#Were they perhaps friends? Lovers? In the past? Where was she in his life and at what points? When did she leave? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inklore · 1 year

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code breaker

premise: there’s always been something there, between the two of you. unspoken and filling in the cracks of those moments where joel is helping you out of a tough situation and your offering up a thank you and sweet smile. if only it didn’t take bloody knuckles and some band-aids to finally crack the code of that something.

pairing: joel miller x (f)reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: eighteen+ content, unprotected p in v, smut with feelings really, fem receiving oral, friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, mentions of violence and blood, alcohol mention, toxic exes and relationships discussed, dirty talk, biting and love marks mention, lots of banter, au (preoutbreak).

note: i meant for this to be darker but it turned out wayyy more fluffy and i’m actually really happy about it. i hella edited this but it still feels choppy so if it is i’m sorry ya girl has bad eyes lmao. gif made by me so don’t be an ass and steal it tysm <3

There’s words you should be saying right now. Expressing. Spilling from your mouth in a heap of thank you, I appreciate you, what would I do without you always being there for me…

But they just can’t seem to come out. The speech part of your brain—and your heart—aching and prompting you to speak. To show courtesy, your vocal cords refuse to let you get out. Like your mouth has forgotten its purpose, your throat hoarse from screaming Joel’s name in the chaos of thrown fists, people shouting, men trying and failing to haul Joel’s weight off of the bloodied body below it.

The blood on his knuckles pulls your eyes in like a neon sign: caked, dark, and drying the longer the air gets to it. If it hurts Joel doesn’t state it—show it as he grips the steering wheel. You’ve never thrown a punch before, have never seen something like this up close and personal. You excelled at resolving conflicts before they arose. Never let arguments get past the phase of unfair yelling. But you would assume his knuckles must be aching, even if only a dull pounding.

You know for certain your ex's face is.

Good.

You hadn’t expected him to show up at the bar, your job. Hadn’t expected him to start in on the possessive act—coincidently the local patrons were less than surprised at the all-too-cliché behavior. The town having labeled him as bad news ages ago. Something you had to learn the hard way, when you finally took off those rose colored glasses.

Joel had been staring at you for the duration of the exchange. Even after your ex left to hang out with a group of his buddies in the corner, his gaze lingered on you.

"You alright?" He asked as he slid his glass towards you, his forearm leaning against the bar. A wordless nod letting you know he wanted another.

"Yeah, he’s not the first creep I've had to deal with. It's in our DNA as women to deal with the lesser species of the male population."

"Can’t tell if that makes me feel better or worse as a father."

"Oh," you send him a sweet smile. Setting his refilled whiskey in front of him, "no creep dare mess with Sarah. I’ve seen her make jocks cry."

"That’s my girl, taught her well." The grin he wraps around the rim of the glass makes something girlish—and foolish—spark in your stomach.

Maybe if you had a man like Joel in your life, you would be less likely to keep making the same mistakes with no-good assholes who are good for a week and bad for the rest of the 358 days.

A girl can dream.

And she has. Embarrassingly.

The two of you had continued to talk, your hip pressed against the bar as you cleaned a glass; perhaps you had been smiling and laughing too hard at what Joel was saying because your ex was back and grabbing you from across the bar in an instant.

An action that quickly landed him passed out and bloodied on the bar floor, and your boss trying to make sure Joel hadn’t taught him too good of a lesson to have him see God.

And while the adrenaline of shock had been bruising your heart against your rib cage, your lungs devoid of air—when Joel had put his non-bloody hand against your arm, calling your name (the white noise of the commotion in the bar creating an impenetrable barrier to your ear drums), a warm thumb under your chin pulling your attention away from the limp body on the floor and up into his eyes—that adrenaline melted and turned into serendipity.

Gratefulness.

Those girlish sparks turning into an entire flame that quickly engulfed you as he asked if you were okay. As he comforted you with a barely there touch on your arm and chin, concern in his dark eyes. Concern for what? Frightening you?

When your gaze is drawn to his knuckles, his body language responds with a grimace. When you see the gashes only bone against bone brings.

He’s worried he’s upset you. As if he's done something wrong.

When he insists on driving you home you don’t argue. Wouldn’t dream of it even if the circumstances were different. It wouldn't be the first time he drove you home because your beat-up car wouldn't start or because the weather was bad and your anxiety was high.

That’s the thing about Joel.

He was always there.

If you needed help, he always seemed to find time.

Because of this, and the aforementioned beating your toxic ex to a pulp, you shouldn't be allowing the silence to spread between the two of you like strangers. Like something in the air was making everything awkward, like you hadn’t sat in his truck a dozen times before. Like he hasn’t gotten you out of a pinch (minus the blood) before.

And after he’s pulled into your driveway, engine turned off, the cicadas and crickets filling the silence, it’s Joel who finally speaks.

Who cracks that barrier you have mentally been trying so hard to climb over.

"I’m sorry if I," he clears his throat, flexes his fingers against the steering wheel. "If I overstepped."

And the ridiculousness of him even apologizing has your mouth finally moving into action. "Joel, no, oh my gosh, no." Your palm presses against your chest as you look at him apologetically; you should be the only one saying sorry, thanking him, worshiping at his feet for this. "I should be the one saying that. I should have handled it myself or-"

"Or what?" He looks almost angry, shocked at your words. "He had a hold of you, and no disrespect, but I ain’t ever seen you kill a fly, let alone throw a punch at someone."

"Hey! I could punch someone."

"Could and would are two different things."

"You sayin I couldn’t?"

"I’m sayin' you wouldn’t."

"Not tough enough?"

"Your heart's too big."

"If you knew how hard I was holding back the urge to prove you wrong by bruising that bicep of yours, Joel Miller, you’d think differently." Your scowl and threat only seem to amuse him because he’s grinning at you. "You’re lucky you’re injured."

"I’m shaking in my boots."

"As you should be." The laugh the two of you share makes your cheeks burn. On the outside, many could and have labeled Joel as a complicated man. A man who takes a lot of nudging and persistence to get to know past that surface-level workaholic grump he sometimes displays. But he’s a man who would lend a hand at the drop of a hat. A man with honor embedded in his very DNA.

There’s a list you’ve kept in the back of your mind that has every bullet point filled out and doodled hearts around the edges of all the reasons Joel is a good man. A man you trust. A man you adore.

"Thank you, Joel." He starts to shake his head, but you stop him with your palm resting on his forearm, "thank you. "You're right, I don't think I even know how to make a proper fist, let alone connect it." Your soft laugh makes the corners of his lips tick up. "You didn’t hesitate to help me. You never do. It means a lot to me, I hope you know that."

He nods, his eyes only on your face. Listening. Taking in every word you’re saying, even if you know he hates the fact that you’re thanking him for this. But he deserves to know how much you appreciate him.

Your hand moves to his wrist, gently yanking it away from his vice-like grip on the wheel. Your index finger runs along a vein at the top of his hand—the one spot the blood didn’t cake on to. "Does it hurt?"

"No. Between the callouses and the whiskey, it’s nothing more than a cat scratch."

"You should still get it looked at."

"You’re looking at it, aren’t ya?"

Your eyes roll. "I’m not a doctor, Joel."

"All a doctors gonna tell me is to be more careful, hand me a band-aid, and charge me three hundred dollars."

"Well, in that case," you drop his hand and grab for the door. The dry summer air ineffective to your already burning skin from the man whose raising his brows at you, "I got band aids in the house, and I didn’t get to finish my shift, which means you owe me three hundred in tips alone sooo."

"There's barely three hundred people in this town, and you’re tellin me you make that in tips?"

"Joel, just get in the damn house." You order, slamming the door of his truck and walking up the path to your front door. Smiling when you hear him huff and grumble under his breath as he gets out.

A hiss—and a scowl so deadly it could scare away even the biggest and badest of grown men—has Joel’s hand twitching in your hold as you run a wet cloth along the tops of his knuckles. The fabric pulling up the caked on flecks of dried blood, the surface of the cuts along the bone already starting the healing process from being clotted with red.

"I thought you said it didn’t hurt?" You smirk playfully.

"Whiskey’s wearin' off," he grunts.

"Or," you dab the cloth in the small cap of saline solution you’ve pulled from your first aid kit under the sink. Bringing it back to his skin to press gently across his cuts, his body tensing. "You’re human after all," his eyes roll.

"Don’t alert the press."

"Oh, they’ve already been informed."

His hand rests on your thigh as you ball up some tissues to dry the area around his knuckles. Enough to keep the band-aids—the only thing he would allow you to use because gauze would just get in the way at work, he informed you when you insisted—from falling off. The heat from his palm burns through your jeans, and it's a blessing in and of itself that you're ignoring how it makes your insides feel; how your body's warmth is no match for how hot he feels. His legs are spread, body slouched against your couch, his knee against yours. A closeness he’s never been before. A casual touch and directness between friends that shouldn’t be making you feel feverish and cheeky.

When he flexes his fingers a couple times and his fingertips run along the top of your thigh, you find yourself wishing you’d worn a dress to work. A skirt. Anything to have been able to feel him do that against your bare skin. A thought you chide yourself for. A thought you hope isn’t written all over your face when you look over at Joel and he’s staring at you. Eyes darker, expression unreadable and stoic, in that way you can never tell what emotion he’s feeling at that exact moment. He gives nothing away but still sends your stomach plummeting.

After the band-aids have been stuck and you’ve cleaned up the mess on your coffee table you offer him a drink.

"Unless you have to get back to Sarah, then I understand."

"She’s with a friend tonight."

"You gonna tell her how you saved the day, all knight and shining armor style?" You tease as you walk back to the living room with two beers in hand, putting one in Joel’s outstretched one and the other to your lips. Taking a sip as you take your place beside him once again, this time a leg pulled under you as you face him.

He snorts, "don’t know about all that."

"I’m sure word has already gotten around. Her friends are probably gabbing about how heroic Mr. Miller is, a real prince charming." You laugh when you see his grin.

"Or," he says, swallowing the sip he's just taken. "She’ll give me that death glare that all teenagers possess after puberty, you know the one?"

"Oh, I know the one. Mine was so fierce my mother banned it from our house."

"It’s deadly."

"Truly."

"I’m sure prince charming will be the last thing connected to my actions. Rage and jackass sound more on the money."

You frown. Watch as he stares down at the result of the rage he thinks will now be accompanied with his name. Tarnishing it that now people will forget the kindness that was once there, the man whose hardworking now turned into something vile all because of an act of heroism some might find obscene; with how much blood and possible damage it has caused to one mans face, you could understand why such an act would be.

But to you—and those who knew how horrible your ex had been, how he had deserved every bone crunching punch, every spit of blood and teeth choked on—you knew that what Joel did was right. And maybe, somewhere deep down in those morals against violence everyone gets handed out to them at birth, you knew that Joel could be sitting in a jail cell instead of on your couch if those punches had been any worse. If it had been pure untamed rage like some will say.

"You’re a good man, Joel. So you potentially hospitalized an asshole, who hasn’t?" Your heart leaps in your chest when he laughs, and you thank God that your joke landed. Thank him that this man with his disheveled hair that's begging to have a hand run through it, work shirt and jeans looking like they’ve seen better days—is in your life. Not every girl has someone willing to bruise another man's face while destroying the hand that's needed to do their job properly.

No one had acted as quick as Joel had.

Joel Miller was a good man.

"What did you see in him anyway?" Joel asks, taking another sip of his beer. His gaze is drawn to you from the hole he was burning into his hand.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t know.

Couldn’t answer that question with the full truth because you didn’t know why you always went for the assholes. The guys who liked to scream instead of talk it out. Who liked to steal money from your wallet for booze or a habit they couldn’t kick. The ones who never remembered your birthday but made sure didn't forget theirs.

Your father had been a great man. Your mother an amazing woman. You couldn’t take the easy way out and blame it on family trauma.

So you answered with the only viable reason that came to mind.

"Loneliness makes you ignore all the bad stuff." You take a sip, swallow it down (washing away the pinpricks of potential embarrassment for being so brutally honest with Joel). "It makes you talk yourself out of throwing all their stuff to the curb or burning it in your backyard, because it’s not always bad. Some days are good. Some of them wait to be assholes before the novelty wears off; others wait until you're two years in and they’ve already slept with half the town behind your back. And some will bring you flowers every time they mess up, until one day you look around and realize you don't have any room to put this new vase and there's dried flower petals all over your floors. But hey, at least you’re not lonely, and your house smells really good."

The smile on your lips fades when you see the look on Joel’s face. See that he’s finding no humor in this story. And the gulp that swallows down the beer in your hands burns your throat the entire way down. Your cheeks are burning, and you have to look away from him. Distract yourself by picking at the label on the bottle.

"Or maybe it’s as cliché as saying I haven’t found the right one yet." You try to save, nervously chuckling under your breath. In hopes that he forgets everything you’ve just said and clings to this one shitty joke.

"Look at me."

You do, and you wish you hadn’t. The roughness of his voice makes your stomach swoop and fall like a rollercoaster of emotions you did not prepare yourself for. Hadn’t imagined this being in your future when you’d walked into work. But you’re looking at him. Meeting his eyes. Seeing the stern glower in them before he speaks.

There’s a million things you imagine him saying. Telling you how much better you are than that, than all of those meaningless assholes. How you deserve better, and you’ll find it someday. Hell, you expect him to scold you with how low his brows are.

What you don’t expect is to feel his lips on yours. His fingers digging into the skin at the back of your neck, his chest inches from your now-heaving one. And it renders you speechless. Still. Your brain not computing with the signals your nerves are giving off right now.

