#but i have a sinking feeling she was just lying. i know deep down she's disappointed that im not as smart as i used to be. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jolapeno · 1 month

Text

take my picture

francisco "frankie" morales x ofc!reader | collection masterlist

summary: you find a polaroid camera, and offer to let frankie take photos.

chapter kink: photo exhibitionism. warnings: smut. frankie takes polaroids of you (consenting). oral (m!receiving). bit of cock praise. fingering. lots of sexy photos. underwear to the side. fuck bud things aka two fools who won't talk. frankie is a sleepy boy (not a warning, just stating facts now). blue has a name and job/likes/dislikes. no physical descriptions. wordcount: 3.9k. an: thanks to @pedgito for beta'ing. dedicated to @luxurychristmaspudding because i haunted her with this, she told me to write it, and i told her only if i could gift it to her. i love you bby. one day we hug, yes?

You’ve only been awake for an hour when he lets you know he’s here.

The clock on your kitchen wall tells you it’s midday, though the light outside seems to have forgotten. Everything is muted, as if the sun has forgotten to rise fully, the sky from your kitchen a blanket of dull grey, casting shadows over everything. You can sense the hum of activity—the muffled clatter of life moving above you, or people in the hallway.

Then, in a hundred and forty-six seconds—that’s all it takes—his knuckles tap softly on your door before he’s twisting the handle.

The coffee you’d only half-finished is swirling down the sink, and you’d just manage to fluff the cushions on your two-piece sofa when your eyes meet his. You worry, briefly, that the signs of your night shifts are as obvious on your face, as they are in your home. Little traces of exhaustion are scattered around—the shoes kicked off near the basket of unworn pairs, your jacket draped over the armchair, and your bag lying on its side, carelessly dropped and forgotten.

When he steps through, it appears as though he’s blind to it all. The usual duffel swings down from his shoulder, but this time he’s an accompanying pair of bags under his eyes—a tiredness that doesn’t filter away even when he smiles. There’s a tightness in his face, a 4 o’clock shadow you trace with your eyes that’s beginning to darken his jawline.

The greeting is gentler this time. Softer kisses, his fingers skating along your jaw, thumb resting on your chin, as his mouth slants over yours. Your lashes flutter closed as you tug him closer, pulling him in, melting into him before his face finds the curve of your neck. The duffel drops with a thump as both his arms cage you.

He breathes in, right against your neck, before he grazes unspoken words against your skin as your fingers massage the top of his neck, feeling the tightness, hearing how he lowly groans into your skin.

“You slept, captain?”

“Hmm,” he hums as his mouth presses slow, open-mouthed kisses to your neck.

Ones you almost bow towards, lean into, let happen.

“Frankie.” Fingers sliding around his cheeks, lifting him, forcing his eyes to wander over yours. “Have you slept since you’ve been back? Preferably in the last day or two?”

Scratching the back of his head, temporarily averting his eyes as his nostrils flare, he eventually spits out, “Here and there.”

Tilting your head, sighing. Something there, unspoken. An explanation, one that would weave a thread between the two of you, a deepness you’re not sure either of you is willing to surrender to.

You’d sensed something was simmering beneath the surface when he told you he was back. The timing of his return and your string of night shifts had become an enemy to you both, keeping you apart, forcing him to go home and make excuses instead of—what you suspected was his usual—lying and saying he was back later than he was. The benefit of this was that the two of you rarely had the chance to converse as much as you have in the past few days—conversations broken up by your erratic sleep schedule and shifting time zones. Still, it had felt strange to find him keeping you company as you tried to eat leftover lasagne at three in the morning.

Thinking you like texting me too much.

What makes you say that?

You’ve responded within seconds, Morales.

You don’t admit you like texting him. That it’s nice, almost normal in the grand schemes of whatever this thing is. This thing where you text him and wait for a response, giddy when you see his name flash up; this thing where you count down, in your head only, to the day you think he’ll be home.

For sex, you remind yourself. Just sex—and food.

“Here or there less than three hours a day or…”

He glares, but smothers it quickly, jaw tightening as he keeps his hands in place.

“Bed, now.” His brow arches at your words, lips rolling as he stares. “Alone.”

“Blue… c’mon.”

“The plans we have require you to be awake for the duration, not somewhere between snoozing and existing. Just go, I don’t know, sleep for an hour or two in my bed.”

His brow raises again, remaining there, hovering over his brown eye. “In your bed.”

“Yeah, my bed.” Folding your arms, letting your lips slide into your cheek. “Don’t be difficult and argue with me. I’ve done four back-to-back night shifts.”

He snorts, eyes slightly wider than usual—as though acknowledging it, how you’ve overshared, how there’s a bit of you amongst the other parts.

“Look, I can study—I’ve got another nursing exam thing coming up and you can sleep, and then when you wake up, we can…”

Dragging his eyes up and down you, you try to remain tall, strong. Not giving in as you feel your skin warm under his gaze; not crack under the way he lingers on your legs, on your arms crossed just under your chest.

“Nurse, huh.”

“Go.”

“Fuck, alright.”

Smiling, watching him move to grab his bag, you begin biting the inside of your cheek, gnawing at it. “Hey,” you say, watching his eyes flick up, staring through his brows as he remains hinged, “Am I eating for one tomorrow night or?”

Softly, he begins to smile. Likely remembering the texts—the odd few the two of you have managed to send between whatever he does and your work.

It rises, the smirk kissing his eyes at the same time as the dimple appears on his cheek when he straightens up, sweats in hand as he takes a step closer. “Was thinking about you not eating alone for another night after that, if you still wanted?”

Swaying on the spot, you mirror his smirk. “You’re buying.”

Then he’s kissing you, fingers sliding around the back of your head, cupping it, as he smothers a reply to your mouth, a murmur of being back soon as he swats at your ass.

You don’t stop smiling for several minutes after your bedroom door closes.

Frankie wakes around the time you’ve grown sick of diagrams, words and note-making.

When your pastel highlighters are suddenly not as cute and the clear post-its are not as innovative as you first thought. When you’re distracting yourself with making a coffee, struggling to adjust to the fact it’s almost evening when in fact for you it’s more midday.

You’re barely three sips into your drink when he takes it, dwarfing your cup with his paw as his sip is larger than yours.

“Oh, help yourself, Morales.”

Smirking, he takes another small sip before handing it back. “Fuck, somehow forgot how pretty you are.”

You hum, placing the cup down, it clinking against the counter before he slides his arms around you. Instinctive, that’s how you’d describe it, your nails scraping against the base of his neck, the edge of your counter digging in as he presses his body flush against yours.

“Been thinking about you.”

“Memories of me serving you well, Morales.”

He groans as you kiss him, as you pull his mouth to yours—feeling how warm his mouth is, how there’s the slightest taste of mint.

“Poor Frankie, having to use his mind to jerk off in the desert or forest or… wherever you get sent to.”

Snorting, he grabs a handful of your ass, making your mouth open in a gasp before he smothers it with his lips. Kneading it, making your hips meet his. Your hand reaches for the side, knocking into it—the unboxed surprise that just catches his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“Well,” you say, picking it up, and turning it over in your hand. “It's a Polaroid camera.”

“I can see that.”

“Thought you might have grown tired of your imagination. Thought maybe I could give you a gift—especially when you left me with one of your shirts.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Smirking, you press the button—a flash illuminating, making him hiss a swear under his breath as the machine conjures and spits out the image.

“We can call it even then—what I’ve thought up.”

Fingers rubbing his eyes, one trying to crack open. “What’s that then?”

“You can say no.”

“Something I’ve yet to do with you but go on.”

Smiling, a flutter of nerves rumbling through you as you swallow. “Thought you could… take some souvenirs with you. For you. Your eyes only kinda thing.”

His brows furrow, flicking his gaze to the camera and back again before he’s biting his cheek. It dawns slowly, slipping over his face as his eyes darken, as he catches on to the nature of your suggestion.

Continuing, you meet his gaze. “You can pick how you want me, can shoot as many as you like—but you only get to take three with you.”

“Just three?”

Nodding, biting your lip. “I almost said one, but thought you’d like a mix—especially since you were gone longer this time.”

“You want me to have dirty photos of you, Blue.”

Smiling, nose brushing against the tip of his, “I’m just doing my bit, captain.”

The last word is punctuated by the way you hook a finger in your shorts and let them slide down to your ankles. Empowered, confident, even as a chill rushes over you and your skin goosebumps.

The way he stares, makes you wonder how you’ve ever settled for anything less than the lust in his eyes. An easy explanation for why you wait, because there can’t be anything better, right? The way he tilts his head slightly and runs his hand against his jaw as your clothes fall in soft thuds to your floor until you’re stood in nothing but a pair of panties.

Ones chosen, all intentionally picked. Selected.

All set to remove them when his hands stop you. When his rough hands slide over them and press your palms to the counter, mouth slanting over yours, softly but hungrily. The kind of kiss that would make your knees go if not for his frame pressing on you, his grip on your hands tightening as you bite at his lower lip.

“How do you want me?”

The tip of his nose brushes yours, eyes closed, before he breathlessly whispers, “On your knees.”

You smile, ghosting it over his. “Help me down then, baby.”

It slips out, slithers. The name he calls you, that you now call him.

His fingers slot between yours, gripping them tight as he helps you lower yourself to the ground—to the cold tiles of your kitchen as you stare up at him. Left only in a pair of lace panties you’re grateful you’d thrown on before.

“Can I taste you, captain?”

“Fuck—yeah. Sure.”

He’s already hard when you’re pulling him free—thick, twitching. The tip already glistening as you glide the fabric down, teasingly, watching the head of his cock meet the base of his stomach.

“Your cock is so perfect.”

Your hand wraps around it, smearing the bead of precum, smirking at the hiss you make him emit, lifting onto your knees as you begin to work him, his soft stomach shifting as he breathes deeply.

“Can’t wait to taste you, Frankie—”

“—Li—”

You make him choke on your name when your mouth wraps around him. The tip at first, tongue swirling around, savouring the tangy taste of him—until you take more of him. And more. Doing so until your eyes prick with tears and you feel annoyed that you’re not at the base.

But, it’s fleeting, passing. His moan makes it worth it.

From the weight of him on your tongue to the taste of him, it’s all worth it. You lick around the head and flick your eyes up to see his stare already trained on you, the muscles in his legs twitching under your palms, gliding your tongue—all flat—on the underside of him, smearing the tip along your lips as though its gloss.

If you didn’t know what he did for a job, you’d tell him with that glare he’d be good at it.

Especially when you take him deeper, hearing the reward of a hiss, of your name—all elongated and breathy. Tears prick and spill over as your nose meets the thick curls at the base of him, feeling him twitch, pulse—all thick and fucking divine in your throat before you’re forced to slide back up. Your cheeks hollowed, eyes flicking up to see his mouth parted in surprise, chest heaving.

You smirk, with difficulty. The thickness of him makes it challenging as you swirl your tongue around the tip and feel his fingers sliding under your chin.

And you want to touch yourself.

Smudge the mess between your thighs around your aching clit, dip two fingers into your heat—

“Too good to me, Blue.”

His praise and the sight of him in the low light, the evening bathing your room, making the perspiration on his chest glitter. It’s then you notice the camera in hand—dwarfed almost, by the size of his palm.

He’s holding it like a gesture, like a silent ask of permission. One you give. A nod, a slow blink, and you spot the surprise sewn into his brows. A look vanished a moment later as you take him to the base, nails digging into the back of his thighs as you plead for yourself not to choke again.

You don’t.

Not even when he gently rolls his hips to your movements,

“Need to take a picture, Blue. Need it.”

You hum, nose against the curls at the base of him, almost feverish with how much you want him. Desperate, agitated with it.

So you flick your eyes up, swallowing—a flurry of curses leaving his lips.

Click, flash—

—Click, flash.

It illuminates you. The bright light makes your eyes widen, forcing them to, filling them with surprise. It’s barely a second, but he steals what the glare provides in the thickening darkness as the clock ticks on.

He doesn’t need the photo to develop, he’s sure the image will be burned into his brain for a lifetime. You with your mouth full of him, cheeks hollowed around his spit-soaked cock as it dribbles down your chin and wets his palm.

There are stains on your cheeks—tears. One's from taking him so deep earlier, when he’d felt the need to remind you to be slow. He caught a glimpse of your glare then, but there’s no sign of it now. Your eyes are all glassy, completely fucked out. Knelt before him in nothing but the thinnest pair of panties, likely soaked, ruined. All for him.

All. For. Him.

Then the room dims again, the photo ejecting out of the camera as it begins to bloom and paint the scene, forever immortalised, and he has to stop himself from clicking the button again just to see you in that light.

You hum as though thinking it. So he snaps another, and another. Each flash creates a different scene, one with your eyes closed—your wet lashes against your cheek. The next you smirking, fingers around the base and your tongue licking at his slit—eyes burning into the camera lens.

You loosen up the more he takes, performing, kneeling up as your hand moves to cup his balls, to gently, ever so carefully roll them as you lick another stripe up the underside of his cock.

He hisses in curses, ones barely bitten back.

It takes all of his restraint not to come down your pretty little throat the next time you take him down it. Because you’re beautiful, but this is something else. An enigma, a gift, a heavenly being that is here for him, taking as much of him as you can.

Bobbing and sucking, little moans and mews around him as you do so. It’s all too much, his eyes clenching shut, feeling, just feeling, and feeling—

It feels like something should have ripped, as though the universe has pulled apart, but he knows it’s in his head. It rushes through him so quickly, splintering and knocking him off base as his elbow awkwardly collides with the dresser before he’s gripping it with all he has, panting through his nose, hips meeting your movements.

And then his hips buck, cock twitching on your tongue.

Then, he’s coming hard down your throat. From the top of his head to his toes, his muscles clench, tighten. Body roaring, licked with flames, his cock twitching as you lick up every drop, as he begins to tingle all over from it.

Whether it’s an intention, just for the camera in his hand or him alone, when your mouth slides from him, it hinges open. Waiting, hands falling to your lap. And he knows before he brightens you with the flash what he’s going to see. But, nothing compares when he glimpses it. Your pretty, perfect fucking mouth full of him.

It stirs in him. Hunger, agonising covetous to have you—to taste himself on your lips, tongue.

“Swallow, baby.”

And he hears it, in the thick silence that you do.

The photo hangs from the device as he plants it down, as he rests it and descends to his knees to meet you. Hand cupping the back of your head as he brings your mouth to his, as he licks into your mouth, as he groans at the way you open up to him and the suppleness of your skin.

Perfect, perfect, so fuckin’ perfect.

He whispers it to your lips, groans it against your jaw as he slides a hand between your legs, underwear moved to the side as the two of you moan in unison at first contact. You shifting, adjusting, knees spread as your ass meets your floor, palms pressed to the ground behind you, head tipping back, letting it escape—

“Please. Please, baby.”

It’s delicately said, all smooth, but encased and embroiled in damned desperation. Baby—he likes it when you say it, a thing he so rarely hears.

He rewards you for it by pressing two fingers inside you, finding you soak him to the knuckles. You tighten around him, the lewd sound of your pussy filling the air, and he swallows, transfixed—a slither of light is all he has. His attention fixed, thumb pressing to your clit as you arch into his hand, bearing down against it.

“Take it,” you moan, hips beginning to rock against him. “Take a picture, Frankie.”

He smirks, almost grins. Almost full of delirium that you exist, that you’ve chosen him, let him in, let him—

You whine his name, already so close. His free hand reaching, patting for it, knocking things over to the point you laugh—

“Break it all, Frankie. I don’t care, just need—”

“Shh,” he soothes, rubbing circles with his thumb, the other hand grasping the camera, pulling it with him as he adjusts his knees on the floor. “Got you, Blue. Always got you.”

I know, I know, I know.

A chant, a soundtrack to the way he curls his fingers until you’re pleading, sobbing.

Click, flash—

Fuck, you’re a mess. Wrecked, ruined. Underwear pulled to the side, black, maybe even ripped a little, with your back bowed and your face contorted—twisted in pleasure. He sees tear tracks on your cheeks from earlier, slick spread in the crease of your spread thighs. Your hips meet his movements, pressing his fingers down on the spongy spot that has you babbling—whining; thumb pressing against your swollen, puffy clit.

Let go, he thinks. Readying to say it, to plead. But then your hips jolt, your chin raising as your head falls back.

The sound of you when you come is one he’ll never grow tired of.

Least of all the taste of you when he slowly removes his fingers and licks them clean, his other thumb massaging your knee when you wince at the loss of him.

“Go get on your bed, Blue.”

You breathe, pant. “You bringing the camera?”

“If you want?”

He hears you exhale and almost feels your smirk even in the darkness.

By the time the two of you are done, there’s a sea of them—the Polaroids.

The sheets under the two of you are a mess, with little photographic evidence of the two of you scattered all around. A play-by-play of the last forty-five minutes.

His breath is caught, as is yours. The soft hue of your bedroom illuminated by the late afternoon filters in, shades of purple and deep oranges.

You’re resting against him, fitting under his arm—heart still beating, even through him as you try to catch your breath. It’s not like the last time, when you’d looked half-awake and rode him until he had to roll you over, it’s not like the time before when he’d watched soap suds slide down your spine, pussy swallowing his cock over and over as your cries echoed around the tiles. It’s soft, sweet, the moment the two of you are sharing. Fingers, splayed out, soft with nails trimmed, skate up and down his side, and it shouldn’t be a thing he thinks, never mind confessed.

