as to why she didn’t want dating associated to the two of them. Because how could she ever feel the same way? He was just him and she was, well, her. So incredibly, beautifully her. 

It wasn’t until she bumped into an older gentleman waiting for his valet she even shut herself up. 

“And I mean Kevin shouldn’t have just assumed- oh sorry,” She whirled around to apologise the man she presumed was a fan of the early seasons of the show, perhaps even around when they first aired, though the thought died in her throat when he turned around, “Oh, Rossi?” 

David Rossi looked suave as ever in his age, a blazer thrown casually over his shoulder, a neat shirt and dress pants ensemble at his hips as he looked between the three of them, their costumes staring back at him entirely too colourful for a Saturday morning. 

He sighed, hard. 

“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” He asked with a tired voice, as Bugsy bounced back over to Spencer’s side with an incredulous look on her face. 

“Are you here for the convention?” Spencer asked, excitement bubbling in his tone as Bug grabbed his forearm gently, already sensing Rossi hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to put up with them today. 

“Who schedules a cigar aficionado event back to back with this?” Rossi asked, his eyes clamping on the pendant around her neck, “What is that, a robot dog?” 

“K-9,” The three of them replied, and it was as if it tipped him over the edge, his hair growing whiter by the second. 

“Kevin brought another woman, I’m plotting revenge. Do you want to help?” Penelope asked, her face still warm from running into the guy who was almost her fiance. 

“Know where we can get any horse heads?” Bugsy asked, her expression lost in though as Penelope gasped, “What? I’m thinking go big or go home. Also, horse head in the bed means they can't have sex-”

“I’m taking that as my cue to leave,” Rossi cut in, just as his valet arrived, “Now you know I love all three of you, but this is Saturday, and it is my day off, so I’m going to love you from afar,”

He ruffled Bugsy’s hair fondly as he took his leave, throwing his blazer over the passenger seat and bidding them a wave goodbye. 

They watched him go, wondering where it left them for a moment before Bugsy spoke up again, “So are we saying a definitive no to the horse head idea, because I’m sure I know a guy in college-”

“No, Bugsy,” Penelope hissed, her face scrunched in disgust, and Spencer swore she turned green, “Definitive no,” 

–

They had been half way through breakfast when Spencer got an emergency call from Hotch for a team of serial killers robbing a bank downtown, hostages and guns on scene. 

She had barely had time to whip the tweed blazer off her shoulders, keeping the shirt and pants on as Derek threw her a kevlar vest. 

“It’s definitely them,” Will said in his soft Southern drawl, JJ embracing him tightly to her with a worried expression. It had been him and his partner first on the scene, though unfortunately things had not ended well for her when they had ran into the three UnSubs slipping out the back of the bank and had engaged in a shoot out; Will’s partner getting a bullet to the head almost immediately, and Will narrowly escaping unscathed, but not before he managed to gun down one of the UnSubs in the stomach. 

So there they were, the UnSubs back inside the bank for safety since they were now surrounded by the city police, the FBI, the SWAT team and a handful of ambulances and medics on standby. 

“I only saw the King and the Jack but I figured the Queen’s inside too,” He added, JJ peeling herself from his side as they headed towards the building. 

“The media's calling them the face cards,” Hotch informed his team, all eight of them decked in their thickest vests and weapons loaded in full, “Seven bank robberies in seven months. They’ve killed one person at each robbery,” 

“MO?” Rossi asked, now dressed out of his smart, Saturday wear and something more akin to his usual business attire.

“Single gun shot wound, each of the victims has bled out,” Hotch replied, and it wasn’t until they turned the corner towards the bank did Bugsy realise just how packed the street was with law enforcement. 

Three or four choppers circled overhead with snipers and back up SWAT teams at the ready. 

“Serial killers with a thirty day cooling off period, and we’re only just hearing about this now?” Emily asked in an incredulous tone, her voice raised to accommodate the shouting between other chiefs and their units. 

“Headquarters characterised them as robbers first, killers second,” Hotch said, his hands on his hips as they all assessed the situation from afar. Naturally a few new anchors had pulled up to the scene as well and were setting up their equipment despite the officers trying to corral them away. 

“Oh yeah? How did that turn out for them?” Bugsy grumbled behind her thick, dark sunglasses, biting her lip from saying worse. 

“I disagreed with the original assessment, I was overruled,” Her chief shot back, because things had been just as cold between them since that day as they had with Emily. 

JJ was slowly reaching out the olive branch in her direction, and if it wasn’t for Henry being so darn cute every time he begged ‘Buggy’ to come play with him, she reckoned JJ would have taken even longer to forgive as well. 

“Why are we here now?” Rossi chimed in, eyes locked on Aaron’s frown, that seemed to harden every step they took closer to the bank.

“Because crisis negotiation is overseas.”

“What do we know about them?” JJ jumped in straight away with the problem solving, because even if they were out in the field and not in their pretty little round table room anymore, the UnSubs were still just pictures on a white board needing that red string to connect them all together. 

“They’re organised, they're efficient,” Hotch fired off, mentally running through whether he had loaded the pistol he kept around his calf for emergencies, “Each strike lasts about two minutes,”

Derek’s face scrunched in confusion, “They gotta be scouting out the banks in advance, why haven’t we been able to ID them off of surveillance footage?” 

“They hacked the security feed and turn off the cameras both during the initial canvas and during the robbery, until the masks come back on and then were allowed to watch” Hotch replied, and the eight of them slipped into the base of operation for the day; a wide trailer converted to house the high tech computers Penelope needed to keep an eye on the cameras with those magic skills of hers. 

Bugsy’s eyes landed on the black and white feed of inside the bank, her heart lurching in her throat when she saw well over forty men, women and children lined on their knees execution style, facing the doors to the bank to act as a shield if the snipers did happen to get a shot through the windows. 

The woman took the lead, a mask over her face with a doll-like expression on it, the other men soaked in blood as one fought to hold the injured one up for dear life. 

“Why haven’t they cut the feed now that they’ve been cornered,” Derek said with a shake of his head, his lips pulled into a grimace, “Letting us see inside gives us a tactical advantage, they have to know that,”

“Unless they want the audience,” Bugsy suggested, watching the jack slowly growing weaker and weaker as they discussed tactics, “Although the only one who really strikes me as the attention seeker is her, he seems more prioritised with the other male,”

“The masks add to their narcissism,” Spencer input with a nod, “Their personas are the royalty of poker,”

“JJ, you, Bugsy, Reid and Prentiss, look at past robberies, that’s going to be our victimology,” Hotch ordered, and they did as ordered with little delay, heading to the office they had set up in the opposite trailer. 

This was going to be a long day. 

–

“I can help,” Bugsy offered herself before the team even had a chance to protest. 

It hadn’t even been an hour into them pulling research from InterPol as to who their UnSubs were before they had made their next dramatic move; they had shot a hostage. 

Which meant they needed medics in there fast, fast enough to save the hostage and the jack if it kept the king from unravelling into a massacre. 

“What do you mean you can help?” Emily said with a scathing tone, “Bug, you can’t just throw yourself in harm’s way if you have no clue what you’re-”

“I did three years of a medicine degree alongside my biochemistry before I got bored of doing both and gave up on it,” Bugsy snapped at her sister, brows contorting into a harsher frown than she’d had in months. She preferred it when they weren’t speaking at all. 

“Because you were bored?” Derek asked, his face incredulous at the gall of the twenty year old they’d plucked from college and sent into the midst of the Russian Mob five years ago, “Did you not have anything better to do like partying or making out with guys- a whole medical degree on the side is your idea of downtime?” 

She shrugged, looking back at Emily with a glare who seemed to bristle at the information. 

“Can I speak to you outside please?” Emily said in the coolest tone she could muster, though even that sounded like a bite. 

Something shifted in the air of the tiny, makeshift office and the other inhabitants tensed up at the sight of the Prentiss women gritting their teeth almost identically, staring daggers at one another for a moment before they stood from their seats and waltzed out of the side of the trailer to where there wasn’t the bustle of squad cars or media to be seen. 

JJ looked to Morgan, who looked to Spencer, who seemed to have paled for a moment, and the three of them were out of their own seats to linger at the doorway in case things really did get ugly between the sisters.  

“Do you honestly think that throwing yourself into the line of danger today is a good idea or are you trying to hurt me to get back at me?” Emily seethed the minute they had stepped foot on the ground, and the scoff that left her little sister’s throat was something nasty. 

“Oh, please, don’t make yourself sound so important.” Bugsy snapped, whirling around on her heel to glare at her sister, “I’m not doing any of this to get back at you, I’m trying to save those hostages in there-” 

“So I just happened to have never heard about this medical side quest you set yourself on until now because, what, it just never came up?” Emily laughed, laughed, in her sister’s face, and Bugsy saw red even more, “I thought you were a better liar than that,”

“Maybe if you’d bothered to even speak to me before you needed something from me that day with the Russians then you would have known anything about me that wasn’t being your dumb little sister you can just walk all over like you’re my mom or something,” Bugsy’s voice was getting louder, and Emily’s smirk wiped right off at the sound of that, because she knew she could have been ten times a better sister had she not wanted to get as far away from her mother as fast as possible. “Same with Hotch, he never wanted much to do with me until his wife died and then who did he come to needing help grieving, none a single one of you, and who gets bitten in the ass and punished when I find out I spent seven months grieving like some idiot to that uptight prick who lied to me-”

“Do not speak about him like that,” Emily was shouting now too because Bugsy was truly holding nothing back on her. 