When he pulls away and looks at you, it takes you several blinks to meet his gaze. The air in your lungs weighing your chest down. You shouldn’t speak. Should allow yourself to get your bearings in order. To catch your breath and sort through everything you’re feeling right now. "Was that a pity kiss?"

"A what—pity kiss?"

"Cause of the," you swallow, lick your lips, "of the aforementioned assholes?"

Joel’s breath fans across your face when he chuckles, "anyone who’d pity kiss you deserves to be added to that list of assholes. And I might be on many asshole lists, but hopefully not on yours." The fingers on your neck skate forward to your cheek, thumb pressed gently along your jawline. His features grow serious again. "I didn’t just knock that asshole out because he had it comin'. And if you haven't noticed, I’m either working or at home with Sarah. Both keepin' me more than busy."

"Too busy to be making house calls for leaky faucets and tarnishing your good name with your fists?"

"Exactly."

There's a long pause between you two, as if you're both waiting for the other to say something, anything, to put these unspoken mutual feelings out there.

"Joel, are you saying you coming over to fix my faucet and staying for the occasional beer was you…flirting?" The grin he gives you makes you laugh, "who taught you how to flirt? And please don’t say Tommy."

"No. If I had listened to him we’d be–" he doesn’t finish. Just shakes his head and chuckles under his breath.

And maybe affirmative action with your hands wasn’t your forte, maybe you couldn’t do what needed to be done when it came in the form of actions. But when it came to words, to saying what you wanted, needed, craved when it was right here in front of you being hinted and teased at, you didn’t hesitate.

"Maybe you should have listened to Tommy." Your hand mirrors his own, resting on his cheek. You already knew he ran hot from his palm alone. But his cheek feels just as warm as you do, burning right through to your bones. His gaze falls to your parted lips, and a decision is made in the seconds it takes him to return his gaze to yours.

An agreement.

"C'mere." His lips collide with yours in a heated kiss of nicks of teeth and tongue that taste like whiskey and beer and something that your brain will forever recognize as Joel. A taste you know you’ll be wanting to swallow down again and again. To feel the burn of his beard against your chin until your skin is raw and blotchy from how hard his mouth is devouring yours. An arm wrapped around your waist pulls you into his lap, and your forgotten beers spill and stain the cushions of your couch. "Shit, sorry, let me," Joel starts, but you stop him with your hands on his cheeks.

"Leave it, just come here." You insist, lips returning to his.

"Yes, ma’am." His smirk molds to your mouth, wipes away as his tongue runs along your bottom lip to press against yours. A hand on your ass squeezes and presses you forward so you’re grinding against his lap. The seam of your jeans rubs up against the wet patch that's quickly forming on the fabric of your underwear, becoming sticky and clinging to your pussy. Joel's other hand runs down the column of your neck, gripping and pulling you away from his mouth so that his lips can latch onto your sensitive skin. A gasp leaving your lungs, teeth and tongue making you shudder and cling to his shoulders.

Shoulders you don't let go of until your back hits the mattress and you're both pulling your shirts above your heads, your fingers quickly working the clip of your bra, joining the discarded pile of shirts and shoes on your bedroom floor.

Your heart feels as if it’s beating a hole through your chest, like it’ll fall into Joel’s hands as he leans over your body, knees between your open legs, as his palms run down your chest, between your breasts. Over the globes of them, calloused thumb circling around your nipple. Your breath caught in your throat as you press yourself up into his touch. He’s taking you in, letting his eyes trail every dip, possible mole, scar, and marking on your skin. How your chest heaves in response to his hand. How your breasts fit in his palm. How you gasp and cry into the air when he leans down and swirls his tongue around one of your nipples before sucking it into his mouth, teeth lightly scraping against the sensitive flesh when he pulls off and does the same to the other one.

His mouth finding its way back to yours again. His hips canting against yours; you can feel his cock digging into your thigh. And when you let your hand skate between the two of you to give him more friction. A dizzying desire to feel more of his heat and need for you burning through your skin and to your core, where you truly crave him.

The deep grunt that falls from his mouth and onto your waiting tongue sends a shockwave of arousal through your entire body. Being. You want to hear it again, want to pull every noise from this man with your body and mouth until you are both drained and cursing yourselves for not doing this sooner. And you know he wants to do the same. Wants to catalog every pressure point and sensitive bit of your flesh so he can draw this out, can rile you up with a simple touch, scrape of teeth, run of his tongue along your jugular. Until you tell him how badly you can’t stand not having him inside of you.

He's leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach, his fingers digging into the skin above your jeans, holding your hips still. Preventing you from moving them the way you want to from each press and prickle from his mouth and beard—scalding the nerves of your skin and making your insides whirl.

"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart." Joel murmurs into your skin as his fingers curl into the waistband of your jeans. Your body feels barren and cool away from his heat as he sits back on his knees, your hips lifting as he frees your legs from their confines. His thumb runs along the lace of your underwear, dipping lower and lower until it’s pressing into that wet spot. A silent, smug praise tugs at the corner of his lopsided smile as his eyes look up to yours.

If your mind was working coherently and not filled with Joel Joel Joel (the way he smells woodsy and rugged, the way something deep and gruff reverberates in his chest when your teeth sink into the skin of his neck, and how he keeps looking at you like a fine art piece hung in the Louvre. Movements quick and gentle as he pulls your underwear down your thighs, making quick work to push your legs apart, fingers digging into the back of your thigh as he lets himself take his time adorning you fully on display for him) there'd be a sassy remark aimed at him.

The callus of his thumb nicks your swollen clit, eliciting a whimper from your lips, your hips following the descent of his finger as it spreads you apart. Trailing a line from your clit to dip into your entrance, gathering your arousal on the pad of his finger, his eyes on yours as he presses it against his tongue. A burning hunger in his eyes as he sucks your wetness from his fingers.

You're a panting mess by the time Joel positions his head between your legs, arms wrapped behind your thighs, lips, teeth, and tongue trailing up your inner thigh. Your fingers clench the blanket in anticipation, need, and want. The closer his mouth gets to your center, the more you can feel his hot breath moving in, the potential love bites and marks he’s leaving on your inner thigh—all a certain type of torture you don’t think you’re strong enough to put up with right now.

You lift your head to start begging, to plead with your torturer, but he’s speaking before you can.

"Wanna take my time, sweetheart." His tongue swirls at the joint of your inner thigh. And just as earlier, the words you mean to get out, to speak from the storm cloud of lust in your head, die in the back of your throat when Joel runs the flat of his tongue up the seam of your pussy. The torturous muscle wraps you around his tongue, following the slowest path to your clit, until the tip of his tongue flicks, making a pattern of strokes and licks, until his lips wrap around the swollen nerve, making you feel delirious. Keeps pulling gasps, moans, and pants of pleasure and ecstasy from your parted mouth; head thrown back on pillows; legs trembling around his head from the blazing fire that grows and grows the more he consumes you.

The more his nose nicks your clit when he fucks you with his tongue, the more his fingers dig into your quivering legs to keep you anchored to the bed and his mouth.

It feels like hours with how slowly he goes. Keeps you dangling from the ledge with every stroke and suck. Every soothing indent his fingers are leaving in your thigh. Your skin slicked with sweat, knuckles cramped from its grip in the blanket. When your moans go up in pitch he goes slower in that motion, that spot that has you seeing stars. Then he lets your breath come back to you with slow strokes of his tongue at your entrance, giving attention to the other parts of you that you didn’t think could elicit such erotic noises from your lungs.

Your fingers find their way into those disheveled strands you’ve been waiting a lifetime to thread through. To pull and keep yourself from the feeling of floating away from the intensity of the pleasure. From your orgasm coming closer and closer until you’re panting his name, "Joel, Joel, Joel–fuck," your body shaking, the cries pulled out from this man burning your throat as you finally fall from the ledge and into him; his tongue coated in you, his chin wet with your essence.

Your body sensitive and heavy as you come down, a sweaty heat making you feel sticky. Joel’s fingers seem to bypass every sensitive part though, as his palm caresses the tops of your thighs, your hips, your curves, the side of your breast. Until he’s reached your burning cheeks, mouth pressing the gentlest of kisses to your lips. The kiss was slow and gentle. Your arousal coats your taste buds when his tongue meets yours.

The kiss feeling more intimate than before, more heady. Knocking you right back on that loop you just got off of. That ache and throb he just sedated starting again in your belly, moving to where your thighs are soaked.

"You’re overdressed," you murmur against his lips. Joel kisses you again, your open mouths exchanging a breathy chuckle.

"Do you wanna change that?"

The question holds more than just the surface level of a joke and an answer of "yeah, obviously." There’s a seriousness to it that makes you pull back from his lips and stare up at him. His thumb traces a soothing pattern into the bottom of your chin, his eyes holding an unspoken reassurance that he’s fine with it ending right here. With him just pleasing you, getting to take you apart and reassemble you with tender touches and a torturous mouth.

It can be all about you.

It is all about you.

You deserve nothing less.

His eyes and soft grin speak unspoken.

Your nod is slow and reassuring. Your fingertips copy the motions of his thumb against the patches of skin in his damp beard. "Unless you’d rather help me get the stain out of my couch that you caused."

"I caused?" His brows shoot up.

"It's to be expected when you can't keep your hands off of me," you say before shrieking as he pinches your side. His lips kissing your scowl away—a problem you foresee in the near future.

The kiss lasts for minutes (centuries you wish). Your fingertips never lift from the other's face, moving along jawlines, chins, and cheek bones. His chest comfortably against yours, giving you that heat you missed so dearly. His cock still stiff and hot in his jeans, grinding slowly against your pelvis.

Is this how it’s supposed to feel? When feelings haven't even been discussed yet, but you just know? Already know what each touch, kiss, and caress holds behind it. Telling a wordless story in the way he had wanted to give you pleasure first—to taste—and take his time making you feel everything his mouth could do. Everything he wanted to do to you.

He wasn’t thinking about himself after the fact. Wasn’t rushing to put you in a position that made it all about his pleasure. Giving you little to no space to cool down, regain your bearings, and have that fire slowly relight and become more tantalizing, as he is right now.

You really did date assholes.

Your fingers move to his chest, splaying your palm along his body until you’ve reached where he’s hard and pressing against you. Your fingers curl around the outline of him. Stroking, massaging.

"I want you, Joel." You breathe into his mouth.

He growls against your lips in something akin to frustration and agony. It makes something inside of you sink, overthink that maybe he doesn’t actually want to push it past the points you’ve already reached. Maybe it’s too much, all too soon, for this new territory of your friendship—even if it already seemed a little too late with the couch confessions and his saliva still coating your center.

He must see the thoughts volleying in your head because he’s scolding himself under his breath and shaking his head. A soothing touch placed on your skin. "I feel like I’m some horny teenager again, with how bad I want you." His chuckle soothes your heart, "I don’t have-"

And you can't help but laugh at his waving hand towards his pockets and the sentence he's about to finish.

"Jesus, Joel. Bless anyone who's ever thought you were the ungentlemanly type." Here you were worrying about whether or not he wanted you, the proof being clearer than just his dick against your fingers. While the only thing on his mind was protection.

"Glad I’m amusin’ to you."

Cupping his cheeks, you pull him back to your lips. "All a girl wants is a decent man to make her laugh, not break her heart, and be able to make her come. And so far you’ve done all three." You let your tongue slip between your mouths and run along his bottom lip, "I’m good if you are."

I’m clean.

I take a little pill every day because life is chaotic enough and I don’t want any surprises.

We’re protected.

Now take me already.

The drag of your tongue, the roll of your hips against him, the little whimper you let out when he bites your lip—speaks for you.

It’s all either of you needs to rid Joel of his jeans: hands tangled in belt loops, tugs, pulls, pushing until he’s completely bare in front of you. Your breath hitches when you feel the underside of his cock spreading you and running along your clit slowly and languidly. The heat of him feels nothing compared to your own, the throb and ache of requisite in every roll and drag.

And when neither of you can stand it anymore, when he’s grunting and you’re begging, he leans up on an elbow, hand wrapped around his cock, lining himself up to your entrance. Your breath leaves your lungs, stomach falling falling down to where he’s pushing into you. Stretching you, filling you until there’s no telling where either of you ends or begins. Attached by that intangible string of pleasure and bliss of only being able to feel each other.

"Fuck," Joel groans. Mouth finding your shoulder, breath hot and heavy. His thrusts start leisurely, taking his time in that way you’re learning he loves to do. Loves to compartmentalize up what you need—more, faster, harder. Going off of the moans panted into his neck, nails digging into his back.

There's a hand gripped in the pillow beside your head, another at your breast, his mouth connected to your neck, your jaw, your chin, your lips. His hips slamming against your open thighs, thrusts deep, sharp. His cock hitting places that make your back arch, his name strung together with pleas for more. The slapping of skin and wet squelching of bodily fluids between the two of you making a symphony of lewd delight.

When the hand at your breast hikes up one of your legs, the cry you let out is swallowed by his mouth. The deeper he fucks into you, the more your body shakes, the more you feel him completely consuming you. turning you into someone who will never get enough of this. Of him. Of how good he's making you feel.

"Sound s’pretty," his tongue brushes against the underside of your chin, teeth nipping at the bone. A trail of him brought down to the shell of your ear. Where his heavy breaths and grunts fill you just as his cock does. Fills you to the brink of pain turned satisfying pleasure, as each stroke brings you closer to a precipice he’s already pushed you from. "Can’t believe I held myself back from you."