But fuck is this perfect, you’re perfect.

Frankie fumbles for the camera, for the device forgotten amongst the sheets, leaving it there, resting. Waiting.

“So how many bedpans do you have—”

You swat at him first, the lightest laugh following, spreading out. So, he continues. Asking more oddities with a shake of your head, not breaking you, not earning more than a light giggle, until:

“You got a pair of scrubs around? I do like a woman in uniform.”

It bursts out of you then, a laugh—a real one—and he lifts the camera as your head rests on him. The click comes, the flash brighter than he remembers.

It’s snapped, taken—a laugh, yours, all but frozen in time.

Later, when the photo is developed and mixed in with a stack of others waiting to be chosen, he sees his own smile. It’s light, almost unfamiliar, given how long it’s been since he’s seen it.

That photo might be his favourite, but it isn’t one he keeps. He thinks it’s too soon for things like that.

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slayfics · 1 year

Text

You fall asleep on Katsuki.

You got onto the bus excited to get off of your feet. Your class had just finished an off-campus training exercise and was now heading back to UA. The training which required sparing with your classmates left you exhausted.

You were the last to climb onto the bus, as you had sustained some nasty injuries after the training. You moved slowly up the bus steps feeling your body scream at you. Scanning the seats left over, there didn't appear to be many options left.

Of course one of the open and closest seats left was the one next to Katsuki. Whatever, you thought, and made your way over to sit next to him.

It wasn't that you disliked him the way the rest of the class did, but he was the sparring partner who had left you in such bad shape today. It would have been nice to get some space from him.

The bus started up and began to move. Luckily Katsuki wasn't much of a talker. He stared silently out the window making it easy to ignore him. You felt your whole body sink into the seat, your muscles thanking you for relaxing. You leaned your head back against the seat.

"You good?" You heard Katsuki ask next to you.

"I'm fine," you replied. Although in actuality your whole left side felt like it was on fire. Katsuki had landed a direct hit on you, an exceptionally strong blast from just a short distance away.

"Thought you were gonna dodge that last hit dumb ass, I wouldn't have used such a strong blast," he grumbled still looking out the window.

"I said I'm fine," you responded back shortly. Your eyes were beginning to get heavy and you just wanted to nap.

"Yeah whatever," he said and fell back into silence.

You let the hum of the bus and the rocking moments of the road lull you to sleep. The bus went over a bump large enough to throw off your balance from leaning back against the seat, but not large enough to wake you up. As a result, you landed resting your head on Katsuki's shoulder.

Katsuki jumped silently surprised and looked down to see you were knocked out and hadn't leaned on him on purpose. "Ugh-" he grunted in annoyance but looked back out the window deciding not to disturb you.

Mina sitting in front of you guys had not stopped talking to Ochaco since she sat down. She turned around in her seat to ask you a question, when she noticed you knocked out and resting on Katsuki.

"Awe how cute!" She exclaimed.

"Shut the hell up! I'm only allowing it because I beat them down pretty hard today," Katsuki barked at Mina.

"Mhm~ ok Bakugo," she giggled and turned back around.

"Tch-," Katsuki grumbled and looked back out the window.

Katsuki yelling at Mina had disturbed you enough to become slightly aware of what was going on, but not enough to shake you fully awake. You became aware of the sensation that you were lying on Katsuki's shoulder and realized you must have fallen over when you fell asleep.

You were surprised he didn't kick you out of the seat the second you fell over and leaned on him. You decided to play off being sleepy and wrapped your arm around his and dragged it down bringing his shoulder into a more comfortable position for you to rest on.

"Hu?," Katsuki turned to look at you nuzzling up to him. "You're really testing your luck, you know that? If you drool on me I'm kicking your ass off this seat," He barked.

Ah- there it is, you thought laughing internally.

Katsuki leaned his head back against the seat, and you allowed yourself to fall back into a deep slumber.

After some time the bus finally arrived back at UA. Students began to get off and once again Mina turned around to look at you both.

"Ah! Uraraka look!" She exclaimed, pointing to you two.

Katsuki had fallen asleep as well but instead of his intent on keeping his head rested back against the seat, the bus movements caused him to lean into you. His head now rested on top of yours.

Mina quickly took out her phone and snapped a picture, alerting Katsuki to wake up.

"The hell?" He blinked hard and noticed the camera in his face. "The fuck are you doing raccoon eyes?? Give me that damn phone I'm going to explode it to hell!" He yelled.

"Do what you want but it's already on my story," Mina teased, sticking out her tongue and pulling down her eyelid.

"We better go!" Ochaco said, nervously pulling Mina off the bus.

Katsuki’s moment and yelling had shaken you awake. It took you a second to come back to consciousness and realize the situation. You pulled your phone from your pocket to check the time and realized a notification of being tagged in a photo from Mina.

You curiously opened the notification and were greeted with the sight of a picture of you and Katsuki passed out asleep leaning on each other. Your face instantly flushed.

Katsuki looked down at the picture on your phone, "Those damn extras need to learn how to mind their business," He spoke, irritation laced in every word.

You nodded not knowing how else to respond. The truth was you loved this picture, and you knew you would stare at it until it disappeared from Mina's story. That was until a moment later when Mina sent you a text with the picture and a message that read "You're welcome ;)".

"Come on let's get off this damn bus," He said motioning for you to get out so he could too.

You got up and made your way off the bus, Katsuki trailing right behind you.

"Alright let's go, I'll walk you to Recovery Girl she'll have some burn ointment that will help with that," Katsuki said, eyeing your left arm that he hit with a strong explosion.

"Awe, it's cute how much you care Bakugo," You teased him.

"Shut the hell up! I just know if I don't take you you'll be too stubborn to go on your own. I know how much of a wimp you are with anything remotely doctor related," He laughed trying to retort back but you could see through his ruse.

Katsuki wasn't the type of person to vocalize how he felt, ever. Instead, he showed it with actions, and even then he would try to disguise it as if it was a bother to him. Like it was something he couldn't stand doing. However, you knew better, it was too easy to tell that Katsuki just struggled with these types of things.

Whether it was how he was raised or something he experienced in his past, affection, and kindness didn't come naturally to him so he showed it in unique ways that the average person might miss. You wondered how many people weren't able to see past his temper and understand him. It made you sad to think about how many people he might have accidentally pushed away. And you wondered, how many people didn't take the time to understand?

"Thank you Bakugo, I appreciate it," You said, smiling at your classmate.

“Yeah yeah, don't think too much into it or whatever," He said as he began to walk towards Recovery Girl's station.

Thank you for reading! I smiled a lot when writing this one hehe~

Tags~

@unofficialmuilover @snowmist-hashira

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opluffys · 1 year

Note

Hey ! I love your stuff ! What a bout a pov when Ghost does spicy things whit the fem reader , but she is pregnant ! Xoxo

hi thank you so much!!! <3 very very sorry for answering this so late!! i just saw it now :( but i hope that you like it and that i wrote what you had in mind :) <3

•

-nsfw/smut-

ghost has gotten lucky enough to be home with you for the last stretch of your pregnancy. he wanted to be there for you to ensure that you didn't have to lift a finger. there were many times where you had to wake him in the dead of the night, just to shyly ask him to run to the store for your off the wall cravings.

but ghost would always make sure that you were satisfied, gently pushing his fingers inside your wet pussy when you grew needy. or he’d lower himself to his knees and eating at you like a man starved. but he hasn't been overly intimate with you in a while, ever since you started getting later and later into your pregnancy. truth be told, ghost didn't want to hurt you, he would never forgive himself, especially if it was for something as superficial as his own pleasure. as long as you’re appeased, he’s happy.

right now, you're standing in front of your mirror, changing into your nightclothes. ghost silently watches as you do your little routine that takes longer and longer each day- it's the only thing he's not allowed to help you with. he's downright staring at you, that ethereal glow that usually surrounds you has increased tenfold.

and he can't take it anymore.

he hasn't been able to for the last couple of weeks, either. he excuses himself to your shared restroom, not missing your concerned glance towards him. he quickly locks the door behind him and stares at his own reflection. he runs a hand over his face, tired and rugged, so undoubtedly him.

he can feel how strained his pants are, lowering them just enough so his cock hits his abdomen. he braces a single hand on the porcelain sink, wrapping his hand around his painfully hard length. he stifles a groan, gradually beginning to set a slow pace.

and oh, ghost wishes that it was you. picturing your pretty face and familiar facial expressions as he drives his cock deep into you. he can practically feel your nails digging into the muscle of his back, creating deep crescent marks that fade away with time.

his head tips back as he swipes a thumb over his tip, pre-cum spilling forth. he's unable to contain the low groan that leaves him, pure euphoria shooting through his veins.

it's short lived as he hears a knock at the door.

"simon?" your light voice reaches his ears, sounding concerned, "you okay..?"

he hesitates before answering, not making a move to open the door. a slight sense of shame fills him as he makes eye contact with that glittering band on his ring finger.

"yeah, s'alright love."

you can tell he's lying.

"can you open the door for me?"

he can't tell you no, can he?

ghost quickly makes himself look decent before opening the door, allowing you to look at him. your eyes trail lower before returning back up into his honey and clouded eyes. and he damns your intuition, because he’s sure you knew what he was doing.

“wanna help you, simon.” your hand gently brushes against the noticeable bulge in his pants. he doesn’t know what kind of hold you have over him, but that small and singular touch from you has him reeling.

“don’t-“ he lets out a shaky breath at feeling you continue, “don’t wanna hurt you, sweet girl.”

he hears you laugh, such an addicting sound that graces his ears and repeats in his head. your hand laces with his and you lead him back to the bedroom, sitting him down on the large bed.

“you’ve been gentle before.” you take a seat atop his thighs and not facing him, your clothed cunt rubbing against his cock. he instinctively places his hands on your hips, watching as you turn around to look down at him with a warm smile. your hand reaches down to push all of his necessary clothing out of the way.

your hips rise as you move your own undergarments to the side, raising yourself further to sink down his cock. it’s been a while since he’s stuffed you so full of him, a quiet whimper leaving you while he’s full on moaning your name.

“fuck, fuck you feel so fuckin’ good love.” he assists you ride him, lifting you as if you weigh absolutely nothing. his voice is strained, and you know he’s holding back just for you and your well-being. it makes your heart swell as you lace a hand with his, holding it tightly.

ghost stares, utterly mesmerised as he watches your smaller body accommodate him inside of you. he feels your cunt squeeze him tightly, your free hand curling into the sheets. your sounds start to grow as you fervently chase after your own bliss- ghost not at all minding and just glad that you were comfortable enough.

ghost is usually very good at hiding his own sounds, normally quiet so he can hear you instead. but when you just feel so phenomenal around him, so snug, warm and tight around his cock- he can’t form a single coherent thought in his mind. his moans are low and guttural, muttering praises to you with every breath he can draw. it makes your head swim, not accustomed to seeing him like this, so desperate and overly infatuated with you.

but you can definitely get used to it.

#fanfic #smut #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod smut #cod x reader #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #fem reader

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 15 days

Text

The right ones.

Pic credits

Pairing: Soft!Joel Miller x reader, no outbreak (Sarah is alive and well)

Summary: Joel buys you pads. ‘Cause Joel provides, you know, no matter the situation.

Tags: established relationship, pet names (baby, honey), reader has period and hair, no other description is given, mention of period symptoms, mention of cramps, mention of pads, mention of Sarah, flirting, kissing, Joel is a sweet pookie bear, I think that’s all? It’s just some tiny little fluff I wrote because I’m about to get my period and I need some comfort 🥲

I tried to write it in a neutral way so that every person who menstruates can identify with it, I hope I succeeded. (if you think there are things that need to be changed, just tell me and I'll do it ❤️)

English is not my first language, no beta and no proofreading so any mistake is all my fault, I’m sorry 💀

Thanks to anyone who will read this!

Your cell phone rings.

“Hey! What’s up, honey?”

“Um… listen, which ones did you say you need?”

“The ones with wings, Joel. Blue box, second shelf from the bottom.”

Usually you are the one who takes care of groceries and hygiene products shopping and by now you know by heart where they are.

“Mh…” you can see him. In the middle of the aisle, frowning, one hand on his hip and the other one holding the phone, one knee slightly forward, as he tries to maneuver through the boxes, they must all look the same to him.

“The ones that say ‘night, with wings, extra long’,” you add to try to help him.

Silence follows, several deep breaths, an undertone of exasperation, you bite your lower lip to keep from bursting out laughing. You don’t want to make fun of him, he’s trying hard to make it right.

He offered to do it for you this morning while you were in the bathroom and you discovered that not only had your period decided to come early but you were also almost out of pads.

You let out a sigh and cursed, “Oh damn!” You were in a foul mood, the cramps were making you squirm, your head was hurting, your back was tormenting you.

He was getting dressed, clearly heard you and asked worried “what’s wrong?”

You walked out of the bathroom with your head down and one hand on your stomach feeling miserable “UGH, my stupid period came and I’m running out of pads”

You sat on the bed and grabbed your phone from the nightstand as a terrible nausea hit you, and you called out of work saying you were sick.

His large hand caressed your face as he leaned down to kiss you.

“I’ll go to the supermarket during lunch break,” he said softly “Stay in bed and rest, okay?”

“Thank you so much” you said, lying down on the bed again and burying your face into your pillow, feeling cramps clawing inside you “you’re the absolute best”

He leaned to kiss your cheek and then left the house to reach the construction site.

—————

He had done it for Sarah one of the first times she had her period and he had bought the wrong type, the thick and bulky ones, she had looked at the box with a downhearted expression that had made his heart sink.

“Those aren't the ones I wanted, Dad! I told you extra thin!” She screamed at him between sobs.

Joel felt like a good-for-nothing.

Making Sarah cry was terrible for him.

He later discovered that his daughter's tantrum was also a side effect of her period and Sarah had apologized to him but Joel still felt that he was the one who had to apologize for his lone wolf status that didn't allow him to have someone by his side to ask for help.

He would have liked to fall in love, yet he had to make it on his own, he certainly didn’t have time to date between work and all the other things he had to take care of. Being a single dad was a full time job.

After that, Joel had memorized the type that Sarah liked best but she had always conveniently made sure to stock up every time they went to the supermarket.

It had been many years since he had bought them for her and he found himself back at square one. Packages are so different, he could swear there are a dozen new ones he's never seen before.

He pinches his nose, takes a deep breath and then he sees it, just like you described it.

"I found them!" you hear him say enthusiastically "I'll be there soon"

"Good job! I'll be waiting for you, love" you coo.

He grabs the box and he goes to the checkout.

You hang up the phone wondering if he really has the ones you want but in any case you’re already grateful that he used his lunch break to bring them to you.

When he met you he was convinced he would be alone forever.

You had reopened his heart little by little, with patience, without pushing him to do or say what he wasn't ready for yet and he had rediscovered himself as a man capable of loving and in need of receiving it. He was grateful for this, he’s madly in love with you and wants to do everything he can to help you in every circumstance.

————————

Joel has quietly entered your room and find you asleep.

He sits on the bed trying not to wake you.

Your hair spread out on the pillow, your face relaxed, your mouth slightly agape and your hand hanging loosely next to your face… you are so beautiful he can’t believe it. He’s the luckiest man in the world and the least he can do is bring you the right damn box. He leave the bag on your nightstand, kisses you on the temple and goes to the kitchen to make some sandwiches.

You wake up after a couple of minutes and see the bag so you grab it to look inside.

Bingo.

Joel wasn’t wrong, they are exactly the ones you wanted. And you find your favorite chocolate bar in it too.

You hear him humming softly in the kitchen so you get up to go and congratulate your hero.

“Hey, gorgeous!” he says to you as soon as he sees you at the kitchen door. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” you say, stretching your arms. Luckily the painkiller you took worked.

“I’m happy to hear that. Go back to bed, I’ll bring you a sandwich in a bit” You move closer and wrap your arms around his waist, leaning against his back as he spreads mayo on the bread.

“You don’t have to do all this, but thank you” you whisper “I love you so much” His body is warm and welcoming, you bury your face in his plaid shirt inhaling his woody scent, so familiar and seductive.

Joel is like that, he had never been good with words, his love language is gestures. And he makes tons of them, constantly, small and big. He remembers which flowers you like best, he brings you Chinese food when you tell him you had a bad day, he watches your romantic comedies with you even if they bore him, he lets you choose the music in the car even if he's old school and you're belting out Billie Eilish and Chappell Roan these days, if something in the house broke, you find it repaired the next day without even asking.

“I love you too” he says, dropping the knife on the counter and placing his hands on yours, holding you close.

“You got the right ones, I'm proud of you” you tell him softly.

He turns to kiss you “Good, I’m glad I could help”

The tip of your tongue grazes his lips and you gently make your way into his mouth, moaning against him while he fills his hands with your ass squeezing it.

“Mmm baby, don't provoke me, I don't have much time left before coming back to work unfortunately"

“We can always have a quickie, they say orgasms help with cramps, you know” you say in a slightly pleading voice, looking at his big brown beautiful eyes through your eyelashes.