“Why? Are you going to pick him over me, Em?” The younger woman snarked, her eyes hateful and narrowed, “Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest given your track record-”

Emily shoved her, like, truly shoved her back and it robbed the words out of the girl’s throat. Yet it made JJ gasp where they were watching from the crack in the doorway, wanting to break them apart but knowing they needed to fix it for themselves. 

The three of them hissed when Bugsy’s hand swiped against Emily’s cheek in a territory neither of them had ever wandered into. Emily was always too old to argue with her sister, too big to fight the way most siblings did with slaps and hair pulls and scratches, but Bugsy was a grown woman now; they both were. 

Emily swatted the same back to her own cheekbone, after a second of shock washing over her face, and it was like they were two cats fighting in a back alleyway over a scrap of chicken. 

Bugsy shoved at her around the tits, because she knew it would ache, Emily pulled at her braid with a yank that made Bugsy’s eyes water, the two of them banging against the wall of the trailer, their heads clunking together. 

“Fucking punishing me after months like some insolent child-”

“I would never have left you thinking you were to blame for my death- I would never fucking do this to you-”

This was childish, entirely childish, playground offences and girlish curses in between. The worst part was they knew they could do much worse, they knew they could truly hurt one another if they wanted to. They were both trained to kill, and yet Emily had Bugsy grabbed in a headlock like they were two infants fighting over a sandpit. 

Because they didn’t want to properly hurt one another in any way that would last. Never. 

“Get the fuck off me or I’m punching you in the crotch,” Bugsy barked, trying to wriggle her way out of her sister’s freakishly strong arms with a frown, “EMILY- I SAID-”

“I was trying to protect you- just get your head out of your ass for two seconds and listen to me- I was trying to protect all of you-” But by the time Emily had somewhat gotten her to stop squirming, the girl had grabbed her by the calf where she had been forced to bend at a forty five degree angle, holding her one leg up off the floor while she sweeped at the second one to knock her off balance. 

She had been known to shoot an assailant in the foot from twenty feet away to stop them from getting away, and yet she was resorting to simply pushing her sister over as a way to get one up on her. 

She felt like she was ready to finger paint and take a nap time next; like they were about to be sat in the headmaster’s office and have their wrists slapped with a ruler for not keeping their hands to themselves. 

But it worked, and in seconds the Prentiss girls were on the floor, puffing out of breath, Bugsy’s lip bleeding where Emily’s ring had caught it on the corner, Emily’s cheek red and raised from where her sister had a surprisingly strong right hook. They took a minute to breath, Bugsy glaring at the awfully clear blue sky, much too happy and cheery for the travesty that had been her entire day. And it was only then did she hear the other three members of their team exit the trailer, JJ going to help Emily up while Morgan's face appeared in the middle of the powdered clouds, something sad and sympathetic in his eyes and it was then that he held out his hand to get her up. 

She didn’t want to, had every intention of laying there and staring at the broad daylight until she managed to float far away from there and from where her chest hurt with betrayal and her lip bled with lies. 

He yanked her off the floor, offered her a cold can of coke for where she felt her lip swelling already, and she resigned to sit on the stairs to the trailer with her head in her hands until her temple stopped pounding or at least until she felt herself calm down in the slightest. 

Emily shuffled to sit down next to her, her breathing still uneven but she could tell because she felt a tentative hand on her thigh rubbing gently, in the motherly way Emily had always watched her.

Because Bugsy had always been her baby, whether she wanted to admit it or not. 

“Bugsy?” The younger woman huffed in indignance, pouting as she stared at her lap, because she felt the tears welling up already, “I’m so sorry I left you, you know I never, ever wanted to, you know that right?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice cracked as she finally looked over at her sister’s solemn face, “You told JJ and Hotch but you couldn’t even tell me? Did you just not want to come back for me?”

Emily’s brows pulled up into a sorrowful frown, and she felt her eyes start to burn too. 

“No, that was never a part of it, I swear, there wasn’t a day when I didn’t want to come home to you,” She replied, taking a deep breath in through her nose as not to start bawling her eyes out there and then, “I had to tell Hotch and JJ as a matter of precaution, not because I wanted to tell them and not you. Bug, I missed you every day, I missed Niko and Sergio and those dumb documentaries you made us watch,”  

Bugsy smiled despite herself, wiping a finger under her nose to stop the tears that had already started rolling there, “Well, I don’t know about Niko but Sergio missed you a whole lot,” She sniffled, rolling the Coke over to a cooler side to sooth her lip some more, “But I think he feels like you kind of abandoned him, and like you maybe don’t love him as much because he can be kind of annoying and, like, he’s real torn up about me telling him you died only to find your you’re not, like you can’t just do that to Sergio, Em, he doesn’t deserve that,” 

Bugsy’s lip was quivering by the time she’d finished, but Emily chuckled wetly, wrapping an arm over her shoulder and pressing their pounding heads together. 

“Are we maybe not talking about Sergio anymore, Bug? Are we talking about you-”

“No, we’re definitely talking about Sergio,” She cut in, wiping under her eyes with her sleeve, looking back up where Emily’s face was glistening with tears though it seemed like she had somewhat calmed under her sister’s gaze that wasn’t so full of vitriol hatred anymore. 

Emily nodded, a humoured smile on her lips, “Right, okay, my bad. Definitely Sergio,” She held up her hand, stroking down Bug’s cheek for her where her tears had started pooling, “Well, I want Sergio to know that even if he is annoying sometimes, that there’s nothing that could ever take me away from him again, cause even though I’m not his mom, he’s still always going to be my kid, you know?” 

Bugsy’s face crumpled in pain for a minute, sniffling and meeting Emily’s eyes, dark brown hues watching her sadly, imploring her to know how much her heart called out for her. 

“Really? You promise?” Bugsy whined, and Emily nodded with a sad smile, stroking the back of her braid that looked a little ratted and wispy from where it had been yanked at. She took a shaky breath, looking down to her shoes where they scraped against the steps, “Well, I’m sure he’ll love to hear that, I’ll tell him when we’re home-”

Emily laughed, kissing her sister’s forehead, and pulling her into a side hug. 

“Alright, tough guys. Let’s get back to working on the profile, Sergio can wait for a minute,” Morgan said, though his face fought off the smile that crept on his lips seeing two of his favourite girls finally at peace with one another. 

Bugsy looked five years younger within seconds, and they clicked back into place, hopping up off the steps to get right to work, cursing herself for wasting so much time on silly things like hating her sister, because forgiving her felt cathartic in a way she didn’t understand she needed.

Maybe they had a chance after all.

–

Bugsy swore she would never have an optimistic thought a day in her life again. 

Because just as they had thought perhaps things could look up; just as they had sent in a different agent medically trained enough to save the jack, their UnSub, that they’d identified as Oliver, had bled out before he could have done anything to save him. Without a second thought, the king, Chris, had shot the agent, and demanded he wanted Will next as retribution for his brother’s death. 

They had of course turned down the offer in a heartbeat but the moment everyone turned their backs, Will, ten times the cop Bugsy could ever hope to be, had walked into the bank with his arms raised in surrender despite JJ screaming for him to stop from where Morgan and Hotch held her back from following him in.

Bugsy and Penelope watched from the CCTV in blood curdling horror when Chris put two bullets in him before he could even declare he was unarmed. 

“Did you see where he was shot?” JJ asked, her tone empty, her eyes bloodshot where she had broken down into a fit of wails as soon as the gunshots had sounded through the street. 

Bugsy opened her mouth to speak, losing all hope as soon as the bluebell gaze fell to her for an explanation. 

“Is he alive or dead, Bug?” JJ snipped, but she knew she didn’t mean it, knew she was just worried out her mind and grasping at straws. 

“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Bugsy replied, Emily’s hand at the small of her back in a comforting gesture because she sounded scared. She wished Spencer was with her, he always knew how to make people feel better, but he and Kevin had gone back to their office uptown to use Penelope’s personal lair for better coverage on the BAU’s resources. 

“He was wearing a vest,” Emily jumped in, because Bug was tense and upset enough as it was, “He might be okay,”

“Might be?” JJ said humourlessly, her face hollow with sadness, “Alright we need to get inside,”

“JJ, it’s too risky,” Morgan tried as the woman stood up, a new found determination, because she refused to accept her partner, the father of her child, was dead until she saw him in a body bag for herself, “We don’t have eyes in there anymore,”

Jennifer’s eyes welled up again, and she turned to their unit chief; he was the only one who could understand just how desperate she felt right now if there was even the smallest chance he could still be alive. “Aaron.” 

Hotch took a breath, nodding to her with complete empathy, “Let’s go in,”

Bugsy leapt for the medical kit they’d kept in the cupboard, because if she could stop the bleeding as soon as possible he might have a chance. She was taken back to when she had gotten to Emily that night with Doyle, when she had nothing but the clothes on her back and a loaded gun to treat her sister with, when she had felt completely helpless. 