"Joel."

"I should knock out every asshole who thought to hurt you, t’not love you the way you deserve. Put you first," he slips his hand between your slick bodies, palm hot against your pelvis as his thumb rubs fast tight circles around your clit. His words getting filthier, ragged. Becoming heaving breaths against your ear as he fucks you faster. As his thumb matches the pace, as you grow closer and closer. Led by his words and pushed over by his cock.

"That’s it, sweetheart." He’s encourages as you come. As he fucks you through it, as that white-hot heat makes your body contort against his. Cling and squeeze around him. The string of groans and curses, your name mixed with something incoherent but soft and deep, makes your chest swish—bit into your skin as Joel comes not long after.

And after the two of you have cleaned up enough to call it satisfactory, two new beers condensing on your night stand. Your cheek pressed into his chest as your bodies lay pressed together under your sheet. His chin resting atop your forehead, a soft brush of fingertips at your spine—there’s cheesy grins on your faces, "Tommy’s going to have a heyday."

"He owes me fifty bucks."

There’s faux shock on your face when you turn and lean on your elbow to look at him, "excuse me?"

"He didn't think I'd ever tell ya," Joel shrugs as his hand caresses your shoulder. A fondness in his eyes, "I never do anything for myself." You press a kiss to his thumb, "I think we both deserve something good for once though."

"I guess I solved the mystery of how to get Joel Miller to be soft," you joke. Nip at the skin of his thumb playfully.

"I ain’t soft." He grumbles.

"Postcoitous Joel disagrees with that statement," you say. The dramatic roll his eyes do makes you laugh. Your teeth nipping his thumb harder, a bite this time, you shift so you’re on top of him. Sitting up on your knees. "Since this bet is half at my expense.."

"Expense, huh?" His palm grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes, causing you to rock in his lap. His cock already twitching to life again.

"I think we should get you your money's worth," you smirk.

"That's the smartest thing you've said all night," his fingers tangled in your back hair, pulling your mouth down to his in a hard kiss, before you get the chance to at least pretend to be offended.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller x y/n #joel miller imagine #joel miller x you #pedro pascal smut #joel miller fluff #the last of us smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #the last of us fic #pedro pascal fics #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction

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arminsumi · 8 months

Text

SAKURA.

𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 — 五条悟 ⋅ fem reader

NOTE: i really liked this idea and merged it with my little daydream of Gojo being in his clan and meeting you in a small village (like before he moved to the city or something) and tweaked it just a lil bit if that's ok!! i hope i delivered, and mwa ty for your request lovely anon i hope i got it all right, enjoyyy 💐

REQUEST: Can you pls write gojo who gets the Hanahaki disease cause of reader and gojos condition worsens so to keep the strongest alive the higher ups set up an arranged marriage with reader (her mission is to love gojo so he doesn’t die but she is defensive and uncooperative at first) but then she warms up to gojo (he does everything to make her happy) and they both live happily ever after 😭💕

SUMMARY — you meet a boy on a Taiko-bashi as a child. Little did you know, he was the prodigal son of the Gojo clan, and you would be married into that family to save his life.

WARNINGS — heavy angst to fluffy fluff, he steals ur first kiss, domestic life with ur kid Megumi at the end <3 😭, unrequited -> requited love, arranged marriage, quite a lot of blood/bloody flower mentions, disease/afflicted with coughing spells (see about the fictional Hanahaki disease here. Basically u cough up flowers and/or throw up full flowers if it gets life-threatening), poor boy almost dies, there’s a scene where it’s insinuated that he throws up a full flower, some teasing/playfulness yk the usual you'd expect from gojo, lmk if i have missed a warning thank u

WORDCOUNT ≈ 4.3k

PLAY ME ♪ bouquet — Ichiko Aoba

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 — サクランボ ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

When you were seven, a boy a few years older than you – perhaps two or three – passed you by on a Taiko-bashi in a small village. You remember him as the boy with peculiar eyes and white hair who looked back at you on the bridge. In your eyes, it was a very ordinary encounter with a very extraordinary looking stranger.

But in his infinitely blue eyes, there was ingrained a more meaningful and vivid memory of that encounter. He held it very close to his heart. When you and he made that brief eye contact as he looked behind his shoulder, slowing at his mother’s side, he felt a windswept, lovestruck feeling come over him. He batted his pretty lashes at you and stopped walking for a fleeting moment, as if captivated, and then went his separate way with the image of your face burned into the forefront of his mind. His kimono fluttered as he tended to walk in a gliding manner.

When you were fourteen, the same encounter happened again. A familiarly pale face with barely grown-in features looked back at you – his whole body felt a twinge of excitement. He only took one small moment to look at you and yet knew you were the same girl he saw as a child on this very same bridge.

Years went by, and the two of you kept encountering each other at peculiar times in your lives at that same bridge. Neither of you spoke to each other once, well, you didn’t say a word – but he uttered a few boyishly desperate greetings and even bowed as he glided past you to try and get your attention. If only you would have stopped for a chat, the poor boy would have given anything for that.

In some way, it felt like the two of you knew each other, though it was only your eyes that ever talked.

Come your eighteenth birthday, you were burdened with awful news. You were to be married to a man you had never met – someone from the Gojo clan. That person was apparently fatally sick with a disease you had scarce knowledge on. You asked your friend at the time, her name you’ve long forgotten by now, about Hanahaki and all she said was;

“Your lover is going to spit flowers in your face.”

You scrunched your nose up in disgust and confusion at this. A very silly image formed in your mind about the disease ever since your old friend had said that – all you could imagine was your future husband spitting saliva-wettened, half-destroyed flowers at your face.

The Gojo family and your family had always distantly known each other, hence all the visits to the village that they resided in. Your marriage to Gojo was long-debated throughout the years – yet neither you nor him knew anything about it. Neither of you prospected marriage, you were just the two strangers that passed each other on the Taiko-bashi every time the Sakura was in bloom.

The first time you and the son of the Gojo clan were introduced, it had already begun with a rocky start. You walked in when he had been overwhelmed with a coughing fit, and you were hushed back outside. The shoji door smacked shut behind you, and you heard sickly coughs piercing through the translucent sheets. When your future husband stopped coughing, and the blood and petals were cleaned up, you were brought back into the room. There were both your families and some important-looking officials in the large room, all formally sat on the tatami mats with mixed expressions. His mother seemed delighted at the sight of your face – but not more than her son.

Gojo Satoru, an eighteen-year-old at the time, with usually such a loud mouth and good joke up his sleeve, was rendered speechless when you had walked into the room. He analysed and absorbed every feature that made up the image of what he thought was the most charming and alluring creature ever to exist. Definitely a creature, he thought as you formally bowed with him, because no human could possess such an ethereal beauty.

Satoru was intrigued by you from your encounter on the Taiko-bashi, but when he was finally introduced to you he was utterly captivated.

The reasons and conditions for your marriage with the Gojo clan’s prodigal son conflicted with your strong beliefs in love and romance. You had rather aggressively told the poor boy your opinions in the days leading up to your wedding.

“I always thought,” you emphasized with a snotty tone, yet he listened to you like one would listen to the tranquil flow of the river under the Taiko-bashi, “that I would marry someone I loved, and not be forced to love…” you seemed so disappointed with how your life was turning out, that he couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for you.

“I’m a positive person, I have faith that you’ll fall in love with me in no time.” He said cheekily and winked at you. You felt very taken aback by such straight-forward flirting – you must understand, no boys in your village ever did that. They were very proper, even reserved.

He was almost charming in that instant, but then he added; “Who wouldn’t fall in love with me?”

At the time he was so full of himself that you could hardly believe there was space for any petals in his body. But there certainly was – when you left him alone in that room and stormed off, appalled by his conceit, he clutched the side of the door frame and coughed up little pink petals – enough to comprise three whole flowers.

It started worrying him, a few days before the wedding, when he started coughing more often. And not just that, but he started coughing up more petals than he had ever in his life. The peculiar disease had started during a time in his childhood that was coincidentally very close to the time he first passed you by on the bridge.

The night before the wedding, he laid in bed and brooded. And he was never the type to brood – he let life happen and moved on relatively easily. But he brooded, and brooded until it felt like he sunk so deep into his futon that he became one with it. The ceiling blurred.

What was going to happen if you didn’t fall in love?

That thought scared him so much that he violently drove it out of his mind and replaced it with an ideal daydream; he envisioned you and him cuddled up, bracing each other’s bodies, and melting into each other like real lovers do. He imagined you would be warmer than him, with that cool touch he had, and you would also stroke his hair. It was very fluffy, he made sure to point that out to you several times – but you never took a hint.

On the day of your wedding, he snuck to meet you just before the ceremony. He was crouched in the garden outside the room that you were preparing in. It’s then when he heard you voice your feelings to whoever it was helping you get ready.

“How can I love a stranger? And anyways, he is so full of himself, I can hardly believe there’s space for any flowers in there. There’s nothing I like about him.”

“Oh, Y/n, you have yet to learn about him. I’m sure you will find he’s rather charming. He is the pride of the Gojo clan, after all – he has the Six Eyes and Limitless. He’s the strongest, he’ll always be able to protect you – ”

It sounded like the woman talking about him was your mother, with how she praised him so much. She was right, Gojo thought; he could protect you from anything.

His expression was grave after hearing your thoughts. But he put on a lightened smile and masked his slight heartbrokenness when the rituals and main ceremony commenced.

It was a very formal, rigid ceremony. Gojo looked up at you sadly a few times, wishing you would spare a glance. He brooded on the idea that you’ll never love him like he loves you, and then a sickening, ticklish feeling spread in his throat and just as the closing ritual ended, he burst into a coughing fit – one of his worst yet. A bit of blood dribbled out his flushed lips, contrasting against his pale skin. Of course you were concerned – and of course you felt the urge to help and comfort him. But those feelings were purely out of the goodness of your heart.

Friends share love. But even when you and Gojo developed something resembling a friendship, it didn’t alleviate his disease. It was embarrassing sometimes, to realize that you were failing at the one thing you had to do; and that was keep him alive.

He was quite genuinely dying for you to love him.

Yet you refused to be in the same room as him for too long. Your mother had to encourage you. Eventually, both his family and your family worked together to make sure you and Gojo spent adequate time with each other. They organized meetups ranging from fancy nights-out to long voyages to weekend sleepovers. It was comical, how your families got along more smoothly than you and Gojo.

It’s the spring of his nineteenth birthday when the thought of kissing you becomes a reality. Well, it doesn’t go as he planned it. See, Gojo envisioned that kissing you would solve all his problems – he thought he could infect you with his love, somehow worm into your heart through a passionate kiss.

So when you and him sat for tea in a spacious room, kneeled side by side on the tatami mats, he went in for a kiss. You were distractedly straightening out your kimono when suddenly a pair of inexperienced, boyish lips crashed onto yours.

“Mmf!” you reacted with sheer shock – why on earth was he kissing you? The audacity, he had just insulted and made a mockery of you with a cheeky, playful attitude.

“Satoru!” you whined into his mouth.

He cupped the back of your neck and partly entangled his hands in your hair. White lashes sat pretty as he closed his eyes and glided his wettened lips over yours. For the briefest moment, you let yourself enjoy his kiss. But suddenly, as if your principles of love kicked back in and stomped on the moment, you shoved him away.

And a hard shove that was, he fell out of balance and landed on the mats with his elbows, a look of shock and surprise twisting into comedy.

“Playing hard to get?” he joked. His heart sunk ever so slightly at your rejection.

“You can’t just kiss a girl!”

“Come on, I’m your husband – if I can’t kiss you, then who is allowed to?” he asked.

You looked furious, like you were about to bite him, so he slowly started backtracking.

“I just wanted to see if kissing you would – ”

“How dare you, that was my first kiss! I thought I would have a cute first kiss, not a hasty one shared over… over a cup of tea!” you complained.

His expression changed and he started sputtering apologies. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know – I – ahuh!” he started lightly coughing.

And now it was your turn to feel apologetic, because all the bad tension between you and him brought on another violent coughing fit for him.

“I’m okay.” He choked out, eyes water and face reddened – some blood pooled at the corners of his lips, he instinctually brought his hand up to his mouth to catch any that dripped.

You rushed and kneeled over him, placing a much-needed soothing hand on his shoulder. “Satoru, I’m sorry.”

He tried to muster up a joke to lighten your worry, “H-hey, since when d’you call me S-Satoru? I thought it was strictly Go-jo.” he was interrupted by more coughing.

You comforted him, until his parents came into the room. They seemed disappointed with you, but masked it.

The night fell heavy all around the Gojo home. The barren Sakura trees’ branches subtly shook in the wind. A storm was approaching.

“Hey, sweetlips.” Gojo slipped into your room as you were in the middle of preparing for bed. “There’s a big storm comin’, if you get scared you can sleep with me.”

“Are you out of your mi-” you shut up when a sudden, extraordinary crack of lightning sounded and shocked you right out of your skin.

Gojo had a little laughing fit at your overreaction. He was completely calm at such a loud noise. Of course he was.

“I’m not sleeping with you!” you muttered angrily, but then you saw the dejection on his face – no, rather, you saw the way he tried to conceal it, and you felt bad.

Maybe tonight is the night you’ll try harder, you thought.

“Okay, well, don’t cry like a wimp if the thunder scares you ‘cause I won’t come running to soothe you.” He said and left you alone.