“Oh well then if it's for a good cause…” he replies huskily.

“And then you deserve a prize”

“I also got you some chocolate, did you see?”

“Oh yes” you say grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him into the bedroom “I saw it and I love it, but I crave something else sweet right now”

Joel chuckles as he follows you into your shared bedroom “such a dirty little thing you are”

#pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #joel the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller drabble #drabble #joel tlou #joel miller fanfiction #fanfic #joel miller fluff #fluff #joey buys you pads #period cramps #period sex

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authorhjk1 · 2 months

Note

Lovong your color series so far, here more gfriend/viviz related dress

https://x.com/Gfriendfashion/status/1624376951401246721?t=izfOnApJta4XIJDg_8nrHA&s=19

https://youtu.be/Xflh97nCajA

Pink Pair

(Yuju X Umji X Male Reader)

You slowly walk out of Yuju's bedroom, only wearing your boxers. It's evening already. You slept way too long. You don't know where she has gone.

Until you reach her living room.

Yuju is sitting on her couch in a fine pink dress, a white fur coat covering her upper body.

"Good evening, sleepy head."

"What's going on here?"

You gesture towards her dress.

"Umji and I are going to a friend's birthday party."

"Oh, really? Who's birthday is it?"

The door to Yuju's apartment opens in that very second.

"What the hell?"

It's the first thing Yuju says to Umji.

"Why are you wearing the same outfit as me?"

"Unnie."

Umji rolls her eyes.

"I told you I'd be wearing this."

You laugh at the both of them as you help yourself to a glass of water.

"What so funny, mister?"

Yuju glares at you as Umji crosses her arms in front of her chest.

"Nothing. You both look great."

Both of them look at each other, exchanging a knowing look. When they turn back at you, you can tell they are up to no good.

"You decide, then."

"On what?"

"Who looks better in the dress."

You know that that's a scenario that can have a fatal outcome for you.

"Nope. I'm gone."

You're about to head back into Yuju's bedroom, but Umji gets in your way.

"Just tell her that it's me. And I deserve to be the one wearing it."

You're about to answer, when Yuju suddenly appears in front of you.

"Don't you dare. You know that I'm the prettier one."

Umji scoffs and you shake your head.

"Leave me out of this."

"Why? You need some convincing?"

Umji reaches forward and places her hand on your clothed cock.

"No, I don't. I-"

"Let's make this a competition then."

Before you can react, bot of them kneel in front of you.

"Girls..."

By the time you look down on yourself, you can feel both their mouths on your cock.

"Fuck."

You murmur as you watch the two girls competing. Yuju has quickly wrapped her lips around your tip and is now sucking you off, while Umji has put her focus on your base. She licks your cock and your balls.

You're not very used to two pretty girls giving you a blowjob at the same time. You place your hands on both their heads for some stability. As if they practiced this, the two switch places. Now, Yuju licks your base and sucks your balls, while Umji lets her tongue swirl around your tip.

Shortly after, you find yourself in a similar position to this morning. You're lying in Yuju's bed again. This time, you're the one on the bottom though. And you're not inside Yuju. Umji is the one who is riding you.

"Am I doing well?"

Her voice becomes all cute, when she tries to keep in her moans.

"Yes, Umji. You're amazing."

You groan.

At the same time, Yuju is rubbing herself on your thigh. Her wet pussy covers your skin in her slick.

Umji's moans turn significantly louder, when Yuju reaches forward and slips her hands into the younger girl's dress. You see her playing with her tits, while your hands squeeze her full thighs. Umji sinks back against Yuju, the rising pleasure starting to overwhelm her.

You already feel how Umji's body is preparing herself for her incoming orgasm. She loses her rhythm, her pussy squeezes you a little tighter. Just as she is about to cum, Yuju pushes her off your cock.

"My turn."

Umji whines, almost cuming without your cock in her.

"I-I almost..."

Her heavy breathing and her sad face make you reach out to her. Two of your fingers find themselves deep inside her pussy, just when Yuju takes her rightful place on top of you. When you look at her, you realize she has turned around. Her back is facing you, her hands holding onto your knees.

"Yes, right there!"

Umji lets out a cry as you quickly bring her back to the plateau she was just on. Both girls are now moaning in union. Yuju is riding you quick and hard, while Umji feels your fingers inside her pussy, begging you to make her cum.

Your other hand finds its way to Yuju's ass. You squeeze her left cheek once, before giving it a hard slap.

Yuju moans louder as she fucks herself with your cock. Umji's moans are suddenly gone as she silently climaxes around your fingers. Her pussy squeezes them together and covers them in her juices.

"Yuju...."

You groan, knowing that your own orgasm isn't far off.

The older girl slowly gets off of you. They both lie down between your legs and start to share your cock again. You have to close your eyes as you feel both their tongues glide along your length on two different sides.

"Fuck."

You groan once you finally cum. Yuju and Umji both get their faces covered in cum as you shoot your load all over them.

Your head sinks back into the cushion. Yuju and Umji smile at each other. Seems like they will be going to the party in the same dress after all.

----------

Hi guys!

Hope you enjoyed this one. Unfortunately, Tumblr was a pain in the ass again and I lost half the chapter while it tried to save it. So I had to rewrite it, but I didn't know where I was time wise. So this might be a little shorter or a little longer than usual.

Stay healthy!

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grimesthinker · 7 months

Note

Hey, I LOVE your writings 😍

I was wondering if we could get another stepdad, Rick?

the reader's mom married Rick ( I'm picturing it in Alexandria)

Rick and The reader have had little moments like him brushing past her so he could touch her

and one day she gets a boyfriend and Rick does everything to make them break up and it doesn't work so one day he has enough and he just fucks her!

STEPDAD!RICK x FEM!READER ౨ৎ ♡₊˚⊹

you like him, you really do. well, you tell yourself you do. because you should. he's perfect, right? he's safe and he's cute and he's actually your age. problem is, the guy can't fuck for shit. your sweet boyfriend, who can't please a woman to save his life. you tried, a couple times, but he fumbles with your bra strap and struggles to find the right pace to rub your clit. thing is, you don't even care as much as you should. every time you're around him, your mind floods with thoughts and daydreams of your step father, rick, who fell in love with your mother months ago. it's fucking antagonizing, walking past him every day, feeling his calloused hands on your waist for a split second just so he could move past you.

unbeknownst to you, rick can't stand your little boyfriend. he watches him with a deep scowl as he stands on your porch, waiting for you to come outside in your skimpy skirt and tank top. that boy is so entitled, rick thinks. walking around with his head held high because he has the hottest piece of ass in alexandria. it's not right, goddamnit. you belong to him, not that asshole. he purposely touches you any chance he gets, imagining what it'd be like if he moved his hands just a little lower, just enough to play with that sweet cunt.

one hot july day, your mother thinks it'll be a great idea to host a barbecue. you oblige, of course. the community was doing well and you were grateful for it. you invite your boyfriend, only subconsciously wishing it might make your taut stepfather jealous. brat. you coat your lips in sparkly strawberry lip gloss and put on a sweet dress that leaves little to the imagination. people begin to arrive and your mother welcomes them with a smile. you make sure to be the first one to greet your boyfriend, and you also make sure that rick is watching when you kiss him with way more heat than usual.

the barbecue is going good, everyone's happy. everyone's content. except you and rick, of course. you sip your lemonade and he sips his beer, eyeing you from across the backyard. no one else cares to notice the excruciating tension between you two. eventually, you excuse yourself from some insignificant conversation and head into the house, up to the bathroom. you shut the door behind you, not bothering to lock it. you're washing your hands when rick barges in, glaring at you with darkened blue eyes. "what the hell was that?"

you turn the water off. "rick-"

"-bet you didn't know he was down there, braggin' to his buddies about how good he fucks you. about how fuckin' tight you are?" he shuts the door behind him, locks it. god, he's close now.

feeling brave, you cross your arms and taunt him some more. "yeah? what's it matter to you? jealous or somethin?" yeah. you're feeling brave, alright. deep down, you're pissed that your dumb 'boyfriend' is lying to his friends about how good he gives it to you. but with the way rick is looking at you right now, like he wants to rip that tiny dress off and bend you over the sink, you didn't even care.

in a swift motion, you're pinned to the marble counter, rick's fingers digging into your waist. he chuckles lowly, making you immediately drop the big and bad act. your heart pounds, cunt aching for something, anything. he pries your legs apart, gripping your thighs.

"he gives it to you good, huh? then why are you acting like a bitch in heat?"

you shudder at his words, making a soft whimpering sound, fighting the urge to roll your hips and beg him for anything he'll give to you. he peels your panties down your thighs, swiping a thumb over your clit. "ah- look at that." he coos.

minutes later, his cock is buried deep in your pussy, making you feel better than you ever could have imagined. he's anything but gentle, as if he's reading your mind. "fuckin' slut." he grunts. "feels so good, huh, baby? yeah, i know. take it, honey."

#the walking dead #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes smut #rick grimes ⛥*:･#andrew lincoln #rick grimes imagine

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novaursa · 2 months

Text

In the Wake of Fire

- Summary: Aegon and you lay broken together in the aftermath of the battle of Rook’s Rest.

- Paring: reader (twin!wife)/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N. There is mention of reader's and Aegon's children, but they are not named. The reader is bonded with a dragon called Starfyre. For full chronological order of these works visit my blog. The list is pinned on the top. Or, you can read it as a one-shot.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (there is no adult content in this one, but the rating is higher just to be sure)

- Word count: 3 114

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The air in the royal chamber is thick with the scent of incense, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and the faint, acrid smoke from the battlefield still clinging to the corners of the room. The heavy curtains are drawn, casting the bedchamber into a dim twilight, where the only light comes from flickering candles set around the bed. You lie there, utterly still, your breath shallow, as if any deeper breath might shatter your fragile form.

Your consciousness hovers in the darkness, not quite tethered to the world of the living. Flashes of the battle—of Starfyre's furious roar, of the searing heat, and of the sky filled with fire and fury—pierce through the fog of your mind. But now, there is only silence, a stillness that feels both eternal and fleeting. You are aware of the weight of the covers on your body, of the softness of the pillows beneath your head, yet your mind drifts, caught between life and death.

At the foot of the bed, Queen Dowager Alicent stands, her face pale and drawn, her eyes dark with worry. She clasps her hands tightly, knuckles white, as she looks upon you and Aegon, her twin children, both lying side by side as if in death. Aegon's hand is wrapped around yours, his grip firm despite the ravages his body has suffered. His pale blond hair, usually so lustrous, is matted with sweat and dried blood. Burn marks and bruises mar his skin, yet he clings to life with a determination that only a king could muster.

Alicent’s voice, trembling with fear and desperation, cuts through the heavy silence. "They have not moved... neither of them."

Grand Maester Orwyle, his face solemn beneath the shadow of his hood, approaches the bed with careful steps. Behind him, Aemond, your younger brother, enters the chamber, his one good eye blazing with an emotion he would never openly admit to—fear. He steps closer to Alicent, speaking in a low voice, though the concern in his tone is clear.

"The children," Aemond says, his voice strained. "They are asking to see them, Mother. They are frightened... confused. They need to know their parents are—"

"No," Alicent interrupts sharply, her voice cracking with the weight of her anguish. She closes her eyes, gathering herself before speaking again. "No, Aemond. I cannot allow it. Not yet. Not until we know they are stable. I will not have them see... this."

She looks down at you, her daughter, her queen, and a single tear slips down her cheek. "They should not see their mother like this... nor their father." Her gaze lingers on Aegon, and her expression softens momentarily before hardening with resolve.

Orwyle moves to your side, his hands gentle yet firm as he examines you. He frowns deeply as he checks the wounds that lace your body, his fingers brushing over the burns and cuts that speak of a battle fought with ferocity and desperation. He looks up, meeting Aemond's gaze, and shakes his head ever so slightly.

Aemond, ever the stoic warrior, feels his heart sink, a cold dread settling in his chest. "And my sister? How is she, Maester?"

Orwyle hesitates, the weight of his words pressing down on the room. "Her condition is... dire. Worse than the King's, despite appearances. The internal bleeding runs deep, and the exhaustion has taken a terrible toll on her body. Her breathing is faint, her pulse weak." He pauses, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if the very act of speaking might tip the scales. "We must pray for her, my lord. That is all we can do now."

Alicent lets out a sob, a raw, broken sound that she quickly tries to stifle with her hand. "You cannot let her die, Maester," she pleads, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the admission itself could break her. "It will break him. Aegon... he will not survive losing her. She is his light... his other half. Without her, he will be lost."

The room falls into a heavy silence, punctuated only by the faint, uneven breaths you and Aegon draw. Orwyle nods solemnly, his eyes filled with a quiet sorrow. "We will do all that can be done, Lady Alicent. But... some things are beyond our power. It is in the hands of the gods now."

Aemond places a hand on Alicent's shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort from him. "We must have faith, Mother. She is strong. She has always been strong." His voice wavers slightly, betraying his own uncertainty, but he presses on. "And Aegon... he holds on because of her. As long as he breathes, she will fight to stay with him."

Alicent nods, though her eyes remain fixed on you, her heart breaking with every passing moment. She steps closer to the bed, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from your face, her touch as light as a feather. "You must come back to us, my love," she whispers, her voice filled with a mother's desperate hope. "You must."

The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of uncertainty hanging heavy in the air. Outside, the world continues to turn, but in this room, time seems to have stopped, as all those within hold their breath, waiting for a sign, a miracle.

And so, you lie there, suspended between life and death, your hand still entwined with Aegon's, your fate intertwined with his. The battle may be over, but the fight for your life—and the lives of those you love—has only just begun.

The dim light of the room seems to flicker with an otherworldly intensity as Aegon stirs beneath the covers. His breath comes in ragged gasps, a sharp contrast to the eerie stillness that had pervaded the chamber moments before. Pain radiates through his body, a searing agony that courses through every limb, but it is not the pain that drives him to consciousness. It is something deeper—a connection that transcends flesh and bone.

His eyes flutter open, and for a moment, they are glazed with confusion, disoriented by the lingering remnants of unconsciousness. But then, with a sudden clarity, his gaze sharpens, wild and frantic, searching for you—his twin, his wife, his other half.

"Y/N," he croaks, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet filled with an urgency that sends a chill through the room. He tries to sit up, but the pain is too much, and he falls back against the pillows, his chest heaving with the effort. "Where is she? Where is Y/N?"

Alicent, who had been hovering by the bedside, rushes to his side, her heart pounding in her chest as she sees the fear and desperation in her son's eyes. "Aegon, my love, you must stay still," she urges, her voice trembling despite her attempt to remain calm. She reaches out, gently pressing him back against the bed. "You are grievously wounded... you must rest."

But Aegon will not be soothed. His hand, trembling with weakness, reaches out, seeking yours. When he finds it, limp and unresponsive beside him, a wave of panic washes over him, greater than any physical pain he endures. His grip tightens around your hand, as if by holding on to you, he can anchor you to this world.

"She’s not moving," he gasps, his voice breaking. "Why isn’t she moving? Is she…?" His eyes dart to Alicent, wide with fear, his breathing growing more labored as his panic mounts. "Mother… is she…?"

Alicent feels her heart shatter at the sight of her son, the King of Westeros, reduced to this terrified, broken man. She quickly shakes her head, her voice firm but laced with sorrow. "No, Aegon. She is alive. But she is... she is unconscious. The Maester says she needs time to heal. But she is with us, Aegon. She is still with us."

Aegon’s eyes search Alicent’s face for any sign of deception, his grip on your hand tightening as if he can pull you back from the brink with sheer will alone. His voice is raw, pained. "She has to wake up. She has to. I can't... I can't lose her, Mother. She’s my life... without her, I am nothing."

Alicent feels a lump rise in her throat, her own anguish threatening to overwhelm her. She sits on the edge of the bed, her hand gently caressing Aegon’s brow, smoothing back the sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. "You must have faith, Aegon. She is strong, as strong as you are. You both survived... you will both survive this."

Aegon’s eyes flicker with doubt, his face contorted in pain, both physical and emotional. "She was always stronger," he mutters, his voice barely audible. "Always braver... more than I ever was."

Alicent’s heart aches at the raw vulnerability in his voice, so unlike the proud and stubborn son she has always known. She leans closer, her voice taking on a steely edge, one that Aegon recognizes from the times when she had guided him with an iron will. "You will not lose her, Aegon. I swear it. She will return to you. And when she does... we will make sure that those who have brought you both to this will pay. Rhaenyra will pay."

Aegon’s eyes flash with something dark at the mention of his half-sister’s name, the mention of the woman who has torn their family apart. He clenches his jaw, his grip on your hand turning almost painful in his intensity. "She will suffer," he hisses through gritted teeth. "For this... for all of this... she will suffer."

Alicent nods, her own grief turning into something harder, something forged in the fires of her own pain and loss. "Yes, my son. She will. I will see to it. The Iron Throne will not fall to her treachery. Not while I still draw breath."

She looks down at you, her daughter, lying so still and pale, and then back at Aegon, her son, whose very life seems to hang by the thinnest of threads. "But first, we must be strong. For her. For your children. For the realm. You must recover, Aegon, and she must as well. The gods will not abandon you... nor will I."