She refused to feel like that again, not now she’d been lucky enough to get Emily back. She refused to let JJ and tiny Henry go through what she did. 

Will wouldn’t die if she had anything to do with it. 

-

“Seeing what’s going on outside doesn’t help us inside,” Spencer said, standing behind where Kevin sat in Pen’s office, his hazel eyes falling to the surveillance footage of the bank live streaming from one of the choppers, where the familiar woman he worried for more than he could ever tell her moved behind a SWAT unit towards the front doors, a large med kit strapped to her back, a pistol at her side. 

He looked down at the blueprints of the bank because if he watched her get even ten feet away the bank he thought he might just throw up, even if there were four armed men shielding her.

“Kevin, can you possibly pull up each of the surveillance feeds prior to Will being shot?” He asked, quickly diverting his attention away from where they were at an impasse waiting for something to happen, Emily’s SWAT team moving slowly towards hers. 

“Sure, what are we looking for?” The other man asked, his fingers sprawling over Penelope’s keyboard as he did as requested, playing the older footage on the opposite screen, though even he was getting cold feet watching their team getting ready to breach the perimeter. 

“The female UnSub disappeared once before, if she wasn’t looking for an escape, what was she doing?” 

Spencer paused, because he couldn’t help when his eyes flicked back to the footage of Bugsy shuffling closer to the entrance behind one SWAT agent, and the doors burst open, the entire street pausing for a second to see what the movement was. 

The hostages. The civillians caught in the crossfire at the bank slowly trickled out of the doorway, their arms raised in peace, some crying in relief though there was no sign of Will anywhere. 

This was bad. Though he felt utmost care that the hostages had been released safely, he knew that the UnSubs keeping Will meant one of two things. One, that Will was already dead and useless to them, or two, keeping him bleeding out as a bargaining chip was their final play. Meaning they had no intention of releasing him, otherwise they would be left with nothing. 

If he wasn’t already dead, he would be any minute now. 

Spencer’s chest crashed in devastation for his friend and his godson, though it soon took a turn of terror when it seemed the same thought ran through Bugsy’s mind and she began stepping forward towards where the hostages were shuffling out in floods of tears. 

He saw Morgan and Emily yelling at her to stop, two of the SWAT team trying to follow her because they had no idea what had come over the twenty something year old rookie with a death wish. Spencer tried to ignore the way his chest clawed in horror, his eyes snapping back onto the surveillance of the female UnSub disappearing into the back rooms of the bank, completely ignoring the vault and the very clearly marked exit, meaning she had no intention of using either.

So what was she doing?” 

Spencer felt his head rattling with a horrid thought, hoping his intuition was wrong when he held the blueprints up to the screen, his skin turning to gooseflesh when he realised just exactly where she had been dipping out to with that backpack of hers. 

“Gas mains,” His voice was numb with fear, his body diving for their comm link to Garcia, where she sat in the trailer with Strauss and Rossi, watching the surveillance just as he was, “Garcia, get them out of there now,”

But no sooner had he said anything, Bugsy’s figure disappeared into the building, the SWAT team confirming that the entrance was clear, JJ and Morgan moving after her with their own agents protecting them. 

But she was already inside, his head screamed at him. Even when he heard David’s frantic voice through the radio they had linked to their kevlars, “ABORT, ABORT!” 

Even when he heard Hotch swear hastily, calling to his team to hold back, trying to yell loud enough JJ and her team could hear his orders to take cover. 

Spencer couldn’t truly take any of it in as he watched the large glass windows wobble for a second, a shock wave of what he knew was about to come.

The lines went dead, and he thought for a second his heart stopped. Because he hadn’t figured it out fast enough, hadn’t warned them before she had chance to throw herself head first into danger the way he should have known she would. 

Because Spencer watched the footage with a terror he had never known, not even in his eight years on the team, not even in his own situations as a hostage, not even when he was at his lowest and he thought the dilaudid was going to finish him off, alone and high in his apartment’s little bathroom, a burnt out drug addict who had so much going for him. 

Spencer had never felt the sheer, spine-chilling dread that he did when he watched, useless and heart broken, as the bank went up in a colossal explosion, a plume of flames bursting out of every window, shattering glass and cracking the brickwork, hard enough he watched part of the building start to crumble inwards. 

And Bugsy went down with it. 

Taglist:

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[giuliettagaltieri]

One of Them

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Lovesick!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Rafe, middle name: SIMP, Cameron, at your service

Warning: None

Word Count: 1196

Ficlet from Lovesick Little Thing

As young men of Outer Banks are to inherit the family names of their fathers, to become the sole proprietor of their multi-million businesses, possibly run for office, to someday become the leaders and catalyst of change, they made sure to become acquainted with each other and to never fail to attend the meeting they hold in a random house they elect every first Friday night of the month.  And there was only one single rule that none of them can ever break.  No girls allowed.

It started with their fear of cooties, and then their fear of hormonal mood swings of budding women, and none of them got over it as they grew older.  It was the leader of the pack, Rafe Cameron, who came up with the stupid idea.  He was so strict with it that he threatened to kick out anyone who tries to bring a chick to these meetings. 

They were to wear formal clothing, completed with ties, polished shoes, and crisp suits like the fine gentlemen that they are.  Anybody who fails to come in the expected outfit shall be refused a seat at the table.

Imagine the look of surprise when they arrive in Tanneyhill with you sleeping snugly, cuddling with Rafe, who is dressed in linen pants and opened button down shirt, with his bare feet visible for everybody to see!

They all halted their steps.  Eyes wide and questioning as they look at you and then at Rafe and is that a plushie tucked under his arm?

All of them stood by the doorway, some struggling to stick their heads in to see what’s holding everybody up. 

“Is the monthly meeting canceled?”  Somebody asks and Rafe rolls his eyes.

“You guys coming in or what?”  Rafe snaps, making you stir in your sleep but Rafe puts a hand behind your head to let you rest against his arm again.  You hook a leg over his and as soon as you’re knocked out, Rafe turns to the huddled men over the doorway.  If it isn’t for Topper, nobody would have dared to cross the threshold.

It was uncomfortable for them.  There was music playing but they didn’t have the usual Vivaldi and Paganini that boomed around the room.  It was some stupid lullaby that Kelce played, because Rafe would have their heads rolling if they dared to disturb your sleep.

They weren’t used to the usual hushed way of talking but Rafe glared daggers at anyone who wasn’t whispering.  Nobody played billiards or cards in fear that they might get too excited and wake you up.

But like a good host, Rafe let them drink Tanneyhill’s stash of alcohol. 

Problem was he made Topper and Kelce the fucking baristas.  No more than two crystal glasses of the vintage liquor.

When you finally stirred awake, they were relieved, finally they could get the party started.

Or so they thought.

You were suddenly craving fries and sundae.

Rafe had to go. 

Of course, you felt bad, and even insisted that you go alone.  His guests nodded at Rafe, hoping he’ll listen.  As much of an asshole Rafe is, they didn’t feel like partying without him.

But everything you say goes over his head as he gathers his keys and wallet.

You were still talking when he put a hand on the small of your back, you were looking at his guests apologetically and the jackass didn’t even spare them a glance.

“What an asshole.”  Somebody in the crowd murmurs sadly and all of them nod in agreement, the dampened mood worsening.  “I even brought his favorite cigar.”

Kelce glances at Topper and they sigh in unison.  They’ll have to excuse Rafe.  He has been without your attention for a while, he just had to hog you for himself.

“Rafe, that wasn’t so nice.  You are hosting the party, you should stay behind.”  You refuse to get inside his car and he looks at you blankly while he keeps the door open for you.  “I can go to the diner by myself.”

Rafe rolls his eyes and before you can say anything else, he is lifting you up on the passenger seat.  You talk his ear off, lecturing him as he works on fastening your seatbelt for you.

“You will leave a bad impression.”  You fume, cheeks slightly bubbled, and he sighs, bowing his head before glancing at you, his corded arms are gripping the sides of your seat, trapping you in.  The atmosphere suddenly grew thick, making your voice die in your throat.

Gulping, you shut your mouth and averted his gaze.

“You done?”  He spoke lowly.

Not able to find your voice, you just nodded at him, eyes busy studying the gems on your watch.  Rafe nods back and heads over to the driver’s seat.  He looks at you one last time before revving up the car, roaring the engine just the way you hated before speeding off.

You weren’t talking to him and Rafe decides to leave you for now.  But he does place a warm hand over your knee to let you know he’s willing to talk as soon as you are.

The trees are getting pretty boring, so are the enormous mansions in your neighborhood.

“Should we get them burgers?”  You spoke softly, nimble hands playing with the seatbelt.  You eye his pretty hands and reach for it but he had to move the gear shift.  A pout formed on your lips but Rafe places his hand on your bare thigh now.  His grip makes your heart beat uncontrollably.

“If you want, baby.”  He says while he rides his hands upwards. 

His hands were getting dangerously close to your heat that you had to clear your throat.  Rafe grins and lowers his hand back to your midthigh.  He doesn’t make a comment when he hears you breathe out a sigh of relief.

The downturned faces of Rafe’s guests brighten up at the sight of you and the bags and bags and bags of burgers you insisted on carrying just for them. 