When he walked down the hall, his fingers grazed over his lips. All he could think about was how blissful it felt to kiss you, even if you did reject him. And he was your first kiss – maybe it was wrong to smile over that, but he couldn’t help himself as he climbed into the comforts of his bed.

A violent rainstorm engulfed the village.

As the lightning got more frequent and more terrifying, Gojo scrunched up his shoulders and half-hid his face under his blanket. He felt like a boy again, as scared of the thunderstorms as he was when he was seven years old. His pretty upturned nose peaked over the blanket, eyes glistening with tears as he recalled the fateful day you and him encountered each other at the Taiko-bashi.

He held onto that memory with a death grip. No one else ever had the honor of being so close to his heart, not even his best friend who he had made at Jujutsu high when he was seventeen. No, that heart of his he kept reserved for you. He thought to himself that night, while curling up on his side in pain, that even if he dies, at least he would die having been able to love you – albeit without reciprocation.

And then it happened. He shot up and let out a violent cough, and began spluttering over his white blanket. The thunderstorm was so violent that it muffled even the violent coughing in his room. His head felt like a dense ball of tension.

Unrequited love for many boys his age was heartbreaking, but not deadly. He morbidly laughed at that fact, observing the flower that he had thrown up onto his blanket, soaked in his blood.

He was dying.

He defeatedly closed his eyes, breathing through his blood-glistening mouth. His chest lightly heaved. “Y/n, you’re really gonna be the death of me… ah, oh well. That’s okay.” He muttered madly to himself and fell back onto his bed, too weak to stay awake any longer.

It was probably the work of the universe, but you floated down the unlit hall and tapped at Gojo’s doorframe. “Are you awake? Satoru?” you called his name in a gentle murmur.

There was an eerie silence. You slid open the door and caught a glimpse of bloodied sheets and a mangled-looking flower.

“Satoru!” you rushed over to him, stirring him awake with a harsh shake on his arm. “Satoru? Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

He groaned weakly – you felt a small relief. He wasn’t dead, though he really looked pale enough to be. His cheeks were flushed, his lips cracked and dry with residual blood.

Not a word you spoke sounded coherent to him though it was, all he heard was the soothing qualities in your voice. Though his vision was blurred, he knew it was you, because he felt the familiar air and scent of you.

He felt a strange sort of alleviation when you cupped his cheeks, murmuring something. Oh, when did he end up in a doctor’s room, laid on a patient’s cot? Weren’t you and him just in his bedroom at night, during a loud thunderstorm?

All he recalled was that you held his hand and squeezed it for a long time, while you were travelling somewhere. He remembered feeling your comforting presence each time his consciousness stirred.

“Have I died and gone to heaven?” he chuckled jokingly, feeling your lips press to his forehead.

“Huh?”

“Probably dreaming…” he muttered to himself.

“Satoru, you’re not in heaven you’re at Doctor Tanaka’s home.” You told him.

He pinched his eyes shut, overwhelmed by his afflicting sickness and Six Eyes.

“I’m so sorry…” he heard you speaking in a more tender voice to him than you ever had before. He felt the pressure in his chest lessen as you spoke, “… I was going to come to you because the thunderstorm scared me… no, actually, because I wanted to be with you. I felt this overwhelming urge to be at your side, and I don’t know why. Satoru, I’ve been such a fool. I’ve been such a scared fool, fearful of loving a stranger. Or, no, I guess I’ve feared loving someone I’m not supposed to be loving. You’re so special I feel driven away by it. But I promise I won’t flee from your love anymore, Satoru – I love you, and I’ll express it as much as I can in this feeble human form. The rest of our love will happen in the stars, after we die, I guess.”

He opened his eyes. It felt like the burdening fog that had been plaguing him since he was a little boy on the Taiko-bashi finally cleared. Everything felt fresh and sharp, and good and properly comforting. It felt like he had woken up from a long dream or arrived home from a harrowing journey through the landscapes of his mind.

“So you can be good with your words.” Was the first thing he said, and that was such a Gojo response that you knew he was okay.

“How do you feel?” you asked him, peering down at him.

He groaned and stretched and shifted around, fussing dramatically.

“I feel…” he began, and looked over at your lips. “Like I deserve to be kissed.”

“Oh, shut up you…”

He pouted. “Okay, ‘guess the kissing can wai- mmf!”

You kissed him very quickly and recoiled from shyness. His lips were divine.

He shot up out of the bed like he couldn’t just believe what happened.

“Wow.” He blinked at you. “So gutsy, you know you’re not allowed to kiss your husband!” he joked.

“You are such a – ”

“ – good kisser?”

“An idiot!” you giggled, genuinely enjoying his company.

The two of you bantered, basking in the newfound feeling of shared love. When the doctor came back in, he was preparing to witness the worst – but he was utterly surprised and at a loss for words when he walked in on you two smiling and laughing.

And it was the talk of the village. Neighbors gossiped, “Did you hear that Gojo Satoru is cured?” they spoke amongst themselves, “I heard! Apparently it’s a very romantic love story, did you read the newspaper article?”

You and Gojo drifted down the Taiko-bashi, together. He squeezed your hand when you set foot on the bridge, the cool skin of his wrist tickling your inner wrist as they pressed together.

“What are we doing here?” you asked him confusedly.

“Don’t you know this place? It’s the place we met.”

“Ooh, you’re romantic, huh?” you smirked.

A small blush crowned his cheeks.

“I’ve been romantic since the start.” He defended.

“What d’you mean! You were so cheeky!” you kicked his leg.

“I was quite a menace, I’m sorry – not sorry – kidding, kidding, I am sorry.”

He looked at you with a cheeky smirk, knowing damn well what you were talking about.

“You know…” he began, looking over the bridge at the river flowing beneath and admiring how the stream carried the Sakura blossoms. “Whenever I used to get coughing fits – bad ones – I would soothe myself with the memory of when we first met here. I can still recall the kimono you wore, and the Sakura that got tangled in your hair – and I thought about…” he came closer to you, speaking with a charming allure, “How badly I wanted to pluck that flower from your hair.”

You blinked up at him. How could such romantic words come out of him? You didn’t know how to respond.

“Ooh, did I make you shy?” he teased.

“No…”

“I totally made you shy. That’s so sweet. Are you blushing?” he giggled, putting his cool palm up to your cheek to feel the heat, “Oh, you’re blushing blushing. You could burn my hand right off.”

“Satoru!” you giggled.

“Ah!” he clutched his chest dramatically when you said his name, “Don’t say my name like that! I have a wife.” He joked.

“You are ridiculous!”

He gave you a big, toothy smile. “But you love me for it.”

“I do.” You tell him, and though he’s heard it many times after that day, each time feels like the first time you’re saying you love him.

“Gimme a kiss.” He asks.

“Come get it.” You tease, slowly backing away off the bridge.

“Seriously? You’re gonna make me chase you for a kiss? I’ve coughed up petals because of you, ‘n you’re gonna do me like this – heyyy! Get back here!”

Running into the petal-littered streets like carefree kids felt so freeing and exhilarating. He felt like he was catching up on all the fun he missed, if only you would have lived in his village as a child or visited more often.

“Got you!”

“Ah! Jesus, you scared – mmmf!”

He didn’t hesitate to take a much-needed kiss from your quivering lips. He kissed you so hard that you felt dizzied, lost for breath, rendered speechless. And he relished the love pouring out from you.

You stood there being kissed by your husband in a quaint alley, standing tiptoed on the Sakura blossom-littered ground to meet him halfway. Gojo’s heart thumped at the smallest things, like the fact you were standing on your tiptoes – that was the cutest thing in the world to him.

The two of you took a break for breath, and silently admired the Sakura blossoms as they drifted, being swept away by the wind.

Gojo looked at them, and looked at you, and thought of everything that had happened up until now. He was about to say something lovey-dovey but blurted out a dumb joke instead just to hear your laugh.

“Damn, I used to cough up those things.”

You laughed, “Your jokes aren’t good, Satoru.”

“But you laughed.” He said cockily.

“Shut up or I will never kiss you again.” You playfully threatened.

“You don’t mean it.” He tilted his head at you. You cracked a smile.

On the walk home, he kept calling you various nicknames – all flowers.

That day became a cherished memory of the past as the two of you weaved your way into proper adulthood. And the nicknames followed; he went through the whole flower alphabet, even the bizarrely named ones, even the Latin root names. When he wanted to annoy you, he’d call you prunus subgenus cerasus.

Now Gojo fusses around the living room of his tiny Tokyo apartment, preparing food for a little boy of the name Megumi. The day is full and busy, but any second he can get with you, he relishes.

“My tulip, 'gimme a kiss.” He asks.

“Come get it.” You tease.

“Ew.” Megumi grimaces, hearing this exchange right as he walks into the kitchen. He walks right back out.

“Gumi, get back here, food is almost ready.” Gojo calls after him, then leans down to try and kiss you but you playfully dodge him.

It always happens like that – he asks for a kiss, you refuse jokingly, he chases after you for a kiss and you scamper away. Like a running joke that’s a callback to your past.

“C’mere, you – ” he finally snatches you up, too needy for a kiss to play around anymore. “Stay right there and let me kiss you.”

He enjoys every second of kissing you, embracing you tight like he’s never letting go. Just like when he first kissed you, Gojo cups the back of your neck and tilts his head to deepen the kiss. It has you breathless, gasping – he’s so alluring that you shudder.

“Satoru!” you scold, “The food will get cold…” you excuse.

“Okay, okay. But you owe me extra kisses tonight.” He winks.

“You’ll have to get them out of me yourself.” You tease.

“Oh, I will, don’t you worry. I’ll take every little kiss I can.” He says determinedly.

He pecks at your lips, savoring the sound and feeling of the act.

“Ew!” Megumi grimaces, and walks out the kitchen just as he walks in like earlier.

“Gumi! Food! Sit-your-silly-butt-and-eat! You rascal you.” Gojo lifts him by the armpits, and tickles him like a real dad.

Megumi is poker-faced at the tickling.

“Y/n, tell Gojo he’s being annoying.”

“Husband, you’re being annoying.” You murmur up at Gojo.

“Am I?” he smiles down at you, giving you another cheeky peck.

Megumi sighs.

“Stop spyin’ and start eating, little lotus.” Gojo threatens playfully.

“Dad. Save the flower nicknames for Y/n.” Megumi scrunches his nose up.

Gojo's face lit up. “Okay, okay. Enjoy eating, I'm gonna go see where she went off to.”

He hurried into the bedroom where you had wandered into and excitedly whisper-shouted “He called me dad!” he gushed like he was the happiest man alive.

1K notes · View notes

adonis-koo · 5 months

Text

wicked • 17

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 8k

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Note: it’s actually difficult to believe it’s been eight months since I’ve updated, went through two jobs, a friend group and a boyfriend who gaslit the absolute fuck out of me and made me experience female hysteria 😍 I wrote this chapter the night he broke up with me so it just has that nice little extra touch of ✨ intensity ✨ enjoy lovies and I will be back hopefully sooner then last time with another update

It felt wrong, packing a small case of clothes while so many things at the castle had yet to play out, and Wheein’s life was hanging in the balance of it.

You had no intentions to trudge your way to the barracks but here you were; early morning where all of the guards were training and the person you were looking for was watching them, hands on his hips as he called out to one of them to tighten their guard.

You hadn’t planned on talking to him today, but leaving without so much as saying a word felt wrong, and perhaps after everything that had happened you were searching for sober reassurance.

“Jungkook.”

Everybody froze at the sound of your voice, you ignored all the eyes on you, after having lived in Penumbra for almost a year, you had somewhere along the way gotten used to all of the eyes that constantly followed you.

The guards exchanged awkward glances with one another, Jungkook looked surprised by your appearance, eyes glancing over you as if you were a hallucination, but after a moment it was evident you weren’t going to disappear upon blinking.

He glanced between you and the guards before he waved them off, “Keep going.”

You couldn’t stand the hopeful look in his eyes, almost a bit bashful as you walked in line with him further away from the barracks, “How can you expect me to leave the castle when Wheein is in a dungeon? And furthermore sending your aunt to try and reconcile with me?”

Jungkook frowned, “Well I doubted you wanted to see me after my drunk display- which truth be told I hardly remember anything I said, and It’s probably for the best that I don’t, Y/n…” He sighed as he stopped, “It was only a suggestion, it crossed my mind about the estate because truthfully I think you would like it there, and it would be safe,” His hands tenderly grabbed your shoulders as your lips curled in anger but you said nothing, “And I think it would be good for you to put all of this out of your head for a few days. I’ll continue to handle things here and if things change with Wheein trust that I’ll be able to take care of it.”

Your expression didn’t change as Jungkook frowned, “I would also like to remind you that she’s been one of my closest friends since I was a child. You’re not the only one who cares for her.”

You begrudgingly looked away from him but your expression softened, a stab of guilt surging through your stomach at the realization that he was very much right, “I know, I’m sorry I just-”

“Don’t be,” Jungkook replied, “You have a mean bite but I can appreciate your loyalty. I can’t undo the past but I want to make things right. I…” Jungkook paused, looking hesitant his eyes darting away from you and then back to you once more.

You offered no words forcing him to sigh, as if it was difficult for him to admit, “I want to be with you Y/n, not as two people amicable due to marriage or friends on uneasy terms…” He bit down on his cheek, unable to hold your steely gaze as his hand hesitantly reached out, tenderly stroking along your jawline, “I want more than that with you, I want all of the fire and all of the rage, I want the pain, the hardships. I want you, all of you, every flaw that makes you, you.”