Aegon closes his eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath as he tries to calm the storm of emotions raging within him. His thumb gently strokes the back of your hand, a gesture so tender it belies the fury burning in his heart. "Come back to me," he whispers, his voice breaking with the weight of his plea. "Please, Y/N, come back to me."

The room falls silent once more, the only sound the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth and the soft breathing of those who hold vigil. Alicent watches as Aegon drifts back into a restless sleep, still clutching your hand as if it is his lifeline.

She stands slowly, her own body trembling from the weight of her sorrow and resolve. She looks at the two of you, her twins, her king and queen, and she swears silently to herself that she will see this through. That vengeance will be theirs. And that one day, you will both rise from this bed, stronger and more united than ever before.

But for now, all she can do is wait. And pray that the gods will be merciful.

The world beyond the veil of your closed eyelids is a distant, foggy place. It’s as though you are floating in a sea of darkness, where time is both infinite and meaningless. But somewhere in that endless void, a flicker of light pierces through—a warmth, a presence, something that pulls you from the abyss.

You become aware of the softness beneath you, the heaviness of your limbs, the dull ache that pulses through your body. The scent of herbs and medicine hangs in the air, mingling with something familiar, something comforting. Your breath comes in shallow, weak gasps, but with every inhale, you begin to feel the edges of the world around you.

Slowly, with a monumental effort, you force your eyes open, blinking against the dim light of the room. The ceiling above you swims in and out of focus, the shadows dancing like specters in the corners of your vision. It takes a moment for your surroundings to come into sharp relief, and when they do, the first thing you see is Aegon.

He is lying beside you, his pale hair dull and matted, his face set in a painful grimace. Grand Maester Orwyle is at his side, carefully changing the bandages that cover the burns marring Aegon’s body. The sight of him so still, so broken, sends a sharp pang of fear through your heart.

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and the words catch like thorns in your throat. With a tremendous effort, you manage to whisper, “Aegon…”

Your voice is barely audible, just a breath of sound, but it is enough. Aegon’s head snaps toward you, his eyes widening in disbelief as he sees you awake. The pain etched on his face is momentarily forgotten as he stares at you, his breath catching in his throat. Orwyle immediately stops his work, his hands stilling as he watches the scene unfold.

“Y/N,” Aegon whispers, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and desperation. He tries to move, to reach out for you, but the pain from his broken hip and leg forces him back down with a hiss of agony. His hand, however, manages to find yours, and he clutches it as though it is the only thing keeping him anchored to this world.

You can see the strain in his eyes, the battle between his overwhelming pain and the sheer joy of seeing you awake. “You’re… you’re awake,” he breathes, his voice cracking with emotion. “Gods… I thought… I thought I had lost you.”

Tears well up in your eyes, both from the pain that still lingers in your body and from the sight of Aegon in such a state. “I’m… I’m here,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling. You can feel the weakness in your limbs, the exhaustion that weighs down every part of you, but none of it matters now that you can see him, now that you can feel his hand in yours.

Orwyle steps forward, his expression a mixture of relief and caution. “My queen,” he says gently, his voice steady and reassuring. “You must not strain yourself. Your injuries are severe… you need time to recover.”

Aegon’s eyes never leave yours, even as Orwyle speaks. His grip on your hand tightens slightly, as if he fears that you might slip away again. “I can’t believe you’re awake,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I was so afraid… so afraid I would never see your eyes again.”

You try to smile, but the effort is too great, and it comes out as more of a weak twitch of your lips. “I… I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, though the words take every ounce of strength you have. “Not… without you.”

Aegon’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and for a moment, he looks like the boy you grew up with, the boy who always found his way back to you, no matter what. “Thank the gods,” he breathes, his voice so full of relief that it almost breaks your heart.

Orwyle interrupts gently, his tone soft but insistent. “My king, my queen, you both must rest. The healing process will be long and difficult. But now that you are both awake, there is hope. That is what matters.”

Aegon’s gaze finally shifts to the Maester, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. “Leave us,” he commands, though his voice lacks its usual authority, weighed down by exhaustion and pain. “I need… I need to speak with her. Alone.”

Orwyle hesitates, his concern evident, but a single look from Aegon is enough to make him bow his head in acquiescence. “As you wish, Your Grace,” he says quietly. “I will be just outside if you need me.”

As Orwyle steps back, giving a respectful nod to you, he gathers his instruments and moves toward the door. The moment the door closes, sealing the two of you in the chamber’s intimate silence, Aegon’s eyes return to you, filled with an intensity that makes your heart ache.

“I should have protected you,” he whispers, his voice choked with guilt. “I should have done more… I failed you, Y/N. I failed as your husband, as your king.”

“No,” you croak, shaking your head ever so slightly, the movement sending a wave of dizziness through you. “You didn’t fail me… we fought together. We survived, Aegon. We’re still here.”

Aegon’s hand trembles in yours, and his gaze drops to where your hands are joined, his expression tormented. “But at what cost?” he murmurs. “Look at us… we’re broken. And it’s because of her. Rhaenyra… she’s taken everything from us.”

You see the darkness in his eyes, the simmering rage that has been kindling in his heart since the war began. “She will pay for this,” he vows, his voice a low growl. “For what she’s done to us… to our children… she will pay.”

You close your eyes for a moment, the weight of his words pressing down on you. The thought of more bloodshed, more pain, fills you with a sense of dread, but you know that vengeance has become a fire burning within Aegon—a fire that will not be easily quenched.

“Aegon…” you whisper, your voice faint, “we need to heal... For our children. Please… don’t let this consume you.”

His eyes soften at your plea, and for a moment, the fury ebbs away, replaced by the deep love and concern he holds for you. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he says softly, “to keep you safe… to keep you with me. I can’t lose you, Y/N. Not now… not ever.”

You squeeze his hand weakly, your heart aching with love for this man who has been your other half since birth. “We’ll face this…,” you whisper, and as the exhaustion pulls you back into the dark embrace of sleep, you know that no matter what comes, you will always find your way back to each other.

Aegon watches as your eyes flutter closed once more, his heart clenching with the overwhelming need to protect you, to keep you safe from the horrors that still loom over you both. He presses a gentle kiss to your hand, his lips lingering on your skin, and vows silently that no one will ever tear you from his side again.

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #alicent hightower #aemond targaryen #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #hotd aegon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon the second #rhaenyra targaryen

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flowerandblood · 8 months

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The Fall from the Heavens (8)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, violence, swearing, humiliation, chauvinism, suicide attempt, descriptions of wounding, coercion ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

That night she awoke in her uncle's embrace; the bed they were lying on was cramped, forcing them to lie with their legs and arms intertwined. When she fell asleep for the first time her uncle stood up and covered them with some blankets, immediately pulling her close again.

She felt with her rapidly beating heart that he was bare.

She let his fingers completely slide her nightgown off her, his such shameless closeness, the heat of his skin was shocking to her and took her breath away.

"− sleep −" She heard him whisper softly in a low murmur, his hand combed through her hair, his half-hard manhood throbbed hard against his words and hit her stomach.

Despite what he had done, the fact that she was sure she would not be able to sit up the next day, she let him take her a second time that night.

Their lips, innocently at first, sank into each other, the tips of their tongues began to lick again, and after a moment his hand lifted her thigh, throwing it around his waist, the thick head of his cock pushing into her again from below.

This time it was she who slid her fingers down to her slit, opening it for him to help him − they moaned into each other's mouths, drunk and sleepy as the thrust of his hips slid his manhood deep inside her.

"− fuck, little one − I'm not sure I'll be able to stop −" He muttered, immediately beginning to root into her, with sure, deep pushes sinking into her again and again, her oversensitive, sore muscles clenching even tighter against him, whimpers on the edge of pleasure and pain escaping her lips.

She wasn't sure what he meant, but she knew that they were doing something from which there was no turning back.

"− I know − just a little longer − your uncle is close −" He breathed out, speeding up his pace, no longer paying attention to the helpless sounds that rushed out of his throat with each of his thrusts, the bed beneath them creaked softly. His one hand clenched on her buttocks, the other on her hair as their eyes closed, her nose pressed against his cheek, her breasts cuddled into his bare chest.

"− so good −" He hummed, rooting into her harder as she mewled at his words, her walls squeezing against him in involuntary reflex, sucking his fat erection inside.

"− Aemond −" She moaned, horrified at how her body reacted to him, how hot she felt, feeling their mingled moisture run down her thigh onto the sheets beneath them, their bare bodies slapping against each other with a loud clicks.

"− fuck − fuck − fuck − fuck − mghmm −" He gasped; she heard his low, surprised groan of relief and pleasure, before once again that night his warm seed spilled deep inside her.

There was something obscene and terrifying about how close they were, that they were one in the proper sense of the word, one body, one quivering flesh.

She could feel his thick, swollen cock pulsing inside her for a moment longer as his mouth placed wet, messy kisses on her forehead, cheek, neck and bare shoulder, his hands trailing down her hot, sweaty back.

"− mine −" He sighed out in a shaky voice from which a shudder ran through her, as if he was moved, as if his throat tightened with the tears of relief, regret and fulfilment.

Her hand, clenched earlier on his arm, rose higher, to his cheek, directing him to her face, to her mouth, which after a moment joined his in a loud, sticky kiss of their lips and tongues.

She heard him grunt in pleasure, his half-soft length pulsed inside her betraying that, true to his word, with short breaks he could do this all night.

"− no more, uncle − too much −" She mumbled, feeling like she wouldn't be able to walk because of him, her poor muscles were barely able to fit him in when he was fully ready to take her again.

"− mmm −" He hummed and kissed her forehead before his arms snuggled her face into the hollow of his neck; she sighed in relief as he slowly and gently pulled his manhood out of her, sliding his knee between her thighs, their bodies entwined in a hot embrace full of their scent, the smell of their moisture, of what they had done.

"− you did so well for me − I'll have your evening meal brought to your bed tomorrow − you need to rest −" He whispered, as if she had performed some heroic feat by allowing him to sink into her twice in the same night.

She thought with a smile of amusement as she snuggled into his sweaty skin, sticky from the exertion, that he himself could not imagine his body could survive something like this and not be sore.

He clearly understood her need for recuperation and that as her husband he could not dissuade her from this, as it turned out, overpoweringly pleasurable act.

Although she tried to sleep, she kept returning her thoughts to what they had done, to the way he had undressed her, to his hot gaze filled with desire on the verge of madness when he had said to her, kneeling over her, untying his breeches with his fingers, that he needed to feel her, that he would not be violent.

She believed him, and he was not only not violent.

He was tender.

His soothing words, his slow thrusts full of uncertainty and longing, his eyebrows arched in pain as if he was suffering as much as she was, made her feel not that he was taking something away from her, but that they were experiencing something together, joining in each other's pain, never to be separated again.

She knew the wine had helped her to relax, her head humming wonderfully as each of his thrusts again and again teased some spot inside her from which shivers of pleasure ran through her.

"− you are so warm −" He whispered with pain, as if he had finally returned to his haven like a ship that had spent years on the open sea during storms and tempests; she could only moan at his words, stunned by the pleasure and how much he filled her, struggling to fit him inside her.

It was so rough, so simple, so natural.

At the same time she was afraid of the consequences of their actions, on the other hand she was happy and satisfied, because she no longer had to be afraid of their wedding night, of whether she would live up to his expectations, whether she would not disappoint him.

She knew that in this rather brutal and unobvious way they had regained something, the kind of closeness they had been deprived of, and although she knew that big words would not leave their mouths and that some things they would never forgive each other for, she felt relieved.

He tried to find common ground with her, to speak with her, to show her that he could control his aggression, his grief, that he would do it for her if she would only reciprocate, if she would also make the effort.

When she was awakened by the first rays of sunshine she turned lazily to the other side with a quiet creak of the bed, meeting his chest into which she snuggled in a subconscious need for closeness, his arms immediately enclosing her again in his embrace, a quiet sigh escaping from his nostrils.

It was so peaceful.

They both flinched and pulled themselves up when they heard the loud voices of the guards.

"Out! Get dressed, everyone to the dungeons! Immediately!" Shouted one of them; she hugged his arm, terrified as someone's fist slammed hard on the door of their chamber.

"Leave it, there is no one here. Lead them to the cells, we need to find Prince Aemond and his little whore." Said the other man. She looked at him in disbelief, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart. She saw that he was breathing fast, in his eye confusion and something else.

Fear.

"Uncle, what's happening?" She asked in a trembling voice, feeling betrayal hovering in the air, thinking only that he had taken her because he knew something was coming, that he had lied to her, that he surely intended to expose her to mockery and humiliation, that they were plotting against her mother.

"I don't know." He said coldly, swallowing loudly, his voice breaking as if he himself was shocked. He got up quickly from the bed and began to dress hurriedly, not looking at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Uncle, please, tell me you didn't plan this." She mumbled with tears of pain, helplessness and grief in her eyes, covering her mouth, feeling her naked body begin to tremble.

Only then did he look at her, frowning his eyebrows as if he didn't understand what she had just said to him.

"Stop it. Don't panic. You have to stay here until I find out what happened. Don't open up to anyone and don't go anywhere, do you understand?" He asked matter-of-factly, fastening the buckles of his tunic. She did not answer him, laying down on the bed without strength, letting the tears run down her cheeks, looking blankly towards the door.

He approached her slowly, kneeling in front of her; she shuddered when his large, rough hand ran reassuringly over her bare back.

"− don't leave until I come back for you − lock the door behind me −" He said coolly, returning back to the stronghold of his mind, distancing himself, changing back into that terrifying man she didn't recognise.

She shuddered as he hummed under his breath and rose from his place, moving unhurriedly towards the door, pulling back the bolt only to disappear behind it a moment later.

She stood up on trembling legs, hurriedly putting on her nightgown, immediately locking the door, listening to the restless noises and sounds from outside.

What was happening?

Maybe she should run away, warn her mother?

But what if someone caught her, if there really was a rebellion?

There was nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide.

She had no idea what to do, didn't know if she could trust this man she had given herself to that night, who had taken her for himself only to leave.

She covered herself with thick blankets and sat in silence, thinking about everything that had happened between them, finding with mockery and regret that she had lost her guard, that she had allowed herself to feel safe in the lion's den and was now paying the price.

She thought with tears in her eyes that Daemon had warned her.

Her terror increased with each passing hour when he did not return for her and she already knew something serious had happened. She prayed with closed eyes to the gods of her ancestors, asking them for strength and courage at the moment of trail.

She had no intention of begging them for mercy.

Even though she had sensed it, even though she had repeated to herself that she had to prepare for it, the voice of Criston Cole banging his fist on the chamber door, ordering her to open it immediately made her feel a chill of disappointment and bitterness fall over her, a confirmation of her worst fears.

He had used her.

He had betrayed her.

She knew there was no point in resisting, because she had nowhere to run to anyway, so she opened up to him. Seeing her negligee and the fact that she was wearing only a nightgown, he ordered several servants to be brought in, who, as terrified as she was, helped her dress. Cole stood near her with his head turned away, pretending to give her any kind of privacy.

When he told her to leave she simply did so, walking at his side through the completely empty Red Keep; she felt her heart pounding like mad and wondered what could have happened.

Did they keep her to come to terms with her mother?

She pressed her lips together at the thought, feeling tears of shame under her eyelids, and lifted her chin higher, refusing to let them flow, recognising that whatever happened, she would remain true to her family, that she would never allow herself to be humiliated in such a way again.

She was startled when Ser Criston led her to her old chamber, where the Queen was already waiting for her; she stood up at the sight of her, fiddling with the rings on her fingers.

She saw to her horror that she had open wounds around her nails that were bleeding.

The door behind them closed with a loud clatter of wood and they stood facing each other in silence for a moment – Cole stood just behind her, apparently making sure she didn't try to do anything that might endanger the Queen.

She should have bowed to her, but she didn't, looking straight into her eyes with fatigue and sadness, seeing in her gaze that what she suspected was happening was happening, that perhaps after her husband-king supported the idea of her and her son marrying again, Alicent and her father had proceeded to act.

She wondered if they had killed him.

"The King is dead, my love." The Queen said softly, and she involuntarily smiled, as if it amused her. She saw the discomfort on her face from which she felt satisfaction, a mental advantage she could use.

She answered nothing.

"Before he passed away, he confessed to me that he wished my eldest son to be crowned as his successor." She said in a voice straining for calm, and she burst into uncontrollable laughter full of mockery and disbelief, involuntarily covering her mouth with her hand, shaking her head.

He was busying himself with her body as they crowned this drunkard and fool King.

"You had it all planned, didn't you? Is that why you kept me here?" She asked coldly. Alicent shook her head quickly, pale, her fingers involuntarily began to scratch the wounds around her nails.

"No. I know you both ran away yesterday. What you did. You need to tell me if my son did this against your will. Do you need help." She muttered, lowering her gaze, as if she was overwhelmed with shame at the thought of what she had apparently imagined in her head.

She snorted under her breath, looking at her in disbelief, wondering if this was part of their game, or if they wanted to fool her into not knowing what was true and what wasn't anymore.

"Your son has done nothing against my will. I want to return to Dragonstone." She said dispassionately, wondering if she felt now as he did when he lost his eye, when she didn't come to him that night, when in his mind she chose her family over his.

An overwhelming emptiness.