Rafe saunters behind you, face passive as he twirls his keys on his finger.  Rafe’s eyes are trailed on the back of your thighs as you pass around the burgers to the now grinning men.

They didn’t like your intrusion at first but you got Rafe wrapped around your finger and they can for sure use that to their advantage.

“Oh man, I’d love to have something sweet after this.”  Somebody sighs as he looks at his burger.  You perk up at that.

“Should I get Rafe to order dessert for all of us?”  You wonder out loud, a chorus of cheers echoes around the room and Kelce taps Rafe’s shoulders in sympathy as the latter groans but fishes his phone out of his pocket anyway.

Topper swings an arm over Rafe’s shoulder.  “Yeah, you definitely should, Y/N.  Tell him to get us those overpriced cookies they sell on the other side of the island.”

Rafe accidentally jabs an elbow on Topper’s rib but as soon as you heard, your eyes lit up and Rafe knew he just had to do it.

“Anything for my girl.”

Lovesick Little Thing • Coming Soon

[finelinevogue]

lost n found

summary - you are lost in italy the night before your wedding

pairing: fiancé!harry x reader

word count: ~2k

You were definitely lost.

Drunk and lost.

To: harry - im so sor:(y

From: harry - Baby, you’re fine❤️ Drop me your location and I’ll come find you. Please don’t move xx

To: harry - okaY.i love you xox

So currently you were sat on a stone wall, somewhere on a random side street in a small Italian village, waiting for your boyfriend to come and pick you up.

Harry had gone out with a few of his closest guy friends for drinks, for one last night as an unmarried man.

You and your girls had gone out for drinks too and you had mentioned to the boys that you would catch them up later.

At some point during the evening, though, you and the girls had all gone to the beach and you had gone to the toilet. It had been a trek to find one, only when you tried to find your way back you took so many drunken wrong turns that you couldn’t tell your legs from rights now.

Reading a map was useless, but sending Harry messages wasn’t.

You originally hadn’t wanted to send him any messages, not wanting to ruin his last night a “free” man but at some point you had become a little too lost to care.

Swinging your legs as you sat on the wall, you watched the birds fly overhead amongst the clear blue sky. You detailed all the cracks in the old buildings and counted twelve windows on one wall alone.

Your brain was fuzzy and your eyes kept on wanting to close from tiredness. You would be blaming a lot of your girl friends tomorrow for the continuous passing of shots your way.

Your phone rang in your hand.

“Yeah?” You answered, not even checking the caller ID.

“Baby? Love? Can y’hear me?” Harry asked.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not where y’said you’d be.” Harry sounded stressed.

“N-no I am. I sent you my location a-and I haven’t moved.”

You stood up and could feel yourself starting to panic. If Harry didn’t know where you were then there was no way of you knowing. Harry wasn’t ever a big enough drinker to get really drunk, unlike you.

You only ever got drunk when you felt you were in a safe environment, like tonight had been surrounded by all your closest girl friends. Or always with Harry.

Now that you didn’t have anyone and you were still drunk, you were getting anxiety of being alone and intoxicated.

Cue to shaky hands and tears.

“Are y’sure baby?”

“Y-yes. Fuck me. You’re not going to find me. Fuck. I don’t – shit – I.. I’m…”

“Hey, hey. Y/N, baby. Woah, slow down for me, okay? I am coming for you, okay? I just.. It was my mistake and I just need to relocate myself. You’re okay.”

Your phone was shaky in your hands and you started twisting your body around, as if expecting some random creepy guy to come around the corner and take advantage of you.

The twisting didn’t help your head, though, and was making you feel increasingly dizzy and sick.

“Y/N?” Harry asked urgently and you wondered whether you’d missed something he said.

“I-I’m scared.” You honestly said, backing yourself against a wall and trying to let the cool stone calm you down.

Your tears will no doubt have ruined your minimal makeup by now, not that that was a main priority of yours right now.

“Honey, you’re okay. I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

Harry sounded like he was running.

His voice sounded a little breathy and you could hear the fast movement of wind through the speakerphone.

“Y/N, love, turn on your data.” Harry said.

“I ran out.” You banged your head back against the wall, not even thinking about the pain that just caused.

You whimpered as you sank down onto the floor, knees tucked close to your chest and arm wrapped around your legs. Your phone was still to your ear, with Harry’s voice being the only sane thing in this moment.

“Okay, okay.” Harry muttered to himself rather than you. More running sounded from Harry’s end of the phone. “Baby, y’still there?”

“Mm.”

Your mind travelled to many worst case scenarios and due to how bad they were your panic only increased.

This was supposed to be your last nights as an unmarried couple and you couldn’t help but feel like you’d ruined that. He must’ve been having such a good night.

You’d seen a couple of photos on his private Instagram story and other people’s Instagram stories. Your fiancé looked divine. He just looked so perfect that it was difficult to believe that he had chosen you and you got to call him yours.

It did make you nearly cry that he was thinking of you, via Instagram, though.

“You feeling okay, baby?” Harry asked.

“Don’t know. I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“It’s okay. I’m not angry or upset. Just want to make sure you’re okay, my love.”

“Okay.”

“So you have to be brave for me, okay?”

“Yes, okay.”

You got stuck for a moment, trying to think of possible ways you could calm yourself down and distract yourself. Luckily, Harry was already one step ahead.

“Hey, baby?” He grabbed your attention.

“Yeah.”

“We’re getting married tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help but let the smile take over your face. You weren’t scared at all for tomorrow. You had no nervous jitters. All you felt was love in your heart for your husband to be.

“We are.”

“And you’re going to look so beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“I can’t wait to see you in your wedding dress. I bet it looks so pretty.”

You sniffled, building back your strength and overcoming your anxiety. A lot of your strength came from the love you hold for Harry.

You heard a noise from your left and looked to see a cat rustling through some litter.

Your heart deflated when you realised it wasn’t Harry. You knew he was coming though. He was on his way and he would not stop running until he found you.

It was almost like a bad scene out of a romance movie.

The night before your wedding and something terrible goes wrong. It’s a sign!

“I think it’s just perfectly me.” You said, talking about your wedding dress.

“Sounds perfect to me then.” Harry paused for a moment. “Baby, did you walk under an archway, like, uh, a stone archway covered in pink flowers?”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t remember.” You ran a stressed hand over your forehead.

“Okay. That’s okay.”

“Everyone’s going to be so mad at me.” You began getting frustrated with yourself. “Fuck.” You breathed in a sob and exhaled with a bigger breath.

“Promise you no one’s mad, baby. Gem has messaged me a thousand times asking if you’re okay. I can’t even answer ‘cause this bloody maps apps is a fucking nuisance. I swear to–”

“Harry?” You furrowed your eyebrows, looking up from your knees to check your phone. He was still on the line. “Hello?”

“Y/N!” Harry shouted your name, but not from down the phone.

You could see Harry walking over to you very quickly, clearly panting from having run street after street.

“H.” You dropped your phone and cried as you saw him faster approach you.

Definitely a moment worthy of a romcom.

Harry was probably living his Ryan Gosling dreams.

“Baby, hey. I’m here. You’re okay.” Harry sank down to the floor and scooped his arms around you, pulling you close and squeezing oh so tight.

He sank down to his bum and leaned against the wall, pulling your entirely onto his lap. Too close wasn’t an option right now.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you sat sideways on his lap. Your face was tucked under his chin and his head rested on top of yours. You cried as Harry held you tight.

You couldn’t see Harry’s facial expressions but he was breathing out sighs of relief, some tears in his own eyes from the adrenaline of trying to find you. He had been just as scared as you, but had to remain strong for you. Now he had you he could let it all out.

“You’re never going to the toilet alone again.” Harry laughed. You laughed back.

“Deal.”

“That was scary.” Harry kind of mumbled, but you heard him anyways. He kissed your head a few times and you melted at the feel.

“Harry.”

“Yeah, love?”

“My head is so dizzy.”

Harry used a hand to tilt your head up so he could see your face. He noticed your mascara ridden face first of all, but beneath that you were all beauty.

“Tequila is only our friend for two rounds, remember?” He laughed at you. He was able to tell from your eyes that you weren’t exceedingly drunk, but definitely tipsy.

“I did not remember.”

He nuzzled his nose against yours as he shook his head with a grin. “You’re such a handful, you.”

“M’sorry.” You pouted.

“Never said I didn’t love you as a handful.”

“Do you? Love me a handful?” You used a hand to stroke over his cheek that had gotten so scruffy with the stubble he was trying to grow.

“‘Course. Love you every way and anyway. Love you so much. Love you until my body literally decomposes my wedding ring off my finger, and then some more.”

“That was dark, even for a 2AM drunk thought.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Harry chuckled, noticing that smile on your face becoming more and more permanent.

“But I’ll love you for the same.” You promised.

Harry kissed you then, not wasting another moment of this evening away from you. Well, morning now. His lips were soft against yours and you smiled into the kiss, happy that he was here with you even if it was under really weird circumstances.

“Let’s go, trouble. We’ll go back to the hotel and I’ll kiss you all night.”

“Don’t you want to spend the rest of your night with the boys? You know, last night as a free man?” Even though you were suggesting this, all you actually wanted to do was kiss, kiss and kiss him.