You hadn’t even realized your eyes had blurred until his thumbs were tenderly pushing your tears away, “Is this a declaration?”

“It’s a promise.” Jungkook’s eyes held such a softness in them filled with something you still felt uncertain to assume, “You told me that you wanted to bear the deepest parts of yourself to me, all of your insecurities, the parts you don’t like about yourself, the parts you may even hate, so I am standing here to tell you to show me, show me all of it, and I will still take you as you are.”

He was saying many overwhelming words to you, but you knew he was dancing around the most important word, you could see it in his eyes, how it lingered on the tip of his tongue.

But something was stopping him from truly confessing it.

Perhaps even after all of these months, it was still too soon.

Evidently so given your circumstances.

“I don’t want you away from me,” Jungkook admitted, a frown slowly forming on his lips, “But if that’s what it takes, I would wait a lifetime if it meant your forgiveness, if it meant a second chance to be with you.”

“Is that why you’re willing to send me away?” You sniffled, “Otherwise you’ll continue to drink and wake me up in the middle of the night?”

“It wasn’t my finest moment,” Jungkook gave a weak smile, “But you can’t deny it got my point across didn’t it?”

Just his smile made something in you crumble, a vast desire to embrace him here and to forgive him, surely you could put this all behind you…?

But a bigger part of you didn’t want to rush this, you didn’t want to be complacent anymore, that was how you got into this situation, how you immediately jumped to Claudin’s offer rather than confide in the person you were married to.

It was such a raw feeling, you could feel it licking at your very soul, trying to tame your desire to throw all caution to the wind once more.

And for a brief moment you could feel Jungkook have the same reaction as you, as if it took every fiber in his being to not beg you to stay, you don’t know if you could stand your ground against him again if he came on as strong as he had last night.

“Just for a few days.” You whispered out as he frowned, giving you an understanding nod.

“You’ll love it there.” His hands finally let go of you, somewhat reluctantly.

And then it was silent for a long moment, tension still lingering in the air and both of you clearly hesitant.

“Then…I’ll see you in a few days.” You mumbled and Jungkook nodded once more. It felt like the ground was trying to engulf your feet as you turned around, feeling oddly empty at your goodbye, waiting for something that wouldn’t come.

What was it you had hoped for? A hug…?

Maybe a kiss…?

But then again, it felt as though you were no longer deserving of those things, Jungkook may have done things to hurt you but you had also done things to hurt him, how could you both love one another if you couldn’t trust one another first?

You wished Jungkook had reached out for you, to at least give you some form of affection before leaving, but he also knew this was true, and let you leave with no grief.

It left you feeling empty inside, but this was for the best.

You journeyed over horseback for the day, trying to leave your fretting heart behind as you nervously glanced back at the far away sight of the castle, what if something developed with Wheein?

You felt as though you were betraying her just by leaving, more than anything you were desperate to get her back, perhaps that was why Jungkook was sending you away, as if he sensed your desperation would only heighten the longer this went on.

Dare you say, he feared the worst might happen if you stayed.

Your grip tightened on your reigns, once more trying to put it out of your mind, taking a deep breath you took in the heady scent of the pine tree’s the surrounded you, the Estate was much closer to the mountains then you had anticipated, by midday you had journeyed far enough that snow had already reached the ground.

“Are you nervous?” Yoongi had slowed his horse down to ride next to you, his eyes however still scoured ahead for possible danger.

“What do you mean?” You frowned as you glanced at his back, hearing a branch snap as your eyes darted towards the left of him.

Your faithful companion Fenrir having accidentally broke the branch he had been carrying in his mouth the past hour he had grown fond of, a whine leaving him in disappointment as he picked up the bigger side.

“Journeying away from the castle during these trying times…” Yoongi glanced back at you, a frown of his own, “It can’t be easy leaving with everything that’s happened.”

You didn’t reply for a long moment, Yoongi slowed down to ride beside you as he curiously took in your expression.

It was silent for a long moment before you finally relented, “It is difficult, but…After a long night, I figured this was probably best. It seems like my involvement in things only tends to make them worse. And truthfully there's no telling what lengths I’d go to at this point to get Wheein back.”

“Oh?” Yoongi looked curiosity once more, “I didn’t realize you had such a taste for danger.”

His joke made a smile finally tug on your lips, “Neither did I before coming to Penumbra. It seems this kingdom has a way of bringing out the primitive nature in me. But then again, it seems people have always looked down on me when I think of it.”

“On you?” Yoongi scoffed in amusement, “Dryad Matron of Eunoia? It’s difficult to believe, you’re like a pillar of light to the commonwealth of Penumbra, it used to drive the Prince nuts during your engagement.”

“It did…?” You peered somewhat hesitantly at him.

This made Yoongi grin, “Oh yes, when news of your engagement first broke out it had the people ecstatic, it had him gagging every second he heard good things of you.”

“This is hardly making me feel better…” You winced, though a small part of you was amused to hear this, though you wish you could say the same.

It always seemed to you that people in Penumbra didn’t fully grasp just how much people feared them on the outside world, instead poking fun at the titles they had earned as if it was a little joke.

The whole two years of your engagement are two years you’d rather die then live through again, the anxiety that kept you up at night, the endless amounts of tears you cried, the emptiness it left inside you how no one even tried to comfort you.

Looking back you understood, nobody wanted to feed you lies to comfort you, but at the time, you didn’t understand, it felt cruel.

“Not everyone feels that way about me, evidently from what I saw in the Underside.” You replied, somewhat reminiscing on the horrendous memory of the mock version of you.

“You shouldn’t pay that any mind,” Yoongi scoffed, “The humor is juvenile there, everything it stands for is juvenile, even it’s name; the Underside was a joke, a mockery meant for every royal that has to say it’s name with seriousness, point being- they don’t respect anyone who won’t give them money.”

You only shook your head, “It’s not just that though, there has always been a small part of people and court alike who haven’t liked me, even long before I was engaged to Jungkook. I was known for having a temper,” It made you smile wryly, “-The Bitch of Eunoia, that’s what they ran around calling me behind my back. It was horrendous in Kimhae.”

“Was it now?” Yoongi looked amused by this, “That in some ways does, and doesn’t surprise me.”

“The court ladies in Eunoia often liked to call me that as well. But it was very pronounced by Kimhae court men. When I was younger, I used to wear traditional Eunoian attire when i’d visit. Apparently shoulders and knee’s used to drive them crazy. I had one of the aristocrats boldly ask me if I was an exotic woman of the night, willing to pay for me.”

Yoongi’s jaw had dropped making you laugh as he gestured you on, “What did you say?”

“Something along the lines of calling him a perverted old man whom ought to have his loins cut off for making such a comment to a women- let alone a Princess.” The memory made you smile as you shook your head, “The Bitch of Eunoia…why is it men are allowed to be angry Yoongi? Why is it women are shamed so?”

Yoongi let out a hum, “This is indeed a good question, but perhap it’s because they know a woman's scorn could even bring heaven out of the sky. I’m not all too surprised about Kimhae- but you said Eunoians called you this as well?”

Your smile became saddened, “By many court ladies yes,” You scratched your cheek in thought, “I was always lonely as a child…the war took a toll on me, I was temperamental and childish. But the court ladies as children, also liked to mock me and egg me on. As we grew older they grew closer and I still stayed a distance away. They’d find any reason to pick me apart or give me more work to do. They were practically leaping for joy when the news broke that I was engaged.”

“Why do you think that was though?” Yoongi asked, “That they didn’t like you?”

You shrugged, you had never really thought about it much, rather you preferred to keep the past where it was rather then dwell on it, “I suppose it had a lot to do with the fact that while we were all training to be healers I excelled more at it, it came naturally to me and they ended up putting me in the tents before the others. They all assumed it was from favoritism…Maybe it was,” You pondered on this briefly, “I just remember thinking it wasn’t fair.”

“Fair?”

You didn’t elaborate on the word for a long moment, feeling something akin to guilt bubble in your stomach.

You glanced off into the distance where the mountains towered high, it made you feel so tiny in comparison to its greatness, and briefly you felt awe.

You always admired nature, how vast it was compared to you and all your humanly troubles, you turned to it and it’s kin when you needed comfort and in these moments you could turn to it when you were also troubled with words.

It was difficult to adequately explain to people the rage you had felt since you were a child, anger had always been in your bones, from the moment you were born. Your mother used to tell you, that when she gave birth, you had come out of her womb with a roaring cry.

You craved to be vulnerable, to be soft and tender, to be all the things you were not, and you were many things, just not those.

Many people people heard you, they just never listened, didn’t understand.

“I had a lot of resentment as a child, to everything, the war, my parents, our country. I didn’t want to be a healer, I didn’t want to have to watch people in my care die, I didn’t want to attend the burnings or hear the whales of agony and pain, the cries of mourning, the people who blamed me for not being able to save their loved ones.”

You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel haunted by those memories, watching the lifeforce leave someone's body as you tried to stop the bleeding, the maimed limbs and mangled bodies that were beyond your skill or help.

“I didn’t want to be made to go past our lesson times to keep studying, or made to go back in to practice when all the other girls were allowed to play. Or put in a tent over night while they all slept. It wasn’t fair.”You mumbled, perhaps still a lingering tone of resentment.

The past was the past, it couldn’t be changed, you had come to terms with this, but if you stopped and really thought about it, old feelings old eventually begin to resurface, it was why you tried so desperately to just forget about it.

At one time you blamed Penumbra, you hated it’s people for what they did, what they caused.

But then you married Jungkook and you journeyed here yourself, and saw with your own eyes, that these people, were simply people, who were also victims of their own royalty.

You felt the soft grip of a hand on your shoulder, “I am sorry, for what it’s worth,” Yoongi held a face of sympathy, “We all felt the same, or…I suppose a mutual feeling on the opposite side of things. Children being forced to enlist into a war we didn’t want to wage with little choice…”

You gently grabbed his hand giving it a small squeeze, a weak smile on your face, “It wasn’t fair for any of us. We’re all a bi-product of our parents' sins. It’s up to us now to break that cycle.”

You had arrived to the estate by nightfall and it was shrouded in tall pine and fir trees, the aroma had you closing your eyes for a moment to savor it, just as Jungkook said, it truly was beautiful.

Snow covered the ground in a few inches, and a chill was left in your bones, but you settled in rather nicely, Yoongi had managed to get a fire going rather quickly and it was quiet in the solitude of the estate.

For once, it was nice to be able to breathe without being watched.

The first two days had went by surprisingly quick, but you had found a natural rhythm in nature, you went on long peaceful walks, kept yourself wrapped in a blanket while sitting on the terrace taking in the crisp cool air.

You had even spent the evening watching the snowfall outside, enchanted at how it came in big fluttering puffy balls, you had heard of snow before, but you had never actually seen it fall from the sky, like a thousand little gifts from the heavens.

It was dull and gray out today, the same as it had been for the last week now, at the estate was unsurprisingly no different.

Today however you had Yoongi set up some haybales in the pit area where guards would typically be trained, it was run down now, old boxes used as storage had been broken down and were hazardously strewn everywhere, long nine inch rusty nails sticking out of wooden pieces at razor sharp jagged angles.

But with Yoongi’s help you both had piled it up safely away and got a decent bit of space ready for training.

“Too stiff-”

“Ah!”

It was a second too late, you had already released the string, sending the arrow flying, it had veered off target as the string slapped your forearm with a sharp snap causing you to drop it.

Fenrir suddenly popped up from the ground where he had been laid out the last half hour, head cocked in concern at the noise that escaped you.

“How many times do I have to tell you,” Yoongi groaned, “You can’t hold it with a stiff arm! Look at this!” He got up from his spot as he held up your arm by the wrist, “It looks like somebody gave you a lashing! Jungkook will have my head if it isn’t heal by tomorrow.”

Your lips twisted into a sulky pout, “I am trying!”

“Not hard enough that’s the fifth time within the hour,” Yoongi whistled out as he let you go, Fenrir walking up to you as he sniffed your hand, giving it a lick before nudging it.

You rubbed your forearm, that was undeniably sore and throbbing with pain before placing your hand on Fenrir’s head to give it a nice long rub.

He had grown remarkably big in the last month, almost as big as you now, just a five or six inches shorter, it made you give a sad frown, at how big he was and soon he’d become a monstrous size…

You’d simply have to build a bigger stable you supposed.

“Aim comes naturally but holding a weapon does not,” You sighed as you placed both your hands on Fenrir’s head, now giving him generous rubs and pats that had him giving a toothy puppy grin that made you smile, “I’ve practiced here and there with a bow but with everything going on, I just haven’t made it a priority.”

Yoongi sighed, “Natural ability will only get you so far, discipline if a far greater advantage Princess, thankfully we can start working on this daily, I think it’d be good for you to have a hobby.”

“I have hobbies.” You frowned as crossed your arms.

“Such as…?” Yoongi gestured.

“Well…” You could think of several as a matter of fact, but you had given them all up once you had moved to Penumbra, the thought made you frown in realization, you had been so caught up in all the highs and lows of your new life that it was true.

You had hobbies, you just never participated in any of them.

“I suppose it would do me some good to work on it,” You sighed as you relented, “I still feel a tad guilty though, shouldn’t I be honing my skill in swordsmanship? Jungkook once told me that it’s expected the Crowned Prince and Princess are supposed to be the best at it.”