"It's impossible." The Queen said in a trembling voice. She looked at her with rage, feeling fire rather than blood pulsing through her veins, her lips clenched into a thin line.

"I am your prisoner now?" She grinned feeling her whole body begin to quiver in rage.

Eternally pretending to be saints and wronged, fucking traitors.

"It would be better if we make sure there are no unpleasant…consequences." She said tiredly, as if she hadn't noticed her anger or heard her question; at her words her heart stopped, her anger turned to sudden, overpowering fear, cold sweat on the back of her neck.

No.

No. No. No. No. No. No.

"No. You will not force me." She said in a trembling voice, stepping backwards, falling right into Criston Cole's hands, which clamped painfully tight on her arms, like pincers from which she could not break free.

"Please, do not resist. It will be better for all of us." Said the Queen and nodded, the door to her chamber opened; she looked in horror at the servant with the small kettle and vessel, behind her several guards stepped inside.

She shook her head, breathing loudly through her mouth, looking at her pleadingly, feeling tears squeezing under her eyelids.

She didn't want this, this was her body, if the gods so chose, her child could grow in her womb.

"− no, please, please, please −" She mumbled, forgetting what she had promised herself, her dignity, her coolness, for here, though she was filled with the seed of a man who had betrayed her, who had humiliated her, the fruit of that could be a child she could perhaps love, who would possibly be the cause of any reason for joy in her life.

With the eyes of her imagination she saw a small, laughing child with his white hair and her bright eyes looking at the great vessel from which steam was rising, warming the dragon's egg.

She felt the guard's hand clamp down on her cheeks, tilting her head back, forcing her to open her mouth, warm tears running down her cheeks. A squeal broke from her throat as the other man began to pour the disgusting liquid into her mouth − she tried to spit it out but to no avail, she felt it run down her throat.

It was done.

When they finally let her go she simply fell to the ground, her breath loud, shuddering and hitched, her face red with tears of sorrow.

Some part of her wondered why he wasn't here, why he hadn't stopped it, whether he had wanted to condemn her to such suffering from the very beginning.

She heard the rustling of Alicent's gown as she approached her slowly, felt her hand on her back and moved away immediately, looking at her with hatred.

"Get out." She said to her coldly without any courtesy.

She could see the tears in her eyes but decided that they were mere theatre, that she had no right to sympathise after what she and her son had done to her.

She felt Criston Cole grab her tightly by her hair, tilting her head back in a sudden, violent gesture.

"How dare you speak to your Queen this way, you…" He didn't finish as she spat in his face; he closed his eyes quickly and hissed, wiping away her saliva with his hand. She heard Alicent scream as he slapped her across the face with all his strength − she fell to the floor, panting heavily, feeling like everything was spinning around her.

"As mother, so daughter. Fucking whore."

"Criston, for gods sake! Get out, now, all of you!" The Queen shouted, pulling him away from her; she could hear his enraged breath, and after a moment, he and the others assembled stepped back, leaving one by one.

Although she could feel her gaze on her, she no longer bestowed a single glance on the mother of the man who only a few hours ago had been the one she had chosen.

"It will be better this way. I wish to come to an agreement with your mother so that she can marry you off to her cousin according to her will. Rest now." She whispered in a trembling, quiet voice and left, closing the door behind her. She heard the sound of the key turning in the lock.

I wish to come to an agreement with your mother so that she can marry you off to her cousin according to her will.

She grinned involuntarily at the thought that her uncle had never had any intention of defying his mother, that this was all just a spectacle, his revenge − that he would marry one of Lord Baratheon's daughters, that he would watch with pride and satisfaction as she walked away, stripped of virtue and dignity, robbed of everything she could value in herself as a woman.

She lay on the cold stone floor for a moment, staring blankly ahead, feeling that the cheek Criston Cole had slapped her on was pulsing all over. After a moment her hand slowly slid down to her womb; she clamped her fingers on the material of her gown and wept quietly, clenching her eyes shut, allowing herself to experience some kind of grief.

She lasted like this for some time, wondering what she should do and she decided that there was no other choice.

As long as she was here her mother had no option to act, she could not reclaim the crown that was her inheritance.

She thought she was to blame and had to rise to the occasion now.

She had to make a manly decision, as Daemon had always told her, and turn the situation around, take back their advantage.

When she was still a child, her mother had given her a small dagger, which she had told her to keep in a place only she knew of, so that when she needed to defend herself against someone she could reach for it.

She stood up slowly, heading calmly towards her bed, putting her hand deep between the wooden frame and the bedding − she smiled involuntarily as she felt the cold steel beneath her fingers.

She pulled it out, laying back comfortably on the bedclothes, turning it in her hands, thinking that this was her escape, proof of her independence, of the fact that she had the last word.

She hesitated for a moment as she pressed the blade to her wrist, feeling terror, fear of death and of pain, regret that she could still see so much, experience so much.

She sighed quietly and felt tears running down the sides of her face onto the pillow under her head as she began to slice her skin with her trembling hand − she shuddered when she saw that immediately blood began to run from the red line.

She pressed her lips together trying to hold back a hiss of discomfort as she repeated the cut on her other wrist, and then just lay back, feeling the rapid pounding of her terrified heart, thinking with sorrow that she had never felt so alone and miserable than she did now, at the moment of her death.

She wondered if this was how he had felt that night when he lost his eye and cried, mourning for herself and the little boy who had died then.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96

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caraphernellie · 16 days

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☆ gf!jackson!ellie who fingerfucks you first thing in the morning. intended to be a blurb... ended up like more of a drabble bc i kept yapping. also i took this ellie picture <3

Daylight is nigh along the horizon, red-light lettering reading a miserable five-thirty-six on the clock at her bedside. The room is shrouded by the closed curtains, and despite the clouds guarding the sun in protest of light, it still manages to shine through the blockade just a smidge. It's all peace and quiet, a soft moment shared before you'll have to part ways— she's due for patrol at seven.

"Hm, you don't mind, do you? I wanna use my free time wisely." Her voice is thick with the remains of sleep, just a low rasp in your ear. Ellie is a moth to a flame, after all, with you lying beside her, who could blame her? Her hand, having found home on your hips, moves to cup the seat of your panties in a gentle manner, fingers pressing tight to rub over the cotton slowly. "It's a lucky charm."

That cheeky grin is hard not to match, your legs parting to fit Ellie's hand where she continues to apply pressure, the touch light yet firm enough to get your hips rolling in tandem, eyes fluttering.

It's sudden, but she curls her fingers beneath the fabric and tugs the panties down enough to slip in and languidly gather some of the wetness pooled in them. The lingering tiredness in you combined with Ellie's keen touch is the recipe to making a pure fucking mess, evident when she removes her hand from your panties altogether and eyes the syrupy substance you've covered her in.

Her eyes bore into you, lips wrapping around her own fingers to suck your taste off them, muffling a gritty sounding moan from the back of her throat. All while her free hand begins slipping the fabric way down your legs. She watches you cover your mouth and turn fidgety in anticipation.

Not a word has been said— until, of course, Ellie can't keep that filthy mouth closed, never for longer than a minute. "Fuckin' pretty, you know that? Goddamn."

From her mouth to your cunt, Ellie moves her fingers fast, sinking her index and middle finger into your heat. You whine, and she only thinks to mute you with a kiss, sloppier than the usual, teeth nipping your lower lip. Her digits move steady inside you, the ministrations getting faster the more that she hears your breath speed up. You can't hang onto her lips any longer, not when her fingers brush against your sweet spot and continuously arouse soft coos of her name.

It isn't slow anymore, it isn't quiet anymore. Her knuckles slap against your pussy, fingers deep enough to get your vision whiting in the corners already.

"I got you, I got you, I got you, shh."

Your fate is sealed as Ellie's free hand presses against your abdomen, pinning your body to the mattress without the ability to squirm away from the pleasure that keeps taking you higher and higher. She fucks you through the peak, holding you down to ensure you can take in the floaty feeling in your head, every tremor and twitch, all the aftershocks.

And, it's a guilty pleasure of hers— she doesn't stop yet. Not until she hears you call her name so sugary sweet, insisting you can't take it anymore.

"Ellie, Ellie, Els, c— can't do it anymore. Ellie."

It's her favourite.

And maybe, when all is said and done, she insists that she still has enough time to hold each other for just five more minutes until she has to get ready for the demanding day ahead of her. Thanks to you, there'll be an extra pep in her step all day. It's more-so that she's now got a sample of you, and she can't wait to pick up where you left off when she finally gets back.

#𖤐 ── petalrambling.#ellie williams x reader #tlou2 x reader #ellie williams x fem reader #lesbian #wlw nsft #sapphic smut #top!ellie #bottom!reader #sub!reader #dom!ellie

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multi-fandoms-posts · 23 days

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The Power of Thoughts

It is a quiet evening. Most of the students have retreated to their rooms, and the hallways are bathed in a soft, golden light. Y/N sits on the large leather sofa in the school's living room, a book in hand. She reads, but her thoughts keep drifting away. Charles is in his office, busy with some work that has piqued her curiosity, but she doesn’t want to disturb him. After all, he has his duties as the head of the school.

But Charles isn’t as busy as Y/N thinks. He is sitting relaxed in his chair in his office, eyes closed, a gentle smile playing on his lips. He knows exactly where Y/N is and what she is doing. His thoughts drift to her, he senses her presence, her calmness, and even her slight distraction. He decides to have a little fun.

Y/N is just turning a page when suddenly, an image flashes before her mind's eye. She frowns, as it’s not part of the book she’s reading. Instead, she sees herself in a bedroom, and she’s not alone. Charles is there with her, standing close, his hands resting gently on her hips.

Y/N blinks in confusion and looks around, but she’s still in the living room. What was that? She shakes her head and tries to focus back on her book.

But barely has she read the next sentence when the image appears again, even clearer this time. She feels Charles' hands glide over her back, his lips moving closer to hers. A shiver runs down her spine, and she can almost feel the warmth of his breath on her lips.

“Charles?” she murmurs quietly, even though she knows he isn’t in the room. A suspicion crosses her mind, and she closes the book. “Are you doing this?” she asks aloud, though no one is there.

She hears a soft laugh in her head, a familiar, warm laugh she recognizes instantly. “What do you think, Y/N?” Charles' voice responds in her thoughts. His words are playful, almost teasing.

“Charles!” she exclaims in surprise, her cheeks starting to blush. “That’s not fair!” she says.

“Why not?” he asks, amused. “You seem to be enjoying it,” he adds.

Y/N tries to come up with a witty response, but before she can say anything, the next image appears in her mind. This time, they’re both lying on the bed, Charles' body close to hers, his hands slowly and seductively exploring her. She feels the warmth of his body, the gentle pressure of his lips on her skin.

Y/N swallows hard, her breathing quickening. She knows that this is all happening only in her mind, but it feels so real. “Charles, stop it,” she protests, but her voice trembles slightly. She can’t deny that it entices her, that it arouses her senses.

“Are you sure you want me to stop?” he asks softly, as the images in her head become even more intense. She sees herself stripping off his clothes, her hands gliding over his muscular chest, as he silences her with a deep kiss.

“Charles,” she whispers, her eyes closing as she feels the heat rising within her. “This is unfair,” she repeats, but this time her voice is barely audible, more a sigh than a real protest.

“I enjoy seeing you like this, Y/N,” he admits as he intensifies the images in her mind. His telepathic connection makes her feel everything so intensely, as if it were really happening. “You’re beautiful when you’re so aroused,” he says quietly.

Y/N feels her self-control slipping away. The images, the sensations, everything overwhelms her, and she can’t help but give in to them. “You know you’re driving me crazy, right?” she whispers, her voice full of desire.

“That’s exactly the point,” Charles responds, his voice now deeper, full of seduction. “I want to drive you crazy, Y/N. I want you to think of nothing but us, of this moment,” he says.

She bites her lip, trying to gather her thoughts, but she can’t. “You’re incredible,” she finally murmurs, sinking into the cushions of the sofa, overwhelmed by the intense feelings Charles is stirring within her.

Suddenly, she feels the mental connection weaken, the images fading. “Charles?” she asks, confused. She opens her eyes as she hears footsteps behind her.

Charles is suddenly standing before her in the room, a smile on his lips. “I thought I’d come by in person to finish what we started,” he says softly, his voice sending another shiver over her skin.

Y/N looks at him, her eyes full of desire that no longer exists only in her mind. She stands up, walks toward him, and places her hands on his shoulders. “You’re impossible,” she says, but her words are gentle and loving.

“But you love me anyway,” Charles replies, pulling her gently into his arms. Their lips meet in a deep, passionate kiss, and this time it’s no thought, no image, but reality that envelops them both.

Y/N surrenders to him completely, her hands running through his hair, their bodies merging into one. “Yes,” she whispers between kisses, “I do.”

Charles smiles against her lips before kissing her again, this time even more intensely, as if he wants to make all the images he planted in her mind come true. The world around them blurs, and there’s nothing but the two of them, caught in a moment of pure passion and love.

#x men x reader #x men #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier #professor x #james mcavoy

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eideticmemory · 9 months

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BETTER OFF AS LOVERS | SPENCER REID

Three years after ending your relationship with Spencer Reid, you find yourself representing him in court on federal murder charges.

Word Count: 12k.

Warning/Includes: MAJOR CW for Spencer’s dilaudid arc and graphic mentions of drug use. Prison!Spencer, Lawyer!Reader. Bounces between the past and present through bold italics. Mentions of murder, prison, and violence. A little bit of smut.

Because both you and Spencer are compulsive overachievers, it’s been hard to ignore each other. He saves a kids life every other week and your quick wit has taken you to the (very near) top of the DC law food chain. He picks up a newspaper, you’re smiling arm in arm with the district attorney. You turn on the TV, he’s up there declaring national manhunts. It’s hard to avoid each other, but you have both tried so, very hard.

So hard, in fact, that when Spencer is lying in a jail cell, waiting for any sign of life to shine through the bars, he is not even thinking about you. He’s thinking about his mom. His job. His future. His very recent past. But not you. And even though he doesn’t realize it in the moment, it’s a blessing. He should’ve taken the moment to be grateful.

When Emily comes up to his cell, he hops up and all the thoughts stuck in his head rush out in word vomit. Why isn’t she in the office? How is the office? How’s his mom? And once he learns that everything else is perfectly fine, he remembers that he, alone, is fucked.

And Emily’s very good at that soft voice, that everything will be okay voice, but she doesn’t know that. Not really. Spencer knows that she doesn’t and he swallows himself in self pity, saying, “I don’t even have a lawyer.”

“About that…” Emily says before a beat can pass. “I, um…I made a call…”

Spencer tilts his head at her.

“I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”

You’re eating lunch when you get the call. You have a sandwich held in your mouth as you scribble notes on a legal pad which you promptly cross out.

“Miss [y/l/n]?” your receptionist announces herself at the door.

You drop your sandwich, “Hey,” you smile. “Yes?”

“You have an Emily Prentiss on the line for you. Do you want me to patch her through?”

Your smile drops, you can’t help it. Your heart sinks to the very bottom of your stomach and you have to clear your throat, remind yourself to breathe.

“No,” you shake your head. “No,” you stand to your feet. “No, thank you. I’ll answer her in here.”

You close your office door behind her. You close the blinds. You stare at the blinking light on the phone for what feels like hours. You take a seat at your desk, you stare some more. Then you pick up the phone.

“This is [y/n].”

“Hi, [y/n]. It’s Emily Prentiss.”

“Emily…” you breathe out. “Hey.”

“Do you have a moment to talk?”

You sigh, “Is…is this about Spencer?”

Emily pauses, just for a moment, but she knows it’s best to be honest, “It is.”

“Is he dead?” It seems blunt. But, to you, it sounds like a fair and natural question.

Emily clears her throat, “He’s in jail.”

Maybe she expected a gasp. A soft cry. But all you do is close your eyes and draw in a deep breath. You say, “Okay.”

“Now, I understand if you decline. I do. But I have to ask…are you available to come to Quantico for a legal consult with me? Just me?”

You stare at the ceiling, grinding your teeth so hard that you think your jaw may crack under the pressure. And in the span of just two hours, you tell her yes. You reschedule your afternoon meeting. You walk through a metal detector and pat down in Quantico. Yet, you’re not truly in your body until you step on the elevator. You feel yourself rising through the building and the familiarity of it hits you like lightening. You think, not now. You cannot break down now.

Later.

You stand and look over at Spencer’s empty desk, only for a moment and then you tear yourself away. You knock on Emily’s open door and she immediately stands when you sees you, “[y/n], hi,” she moves around her desk, “Hi, thanks for coming.”

You give her a hug, and she holds on for longer than she means to. She looks you in the eye and asks, “How are you?”

“I’m okay. How are you?”

She sighs, walking back to her desk as you close the door. “We’ve been better.”

You take a seat across from her, look around the office, and now you smile, “I like you in here, chief.”

She chuckles, “I assume you heard about Hotch?”

You nod, “I did…only courthouse rumblings.”

“Yeah, well, uh, team’s been good,” she rummages around her desk. “Pushing through. I see you’ve climbed the ladder in recent years.”

You shrug, smirking, “All bribes.”

She laughs, “Oh, c’mon, we both know that’s not true. You’re the best of the best. I wouldn’t have called you if you weren’t.”