“Free man?” Harry furrowed his eyebrows with disgust, “What are you talking about?”

“You know? People say the last night before they get married is their last chance to be free?”

“Why would I need to be free when I’ve got you? I’m choosing you, like I always have. Never needed to be free.”

You smiled warmly at him. “I’m shackling you to me for life.”

“Too right you are, baby. Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Now, take me home, trouble.” You giggled.

“Oh. So I’m the trouble now?”

liked by gemmastyles and 682,928 others

yourinstagram tomorrow i get your last name forever <3 p.s. i would like to state that harry bought himself that tshirt :)

view all 78,977 comments

harryfan1 oh to be y/n l/n

jeffezoff Where did you two go?

harryfan2 moustacherry fans rrIISEEEEE

harryfan3 wish my bf supported me with tshirts like that

jamescorden Tequila anyone?

harrystyles I am planning on wearing that tshirt tomorrow.

yourinstagram @/harrystyles the tshirt but nothing else please

gemmastyles @/jamescorden They aren’t coming back for tequila….

[ponderingmoonlight]

Sukuna pretending he's Yuji to catch a taste of you

Pairing: Yuji/Sukuna x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,2k

Synopsis: What you expected after finally meeting your boyfriend after losing him in Shibuya? Definitely not the king of curses trying to kiss you.

Warnings: it's Sukuna so y'know...the usual

“(y/n)?”

Your ears perk up in an instant. Is this really him?

“Yuji?”

He told you to stay behind, that he has to do this on his own despite your pray and plead to stay by his side. If there’s one thing your boyfriend will never risk, it’s your precious life.

“(y/n)!”

Your glossy eyes widen. It’s him, without any doubt.

Like in trance, you follow his voice that calls your name over and over again while a huge wave of relief washes over you. All those horrible things you imagined when he left, the things he told you about Nanami being dead…

In this world, you never know when your last day will be, what words will be the last your loved ones hear.

“Please don’t leave without me, I can’t afford to lose you, I…I love you!”

“I don’t wanna lose you as well, babe. But taking you with me is too much risk when all of them are chasing after me. Just keep your eyes open, okay? I’ll be back before you know.”

Did he really hold up to a promise that is so hard to keep? Your eyes dart around the destroyed area in a haste, desperately searching for those signature pink hair you love to play with.

“(y/n)!”

To your right, maybe a few meters away.

As soon as your head darts towards the sound of his voice, you see him.

There he stands with his clothes torn into pieces and blood smeared onto his face.

You waste no time. Almost instantly your body follows your desire, runs up to him at full speed even though your legs feel like busting under the pressure any given minute. God, you are tired to the brim, too weak for another fight. But now that Yuji’s here, now that you’re finally on your way back into his arms, all of this doesn’t matter.

He catches you in his firm arms like he always does and swings you through the air. Yuji’s back. He really came back. There’s nothing to worry about anymore.

“I was so scared”, you mumble against his shirt, too focused on holding back your tears while taking him in to pay attention to anything else.

“I really thought me might never see each other again…”

“I’ll always come back to you, babe. No curse can ever change that”, he teases you with his usual sweet voice while pressing you firmly against his chest.

“Did they hurt you in anyway? Do you know where Megumi is?”

“Megumi? No, I haven’t heard from him for a while…Are you okay? Your uniform is completely destroyed.”

Who is responsible for this? Who did he fight against? Where is that creature? Are there any other jujutsu sorcerers around? Normally, Yuji shouldn’t even be here. How did he manage to meet you?

“Don’t worry babe, I’m alright”, he reassures you with gentle voice.

Your breath hitches. But not as gentle as usual. Is it possible that…Your eyes widen in sheer horror. No, this can’t be him, it’s impossible that he managed-“

“Smart girl, it took you not as long as expected”, a painfully known voice purrs.

Fuck. In an instant, you try to push yourself off him, to create a safe distance between both of you.

You and none other than Ryomen Sukuna.

“How did you manage to get back?”, you bark at him while his grip around your waist tightens.

This is bad. Absolutely horrible, to be exact. How is it possible that you didn’t notice it was him? You were so relieved to see Yuji again that you didn’t even think about the possibility that this might be Sukuna, that he’s in control over your boyfriend’s body.

“Why are you so sassy? Aren’t you glad to get greeted so nicely by me? I could have ripped your head open as well if I wanted to”, he replies sarcastically.

“Why didn’t you, then?”, you bark back in sheer panic.

“Just…let go of me. And give Yuji back!”

He lets out the most disrespectful and frightening laughter you’ve ever heard while pulling you even closer. Now you see it, that deadly red gleam inside Yuji’s gorgeous orbs.

“Why are you even liking that loser? He’s the most boring guy ever-“

“Pretty bold coming from a serial killer with nothing but hurting others on his mind!”, you cry out in defense.

“When did you turn that cheeky? Weren’t you scared of me a few seconds ago?”

“Yuji would never allow you to hurt me”, you bark at him in pure confidence.

Until he grabs your throat and pushes you against a nearby wall.

“You’re thinking too highly of that little brat. What do you want with a boy who isn’t even able to defend you?”, he almost purrs only inches away from your face.

He isn’t about to kiss you, right? Your eyes widen in sheer horror, body not daring to make a move. This has to be a cruel nightmare, a hallucination, maybe. Are those Sukuna’s lip on their way to meet yours?

“Let go of me right now!”, you finally shriek.

A loud clap echoes through the train station when your flat palm crushes against his cheek.

Oh.

Did you just…

“You have some nerves…”, he mutters while wiping a tiny trail of blood away from the corner of his mouth.

“Did you really just hit me?”

“I…no?”, you stutter, your body automatically stumbling backwards.

“If you think you can escape me you’re a fool, (y/n). I always get what I want”, he hisses through gritted teeth.  

“That doesn’t include me, though. I’m in love with Yuji and not you”, you clarify.

“Too bad I don’t care about your stupid little feelings, brat. If I want you, I will have you. And if you’re not coming with me on your own, I will force you.”

Within the split of a second, he stand right by your side again with his muscular arms trapping you in place.

Your mouth is dry like the desert. Just one glance into his gleaming red eyes is enough for you to realize that the king of curses isn’t to be messed with, that he means what he says.

“You won’t get away with this”, you breathe out.

“Watch me getting through, then.”

He presses his lips against yours before you’re able to stop him.

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[kakujis]

do you love me? 3;

synopsis: they wake you up at 3am and ask if you love them. 1 + 2 + 4

ft: hanma, ran, and rindou.

warnings: gn!reader, insecurities, clingy bfs, jealous!rindou, swearing, mentions of drinking, not proofread, reader is a lil mean in hanma's ): and thaat should be it!

a/n: is it me or are these getting longer?! anyways, here's part 3! the last one will be mitsuya, draken, and chifuyu! i’m running out of steam thinkin’ of scenarios uh oh. anyway, writing ran's bit was so much fun, since i feel like he's a goofy loverboy. i kind of struggled w rindou’s but i hope it still falls together nicely! ALSO WHY IS HIS SO LONG WTF and here's a special lil tag for @fuyuluvr ♡

the city is quiet as the hum of a motorcycle comes to a stop. hanma’s not sure how he ended up here, well actually he is, subconsciously driving straight to the one place that always riles him up, setting his veins on fire faster than the rush of a zipline. 

he hums to himself, taking off his helmet, and nudging down his kick stand. he looks upwards, toward your bedroom window, his heart already starting to flutter in his chest. stuffing his hands into his jacket, he walks up, getting ready to scale up towards your window. he glances around, although no one’s around in this dead of night, he would rather not have anyone calling the cops on him. 

they’re probably asleep, he thinks, as he peers back up, nails digging into the stone as he uses his leg to boost himself up. he hoists himself until he’s up to the sil, laughing a little to himself when he notices you left it open like you were expecting him. 

he tumbles in, knocking over your lamp in the process. “oops.” he says. meanwhile, the crash has you bolting awake, screaming, no, screeching as you grab your alarm clock, holding it up, ready to throw or swing. 

he throws his hands up defensively as he approaches, “it’s me!” and in your sleep deprived state you scramble back, the grip on your device tightening. 

hanma barks out a laugh, before he switches on your bedside lamp. “hi baby. ♡” he chirps, seeing your shoulders slump as you settle, a particularly loud sigh escaping you as you place one hand over your chest. he kicks his shoes off as he jumps onto your bed, diving straight into your comforter, laying on his stomach. 

“you scared the shit out of me!” you yell, “besides, what time is it?” you look at the device in your hand before you realize it’s off, ripped straight out the socket. frowning, you toss it onto the floor, before crossing your arms and facing him. 

“you were really gonna fuck me up, huh?” he muses, honey eyes twinkling at the idea of you actually swinging on him. he would’ve dodged of course, but it would’ve given him an excuse to grab you and have you underneath him. 

you sigh again, “shuji, i don’t have time for this. i’ve got a work meeting tomorrow morning.” you grab your blankets, shimmying underneath them and pulling them up, “we can hang out this weekend or something,” you yawn. 