“Well…” Yoongi stretched the word, “This is true but, I don’t think somebody is going to fault you for not being the best at it. I’d like to think it’s an expectation from those born in Penumbra, not those who marry in. Not only this but if you are inclined to another form of weaponry, then it’s as simple as that.

“As long as you have some form of sword training then it’ll do,” Yoongi shrugged, “What matters is personal protection, some training is better then none, but having a form of training you’re good at is even better.”

“You Penumbrian’s certainly like taking precautions.” You sighed wistfully as you picked up your bow once more.

“The more the better,” Yoongi said, “Guards are great, but what happens when you’re caught without any? Learning to defend yourself is vital.”

You glanced down at your bow, “I understand but…”

“But?” Yoongi asked.

“Well, I suppose a part of me just feels odd,” You replied, “I grew up being taught to save lives, not take them,” You rubbed your neck in uncertainty, “When I took the Dryad’s oath, it was a promise to myself and my ancestors that I would abstain from our carnal nature. That I would never take a life nor would I consume its flesh. Animal or human. Even though the chances of me having to defend myself in such a way are so low, it’s odd to train for it, after taking that oath and living by it my whole life.”

Yoongi let out a small smile, “Then don’t view it as such.”

“What do you mean?” You tilted your head.

“Sword play is considered an art form in Penumbra, you can view a bow in the same light. It’s quite a beautiful thing really, it’s not just aiming and shooting, it’s how you hold it, the type of arrow you use, the weight of your feet. A lot goes into it.”

You thought on this for a while before nodding, “I suppose you are right.”

“Min Yoongi! I’m looking for a Min Yoongi?”

A voice called out that had you both glancing around the courtyard before seeing the courier at the gates glancing around before meeting his gaze.

“Yes?” Yoongi called out, walking up to meet him.

“I have a letter for you sire! It was urgent from the court” The courier dug through his bag before handing it to him, giving a short bow to you and then departing.

You glanced at it anxiously as you exchanged a look with Yoongi, was this about Wheein?

Yoongi opened the letter, reading it before he sighed,

“What, what is it?” You asked, anxiety in your voice.

“It’s not about Wheein,” You let out a breath in relief as Yoongi continued, “But it is a request for help.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

Yoongi sighed, “There’s a watchtower just east of here, about an hour away give or take on horseback, apparently they’ve been dealing with a gang of bandits up there. Supposedly they’re going to siege the tower.”

“They can do that?” You asked in surprise.

Yoongi shrugged, “I suppose so, I don’t know what they think I can do about it.”

“Well you said you were an assassin before you became a knight? So surely that counts for something.” You said, setting down your bow on a lonely bale of hay.

Yoongi sighed as he folded the letter back up, “Even so, I won’t just leave you here by yourself.”

You frowned, “It’s only us here, and it’s secluded so I won’t be in any real danger, and you said it was only an hour away. I doubt you’d take long in taking them down.”

“Are you just trying to get rid of me?” Yoongi asked in mild amusement.

“I would never!” You said, “But I’d hate to see something unfortunate happen that could be prevented, you’re far closer then someone is to the castle. It would make the most sense for you to go.”

Yoongi sighed, “Even if I’m over cautious, it doesn’t sit right leaving you here all by yourself.”

“I wouldn’t be alone!” You replied, grinning as you gave Fenrir a solid pat, “Fenrir will defend me! Jungkook and I have been working on commands. Sit!”

Fenrir immediately complied.

“Very fierce.” Yoongi said dryly.

You held up a finger, grabbing a piece of wooden box that was free of any nails off the ground, “Fenrir,” He perked up at his name, “Attack!” You threw it causing his gaze to follow it with a loud snarling howl, his jaws crunching the board in half immediately grabbing the smaller end.

Running back to you before dropping down on his front paws, tail wagging as he tried to get you to chase him.

Yoongi looked a bit more startled at the thick board of wood that had been crushed as he nodded, “Okay, a little more fierce than before…” Yoongi thought about it for a long moment, “I suppose if I left now I would make it back by supper….Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

You gave him a small smile, “It’s only a few hours, I think I’ll be able to manage.”

Yoongi still seemed hesitant but he nodded, “I’ll go gather a few things then and be off. The sooner I leave the sooner I’ll be back.”

“It’s one night,” You smiled, “And then we’ll be back at the castle tomorrow.”

You had waved Yoongi off before you continued on with your day.

Spending another few hours training with your bow you had eventually given up once the string of your bow hit a particularly sensitive spot on your forearm.

The rest of your day had been spent taking walks along the trail’s with Fenrir before eventually settling inside, roaming the halls and exploring empty rooms.

And eventually the afternoon came.

But slowly the sun began to set and a vague feeling of dread followed along with it.

Yoongi…would’ve been back by now, right?

Or perhaps it took him longer to clear out the bandits.

You nodded at this as you stayed curled up in your large chair, Fenrir curled up beneath your feet as he let out a sigh, as if sensing your discomfort and unsatisfied with it.

Continuing to read, time went on and soon the sun had set.

You had managed to get a fire going on your own and had lit the candles in the hall, making the estate feel less consuming then it had before but it didn’t quell your anxiousness as the hour went on later.

Yoongi would certainly be back by now…

You were certain you’d manage the commute back to the castle if you had too but…You wouldn’t feel right just leaving without him, but you also had no way of sending a message to the castle for help without going back yourself.

You felt at a loss for what to do, as you roamed the main hall, pausing at the sound of the gate opening. Opening the doorway you hurried out to the courtyard.

“Yoongi, I’ve been waiting all day, you worried me sick!” You stopped short at the sight ahead of you.

“Not who you were expecting?”

Di Jin’s smug smile was the last thing you saw before the sudden blow to your head caused your vision to go dark.

“You look lost.” Jimin commented as he plopped in a seat right next to his dearest friend, both sat out for breakfast on the terrace.

“Was it a good idea sending her to the Estate?” Jungkook stared down in hard contemplation, his food untouched, “If something happens I won’t be able too…!”

He inhaled sharply as he forced himself to lean back in his chair, but despite the motion his body refused to relax.

You had left two days ago and he felt a void ever since.

Jungkook didn’t realize how much your presence had filled every inch of the castle until you had left, and now, he felt utterly useless, it was one thing for you to be mad at him, it was another for you to be gone.

Jimin looked amused but felt bad for him nonetheless, “Nothing is going to happen to her, the estate is nice and tucked away, the entire court has forgotten about it anyways, it hasn’t been used in years. You did a good thing.”

“Did I?” Jungkook finally slumped.

He had been constantly replaying his last memory of you, the conversation you both had before you left, the memory of you looking up at him for a long moment as if silently yearning for some form of affection.

It left Jungkook’s hands twitching and an unfamiliar ache in his chest, he couldn’t even describe how it felt. And he was honest when he spoke with you the night before, true he didn’t remember much, but what he did remember was straight from his heart, he thought he knew many things.

But after meeting you he found out quickly that he knew nothing at all.

Tomorrow, surely you’d be back tomorrow. You hadn’t given him an exact timeframe, but surely when you said a few days, you had meant no more then three?

“What if I-”

“No.” Jimin cut him off, “The whole point of her going was to get out of the castle and by default away from you. Not only that but what if something happened to Wheein while you were gone?”

Jungkook sunk back in his chair, that was right…He had promised you he would take care of anything that might possibly happen.

He wouldn’t let you down.

“Have you found any evidence yet?” Jungkook lowered his voice, his gaze lingering on the far side of the table where Claudin had been dining with a group of court ladies.

Jimin frowned, “Yes but the problem is getting it open,” He huffed, “I was able to slip into his room last night, it was empty but he has a lock box beneath a hollowed broken floorboard piece, seems he was in a hurry when he left, otherwise it wouldn’t have been left afar.

“Regardless I haven’t been able to crack the lock. Whatever is in there, it has a master’s lock on it. I’ll need at least another dozen picks before I even come close to cracking it.”

Jungkook sighed as he shook his head in disdain, “Of course when we need Yoongi he’s gone.”

Their elder would be able to open it within the hour if he was here.

Jimin frowned as well, “I’ll try again this afternoon.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, “That’s early for you.”

“We’re running out of time Jungkook,” Jimin sighed, sinking back into his chair as well, eyeing Claudin with a certain wryness, “I keep hearing stirrings from the guards about how they’ve narrowed their search, but they’re hellbent on saying it was Wheein.”

“Sire,”

They both paused at the sight of Taehyun, a frown on his face as he glanced between them both, an anxious look as he bowed slightly, “It’s the council…they’ve summoned you. It doesn’t sound good, you should come as well Jimin.”

Jungkook glanced at his friend but said nothing as he stood up, not liking this one bit.

The walk to the throne room was swift and Jungkook wasted no time in arriving, the other council members had just arrived as well.

Clearly he wasn’t the only one uncertain of what was going on, other members had started hushing whispers to one another, all glancing in Jungkook’s direction occasionally as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he glanced at the empty throne the seats on its left occupied by his aunt and uncle whispering to one another.

They both glanced at him once before quickly looking away.

The tension felt suffocating and the longer it lasted the more anxious Jungkook felt, seconds turned into minutes and the whispers began to get louder.

And all within a moment, the doors open and a sweepingly silence took over the room save for the sound of boots against the ground. Dae Seong walked with confience in every step before standing before everyone on the throne.

“It is with confidence I have come to announce something of the utmost importance,” His voice boomed, “The attempted assassination on our Crowned Princess, was indeed committed by her maid Jung Wheein, we have reason enough to believe it was her as all the evidence points as such. Her form of punishment will be burning at the stake, tonight at the height of the moon. I ask you all join me on this divine distribution of punishment,”

Groaning softly your vision was blurry at first, and the first person to appear in your vision was not who you expected.

“Not so quick witted now are you Eunoian Bitch,” Seohyun sneered, her smirking figure beneath you as your vision of her doubled.

Your mind was confused as you only remembered Di Jin being here, your eyes closed briefly only for a sharp pain to spread through your side that you recognized as being kicked in the side by her.

Groaning your eyes opened and her eyes beaded, sneering at you as another voice spoke, “Come along now Seohyun, why don’t you go see if that insufferable knight has managed to come back yet, I will finish our business here.”

She eyed you warily but said no more as she left and soon Di Jin stood in front of you, “You have truly been a pain in my ass since I was enlisted to kill you, I only hope you realize that.”

There was no remorse in his eyes as he pulled the wickedly curved knife from it’s sheath and a sadistic smile curled on his face, “Don’t worry Princess, i’ll make sure you have a slow miserable death.”

Despite your sluggish movements, adrenaline had shot in your veins as you realized you were about to die, you had too much to live for still. You needed to see what would come of Eunoia, you needed to make sure Wheein was okay, that you would keep your promise to Jungkook.

You couldn’t die, and you would fight if it meant living to see it.

Your mind was slowly coming out of it’s haze as Di Jin stepped closer to you, realizing you were in the courtyard near the hay bales, the pile you had cleaned early next to you, your arm reached over to grab one of the planks, three long rusted nails sticking out of it.

You swung it with as much force as you could towards his legs, it made contact, the nail piercing his skin with a wet noise as he cried out in pain, falling back on the ground as he growled out. “You dumb bitch, a pain until the end!”

You attempted to crawl away, heart pounding in your ears as you scurried but he was still too mobile, yanking the plank out of his leg with a growl of pain as he managed to get on top of you, you caught his wrists as he attempted to plunge the knife in your throat, “I’ll enjoy watching the life leave your eyes. I’ll be sure to bring your head back for your little husband to see one last time.”

Your strength was already failing as you winced out, the knife slowly coming closer to your skin as you whimpered out as it pierced the first layer of your flesh.

It was an indescrible pain that had you yelping in pain,

“I’ll make these last few moments the most excruciating and perhaps if you beg me enough, I might just end your pathetic little life girl,” Di Jin grinned leaning in closer, “Maybe if you beg me more i’ll give you a little more than just a long death.”

He pushed the knife a little deeper as blood spilled from your skin making you cry out, his body weighing heavier on yours and his lips suddenly pressing to your ear, “Something tells me you’d prefer that over this.”

Something about his lips pressing against your skin lit something primal inside of you, every sense heightened inside you as your lips parted taking a wide bite into his neck, you could taste it first, the metallic flavor of blood running across your tongue and dripping down your throat and then his skin was next, uncomfortably soft and tender and next was the cartilage, it was rubbery and had hard bits in it, next was the sensation of something warm and wet against your face.

Di Jin could no longer properly speak, his grip suddenly loosened on the knife as you yanked the large chunk of flesh straight from his neck, grabbing the knife as you yanked it away shoving him down as you managed to get on top of him.

The chunk missing from his neck was ghastly, blood pooling on the ground, oozing everywhere and squirting from various places and he was gagging loudly, choking on his own blood.

Anger trembled in your body, it wasn’t enough, even with chunks of flesh missing and blood covering your face, skin hanging and cartilage visible it still wasn’t enough, before you could even think you plunged the knife into his neck, eyes blurring as you watched him gurgle, choking on his own blood as the life left his eyes.

Your hands were shaking as you waited for him to jump back to life to kill you, and then you slowly realized your vision was blurred from tears, your heart pounding as you took a shaky breath yanking the knife out of his neck before you let out blood curdling scream slamming it back in his neck again.

Jungkook’s betrayal.

Wheein being taken.

Exiled from your own kingdom.

Being forced to wed.

Made into a healer as a child.

Bone.

Blood.

Ash.

The mourning bells rang in your head and you could vividly taste the metallic on your tongue stronger than ever as the taste of raw flesh lingered in your throat.