And when she sees the light go out in your eyes, reminded by the reality of the situation, she does nothing but set the file in front of you. You exhale quickly out of your nose and you stare at Spencer’s name etched along the edge. You pick it up and place it in your lap, ducking your head to read it. His mugshots nearly make you gasp, but you stifle it. You put your finger to your lips and you try. You try so hard not react. Not in front of Emily, even though she can read you anyway.

You read the entire file. Front to back. Your eyes flick off of the last word and you slam the manilla folder closed. You look up at Emily, her looking at you, waiting for you, so patiently. You open your mouth, and she prepares herself for whatever you could say. Anything. Everything. She’s prepared.

You breath out, “He was high?”

She was not prepared for that.

She shakes her head, “He was drugged. The guy we’re after is notorious for using drugs to incapacitate his victims.”

You nod, “And let me guess. The bureau won’t help with his legal defense?”

She shakes her head, “He broke protocol.”

You roll your eyes, “Stupid…”

“[y/n],” she calls to you.

You look up at her, raising your eyebrows.

“I understand if you don’t wanna be involved. I know defense isn’t your normal side of the bench. But I meant it when I said you’re the best of the best. When I didn’t know who else to call, I called you. That doesn’t mean you have to agree to this.”

You look out the window and your eyes fall on Spencer’s desk once again. It is empty like he has not been there for weeks, lifeless. You turn back to Emily, “Where are they holding him?”

In the dead of night, you burst into the law library in town. It was pouring rain outside and when the receptionist saw you drenched and leaving muddy footprints behind you, she asked, “You need any help, hon?”

“No, thank you,” you called, but you did not stop moving. You marched over to the torts section, you knew it all by heart. You swiped your fingers over every author, noting the alphabet in your head and you were slightly enraged to find that the book you needed was missing. You groaned and checked again. Then again and again. You sighed. You looked around the dimly lit library and it was almost instant. You saw his table, you saw the book, and then you saw him.

And before you really knew what you were doing, you were walking up to him and he was so entranced in reading that he didn’t even look up at you.

“How much longer are you gonna be?” you asked him. And then he looked at you. You thought, oh wow he’s pretty, but you were on a mission here.

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

“With the book. How much longer do you think you’ll be?”

“Uh…I probably have…about a hundred pages left so…five, six minutes maybe?”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, “Are you fucking with me?”

He couldn’t help but laugh, an awkward laugh, an uncomfortable laugh, but mainly an oh fuck a pretty girl is talking to me laugh. “No. No. You can…sit and watch, I swear. Time me if you want.”

You looked at him, arms crossed. You checked your watch and nodded, taking a seat, “Fine. Five minutes. Go.”

He gave you a small smile and then went back to it. You watched him trace his fingertip down the page, flick to the next one and down he traced again. You were curious. But irritated. But intrigued? You checked your watch with one minute to go and he went, “Okay, done,” and slid the book across the table.

You caught it in your palm, and looked up at him, “You are so full of shit.”

“What?”

“There’s no way you just read all of that in five minutes. There’s no way.”

“But there is a way because I did.”

“No you didn’t.”

He laughed, “I can recite it all to you right now. Front to back.”

“Where are you?” he seemed confused by this question so you continued, “Hm? George Washington? UDC?”

“Quantico.”

“Oh, you are so full of shit!” you went to grab the book and leave but he wasn’t ready for you to go.

“No, no, wait. Seriously. Look at my badge,” he pulled it right out of his bag. “I just got it today.”

You took a look, and when it wasn’t clear enough, you stepped closer, held it in your hands.

Spencer Reid. Behavioral Analysis Unit.

You handed it back to him, “Never met a twelve year old fed.”

“Twenty-three,” he corrected you. “And, uh…I get that a lot.”

“And what does a twenty-three year old fed need with a first year law book?”

He shrugged, “Just light reading.”

You rolled your eyes and he could just tell that you wanted to smile and so he smiled so big at you, hoping it would rub off.

“Book’s all yours,” he said. “I’ll find another.”

No smile.

“A-a-and if you’d like to…I-I don’t know…stay out of the rain, I’d…like it if you’d…maybe sit and read with me?”

You bit down on your lip and you hesitated, looked around as you weighed your options. Then, you took a seat. He grinned over at you as you flipped the book open and it was there.

Small, but a smile.

Back in holding, Spencer sits. He waits. He digs his nails into the bandage on his hand and his knee won’t stop bouncing. The same thoughts rush through his head, but every so often they are cut off by images of you. Every you. Every season. The last time he saw you. His breath catches so tightly in his chest that he actually hunches over in pain, squeezes his fist. His eyes keep darting towards the door, anxious, quick, hoping you’ll come. Hoping you won’t.

What gives it away is your heels. They’re fast and they’re loud, a rapid click-clack-click-clack on the floor. He sits up straight, holds his hands in his lap, forces his leg to stop shaking. Emily walks in first, and in behind her comes you. Picture perfect, dolled up, professional you. Your eyes connect and it should make him nauseous. Instead, his body relaxes. You’re the one that’s nauseous.

“Well,” Emily says to cut the tension. “I know this is an legal meeting so I’ll just give you two some privacy.” And she gets the hell out of there.

You step to the side as the door closes behind her. You set your brief case down on the table and have a seat. As the two of you sit in silence, Spencer feels that you’re judging him. Scolding him, staring him down. But all you’re thinking about is how much his hair has grown, from his head and from his face and underneath it all, he is still him.

You clear your throat, look away, “I’m obligated to remind you that everything you share here is kept confidential by attorney-client privilege.”

“I didnt use,” he spits out.

You pause, your eyes cutting up to him. He is staring into your soul. He wants you to hear him.

“I didn’t,” he shakes his head. “I wouldnt. I swear.”

You have to let that simmer in the air for a moment. You have to swallow it like a large pill, let it force its way down your throat and into your stomach. Through your bloodstream.

“I believe you,” you say. “Tell me what happened.”

“I-I…I did not kill her.”

You nod, “…okay. What else.”

“I-I…don’t remember anything else.”

“Well that…doesn’t help me here. It doesn’t matter if you say you didn’t kill her and you know that. What matters is evidence. The facts of the case.”

“I’m telling you I don’t remember anything, [y/n]. If I did, I would tell you but the entire thing is a-a blur.”

“And I’m telling you I can’t do anything with that.”

“Just… tell me what you really want to say.”

You consider it.

“I’m not here to judge you,” you tell him. “I’m here to build you a legal defense.”

“Whatever’s going through your head, I can take it,” he huffs. “Tell me.”

You purse your lips at him. You shake your head. But he insists. He peers into your eyes in waiting. Begging.

You inhale and with a hefty wave of breath, you shout, “Going to Mexico? Not telling anyone where you are? Smuggling experimental drugs across the border? Are you serious?”

He nods. He takes the blows as they land.

“Do you even comprehend the shit hole that you’ve dug for yourself? I mean, honestly, you-you should go to prison for at least,” you pinch your fingers. “A little bit because it should be a crime to be this stupid with an IQ that high,” and you punctuate it all with a sigh of relief.

Spencer sniffles, “Feel better?”

“No,” you say instantly. And you say this next part very clearly, “Because I can’t promise you that you won’t go to prison.”

The reason that you and Spencer worked so well together, you think - you thought - is that there was a certain amount of independence. After your meeting in the library, after all the pulling he did to sweep you off your feet, you decided that yes, you could do this. You could have a boyfriend who traveled for work. You could handle not seeing him for days or weeks on end. Just in your second year of law school, you thought: I will never have time to miss him. I will drown in school work and textbooks until he returns. It will not phase me. It will not change me.

Then you kind of fell in love with him. And suddenly you always, always had time to miss him.

“Hey,” you found yourself smiling when he called. On the other side of the country, it was only nine but you were in DC still studying at midnight.

“Hey, honey,” Spencer cooed. “I knew you’d be awake.”

“Like I could sleep at a time like this? No, thank you, this is all nighter territory.”

“Sorry I won’t be there the day of your exam.”

“Don’t worry about it. They need you out there more than I do.”

“I know, I know, I’d just slow you down,” he laughed.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” you nodded. “But…I miss you…wish you were here to slow me down.”

“Soon.”

“I know.”

“And, y’know, if we just moved into together, it could be even sooner.”

“Ooh, yeah, and we could get a plant too and watch it die a slow death because no one’s ever home.”

He cackled, quieted down as he whispered, “Just…try to actually get some sleep, okay? You can’t pass your exam if you’re exhausted. And make sure you have a good breakfast. A real breakfast, not coffee and some pop tarts. At least toaster strudels, okay? And afterwards, take yourself out for lunch or-or take someone with you. But don’t sit and think about it and drive yourself crazy. You’re gonna do great. You always do.”

You nodded, stifling a soft laugh, “Yes, doctor. Anything else?”

He shrugs to himself, “Just that I miss you. I can’t wait to see you.”

You grinned, “Soon.”

When your alarm went off at seven in the morning, you checked your phone to see that Spencer had woken himself up, three hours behind, to send you a message.

Two words: Toaster strudels!!!!

And over the next few days, you were truly too busy to miss him. You took your exam at ten o’clock on the dot and you took his advice, you went out to lunch. You thought about the exam only a little bit, to run through it with your friends before you started day drinking, and then there was nothing to do but wait. Keep yourself busy.

As soon as the jet lifted off, Spencer called you. Your phone was buried at the bottom of your bag, which was swinging against your hip as you walked across campus. You didn’t realize it was ringing until the very last second and by the time you pulled it out, he had already left you a voicemail.

As you waded through the crowd to see your posted exam score, you held the phone to your ear and listened.

“Hey! Hey, [y/n], we’re, uh, on the way back now. Safe and sound. I should be there by this afternoon. Uh, let me know if you get your exam results, okay? I’m so excited to see you. Call me when you can.”

Posted on the wall was the glare of your future, staring you in the face, chewing into your soul and you dropped the phone back in your bag.

When Spencer landed and still hadn’t heard from you, he slowly came to expect bad news. He bought you flowers on the way home, he called you, he texted multiple times to tell you he’d be coming over. He walked up to his apartment solely to drop off his things and before he could get to the door, he stopped in his tracks.

You stood up quickly, your face breaking out into a wide smile. Your hands shook and all you could say was, “I passed! I-I passed!”

And in an instant, he dropped everything except your flowers and ran to you, engulfing you in a big, tight hug. “Of course you did!” he shouted. “Oh, god [y/n], of course you did! Here…” he released you so he could rush to unlock the door.

“And I didn’t just pass, babe. I passed with flying fucking colors!” You let yourself into his apartment, still rambling while he dragged his things inside. He stood in awe as you paced around the living room, throwing your hands in the air. “Do you know what this means? I could be a real lawyer any day now!”

You looked at him, huffing and puffing with this toothless, wide smile that sat in your cheekbones. So happy and pretty that he forgot how to talk. “T-These are for you,” he stuttered, walking over to you with a bright bouquet of flowers.

Your eyes darted to the flowers, but only for a moment and then back to Spencer, and he was looking at you with so much love that you felt it in the pit of your stomach. You held eye contact with him as you took hold of the flowers, your fingers overlapping for a split second. And in one swift motion, you pulled him in by the back of his neck and dropped the flowers on the couch. It stunned him, sure, but it was instinct for him to grab onto your hips and kiss you. That is, after all, exactly what you wanted him to do.

You stood of the tip of your toes, took hold of his face and balled your fist in his hair. He grunted against your lips, held onto you tight as you dragged him into his bedroom.

“Okay, okay, okay, just-“ he stuttered as you tore off his shirt. His head got caught, the two of you burst into laughter, and you gave him a kiss as soon as the shirt hit the floor. You swiped his books off of his bed and laid yourself down, pulling him on top of you. When your pants got suffocating, you flipped him over so you could take them off. Your boobs hung in his face as you grabbed a condom from the nightstand and he ran his hands all over your body. Even when he could hardly breathe because you were rolling the condom onto him, he caressed your thighs and his nails rolled on your skin.

You giggled, going, “Stop, that tickles.”

He said, “Sorry,” and tickled you again, laughing as your body squirmed around and you chuckled into a kiss with him.

You were usually a lot softer with him. No rush. But the adrenaline in your body had you bouncing on his cock so quickly that you wondered if the whole bed might cave in. You kept looking at Spencer to make sure he was enjoying himself he was enjoying himself. His head was hanging off the bed, hanging loose from his neck and his mouth was wide open, releasing some of the loudest moans you’ve ever heard from him. When he realized he was getting close, he would grab your hips real tight, you’d stop and after a few breaths, he’d let you go. He’d let you get right back to it.

Afterwards, you collapsed beside him and tucked yourself in the crook of his arm, your hand on his heaving chest. You kissed him softly and he moaned, “Mm…” rubbing your back. “I love when you get a good grade.”

You cackled and threw your head back, tracing his bottom lip with your fingertip, “I love when you’re home.”

“Oh!” he suddenly shouted. “Speaking of, we have dinner reservations on our anniversary at seven. I’ll probably get called out before then but I will be back in time. I promise.”

“And if you’re not?”

“Then I’m a bad boy. A very bad boy,” he grinned, leaning into you as you laughed.

You held his face, gave him a kiss and nodded, “It’s a date.”

And he did eventually get called out again just over a week before your reservation. You have a very vivid memory of kissing him goodbye the day he left. He was himself. He was happy, and towards the end of the week, he called overly cocky saying that this case would be wrapped up soon. That he’d be home with a night to spare.

He lied.

People know you here. When you speak with the distric attorney on Spencer’s case, he knows you. He knows Spencer. And that should make it easy to negotiate here, but it unfortunately makes it that much harder. Luckily, you’re as stubborn as you are determined and with a bit of sparkle, you can get Spencer down to two to five years in federal prison.

That is, until new evidence arises. In that moment, all the oxygen and arguing and fight you’ve given goes out the window. Emily trails up beside you when you return, saying, “I just got the news. What now?”

“Now,” you sigh. “We tell Spencer.”

And as soon as you walk into the room, he is rising to his feet, staring at you. His eyes scan over your features and he goes, “That’s not a good face. What happened?”

“I…” you start. “Was able to talk Martinez down to involuntary manslaughter.”

“Manny Martinez?” he interrupts you.

“Yes,” you enunciate. “And he offered two to five years.”

Emily glances at Spencer, and asks you, “A deal? Well, that could mean they know they have a weak case?”

“Maybe,” you shrug. “But they could also just be in a rush to close this with minimal publicity.”

Looking to Spencer, you owe him the truth, “But they found the murder weapon in the desert. About an hour ago. The blood and prints are yours.”

The words knock the air out of him like a strong punch to the chest. You can see his eyes zone out, stuck on the floor as he sits himself down and tries to breathe. Emily is spinning gears in her head but you cannot stop watching him.

“Okay, so, where do we go from here?” she asks you.

“Well, the two to five quickly came off the table. Now, it’s five to ten at minimum.” Still, you watch Spencer. He can’t stand to look at you.

“And this is the only way he can avoid trial?”

You purse your lips and nod, shrugging, “Plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter, write a statement to the bureau. That’d be the end of it. Any other course of action will require presenting evidence to a jury.”

When Spencer finally decides to lift his head and speak, he looks you dead in the eye and asks, “Do you think I should take it?”

Your face visibly softens and you shrug, “Beats twenty-five to life. Which they will sentence if you’re found guilty, and with this evidence…it’s likely…”

He looks at Emily and when he cannot take the look of pity in her eyes for one more second, he asks you, specifically, “May I speak to you alone, [y/n]?”

You glance at Emily and nod, “Sure.”

The door closes and Spencer, comfortable enough to let his guard down, suddenly stands from the chair, hiding his face in his hands. He paces around the small room and pulls at the root of his hair. It’s very unlike him but in this moment, he says, “Fuck.”

“Yes,” is all you can add. “What do you want to do here, Spencer?”

“I-I-I don’t know. You’re my lawyer, can’t you just tell me what I should do? Tell me what to do.”

“I can’t do that. I’m not the one facing prison here. You have two options, okay? If you want to take your chances in court, I will be there. I will bring every weapon in my arsenal to defend you, but I can’t guarantee that the outcome will be better than five to ten.”

He shakes his head, “The team will crack the case. They will. They’ll catch Scratch and they’ll clear my name.”

“Oh, my…when?” you raise your voice. You don’t mean to. “This month? This year? This decade? Who knows? W-who knows how long you could be locked up before they catch a break?”

He sniffles, one single tear falling down his cheek as his head falls in defeat, “What…what do I do, [y/n]?” he cries. “Just tell me what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

And against ever fiber of your being, you instinctively cross the room and engulf him in a hug. He sobs into your neck and holds your waist in tight in his arms, breaks down when you run your hand through his hair.

He’s hurting but this helps. This helps a lot.

“Hey!” you answered Spencer’s phone with a joyous greeting. “Hi, Diana. Hi! It’s [y/n], how are you?”

And while she was beyond excited to talk to you, she rambled about her son. How he hadn’t called her in close to a week. How she missed the sound of his voice. “It just isn’t like him,” she said. “It just isn’t like Spencer. He calls me. He calls me everyday. Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied as you stood over him in bed. “Yeah, he’s okay. He’s, uh, he’s…”

He waved you off, silently ordering you to hang up and leave him alone. He rolled over onto his side and hid his face under the blankets. He wanted to make sure he was as avoidant as possible.