“eh?” is all you hear as you turn over, shutting your eyes in hopes of getting some sleep. maybe he’d fall asleep with you or maybe he’d leave, but the only thing that’s really on your mind is this stupid meeting. just a few more days until the weekend, has been your new mantra, if you can just tough it out, you’ll be golden. 

it’s quiet for a few minutes, but the dip in your bed is still there and soon enough he’s asking, “do you love me?”

“no, shuji, of course i don’t…” you start, sarcasm tinting your voice as you roll back over, but you stop when you see his defeated expression. it’s different from the shuji you know, his solemn eyes studying you, as he nervously plays with your sheets in one hand. 

hanma shuji has been so damn bored. it’s been like this ever since you got a job, constant “i can’t”s, and “maybe next time, shu.” he wants so badly to go on late night rides with you again, the sound of your laughter ripping over the roar of his motorcycle.

he wants to stay up with you until sunrise, at the top of your favorite hill, hands intertwined and shoulders brushing. he wants to snap pictures of you at the top of this hill, thinking you're prettier than any sunrise. you make him feel like he’s invincible and that everything’s okay.  

shuji has been so bored, but more so than that, he’s been lonely, unsteady. he misses you so fucking much, nothing’s as fun without you, everything’s dull like the world’s covered in sepia. 

“c’mere,” you say, opening your arms and he crawls forward, collapsing into you. “i love you, shuji, i do.. and i’m sorry.” 

you realize now how distant you’ve been. unbeknownst to the two of you, just how stressful a new job could be, you were just trying to jumble a new set schedule but you had been snappier, neglectful, and even downright mean at times.

shuji tried his best to accomodate you, going off on night rides by himself, always saying, “it’s alright.” when you’d turn him down again. he tried to busy himself more with his friends, but his mind always wandered to what you’d be doing - did you miss him too? - checking his texts every now and then in hopes there’d be a new message. 

“shuji?” you whisper when he doesn’t respond and you think he has every right to be upset with you. but instead he says, “yeah?” his face suddenly dangerously close to yours, the tip of his nose lingers by yours and your face heats up at the proximity. 

“um,” you stutter and soon there’s a smirk dancing on his face, “d-did you hear me?” 

“i heard you. loud and clear, ♡” he says, lips ghosting over yours, “i was just replayin’ it in my head.” 

shuji always has you melting and tonight is no different, so you close your eyes and let him kiss you. deep, sweet, and full of all the things the two of you don’t know how to say. you pout when he pulls away and he grins, “so cute.” 

an idea strikes you then as you gaze at the love of your life. “hey… wanna go for a ride?” besides, what's the harm in losing a little sleep?

the way he perks up has you giggling, you’re sure if he had a tail it’d be wagging a mile a minute. he’s practically beaming, as he starts to pull you up and off the bed. he stops for a second, head tilted and finger on his chin, “wait, don’t you have a meeting at in a couple hours?” 

you nod, “yeah, so bring me home by 5?” you smile at him as you reach for a jacket.

“i can do that.” 

ran:

for the first time in his life, ran haitani cannot fall asleep. he lays there, one arm resting above his head, the only noise being the sound of your soft snores as his mind continues to wander. he thinks about the dinner you two had earlier.  it was dumb, the entire situation, your friends were clearly too drunk to be saying reasonable things. ran knew this, he’s been the same way countless times before.

but when she hiccuped, arm slung around you, “maann, can’t believe you ended up with ran! you used to only talk about rindou in high school ehe.” ran felt his stomach drop. 

you froze at that, quickly glancing at ran whose face was otherwise unreadable. she continued, incessantly giggling, “seriously seriously! everyday was ‘man rindou looked sooo cu’-“

“thats enough!” you had said, placing a palm over her mouth to muffle her. “lets get you home, okay?” desperately glancing at the rest of your friends, who took the hint and helped her out of there. 

ran remembered how after everyone left, you had tried to talk to him, “listen..” your hand reaching towards his. 

but for some reason, he had stopped you. “it’s fine, people say dumb shit when they’re drunk,” he mused, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “don’t worry about it.” 

and maybe the reason was that he was scared, scared to hear you admit that yeah, you did like his brother. and when that didn’t work out, you settled on him. 

he shakes his head, getting up from the bed and padding over to the bathroom. turning the faucet, he douses cold water on his face. don’t be stupid, ran. 

when he walks out, he stops when he sees you sitting up, sleepily rubbing your eyes. “ran?” you mumble, “are you okay?” 

he settles back into an easy grin, walking over and climbing back in. “yeah, i’m alright.” 

“liar.” 

he blinks. “what’d you just say?”

“i said, you’re a liar.” you huff, placing your hands on his cheeks, swiveling his head towards yours. “you’re upset.” 

“and why do you think that?” he says, but there’s a red tint dusting on his cheeks, and his eyes flicker from you to various objects around the room. 

“first of all, you’re awake,” you emphasize, “when is ran ‘if i don't get enough sleep i’ll kill you and your family’ haitani awake at 3am? hm?” you dart your head every time he tries to look away trying to stay in his vision. 

he sighs, “okay, you got me.” he stills, looking at you with a crease in his brow. “do you love me? and.. was what your friend said right? that you used to like my brother?” 

you soften at his question, “of course i do. i love you and only you. let me explain?” 

he nods and you drop your hands, opting to intertwine them with his. sighing, you begin, “okay so, in high school there was this… friend- okay no i hated that bitch-“ 

you give ran a look as he whistles, caught off guard by your vitriol, as he motions you to continue on with a little grin, “don’t mind me.” 

“there was this acquaintance,” you continue and ran nods, “and every single guy i was into she would try to take them from me, so i pretended to like rindou because.. i was scared.. she would actually get together with you.” 

its your turn to burn with embarrassment, looking down at your interlocked hands as you reveal the secret you kept for so long. you glance up at ran and groan out a “what?!” when you notice his shit-eating grin. 

“i’m really a catch, eh?” he teases and you scrunch your nose. “don’t make that face,” he points, “you’re the one who tried to gatekeep me.” 

“ugh fine,” you pout, your face on fire,  “this is so embarrassing… ah!” ran pulls you down, hugging you tightly. “ran?” 

“man, i feel like a million bucks! who would’ve thought the person i’d been chasin’ all throughout highschool felt the same way. i should’ve asked you out sooner.” he pinches your cheek, cooing, “my baby.” 

you can’t even focus on the fact that he casually mentioned the two of you were mutual crushing for so long. if you could die from embarrassment you would. on the flipside, if ran could die from love, he would. he’s never admitted it before, but he’s always felt a little insecure, so he hides it behind a mask that only you get to uncover. 

“did i ever meet her?” he asks, face to face with you. he can’t stop smiling, instead continuing to poke your cheek as you pout. 

“hmm, maybe. i dunno, i tried to avoid her a lot of the time.” you answer, “why?” 

“cause if i did, you wouldn’t even have to worry about it.” he says, running the pad of his thumb over your cheek. “i’ve only had eyes for you after all.” 

was he always this cheesy? seriously, you might die. “i’m gonna die,” you profess, your face and body on fire, moving your hands up to hide your expression behind them. “if you continue, i’ll seriously die.” 

“dying in my arms is super romantic though.” he muses, “i bet it’d be a dream come true for you.” 

“shut up!” you groan, burying your face into the pillow. 

“babe, seriously, it’s a dream of mine. romeo and juliet, who?” 

“ran haitani, shut up!”

rindou: 

rindou haitani was seething. on the outside, he had it all. a club that he owned with his brother, able to play his music to an excited crowd, and to top it all off, a loving partner who did their best to support him. but on the inside, he was someone who hid from his emotions, snuffing them out before they had their chance to reach the surface and maybe that’s why, in rare moments, when he couldn’t snuff them out he waited until you fell asleep to think about them. 

maybe it was his fault for inviting you out, but it’s always been a dream of his to watch you dance to his music. at first you refused, something about how crowds aren’t really your thing. but he persisted, noting how you always dance for him when he plays his music so why not do it at his club? 

“besides, you always get along with everyone you meet, just try it.” he insisted, beaming when you said “okay, just this once.” 

he wasn’t usually jealous, something he prided himself on, that you could hang out with whoever you wanted whenever you wanted and he’d have no issue. but tonight things were different. you looked amazing under the neon, pulsing lights, feeling the beat down to your bones as you swayed and moved on the dance floor. 

ran was supposed to stay close to you, but the two of you got separated by the mass of bodies. from his view up top though, rindou could see you clearly, and when someone came up to you to dance, he was sure you would deny them. but perhaps it was the slight buzz of alcohol running through your veins or maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through you that caused you to say yes. 

you didn’t grind on them, thankfully, but still, the way you laughed and cheered, eyes fully on them was like a kick to rindou’s gut. at one point, they leaned in to say something to you and rindou almost stopped his set, wanting to take you home immediately. but instead, he grit his teeth and kept playing. 

he didn’t have the heart to tell you anything on the way home either, the way you excitedly bounced up and down detailing to him about how much fun you had and how you’d love to go again. he shut those emotions down again, instead laying a hand over yours, smiling and saying, “i’m glad you had fun, love.” 

but now as he lay there in your shared bed, one arm around you as you slept on his chest, he was steaming. he has a continuous fight with himself in his head over it, how he isn’t the type to dance anyway, so it’s fine if you have fun dancing with someone else. but also, have you ever had that much fun with him before? like you did tonight with some stranger? he’s so pissed off he can’t remember, especially when he thinks about how close they were to his baby. 

when rindou is lost in his head, he never notices the things he does outwardly to keep himself calm. like the tapping on your arm or the shake of his leg, but you do, rousing out of sleep, peeking one eye up at him. 