Blood splattered upward as you stabbed the spot over again, all of the rage searing in your veins as Di Jin’s form became disfigured, his neck nearly separating his head from his body as you shoved the knife in deeper.

Hearing the wet gurgling noise as you heaved a breath, staring at his cold dead eyes staring back at you, the next scream was not your own, but it came closer within seconds before the door to the estate opened.

Seohyun was heavily bleeding from her left thigh, sporting a large bite as a loud snarl came from inside the door, shakily you stood up, “Fenrir, wait.”

The large wolf paused, and that's when you noticed the large gash on his leg, causing him to limp, rage quelled in your veins again as you limped over, Seohyun looked pale a ghost at the sight of you.

From the moment this woman met you, she had given you nothing but grief, attempted to humiliate you, belittle you, try to win a lost battle, attempt to kill you, and now she had hurt your precious companion.

Even with a mangled body behind you, it still wasn’t enough.

Tripping over her own two feet she fell down as you walked over, “We can talk about this Y/n!” Her eyes were as big as saucers, “Please! I’ll leave Penumbra and- and never come back.”

You felt nothing for her as you stood above her, watching pathetic tears drip down her face for a long moment, finally you knelt down, “If Penumbra has taught me anything Seohyun, It’s that some people do not deserve my forgiveness, nor my kindness.”

Her lips parted rapidly, her throat scratchy, and for the first time, you saw genuine fear in her eyes, “B-but you’re a Eunoian,”

Her words were pointed, bargaining, pleading even- if you listened close enough, “Eunoian’s don’t kill.”

Your lips slowly lifted into a joyless smile as you let out an uneasy laugh, “Well,” Your smile dropped, your hands were still shaky, unbridled rage still taunt in your veins.

The primal urge of need to prove her wrong, prove all of them wrong, that you would never again be looked down upon as weak or underestimated.

Your hand grabbed her neck, causing her to let out a choked sob as you squeezed it tight enough to choke her airway, yanking her nearly nose to nose with you.

“We’re not in Eunoia, are we?” Your nails dug into her neck, not stopping until you felt the blood from her skin oozing, you shoved her back before you stood up, ignoring her blubbering, tears trickling down her face as you walked away, “Fenrir.”

“Please!”

He let out a growl, “Attack.”

Her cries of agony were left of deaf ears as you walked back over to the corpse of Di Jin grabbing the knife from his neck and yanking it out before taking the sheath that went with it, adjusting it on your waist.

Collapsing on the ground away from him you noticed your hands for the first time, shaking, trembling as your vision blurred once more, scarred and covered in blood, just what had you done?

Fenrir’s mouth was covered in blood, but the whine didn’t escape your ears as he tenderly tried to sit down in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” You ushered, grief strong in your voice though uncertain of who it was for, yourself, your country, your companion, you reached out for him, gently rubbing your hand down his neck, “But we have a long journey ahead of us Fenrir.”

The bells were ringing and a somber air had taken over, Jungkook had nearly lost his entire wits, his father had banished him from the room, not wanting to hear another word from him about this.

Being told he was too sentimental fell on deaf ears, he didn’t care, it was his friend, it was injustice, it was corrupt. He hated it, he hated that despite being the crowned prince, his son, his father simply didn’t care.

All Jungkook could do was wait for Jimin to unlock this damn box. But it felt as though it was too late, he was banned from so much as leaving his room, guards at his door there to keep him boxed in but this wouldn’t stop him.

pulling the cloak over his head, he opened the window, the bricks were jagged and uneven enough that he could easily climb down, he did it often when he was younger, much to the blindness of his father.

Scaling the wall, Jungkook got down, feet planted firmly on the ground as he kept the hood over his head tight as he made his way to the courtyard. A crowd had gathered, all wanting to witness the supposed assassin.

Nobody paid mind to him with his identity concealed, it would be soon now. If he couldn’t get evidence to get Wheein out, then Jungkook would take matters into his own hand. He didn’t want to have Wheein leave Penumbra, but if this is what it took to keep her safe until her innocence was proven, this is what he would do.

He owed so much of his existence to her, he couldn’t let this happen.

He wasn’t going to let this happen.

The bells stopped as Dae Seong stood up from his throne on the wooden stage they had set up, “We have all gathered here to see the execution of the assassin who tried to kill our crowned princess! Her very own handmaid, this is the killer, our own flesh and blood, and the punishment for a traitorous woman is fitting, burning of the steak!”

Wheein was brought out, her hands tied behind her back, her eyes had dark circles and she was crying as she shook her head, “Please! I would never do that to Penumbra! To Y/n! Please you have to believe me!”

But her cries were in vein as the crowd boo’d her, all shouting vile words her way as they dragged her down to the large wooden steak pyre that had been set up.

Jungkook shifted in his spot as he watched them begin to tie her up.

“Are there any last words you would like to impart to us traitor?” Dae Seong looked at her with pure disgust.

Wheein’s lips quivered as she parted them.

A loud bloodcurdling scream interrupted her before she could speak, the crowd tensed and everyone seemed alert, Jungkook was towards the front, having intended on getting her off there the right moment, but he quickly turned around to see people quickly departing and creating a path.

And the next thing he saw was hardly comprehensible.

You, covered in blood, your face was a horrific sight with it’s dried crimson color covering your mouth all the way down your neck, but what was even more horrifying was what was next to you, Fenrir limping beside you, a corpse held in his mouth.

Women screamed and men gasped in horror as they all moved.

The looks on the royals faces were indescribable, Dae Seong most of all, “What is the meaning of this?”

You stopped in front of the throne, Fenrir as if knowing this was the destination, dropped the body from his jaws, it smacked the ground with a wet echo, the head finally detaching from the body as it rolled towards Dae Seong.

You don’t think you had ever seen an expression quite like what Dae Seong had, and you were sure this would be the only time.

It was silent for a long moment before you finally spoke, your throat raw and scratchy, “That’s your assassin, he tried to kill me again just hours ago.”

Dae Seong’s look of shock slowly twisted into one of rage, “Where is your proof of this!” He stood up from his throne towering over you with a growl, “What does a girl like you have meddling in business you don’t understand and taking the lives of those who were helping!”

“Am I standing in front of you not proof enough?” You snarled back, “From the moment I have come to this kingdom I have been nothing but disrespected, disregarded, used, and seen as nothing more than a tool to further someone’s agenda. And i’m sick of it.”

“Even when it comes to my own life, you stand in front of me questioning it!”

“Why I ought too!-”

“I have it!” A voice cried out, Jimin was running from the side entrance of the courtyard, a notebook in his hand as he panted, his eyes widening when they set on you, ‘Y/n!? Are you okay? I have it, I have proof that Di Jin was the assassin! Here, your majesty.”

Dae Seong snatched it with a certain level of venom as he looked through the book, but slowly as his eyes read through, an unreadable look took over his face.

Exhaustion began to take over, your body beginning to sway.

Dae Seong closed the book with a sense of finality, “Very well,” He aid with gritted teeth, anger still simmering in his eyes, “Perhaps, you do have the grit to survive here princess.”

You didn’t hear his words though, your gaze had went down to the body of Di Jin, and swaying backwards you collapsed into an abyss of darkness, nothing more then multiple people calling your name.

#bts #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader smut #prince!jungkook #bts au #Jungkook imagine

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mrs-weasley-reid · 1 month

Text

Escape Is Mandatory

platonic Spencer Reid x geniusbau!reader | part 4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Summary: prison changed Spencer, and along with it were a couple of horrible choices bau!reader refused to tolerate, hence a threat to their years of friendship. But all of it disappeared as soon as an unsub threatened your life.

Warning: details of death, violence, and infidelity; curse word(s)

A/N: I can't believe it has been over a year since I posted this mini-series (me just disappearing out of nowhere, lol). This draft has been sitting for a year. I never published it because it felt boring (I still do, somehow), but I wanted to celebrate the series reaching a year old HAHA! Anywaysss, as usual, this might be heavy, so be mindful when reading. It's not my gif; credits to the owner :)

— ✿ — ✿— ✿ ✿ ✿

Luther Gerard grinned maniacally, leaning against his seat, "Let me guess... sister? Oh, but she's too pretty to be related to you." His cuffed hand caressed your picture on the table, "Lover, perhaps?"

Spencer's jaw clenched, "Where. Is. She?" His palms were itchy, breathing steadily as he kept them flat on the table.

This unsub was unlike any other serial killer he had encountered. Luther Gerard, age 38, is an average plumber but one hell of a genius, almost as dangerously intelligent as Spencer, with 186 IQ.

Spencer would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. He was terrified to the bone. Because this time, the unsub had 83.248% outsmarting him, and the victim was you.

"Anyone wanna hear how I picked her up?" Luther glanced at the two-sided mirror, chuckling, "I'll take the silence as a yes."

He looked at Spencer straight in his eyes, "It was dim, but not too much. She was 40 feet away from the precinct entrance... 15 from you. She looked pretty mad when she turned her back, but she looked so hurt walking away. I can remember her tears. Oh, they were sweet and just a little salty. She knew I was there for her. She was going to scream for you. But what can I say? She was a second too slow. I was going to get your attention but she looked so good unconscious in my arms."

"You sick son of a bitch—"

It took Luke, Matt, and three police officers to hold Spencer back. His face was red, and Luke swore he was breathing fire. His knuckles were white as he grabbed Luke's shirt and a bit of the skin on Matt's arm.

Spencer escaped from being pinned by five people with minimal struggle, grabbing Luther's collar to the point of suffocation. "Where the hell is she?! Tell me where!"

Luther laughed out loud, watching as Spencer crumbled into an angry mess. "Listen here, Dr. Reid... you can be a point smarter than me as long as you can, but she will always be two points dumber than me. She'll die in that fucking warehouse."

Emily barged into the interrogation room, "Reid." She gestured at Matt to take him out of the room, leaving Luke to get the answers they'd been looking for the past five hours.

Spencer aggressively shrugged Matt's hands on his shoulders, "I can walk," His voice grew a little softer than seconds ago, but his tone still crunched with anger.

As soon as the door shut, Spencer turned to Emily, "She's dying out there."

"You're not the only one who's worried. She's our friend, too, you know. But we won't find her if you let your emotions take over you." Emily took a deep breath, giving him a concerned look.

Spencer ran his fingers through his hair, "I'm not worried. I'm scared." He dropped his head, letting a cruel sigh pass his shivering lips.

Despite his attempt to reinsert himself in the interrogation room, Emily forbade him from coming in contact with the unsub for the rest of the evening. So, he stood next to JJ in the conference room, trying to save you in the best way he knew how: geographic profiling.

"I should've known," Spencer mumbled under his breath.

JJ turned to him, "Did you find something?" She scanned the board in front of them, hoping that she'd see what Spencer was seeing.

Spencer loosened his tie, "The victims. The location. I should've figured it out the moment we briefed about the case. It should've clicked." He guiltily looked at JJ, "I should've kept her safe."

"Spence," JJ spoke motherly. "None of us knew she was the target. You have to know that none of this is your fault." She gave him a kind look, something he knew well to differ whether it was out of pity or genuine compassion.

"But it is my fault..." He averted his eyes from her. He couldn't bear to look at anyone in their eyes, much less the thought of yours, filled with tears from his stupidity.

JJ's eyebrows gently knitted, "Did something happen the last time you saw her?"

— ✿ — ✿— ✿ ✿ ✿

2 days ago...

The afternoon's fifth hour barely struck, yet the sky was already dark. The lampposts around the precinct were enough light to at least keep you and Spencer from tripping.

None of you have said a word for the past three minutes. You even missed Emily's nod. Both of you were too occupied to care. You: with the obscene sight you just witnessed and the burning itch to smack the back of his head. Spencer: with whatever internal conflict he was going through after coming back from prison, he refused to talk to anyone about.

With every step away from the might as well named crime scene, your lips slowly unfastened. Spencer had barely clicked the SUV's key when you began.

"She's married."

"She's unhappily married."

Your eyebrows clashed, "That's not an excuse, Reid. Your wrinkly brain knows that."

"Can't you just mind your own business?" Spencer rolled his eyes, treating your conversation lighter than you wanted him to.

"I would have if only you did," You looked at him with utter disbelief. No amount of blinking would erase the sight forever etched in the back of your curse of a photographic memory. "Her unhappy marriage was her business. That was her and her husband's business."

Spencer was growing impatient with you. The signs were easy to catch. His knotted forehead. Thoughtless glare. Clenched hands deep in his pockets. An obvious Spencer-is-pissed-at-you special tell.

He straightened his back, "I was just helping her out."

"Holy shit—" You scoffed a baffled chuckle, "Are you hearing yourself? Adultery and sympathy are not the same, Reid. What the hell has gotten into your head?"

Ordinary people wouldn't have cared. Luke and Matt would disagree and judge Spencer's stupid choices but would've kept their mouths shut. Emily and David would spit a bit of advice on how morally wrong he was, but they would have minded their own business for the most part. Tara would've been disgusted but refused to get herself involved. JJ and Penelope would have been utterly disappointed and angry at him, but they wouldn't have missed a chance to make up with him.

You, however, felt nauseatingly repugnant. Years of friendship felt like a thin layer of ice loudly breaking. He knew most of your uninteresting and failed romance. How often has he lent you a back to bury your face on? The number of times he's caught not two but four of your short-term lovers shamelessly cheating. He knew well enough, too much even.

"You know what I think?" He chuckled evilly. And you knew then he was aiming for your throat. "I think you're just jealous because you don't have the aptitude to get over your dead boyfriend."