“He’s just…tired. But I know he…he’d love to speak with you…”

He did not move. And he had not moved since returning home from Tobias Hankel. He just hadn’t. You weren’t sure if he ever would. But as you continued to talk on the phone, the sound of your voice going, “Yeah, yeah,” grating his nerves, he hopped out of bed and went straight for the bathroom. The door slammed, it locked and you just hoped Diana didn’t hear it.

“Yeah,” you told her. “Yeah, he’s busy right now. Y’know, case paperwork and such. I can have him call you back?”

Then there’s a thud. Loud. It shakes the floor of the entire apartment and your breath catches in your throat.

“Yes, of course. I will have him call you,” you stared at the bathroom door. “I promise. Okay. Alright, bye.”

You rushed to the bathroom, immediately trying to open the door but it was locked. You wiggled the knob, you pounded on it, calling, “Spencer? Spencer?”

You found the key on top of the sill, with your hands trembling as you shoved it into the lock. When the door swung open, it stopped against something. Something heavy, something big. So you pushed and shoved enough that you could poke your head in and when you did, you screamed. You shrieked at the top of your lungs. The thing blocking the door, the thing laid out on the floor.

It was Spencer.

Spencer is due to appear in court this morning. You’re going to vomit.

You arrive promptly with thirty minutes to spare and you spend that time trying to find your client. Though you do not see his face, you notice him standing at the phone, dressed to impress in a sharp suit. His hand bandaged in the least disgusting way possible.

“Mom,” he says into the reciever. “I want you know that I’m safe and I have a great lawyer.”

You cross your arms over your chest, stand firm behind him and proudly eavesdrop.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it’s actually, um…[y/n]. Yeah, no. No, we’re not back together, she just…she’s a great lawyer. The best.”

And he goes looking for you, at the mention of your name, he starts scanning the room, like he can feel you somewhere. Somewhere. He turns around to find you leaning against the wall. He smiles. He can’t help it. Neither can you. You throw up a small wave and he waves back.

He speaks into the phone, telling Diana, “She says hi.”

The judge comes into the courtroom and almost immediately, she looks ready to leave. You weren’t nervous before, you don’t think Spencer was all that much either. But now, shit is getting real. Shit is getting very real.

“Miss [y/l/n],” she says to you. “Your client is a federal agent?”

You rise to your feet, nodding, “That’s correct, your honor.” You both notice Spencer still sitting and you whisper through your teeth, “Stand the hell up,” and he stands the hell up.

“Some very serious offenses brought against you today,” she tells him.

“Yes, your honor,” he nods.

“Miss [y/l/n], does your client wish to enter a plea at this time?”

You nod, “He does.”

“And how do you plead, Agent Reid?”

Spencer looks her in the eye and proclaims, “Not guilty.” You hope nobody sees you roll your eyes.

“Mhm,” the judge nods. “And as to bail?”

“The people oppose bail and request remand, your honor,” the district attorney responds, now standing.

“Remand?” you repeat. “Your honor, my client does not present a flight risk.”

“He’ll be staying with you, I suppose?” he fires back and you can’t help but cut your eyes at him.

“Good one, Manny.”

“Your honor,” he continues. “The defendant fled the scene in Mexico…”

“Those were extenuating circumstances,” you interrupt. “He was drugged against his will.”

“And failed to inform the FBI of his international travel, effectively breaking protocol.”

“With the intent to return home and care for his mother, who struggles with schizophrenia and alzheimer’s and lives with him full time. He is her sole caretaker, in addition to his career as a highly decorated member of the BAU.”

“And as a member of the BAU, he has connections all over the world that could prove highly useful if he chose to flee.”

“Agent Reid is more than willing to surrend both his professional and personal passports if it pleases the court.”

“Again, he has the connections to both recieve a counterfeit passport and evade arrest.”

“Your honor, all Agent Reid wants to do is stay here and clear his good name.”

“He should’ve thought about his good name before sneaking across the border.”

You glare at Martinez and look back to the judge, “I can provide sincere and respected character witness to the court today. All highly decorated members of FBI, willing to speak on Agent Reid’s behalf.”

“Miss [y/l/n], I am not particularly inclined to hear character witnesses at the moment,” the judge tells you.

“Then we can abide by a curfew, court ordered restrictions…”

“Too little, too late for that, Miss [y/l/n],” she silences you. “If past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior, and I do believe that it is…then your client does present a flight risk…” and with one, dramatic pauses, she says, “Bail is denied. The defendant will be remanded to federal custody pending trial.”

The gavel lands and that’s it.

Spencer is put in handcuffs, in front of his entire team, in front of his family. In front of you. And all he can do is look at you. Eyes wide and terrified, looking at you.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him. “I’m so sorry, I’ll come see you as soon as I can.”

He believes you. He has to believe you.

Standing there in shame, the feeling in your gut quickly turns to anger and you march out of the courtroom, pass the team and into the hallway. You see the district attorney walking towards his office and chase him down.

“A flight risk?” you catch his attention and he turns around. “Really, Manny?”

He shrugs, “Judge Frost agreed.”

“Yeah, judges tend to do that when things are taken out of context.”

“Hey, the facts were clear as day. Don’t be mad at me because your boyfriend might go to prison, okay? That’s on him.” And with that, he walks away. You want to throw something at the back of his head.

You want to burn the whole building down.

Instead, you run. You run off to an empty corridor, where you are well aware no one will find you. You pace up and down the floor, your chest heaving, your hands on your hips.

“[y/n]?” Emily calls from behind you. When you cannot get out of your own head, she repeats, “[y/n]?”

“Why did you call me?” You shout as you turn to her. “Why did you bring me into this? Why? Why?” you sob and you put your face in your hands, sliding down the wall in a dramatic breakdown.

Emily immediately rushes to you, bending down to hold you in her arms. “You did everything that you could,” she tells you. “You did your best.”

“I’m always doing my best!” you whine. “I’m always, always doing my best for him and it’s not enough! It’s never enough!”

There’s too much for Emily to unpack there, so she shuts her mouth and she holds you.

The day that you graduated law school, Spencer stayed by your side the entire time. And that was good. That was good because you could be sure that he wasn’t shooting up and you could relax. He looked good that day. Not perfect. Not clean. But good. He dressed up, he could walk in a straight line and he was so, unbelievably proud of you.

He handed you flowers the moment the commencement was over. He took all the pictures so you could have the memories forever. He hung on your arm like a trophy boyfriend because, that day, he was a trophy boyfriend and he could not have been happier.

“Surprise!” was shouted at you as soon as you stepped into your apartment. Adorned with balloons and family and friends, you were overwhelmed and nearly dropped your degree. You turned to Spencer and he dropped his shoulders bashfully, too shy to outright accept all the credit. And still, you took him in a firey kiss, you gave him all the credit.

As you walked around, having something to eat, thanking everyone for coming, talking about your plans for the future, Spencer came up to you and said, “I’m going to grab the cake, okay, honey? I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

“Oh, okay, baby, thank you,” you smiled and gave him a kiss.

He didn’t come back for an hour.

And when he did come back, he overcompensated by putting the cake down in front of you and going, “Sorry! Sorry about that. Traffic was crazy,” and placing a big, sloppy kiss on your cheek.

Right then, you knew.

He was bouncing off the walls, extroverted, enthusiastic, eating cake that other people had cut into and not able to get enough of it. Grabbing onto your waist and kissing your neck in front of a crowd, dozing off when he actually sat, flicking himself in the neck to keep himself awake.

And you knew.

By the end of the night, when everyone had cleared out and Spencer was missing, you stepped around the quiet apartment and found him passed out in your bed. You put two fingers on his neck, made sure he was alive, and you slept on the couch.

You woke up early even though he slept like a rock until closer to noon. You sat on the couch until he decided to get out of bed and come looking for you.

“Hey,” he smiled, his voice hoarse. “Hey, what are you doing out here?”

You could hardly stand to look at him. You hands were bound in front of your lips, your eyes focused on the coffee table. It wasn’t until that second that he looked down and noticed the collection on the table. Needles. A little vial.

“How…” you cleared your throat. “How long have you been hiding this in my apartment?”

“I…” he spit out. “I…that’s old. It’s old. I forgot it was even here.”

You choked out a gust of air and couldn’t help but laugh, “You are so full of shit.”

“[y/n]…”

“No!” you shouted, rising to your feet. “Tell me what’s so fucking good about this shit that you needed to shoot up during my graduation party?”

“I…I didn’t…I was just excited. I was excited for you.”

“No, you were fucking loaded.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Stop.”

“I wasn’t.”

“No, stop! Stop treating me like I’m fucking stupid! I mean, fuck, Spencer! After all the therapy and meetings and outpatient rehabs, you do this? Really?”

“I didn’t.”

“And what’s worse is that you lie. You lie about everything. You’re lying right and you don’t care!”

“[y/n]…”

“You don’t care. You don’t care. I’m the one who shot narcan up your fucking nose so you wouldn’t OD on my bathroom floor. I’m the one who couldn’t have one fucking night to myself and you, dont, care!”

You let out a quick huff and he simmered in the silence of your anger.

“I…I can’t do this anymore…” you said softly.

He stared at you, shaking in his own skin, “W-what? You can’t do what?”

You released a slow sigh, “I can’t…be with a drug addict.”

“I…am not…”

“You are. You are, Spencer, and you need help. You need more than I can give you.” And before he can retaliate, you set a box of his things on the table. Some books, some clothes with blood on the sleeves, some records.

He started to cry. You knew these were real tears because when he merely wanted to get his way, they would start flowing instantly. Here, they came on slow, rolling down his pale face. “[y/n]…”

“No.” You said sternly, avoiding eye contact. “You need to leave. Leave.”

“B-b-but I-I’m better,” he tried to touch you and you flinched. “I-I can get better. I can do that.”

“Not here. Not with me. Please leave.”

“B-but…” he cried. “But I don’t wanna leave. I wanna be with you. I need to be with you. Please. P-please, [y/n].”

You shook your head, quickly wiped away your tears. “I don’t want you here. Please leave.” You held the door open for him and put his box on the porch. “Please.”

“[y/n], please don’t do this,” he tried to shut the door but you held your own. “Please, please, I’ll go to a meeting right now. You can come with me. I’ll get better. I can get better.”

“Spencer…please. Go.”

“No.”

“Please,” you begged. “Leave.”

“No. No, I’m not leaving you.”

And so, because you had to, you absolutely had to, you pushed him out. He fought, never to hurt you, but he dug his feet in the ground and tried to push your hands away. “N-no, [y/n], please. Please. Please don’t do this.”

Spencer was never that strong before the dilaudid. But when he was on it, he was weak. He was slow and even with all his strength, he could not stop you from throwing him out and slamming the door in his face. You locked it quickly, pressed your palms to the wood to keep it closed up tight as he knocked lightly.

You could hear him sobbing, “[y/n]…please…[y/n]…” and his voice cracked. You heard him slide down the door and sniffling, “[y/n]…”

There was a moment where you thought to open the door. To take it all back. To change your mind. Tears were running into your mouth and you ground your teeth together to stifle your cries. Instead, you stood up straight, you took a deep breath. You went into your room, closed the door and turned the TV up loud.

Spencer still lives in his same apartment. So as you go up the stairs, hundreds of memories come flooding back to you at a hundred miles per minute. It makes you so dizzy that you nearly trip, fall down the stairs. Run.

But you make it to his door and knock, greeted by a younger woman who gives you a bright smile, “Hi.”

“Hi,” you wave to her. “Cassie?”

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’m [y/n]. I’m-I’m a friend of Spencer’s. Is Diana here?”

“She is.”

“Is she up for a visitor?”

You let yourself in, stepping in to find that the apartment has not changed much. Same couch, same chairs, same coffee pot in the kitchen. Diana is sat near the window reading a book, picking at her nails anxiously. When she looks up and sees you, she stops and her entire face lights up like you’ve come back from the dead.

“[y/n], hi!” she greets you. She stands from her chair and rushes towards you with open arms. You let her hug you tight, her hand in your hair, your head on her shoulder and you want to cry. “Hi, honey, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m okay…” you shrug. “Can we talk?”

Her eyes go wide. Scared. “This is about Spencer. About that awful mess he’s in.”

“Yes,” you nod.

“Well, please, come, sit. Do you want some tea? Cassie makes a great cup.”

“Sure. Yes, please,” you smile as you sit across from her.

“Y’know, when I heard what happened to Spencer. I-I couldn’t believe it…my baby boy, in a jail cell,” she shakes her head. “But then he tells me that you were his lawyer and I could,” she exhales. “Breathe. You, such a smart and fierce young woman. There’s no one I’d trust more.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek and you shake your head, breaking eye contact with her.

“Oh. Oh, no, no, honey, what’s wrong?”

“Sorry…” you whimper. You wipe your face and huff, “Ugh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“For what? For what, honey?” she takes hold of your hands.

“I-I couldn’t…I didn’t…” you sob. “I…Spencer pleaded not guilty, but the judge ruled him a flight risk. S-so, he’s…in federal prison. Pending trial.”

You can see the shock spread across her face and it makes you sick to your fucking stomach. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried.”

“Hey, you don’t apologize,” she squeezes your hands. Tight, tight, tight, tight. “You don’t apologize, you hear me? I know you did everything in your power. And if you couldn’t do it, then no one else could.”

You choke out another sob and she rubs your arm, cooing “Oh…oh…” and when Cassie sets a mug in front of you, Diana orders, “Here. Here, [y/n], please, have some tea. Calm down, sweetie.”

While you take sip, hiccuping against the glass, she changes the subject entirely. The rest of the visit spirals into a nice chat, mainly about you. What you’re up to these days. And as you fill her in, her eyes light up in pride, in almost disbelief. The last thing she says to you is, “Oh, I do wish you and Spencer could’ve worked things out. You are just…so special, [y/n]. Such a special, gifted girl. You made him so happy.”

She hugs you before you leave and you stroll beside Cassie to the front door. “Um…” you whisper to Cassie. “Is she normally this lucid?”

She purses her lips, “There are good days. There are bad ones.”

You nod.

“That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen her recognize anyone, though.”

For an extended amount of time after your first breakup, you thought Spencer was dead.

After you kicked him out of your apartment, there was radio silence. Scary radio silence. And you had visions in your head of him laid out with a needle in his arm and too much dilaudid in his veins and vomit in his mouth. Or, perhaps, he ran in front of a bullet in the field and no one thought anything of it. For months, you were so sure he was dead.

When you saw him on the news a year later, only then, you could breathe. You visibly and loudly sighed in relief just seeing his face, hearing his voice. More than grateful he was alive, you were grateful to see him healthy. Very clearly clean. Weight back in his face, light back in his eyes. You had almost forgotten what it looked like on him. It wasn’t until then that you knew you’d made the right decision.

You wouldn’t see him again for another two years. Save for a few local newpapers articles, the radio silence continued. You had moved to a larger apartment, close to the courthouse where you were still clawing your way to the top. Somehow, someway, Spencer found this new apartment. It was a conscious decision to do so.

He knocked on your door and you, not expecting company, catiously checked the peephole. You dropped from your tippy toes, sucked in a breath and opened the door. “Spencer? What…what are you doing here?”

“I’m…I’m sorry to drop by like this…” he stuttered, sucking back tears. “I am. I’m sorry. I…Emily…died.”

Your eyes went wide and you visibly stepped back. “What?”

“Y-yeah, she, um, she was murdered. Bled out in the ambulance and I…” he descended into a fit of cries and you just stood in the doorway, watching him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-I don’t mean to be a stalker. I don’t mean to barge in on you. I-I-I-I was just scared of what I might do if I was alone and n-no one else understands why I’m so scared to be alone and-and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You stood there in shock for a long time. The only thing that cut the tension was a sound from the TV, a strange sound that caught Spencer off guard. He peeked inside your apartment, sniffling, “What are you doing in here?”

“Uh…um, I’m playing Wii Sports?” you told him, holding up the remote dangling from your wrist. “…I have two remotes if-if you wanna play. It always makes me feel better.”

He tilted his head at you, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Oh, c’mon!” you shouted in front of the TV, swinging your remote through the air. “Put your back into it!”

“I am!” Spencer yelled, taking another swing that just barely hit the digital tennis ball.

“No, you’re not!” you swung and scored a point, Spencer feeling especially defeated by the cheer of the crowd. “You’re losing, is what you’re doing.”

“I give up,” he takes off his remote. “This game is rigged.”

“Is it?” you smirk. “Or are you just a sore loser? Not used to it?”

“Uh, yeah. Duh.”

You laughed and it poured a blanket of warmth over him that he had not felt in a long time. “You hungry?” you asked him.

“Starving.”

So you ordered a pizza and you got so caught up in speaking with him that you barely heard the knock on the door. When you set a slice down in front of him, he instantly picked it up and shoves it in his mouth, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy. He noticed you watching him and chuckled, wiping his mouth, “What?”

“Nothing…”you smiled. “Nothing, it’s just you’re…eating so good, you…you look good.”

He smiled at you. Not a big smile, not a proud smile, but a soft smile. A thank-you-I-did-it-for-you smile. “Thank you. I feel good.”