“rinnie?” you croak, voice hoarse from the amount of shouting and laughing you did tonight. “you okay?” 

he looks down at you, unable to control the frustration clearly etched across his face. “i’m fine. go back to sleep.” 

“no.” you say, even in your half-asleep state you can tell that something’s up, “what’s wrong.” 

“nothing.” he huffs, trying his best to not let his emotions get the best of him. but if there’s one thing rindou hates, it’s talking about his feelings.

you pause, trying to think your words over carefully. “did i do something wrong?” he doesn’t respond, and you mull it over again, when an answer comes to you. “oh… i won’t go to the club anymore, if that’s what you want, i bet i looked pretty lame dancing out there-“

“no!” he interrupts, “no… you looked amazing…besides, i love watching you dance.” 

“then what is it, rindou? i can’t read your mind, y’know?” you remind him and his face softens. 

“i know…” he replies, and you wait for him to continue. that’s something that he’s grateful for, that when he does talk, you never rush him, letting him go at his own pace. “it’s just… did you have to dance with that guy tonight?” he mumbles, voice trailing off so that it’s barely audible. 

“hm? i didn’t hear you, did i have to..?” you ask,  tilting your head. 

“did you have to dance with that stupid dude tonight?!” he nearly yells, rushing out his words and you blink, a little taken aback. 

“oh…” you realize, he’s jealous. you realize now that from where he was looking it probably did look bad, his partner, dancing and laughing it up with a stranger. “i’m sorry, i didn’t know that bothered you so much…” 

for some reason, that sets rindou off and he scoffs, pissed off once again. of course he’d be annoyed, of course he’d be jealous. you’re his partner. “do you love me?” 

his question comes out more like an accusation and you hate it because it stings. in turn you say, “i do. do you trust me?” 

he wants to bite back, but when he looks at you, he can’t. you look so hurt, he sighs, rubbing his temple with his free hand, “… sorry. i do trust you. i’m bad at this.” 

“i know,” you say and he glances at you, surprised, which makes you smile. “you’re awful at telling me how you feel, so you act all cool and tough instead.” 

“aren’t you mad at me?” he asks, your sudden smile catching him off guard. 

“hmm… not really mad, just a little hurt is all.” you say, because even though he was the one who told you that you get along with everyone you meet, you know rindou inside and out, culminating from the many years the two of you have shared together. 

rindou doesn’t want to seem controlling, but because of that he neglects to establish his boundaries, too focused on how comfortable you feel. it’s his own weird way of control, if he doesn’t push you, let’s you do your thing, then you’ll stay. you won’t leave him like he’s scared you’ll do if he ever says no.

he apologizes again, his frustration turning to shame. you're so patient, even when he snaps at you or can't find the words. but you shake your head, “thanks for telling me. let me know what bothers you, please?” 

“i’ll try,” he mumbles, glancing away, and you know that means that next time he probably won’t. he’ll most likely bury those feelings deep inside until you catch wind, but it’s the fact that he’ll at least try that makes you happy. it’s okay, you’ll always be there when he needs it. 

you settle back into your original position, closing your eyes and within a few minutes, you’re dozing off asleep. 

tonight really did a number on you, he thinks, while playing with your hair, maybe i should be more honest with you… i love you. 

but there's a few things that rindou doesn’t realize. like how he’s talking out loud, or that you’re still just barely awake, his “i love you,” warming you up like the morning sun. as much as you wanna mention it when you wake up, you also don’t wanna embarrass him. for now, you’ll keep this a secret.♡

[thatsdemko]

my valentine - o.piastri

masterlist | pairing: Oscar piastri x fem!reader

summary: a red lacy Valentine’s Day seems to be just the kind of thing Oscar needs…

warnings: not intended for minors + oral (f receiving) + talks of Valentine’s Day + some errors here or there

a/n: I’m baaaack! while I know this isn’t the part two to the secret Santa that’ll hopefully be here soon I’m having some trouble writing that rn… but please enjoy this!!!

what did men like on Valentine’s Day? was it lace? was it red? or was it just sex? you couldn’t decide the answer. while you stood dumbfounded and dripping in nervous sweat inside the Victoria secret, it left you no choice but to leave and hope scrolling on Amazon wouldn’t lead to the same amount of panic and overwhelm.

you’d wanted to make Valentine’s Day perfect for Oscar. with all of his training and simulator work he’s been doing this winter break, you figured he deserved something special. you perused store upon store for the ideal lingerie for that special Wednesday night, but came up with nothing.

“you’re back from the mall awfully early.” Oscar comments hearing his apartment door shut behind you.

“really? felt like I was there for ages.” you huff out an exaggerated sigh before plopping down on the couch, “if you were wanting something for Valentine’s Day, what would it be?” you ask staring into his big brown eyes.

a laugh escapes his lips. he’s told you infinite amount of times he wanted nothing for the silly hallmark day. he just wanted a nice meal and some quiet time with you. what more could a man ask for? it was a door you never wanted to open, but you knew there was more to it.

“please don’t buy me anything—“

“oh no it’s not like that.” you cut him off, the heat returns to your cheeks when he looks over at you with a knowing look. you sink further into the couch cushions hoping to disappear, but his eyes stay glued to your growing redness.

“well then I guess I’ve always liked the color red on you.”

—

the red lace underneath your pajamas is uncomfortable. you’re unsure how anyone woman could deal with the deep wedge of material up their ass, and the sheer itching against their stomachs, but you figure you can power through. it’s just one night— well that’s unless Oscar decides the 10 dollar red lace bodysuit was to stay permanently.

you hear the lock of your apartment free, and the door swing behind him indicating Oscar and the carry out food had arrived.

“darling, where are you?” he calls out from the kitchen, and taking no time to wait for you. he’s unpacked the styrofoam containers from the bag, opening his box, he takes in a few bites of food that attempted to spill out the container.

reaching for a napkin to clean up his mess, he quickly glances up to see if you’ve made your way in only to stop in his tracks, jaw nearly smack to the floor at the sight of red.

“you look—“ he doesn’t get the chance to begin, there’s not a word he can find to finish the sentence, because whatever it was he was already feeling against his pants.

moving around the counter, he finds himself in front of you where he can see just how much you’re doing to him with so little. a giggle escapes your lips as you pull his face to yours, “did you want to eat first?” you ask.

shaking his head he whispers a no, before placing his hands against your hips, finger tips gently trail the red lace up your body, “I want you first.”

it’s not a long walk to your bedroom, but it feels like ages for him. every second he doesn’t have his hands on you is a waste, and when he finally does get them, it’s not wasted removing the lace from your body revealing every part of you faster than you expected him to do.

he takes the second to fumble with the condom, his fingers shake with anticipation, it’s almost like the first time you’d done it in your relationship. the nerves got to you both, trying to figure out what worked and didn’t, but now, you’d say your pros. knowing the ins and outs of each others bodies, like how he favored your lips around his dick and you liked his fingers inside of you. with time, you learned all of this.

this was a gift on its own, one that had him dripping in precum and aching to get inside you. and when the condom finally was secured, he, once again, didn’t waste a second to find your cunt and fuck you.

his hips grind against yours creating warmth between your bodies. his hair falls across his forehead that you can barely see with the blur of pleasure in your eyes.

he doesn’t say much. he never does, but he doesn’t hesitate to praise you, adore you, and remind you of how lucky he is.

“you’re so good to me,” he’s saying, transitioning from being inside you, his lips travel across your warm skin all the way down to your hips. his fingers gently nudge your thighs open, and you get the hint, “let me do this for you, my valentine.”

you’re unsure if it was the kisses, the words, or his warm tongue against your wet folds, but one of them got the air stuck in your throat. there’s nothing more than you love than the sound of Oscar eating you out. the slurps, the hum— all of it. the sounds were pleasing to your ears, even more so than the action itself you were gripping the sheets.

he’s edging you, playing you. its ridiculous and maybe you deserve it. after all, you’d put the idea of you in red in his head days ago and he’d been unable to concentrate. the patterns of floral dancing across your chest, a low cut neckline, he’d wanted it all— or none of it if you’d decided that. but you deserved this in some way. you’d been the one to send his dick rock hard any hour or second of the day.

“osc,” the moan comes out more like a pity plea. the chuckle against your pussy sent a chill down your spine and a twirl in your stomach. so you deserved that much, you thought, but this? not letting you come? too much.

“I’m gonna come,” the words spill as does the warmth out of you, his face covered in you wasn’t something he could ever be mad about, but not giving him the chance to edge you? you’ll be paying for that later.

“I wasn’t finished.” he slides a finger inside, barely giving you time to rest and recover, “you fucked with my mind all week.” he groans at the very sight of you from a couple minutes ago. he wished he’d taken a picture, saved it for later, but he was too antsy. his pants did the thinking more than his head. and that’s why he’s stuck his finger in your pussy.

he loves the sound of you. moans, groans, whines, whatever it was. he knew you liked the way he rubbed your clit, the way he kept going until he felt the shake of the frame against him, and that’s when he removed his fingers letting you come.