“Good,” you nodded. “That’s good.”

And the two of you ate in silence with the TV on to keep the peace. By the end of the night, his head was resting in your lap and his knees were tucked against his chest. He rubbed his thumb on your knee lightly and said, “I can go. If you want me to, I can go.”

“Yeah…” you whispered, your fingertip tracing his ear, your hand running through his hair, “Yeah, it’s getting late.”

He breathed you in one last time and sat himself up. He looked at you and you looked at him and if he stared at you any longer, it would’ve torn him apart. Instead, he hopped up from the couch and escorted himself to the door, you following close behind him.

“Thank you,” he told you. “For letting me stay. For feeding me. For taking care of me.”

“For kicking your ass at Wii Sports?”

“Yes,” he laughed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you nodded.

“Okay,” he huffed. “So…”

“So…” you shrugged.

He reached out to give you a hug and before you knew what you were doing, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him. That is, after all, exactly what he wanted you to do.

His arms locked around your waist and you moaned softly under your breath, sticking your tongue down his throat, drowning in the familiar taste of him. He pushed his body into yours, boldly nudging you towards the couch until you fell back and he could fall on top of you. Right where he was meant to be.

You’re uncomfortable in the prison. Milburn isn’t exactly known for it’s favorable accommodations and the last thing you want to do is appear prissy, but fuck, it’s gross. It’s crowded. It smells. You think: this must be killing Spencer.

He sits down across from you and he looks tired. Tired, but relieved to see you.

“Oof,” you exclaim. “You’re so lucky you look good in blue or else this would be really shitty for you.”

He snickers, shakes his head, “That was actually my exact thought.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “JJ says you’ve been by to see my mom?”

“I have. She’s doing okay, she seemed okay. We spoke for a long time. It was good to see her.”

“I bet she was excited to see you.”

“She was, it was sweet. I…I don’t wanna sound insensitive here, but, if she has an alzheimer’s diagnosis why does the memory of us breaking up just… linger?”

He wants to cackle but he stifles it, “Tell me about it. Every so often, I get an earful about how I should’ve done more to keep you around.”

“Oh. You…you didn’t tell her that I…”

“No,” he says quickly. “No, I didn’t.”

And just like that, a moment that was lighthearted and comfortable becomes unbearable. You clear your throat, “Well, I didn’t just come by to visit, I have news. It’s not great.”

“Okay, what is it?”

You sigh, “Your trial is postponed. I can’t say how long, but I will be the first to know and you’ll be the second.”

“Postponed?” he mimicked. “W-why? Why?”

You shrug, “They didn’t say. But it could be anything, I mean, higher profile cases, judge schedules, anything.”

He ducks his head down, breathing hard through his nose to prevent himself from crying.

“Hey…” you coo. “Hey, I’m going to figure this out. Don’t worry.”

“I know,” he nods. He looks up at you, “I know you’re trying. Thank you for trying.”

You nod, break a toothless smile, “Always.”

When Spencer wasn’t on drugs, you two managed to stay together for a whole four years. This was twice as long as you made it the first time around and not once did you worry that he had relapsed. You spent a lot of time worried that he might. You spent a lot of time keeping an extra close eye on him, watching for any of the signs, overly cautious. For a reason.

And Spencer was patient with this. He worked so hard to regain your trust because he knew how badly he had fucked up before. How different he’d become, how much he’d hurt you. He could not bear to ever put you through that again. And he never did. He was consistent, he was loving and he was sober.

On your third anniversary, he flew back into town late but he came straight to you. You had not officially moved in with him, but you had a drawer and a toothbrush and you could walk to work from his apartment. He woke you up from your peaceful slumber in his bed just to present you with your gift.

“C’mon, c’mon, I’ve been waiting so long to give it to you,” he cut the lamp on and you groaned, rolling onto your stomach. “Noooo, noooo, c’mon, my love. Look.”

You rolled back over and he was holding up a gold charm bracelet that immediately caught your eye. It woke you up entirely.

“I know you’re not a big jewelry girl,” he whispered, placing the bracelet on your wrist. “But this, uh, has a little charm of your birthstone and one with your birth flower. And, I don’t know, I thought it’d be nice to have on while you’re arguing in court, y’know? Wave it around a bit. Persuade the judge and jury.”

He fixed the clasp and you admired the gold against your skin, tracing it with your finger softly. You grinned, your eyes flickering up to him. “Wave it around…” you teased. “Like this?” and you motioned for him to come closer with your finger. The charms rang lightly and Spencer smirked at you.

“See, it’s just so compulsive, I can’t help but obey you,” he crawled on top of you, his voice mixing in with your laughter. “You’ll never lose a case again.”

And ironically, you went an absurd amount of time without losing a case after that. The bracelet was, in every sense of the word, your good luck charm. Your wrist came to feel naked without it and the ring of the metal gave you a special kind of confidence that couldn’t be replaced or replicated.

The day that Spencer got shot and nearly died, you were due to argue what would’ve been your tenth successful case in a row. You were on such a roll. A streak that no one around you had seen before and they were all eager to see how it progressed.

But as you approached the courtroom doors, your phone buzzed in your hand and you answered without much thought. You kept your brisk pace, speaking with a normalcy that JJ tried her best to match. Your heels were fast, click-clack, click-clack, click-clack, until the information ran through your ears and into your brain and then there was click-clack, click-clack, click…and you stood in the middle of the hallway. Stuck.

Your bottom lip trembled, at the thought of Spencer in critical condition. At the thought of him dying. Dying, dead, without you. You looked back at the courtroom and zoned back into JJ’s voice. You took one step towards the door, stopped and turned around.

Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.

Contrary to the belief of the BAU, Spencer is not your only client. You have to remind yourself of this as well. Despite a pile of work that you slowly chip away at, you find yourself running back to the details of Spencer’s file. Over and over, as if something new will stand out. It’s happened to you before. You think, it could happen again. It has to happen again. It doesn’t seem like it will.

“Hey, [y/n]?” you coworker calls, knocking on your office door.

“Hey!” you pip.

“Wanna grab lunch? My treat.”

“Lunch? It’s already lunch?” you check the clock and gasp, “Holy shit.”

She laughs, “You work too hard. What do ya’ say?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I, uh, thought you had to meet a client at Milburn this afternoon, though? The armed robbery guy.”

“Ah, no. Whole prison’s on lockdown. Something about a bad batch of heroin or meth or whatever they pass around in there, I don’t know. Attorneys are still allowed in but I’m not walking into that. I mean, can you imagine?”

It all pours out of her like a joke. Like a comedy of epic proportions that you are meant to laugh along with. But you can’t. You think about Spencer and you just can’t.

“[y/n]?” she calls, pulling you back into reality. “You alright?”

“Yeah!” you overcompensate. “Yes. Sorry. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

You grab your purse and swing it over your shoulder, following her out of your office and reminding yourself to breathe.

“You’re sure?” you questioned the doctor. “You’re positive?”

He released a hearty laugh and nodded, “Yes. He is fully recovered. No swelling, no tenderness, he’s cleared to work and resume any physical activity.”

“Any physical activity?” Spencer asked. You blushed and put your hand to your cheek.

“Yes, that’s right,” the doctor confirmed. “I must say, Spencer, this is quite impressive progress with such a severe injury.”

“I couldn’t have done it all without [y/n],” Spencer beamed, holding onto your hand. “She’s been amazing. She oversaw all my treatment and physical therapy. Slapped me aside my head when I was stubborn. It’s all thanks to her.”

You smiled, bashful and sweet, though you felt a weird, painful knot in your stomach. “Well, that’s quite a spectacular lady you’ve got there.”

“I think so, too,” Spencer grinned and kissed your cheek.

Immediately after Spencer was shot, followed by a long hospital stay, months of physical therapy and doctor’s visits, you lost your streak. You lost your glimmer. You lost that aura of shock and awe that you once so proudly carried. Though you kept it hidden from Spencer, you were one, giant ball of anxiety. All the time. It wrecked your brain, scrambled into a big pile of goo until you were having panic attacks in the courthouse bathroom.

Days later, you finally brought home a winning case. The adrenaline of a successful verdict rushed through your veins and you raced up the stairs to tell Spencer. You unlocked the door to his apartment and burst inside, stopping dead in your tracks when you saw him. He had cleaned, cooked and set up the dining room table with a meal for two.

“Hi, baby!” he exclaimed. “How was your closing statement?”

“Uhh, good. The judge ruled in our favor…” you spoke slowly, setting your things down.

“Really?” he smiled. “Of course! Of course they did. Baby, I’m so proud of you,” he held your face in his hands and gave you a kiss.

“Thank you,” you smiled. “What’s all this?”

“Oh, well,” he lead you into the dining room. “I made us a roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and corn on the cob. It should be good, I followed the recipe exactly. And, uh, some sparkling cider and I got you some lilies from the florist down the street and-and I even went to that store to get you a bath bomb even though all the smells give me a headache.” He was quite proud of himself.

“You went to Lush? No way.”

“Way! I thought we could take a bath together. Or you can take one by yourself, if you want. I got some candles, too.”

“Spencer, this is so sweet. What the fuck?” you wrapped your arms around him and the thought pinged in your head, “Ohhh. Oh, you wanna have sex with me.”

His face immediately turned bright red, “W-what? What? Sex? No. Ew…gross…”

You cackled and put your hands on his waist, “You got the go ahead from your doctor and it’s been driving you crazy. Admit it.”

“It has not been driving me crazy. I-I…have…been thinking about it quite a bit. But that’s not why I did this. I just wanted to thank you. Wanted to do something for you.”

“Mhm, keep talking,” you nuzzled your nose into his. “You’re almost there.”

He giggled and took hold of your hands, “C’mon, c’monnnn, I worked really hard on this dinner. Can you sit down and eat with me and then, maybe, after…”

You kissed the tip of his nose and took a seat at the table, “Definitely after,” you smirked at him.

He grinned and sat right next to you. And he watched you the entire time that you tried your food. It was delicious, you made sure to tell him that. You made sure to praise him, tell him that you loved him. He was already overrun with joy, but when you suggested a nice bath, he all but jumped out of his seat.

“The dishes!” you laughed.

He scurried back to the table, picked up your plates and dropped them in the sink. As he ran to the bathroom, he grabbed onto your wrist and dragged you along. He turned the water on, let it heat to just the right temperature and left it running. You undressed each other from head to toe and despite the sensuality of it all, you couldn’t stop giggling.

Sat in the tub, he cradled your back against his chest and he said, “Y’know…this bath bomb actually doesn’t freak me out as much as I thought it would.”

You laughed, “It smells really good, right?”

“Yeah! And the colors are cool.”

“I told you!”

Spencer got out of the bath first and he held out a towel for you to wrap yourself in. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you looked at yourselves in the mirror. He caressed your hair, whispering, “You’re so beautiful.”

You smiled, “Thank you. So are you.”

He kissed your shoulder, resting his chin in the crook of your neck, “I love you.”

“Eh,” you shrugged. “You’re alright, I guess.”

Your laughter overlapped with one another’s and you quickly corrected yourself, “I love you, honey,” with a kiss to his temple.

He turned his head and looked at you, his lips pressed against your ear, “Hey.”

You turned to him, “Hey.”

“We should get married.”

Your jaw dropped and you took a step back, “Are…are you just saying that because I’m naked and wet?”

He chuckled, “No,” he pulled you close, chest to chest, “No, no. I mean it. I mean, I don’t have a ring and I’m in no condition to get down on one knee but you deserve that, you deserve everything and I want to give that to you. I love you. So much. And I never, ever want to experience life without you again. I want you to be my wife, I want to be your husband. I want that. Don’t you want that?”

You let out a dry laugh, furrowing your eyebrows at him. You take his face in your hands, gripping tight on boths sides of his jaw and smush your lips into his. You undo the towel from around your chest and it falls to the floor, leaving every inch of your body open to Spencer’s touch.

“Mm…” he moans sharply when you break the kiss, giggling when you drag him to his bedroom by the hem of his towel.

The two of you landed on the bed with a thud, Spencer on top, tangling his body in yours, kissing your neck. Kissing your chest. Making his way to the apex of your thighs where he spread your legs and buried his face in between them.

Your breath caught in your throat but you released it all with a guttural moan, your arms limp around your head. The thing about Spencer, and that beautiful, talented mouth of his, is how gentle he was. His tongue was never rough, never hard flushed against you, but light and soft, hitting all the spots that made your body twitch. He could make you come so easily. And if you’d let him, he’d do it again and again and again.

But you took hold of his shoulders, you brought his face to yours and tangled your hands in his soaking wet hair and that is how you stayed the entire time that he fucked you. Close to him, bonded to him, staring into his eyes. You legs wrapped tight around his waist. Your body weakened underneath, became consumed by him and you swear, you have never come so hard in your life.

After his own orgasm, Spencer’s eyes focused in on you and you were crying. Not sobbing, just silent tears.

“Oh god, oh my god, [y/n]? What happened?” he panicked. “Are you okay? Did I-did I hurt you?”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, no. I…that was…it was just very good for me.”

“Oh…” he sighed. “Oh,” he gave you a kiss. “For me, too.”

He laid at your side and held you in his arms, rubbing your back, squeezing you tight.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, Spencer.”

You managed to fall asleep in his arms, but not for very long. All through the night, you shuddered awake like your skeleton was trying to crawl out of your skin. When your eyes popped open as the sun was starting to rise, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You emptied your drawer. You packed all your clothes. You put your toothbrush in a ziplock. And for the rest of the morning, you sat at the dining room table with a pen and paper. Every thought that rushed through your head sounded trite. Cliche. Dumb. So you kept it short and sweet and wrote:

I love you. I LOVE YOU. But I can’t. I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.

Aside from the shitty note, it was the perfect goodbye.

Spencer doesn’t want to see you right now. He doesn’t want to see anyone right now but especially not you. When the guard notifies him of his lawyers arrival, he’s confused. A bit irritated. But he has no choice but to let them haul him off.

They let him into the meeting room, where at first, you are sitting but when you see him, you stand to your feet. Your eyes scan all over his beaten and bruised face and you order the guards, “Cuffs. Off. Please.” And they’re off Spencer’s wrists just like that.

The guards leave the room and you are still staring at him. Now you are touching his face. Now you are whimpering, “What…what happened?”

You can see him soften a little bit, only a little bit, and then he is shrugging your hand off of him. He’s never done that before and it kind of hurts.

“You shouldn’t be here, [y/n].”

“What happened? Who did this to you?”

“[y/n.]…” he’s stern, but he quickly changes his tone. “You need to go. Please. I don’t feel like talking right now.”

You huff, “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

He shakes his head, “I’m just not in the mood to talk. I don’t think anyone needs to be around me right now.”

“Well, too bad. I’m here, you look like someone took a walk on your face, and I want you to talk to me.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“What are you getting into in here? Huh?” you scold him, waving your hands around. “Didn’t everyone tell you to shut up and lay low? You didn’t listen, did you?”

Your charm bracelet catches his eye and he cannot stop tracking it, “…You don’t know anything anout anything.”

“I think-“

“No, you know what I think?” he snaps. “I think you ended our relationship in a fourteen word note and now you’re here for what? For what, [y/n]?”

“Okay, lower your voice.”

“Seriously? Your obligation is done. You fought the good fight. Let me rot. It what you would’ve done anyway.”

“Oh, fuck you. Do you know why I left you a note, Spencer? It’s because I really sucked at breaking up with you. You have one little meltdown and suddenly, it’s me. Suddenly, I’m the answer to all your problems. Well, I’m not. I never was. I’m just one of the many melodramatic problems that you have and I needed to be released before it just happened over and over and over again.”

“Melodrama- okay…” he turns around and bangs on the door, signaling the guards to get him the hell out of here.

“Spencer!”

“We’re done.”

“Will you just- talk to me,” you beg.

The door swings open and you instantly clamp up, attempting to appear calm and collected. You watch Spencer leave the room and you want to scream. You want to shout at him from the top of your lungs but you don’t. You think, if I can just get outside. If I can just cross the parking lot. If I just get to my car, I can scream.

You never make it.

By the time Diana is able to visit Spencer, by the time Spencer gets in contact with Emily, rambling and screaming into the phone like he’s just witnessed a murder, nearly a full night has passed. Emily meets Spencer in the moonlit prison and it takes her an entire minute to get him calm enough to talk, to explain thoroughly. The memories of Mexico that come flooding back, the woman who drugged him.

“Has anyone checked on my mom?” he shouts. “Can someone please check on my mom?”

“Spencer,” Emily calls to him. “We did.”

“And?”

“And, she’s fine. Apparently, Cassie was unable to come in and they sent another nurse in her place. But, um…”

Spencer leans forward in his seat, “What? What?”

“Cassie said this was delivered to your apartment,” she digs through her bag. “No name, no address. Just a knock at the door.”

And she holds up your gold charm bracelet, sealed in an evidence bag, “Do you recognize it?”

Author’s note:

Inspired by me finishing Better Call Saul and being torn apart by Jimmy and Kim. Also added Saul Goodman to my list of Old Men I’m Obsessed With 😭 Anyways stream the Breaking Bad universe on Netflix! Thanks 4 reading!! <3

#mine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reidxreader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #Spotify

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