“what a jackass.” you swear closing your legs up and pushing yourself up off the mattress to find your clothes, “didn’t even let me cum on your fingers, like it’s not Valentine’s Day—“

he shuts you up with a soft kiss, “I think we should eat first before another round.” his words hang in the air as he watches the anger sizzle out of you, “and I want you in that red thing again.”

“anything for you, my valentine.”

tags: @monzabee @lovelytsunoda @leclerc13 @smoothopz @imsorare @lpab @lunnnix @frreyaa

[evie-sturns]

"fuck off" - Matt Sturniolo

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summary: matts ice-hockey team has a rough loss, you try to comfort matt after the game but he snaps at you.

warnings: fighting, swearing, angst, SMUT.

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another goal to the other team. matt's team was getting destroyed by the opposition and he was not having it, "what the fuck are you on ref?" matt shouts at the referee as he skates away. BUZZ the buzzer signalling the end of the match echos throughout the arena and i instantly turn to nick, whos sitting next to me on the bleachers "hey nick im gonna go find matt alright?" i say to nick as i gather my things and speed-walk towards the changing rooms.

i wait outside the mens changing room for 10 minutes until the doors swing open, "matt.. hey, you alright?" i say looking at him but he just pushes past me and out of the facility, into the parking lot. i quickly chase after him as he storms towards the car "matt?" i call out as i catch up to him and he swing around to face me "just fuck off y/n, ive had a shit day and your annoying ass isn't helping." matt growls at me as he looks down at me. my eyes widen and my eyebrows furrow, the uncomfortable silence grows, i shake it off temporarily and grab his bicep "matt i know your angry, but please dont talk to me like that." i say gently trying to calm him down "ill talk to you how i want" he snaps back then pushes me off him, opens the door to the car and climbs in in a huff.

i look around to try see if nicks coming, but i assume he's getting a ride home with chris so i open the door to the passenger side and quickly climb in. matt starts to drive forward as soon i shut the door and the rest of the drive is silent apart from a few grunts from matt.

we pull into the driveway and matt instantly turns off the car, grabs his hockey back and gets out of the car, stomping up to the house and letting himself in, not even bothering to look back. why is he acting like this, its just one loss?

after a few minutes of attempting to calm my anger down and failing, i get out of the car and slam the car door shut behind me and running up to the house. matts locked himself in the bathroom so i run into our bedroom, and push the door shut behind me. i change out of my thermals into a matching brandy melville pyjama set and i crawl into bed.

after 45 minutes of scrolling on my phone i hear a soft few knocks on the door to the bedroom and i sigh quietly and ignore it. 3 more gentle knocks. i realise hes not planning on going away so i mumble "come in."

the door pushes open and matts face peeks in, he comes into the room in silence and lays down on the bed next to me, flat on his back. i roll over away from him to face the wall, and i can hear the soft clicking noise of matt biting his nails. i feel 1 warm hand on my shoulder which rolls me over onto my back. matt rolls onto his side to face me and he looks me in my eyes. "im so sorry y/n" he says calmly and quietly but i stay silent. "i didnt mean anything i said, and i was a total dick. i dont know if you knew but that game was the decider if i got a scholarship, and i totally fucked it up." he continues, "a-and i was so mad at myself, that i took it out on everyone, like in the locker room i was cussing everyone out, and im not proud of it, at all" matt says, "and now i dont know if im gonna get the scholarship and im so fucking stressed, but i am truly sorry on what i said." he groans. "close your eyes matt." i say softly and his eyebrows furrow out of confusion "huh?" he says, definitely not expecting that response. "trust me" i say again, with a smirk playing at my lips and he squeezes his eyes shut.

i shimmy my way down to the middle of the bed, right next to matts lap. i silently pull my tank top off and place it beside me as pull down matts sweatpants down slightly, almost letting his cock spring out and his breath instantly hitches "fuck. please.." he groans as he balls up his fisted and rubs both of his eyes. i see his bulge grow bigger. i plant gentle kisses on his clothed bulge as he whimpers desperately, "matt, i am about to suck your cock until you cum down my throat, and if you open your eyes, i will stop." i say softly, taking control of the situation and he nods "okay- fuck yeah okay" he says frantically nodding. i pull down his sweatpants all the way and his cock springs out onto his stomach, his tip is the exact shade of his lips and is leaking precum. I lick my lips and grab his shaft, only putting the tip in my mouth, he lets out a long groan and pushes his hair back with his tattooed arm. I suck his tip gently then take it out of my mouth, and he whines. "patience matthew" i giggle and then trail my tongue from his balls up the long vein going up his dick. "please.. let me fuck you oh my fuck-" he groans quietly and thats enough for me to take his whole length in my mouth, bobbing my head quickly up and down. i quickly take my mouth off him after a few minutes and his eyes stay shut. hes so stimulated that he doesnt even notice me crawling ontop of him and hovering above his tip. he lets out a soft moan and i sink down onto his length. "what the f-" he gasps quietly and his eyes spring open to look at me. his hands instantly grip my hips and push me down further onto him "good girl." he groans as he pulls me up and down on his cock "fuck- so tight" he growls out as he goes faster "close-" i warn and he guides me up and down faster.

i let out an almost pornographic scream as i orgasm all over his cock. "fuck-" he stammers as he cums inside of me. i collapse onto his chest with him still buried inside of me. he holds my ass gently as he catches his breath "you're so perfect you know?" he whispers into my ear and i groan into his ear. "you want me to.. you know pull out..?" he says embarrassed.

"not really honestly"

"oh.. do you forgive me?"

"after that orgasm, yeah."

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hoooottttt anyways leave requests, they can be anon!! theres a little button on my page.

hope yall liked this!!

[yourheart-inmyhands]

Hi hi!! I was just wondering if you could write general hcs (or longer blurbs) of the Harbingers (Childe, Dottore, Pantalone, Capitano, Arlecchino and La Signora) with a dumb and naive fem! Reader? (Gn is fine) Perversions such as stalking, manipulation, and non con elements + etc. are a-ok! 👌(^◡^ ) I want the entirety of the Yandere-ness!!!

Much love 😈

hi this request was so cool!! i don't usually do more than 3-4 characters per post so i did a few this time, if you wanna swing back around and request the rest of the characters i'd be more than happy to write it for you :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including implied being held against ones will, subject to unwilling experiments, delusional behaviors, obsessive tendencies, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Childe:

Oh Celestia you couldn’t be any more perfect could you? That wide-eyed, dumb little look you gave him whenever he was talking about his missions, eager to listen but to stupid to understand. He just adores you, his big hands cupping your face, squishing your cheeks to make you look even sillier. Childe just can’t get enough of you. 

You’re like a little puppy dog to him, so cute and silly yet so unknowing. He can’t help but want to smother you in hugs and kisses when you’re around, doting on you and making sure no one ever lays a finger on you aside from him.

It’s when you’re not around that things are different with Childe, it’s like he’s gone haywire, feral without your company. He wears a little locket on a chain attached to his belt, it has a picture of you and a lock of your hair inside. He makes sure to keep it well protected, occasionally spraying it with your perfume or beauty products so it smells like you. As soon as he’s back home with you though he’s the same sweet, overbearing Childe he was previously. 

Dottore:

He takes full advantage of the situation, subjecting you to minor experiments, most of which are harmless. Dottore always has his eyes on you, whether his actual ones or the ones of his segments. Even in your sleep there’s some variation of him watching you, settled at your bedside with a notepad in hand, camera just beside him. It’s like every second of your life is being recorded for Dottore, because it is.

He’s also obsessed with your body, giving you regular weekly check ups. He tells you that it’s normal, that all proper adults get checkups this often, even when the check ups push beyond the normal means. It’s not just the normal things like checking your heart rate and ensuring you’ve got no lumps, bumps, or growths. It extends into things like how fast your hair and nails grow, any changes caused by the experiments he does, changes in your natural body scent, and other random things.

Dottore also takes care of any and all medical needs you have, he’s become your personal doctor. Anything and everything you do is under his control, he picks when and how often you sleep, what you eat, how much daylight you get, and what you do on a day to day basis. The best part is you’re too stupid and naive to muster up the courage to say anything.

Pantalone:

This man, in all his wisdom and cash, adores how you let him do anything he wishes with you. You’ve become his little doll to dress up, style, and control. He makes you the perfect little partner, picking out all your outfits, regularly rotating the clothing in your wardrobe with new outfits, he’d be criminal if he let you wear the same thing twice. 

Pantalone takes you everywhere with him, flaunting his perfect little darling to others. He makes sure to use big, extravagant words when talking about you to others so that you don’t understand, it’s usually all good though so no worries. If there is any reason he can’t take you with him, you can expect him to leave a comprehensive list and schedule for you, keeping his control over what you wear even whilst he’s gone.

He uses your stupidity against you, betting things on which of you will be right or if you can answer correctly. You’re wrong every time and he loves it, and yet despite being wrong every time, because you stood no chance at knowing the right answer, you fall right into the same trap over and over again. He just adores you so much, and he’d do anything to keep you by his side, forever.