Your jaw dropped. You half-expected him to say those words, but it still surprised you. It still stung. Your tears were fighting to flow, but you had enough self-respect to not do it before him, not with his shitty attitude, at least.

You gripped the hem of your blazer, "You're a jerk. That's what you are." You took a sharp breath, biting the overflowing ache on your chest. "Come back when you've got something for the case."

A second didn't pass after you turned your back on him, and the tears immediately trailed down your face. You walked out of the parking lot as fast as you could. Crying in front of your childhood classmates felt more gratifying than in front of Spencer.

Wiping the unwanted tears from your cheeks, your feet came to a halt without warning. Something about the fifteen-foot distance from Spencer's back and the forty-foot gap from the entrance to the precinct left you terrifyingly vulnerable.

Your gears began turning.

Victims were awfully close to your build.

You're in your hometown.

And it clicked a second too late.

— ✿ — ✿— ✿ ✿ ✿

"Spence!" JJ gently shook Spencer back to reality. As soon as she knew he was back down to earth, she immediately spoke, "They found another body—"

Spencer flew out of the door before JJ could even finish speaking. He went to Luke, who was on his way to one of the SUVs. "Where?" He asked in a rush. His heart was beating right in his ear. A series of negative thoughts filled his head.

Luke had a few seconds to tell Spencer where the said body was but quickly interrupted Spencer's thoughts. "We don't know anything yet, Reid."

"But what if it's her?" Spencer snapped. He had little patience for anyone. All he knew was how important it was to see a body that's not you.

— ✿ — ✿— ✿ ✿ ✿

"Fuck!" You cried in a shattered voice.

Tears flowed nonstop down your face, along with your own blood dripping from the top of your horribly bandaged head. Luther Gerard was evil enough to let you bleed slowly to death.

Unbeknownst to him, you were the most stubborn person in the entire BAU team. You bled your way out of the place he locked you in, cursing the pain off your chest.

You have been loosening the barbwire wrapped around your feet with your bare hands for the past hour. Your hands and your feet had gotten skinned off from the sharp metal.

Hope was on your side, though, as you felt your left foot painfully slide off the wrap. You cried out in joy, holding your ankles tight as if the pain would immediately dissipate.

You wiped your tears off your face, smearing blood from your palm onto your skin. You laughed, already delirious from lack of blood. "I'm going to break your neck once I find you. Then I'll beat the hell out of Reid for taking his goddamn time."

— ✿ — ✿— ✿ ✿ ✿

Spencer felt relief wash over him as soon as he glanced at the lifeless woman being pulled out of the creek. It may have been messed up that he was thankful a different woman died, but he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

He and Luke drove back to the precinct with a little less tense chests. They may not have found you, but the fact that you weren't the body they found meant one thing. You were still alive. That's all that mattered.

"We'll find her," Luke broke the silence between them, glancing at Spencer from his peripheral. "She's stubborn. She won't let anyone hurt her without punching back. She's probably on her way back to the precinct." He attempted to lighten the mood.

Spencer took a deep breath, "She better be." He looked outside of the car, biting his lower lip. "She has to escape wherever she is. It's mandatory. I'm not letting her die without finishing our argument."

— ✿ — ✿— ✿ ✿ ✿

It's been two days of searching every nook and cranny of your little hometown, but the team hasn't gotten anywhere in finding you.

Each member was exhausted, especially Spencer. He hasn't gotten a wink of sleep. He couldn't even if he tried to.

They were running out of ideas. But like every single cases the BAU team had, you knew how to turn things around. Their wake snapped up as gasps echoed in the entire precinct.

The team rushed to see the commotion and almost burst into tears as soon as they saw you.

"Oh my god..." JJ whimpered under her breath as she clasped her mouth.

You stood there by the entrance, bloodied up and half-conscious. You held the door's handle tight, painting it with your dirty blood as it kept you up on your feet. They could barely recognize your face from the mixture of blood and dirt on your face.

Despite your pitiful, bloodied state, you managed to show them your temper. "You better have caught that bastard." You growled weakly.

Your body was shaking from exhaustion. Just as you slipped out of consciousness, Spencer rushed to catch your body.

Tara called for a medic while Emily went to your aid. Luke and Matt went straight to work things out and give Gerard the worst news he's ever going to receive: it turns out you weren't as dumb as he wanted you to be.

Spencer gently wiped your face with his sleeve. He didn't care if it was his favorite shirt. All he cared about was how his best friend stubbornly stayed alive.

When Emily sat next to him to keep you off the floor, she saw just how much your friendship meant to Spencer. She squeezed his shoulder, "She's back safe with us, Reid. She'll be alright."

Her words prompted Spencer's sobs, tears trickling onto your face in hopes that it would wash the hell you went through for the past days. He quickly wiped them off, though. He knew well enough how you'd react to his 'filthy tears' coming in contact with your skin.

"Yeah, you better clean it off," You mumbled with your eyes closed, gripping the hem of his cardigan vest. You couldn't let yourself pass out, knowing you had a severe wound on your head.

Spencer choked a laugh, "Took you long enough. I thought I would have to save your ass." He sniffed as he let the paramedics transfer you onto a crash cart.

You scoffed, turning into a short series of coughs. "Just admit it. You can't figure things out without my brain power. Your brain's getting smooth, Reid. Prodigy no more."

The team couldn't help but roll their eyes at you and Spencer's banter, bouncing back faster than your recovery. Although they hated to admit it, they preferred the two of you that way rather than apart.

"I'm glad you're safe..." Spencer's voice became softer. Somehow, he couldn't stop himself from tearing up. This was the second time he'd cried nonstop. The first time being the love of his life's death.

He was glad this time wasn't due to someone important's death. He didn't know how he'd handle it if the person he could always rely on would leave him of this world.

As you were dragged into the ambulance, you gave all the rest of your strength to glare at Spencer. "Don't think you're off the record. After I deal with Gerard, you're next."

"Is it mandatory?" He sarcastically stated, jumping into the ambulance the moment you were settled in. He couldn't bear to leave you out of his sight.

#ssa spencer reid #spencer reid #criminal minds #cm #criminalminds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!readr #spencer reid x self insert #fem!reader #dr spencer reid #platonic #spencer x reader #spencerreid

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withleeknow · 13 days

Text

wishful thinking. (06)

chapter six: like lightning

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; mentions of sex, swearing, this chapter is also pretty mild in terms of warnings? the angst begins here tho !!! could've been more edited but yk lol word count: 4.9k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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If I never laid eyes on you Would I feel something missing? If you never laid eyes on me Would you know something’s gone?

Happy Accidents - Saint Motel

You don't know if you've ever changed, even once, in your life.

You feel like you're still 8 years old and your best friend is the neighbors' elderly dog that they let you play with every weekend. She's a golden retriever, and she would stand taller than you if she could walk on two legs.

You're still 16 and your happiest memories are of a boy who doesn't love you back. But all of your friends say that he does, and oh, how much you want to believe that their words are true.

And at the same time, you're 22, just a few months shy of 23, sitting in front of a canvas showcasing your own bleeding heart. Your growing pains, laid out by acrylics and gentle brush strokes. You liken yourself to the figure in front of you, the one that's standing in the corner of your painting, overlooking a sea of blues and grays. There's a piece of you that's left behind in everything you create. Sometimes, you leave it there on purpose, a memorabilia for your future self to look back at fondly.

You think of everything in your life that has changed and how you're the only thing that has managed to remain the same. The dog eventually dies and the boy moves on with his life. The passage of time is relentless but you seem to be the only one who can't keep up with the tireless flow. You're always running in place, always stuck behind in the end. There's a past in which you still live, one where you don’t know if you'll ever make it out of.

You think of home and the search comes up empty, like it does every single time. Home isn't here inside of your own body, nor is it within the four walls of your childhood bedroom. You've never felt like you belong anywhere. Everything is always fluctuating, constantly and unabatingly spinning and spinning and spinning when all you're asking for is a minute to stand still and catch your breath.

Home isn't always a place, that much you know. Maybe home isn't even a thing that you build but something that you find, in a person or a touch, in a feeling or a scent. Perhaps that's the problem, isn't it? Home is something you find, and you've spent your whole life searching.

People say your early 20s are supposed to be the best years of your life but that sentiment has never resonated with you. These are the years that you spend in excruciating limbo, where you're not an adult but you're forced to be anyway. The years where loneliness is an invisible friend that shadows you day in and day out, a presence you don’t want around but can't seem to shake off, a haunting that's far too gentle to be considered such. These aren't your best years; these are your saddest years.

None of it helps build character. It just hurts.

It hurts. You accept that it hurts. You keep on living, always accompanied by the hurt. At some point, it stops bothering you as much; you've grown numb to the way it stings, but it doesn't mean that there aren't days where you're pierced with a sudden and debilitating hollowness in your chest.

Here you are, half an adult but still a child, wondering if you know anything more than you did when you were 8.

You just want to go home, but you don't know where home is.

You look at the small pool of yellow acrylic paint that's been sitting on your palette for a while now. It feels so out of place among the other insipid tones, even though that has always been your intention - a burst of life amidst a sea of blues.

You don't think about anything in particular when your fingers pick up a brush and dab it in a generous amount of paint. It doesn't make much sense, but it feels right. You don't think about anything in particular when your hand smears the color on the cavas, on the figure, a startling stroke right in the center of her chest, contrasting all of the dulls and darkness surrounding.

Though, you do think of him afterward. Of him and daffodils and spring.

The rest of your friends are already present when you and Felix show up at Chan and Jess' shared apartment, holding boxes of pizzas and a case of beer.

It's a cute tradition that was started last year, when all of you promised to gather the final Friday of every month to have a cozy little dinner party among yourselves. It usually takes place at Chan's, since his apartment is bigger than the rest of yours, and because him and Jess are practically the parents of the group anyway.

The second you step into the living room, a chorus of groans erupts all around. Hyunjin and Jisung are the most vocal petulant babies, pouting from their seats, complaining that you two took too long and that they've been starving for hours.

You and Felix shrug off your jackets before delegating the tasks to the lot of them, since you were in charge of picking up the food for tonight. Minho and Seungmin grabbing plates and cups from the kitchen for Changbin and Jeongin to set on Chan's large coffee table.

You opt for a seat on the carpeted floor, next to the spot on the cream-colored couch where Minho left his phone, feeling more comfortable this way since the table is a little low for your liking. They come back a few minutes later, and you smile up at Minho when he reclaims his seat on the couch.

"Hi." He smiles back, smoothing a hand over your hair in greeting.

"Hi," you say. Even a touch so simple warms you up from the outside chill you were in mere minutes ago. No one else notices his lingering hand on you, or it's just such a you and Minho thing to be mildly affectionate with each other that the others don't care to comment on anymore.

You all fall into easy conversation soon after everyone starts digging in, chatting amongst yourselves as you always do. You and Hyunjin lament about your respective projects, reiterating the frustration that you've already expressed through your texts for the zillionth time. Chan and Jess nag Jeongin about introducing his girlfriend to the group, to which the younger one responds with an exaggerated groan as one would when their parents ask about grandchildren, though he does placate them by promising to bring her along the next time there's a party.

You don't care enough to tune into Minho's conversation with Changbin and Felix about the new gym they started going to. You do, however, catch Changbin's attempt to tease Minho. A playful scoff, followed by, "Minho lost his abs ages ago."

Your response is automatic and therefore, it doesn't warrant much thought from you before the words are tumbling out of your mouth. "No, he has abs. They're still there."

You don't recognize the weight of your words until you notice all chatter has halted, and you look up to find all eyes on you.

"How do you know that?" Jeongin is the one to voice everyone's collective thought, puzzled, a little surprised.

"Yeah, isn't Minho notoriously weird about that stuff?" Felix adds.

You blink in a daze, and you don't know if your face is reddening because of embarrassment but you sure hope that it isn't. The mouthful you're munching on gives you a reason to stall, your reputation of being a slow eater makes the excuse more believable when you don't answer right away.

As subtly as you can, you nudge Minho's leg with an elbow. He just laughs, though you're pretty certain he can tell that you're internally freaking out.

"I was walking her home from class a few weeks ago and we got caught in the rain. She let me come up to her apartment to change," he says calmly.

You remember that day. He was walking you from campus back to yours, so that part was true. But it didn't start raining until you were both sheltered in the comfort of your apartment, with him on top of you as he fucked you nice and slow on the couch. You didn't know when the rain stopped, but it must've been some time during your shower that you offered him to join with the innocent intention of cleaning yourselves up and saving water, only for him to end up on his knees with his face between your legs and his fingers buried deep inside of you. He'd made you come three times that afternoon, then took you out to udon afterward.

"And you just... changed in the middle of her living room or something?" Changbin asks, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Minho shrugs, completely nonchalant. "Yeah."

The silence in the room persists as you swallow down the bite. Their stare lingers on the pair of you, then they turn to look at each other like they're speaking a secret language that you're unfamiliar with. Why is it such a scandalous thing for you to see Minho without a shirt? You've seen your other guy friends shirtless numerous times before, when all of you are hanging out in someone's apartment on particularly hot summer days.

Though, they aren't wrong. The arrangement between the two of you muddles your memory, but you don't really remember seeing Minho flaunt his bare skin often before.

You're about to squeeze out a weak response to aid Minho's explanation, but your friends just start nodding along in acceptance.

"I guess that makes sense. If there's anyone who would see him naked, it'd be Y/N."

This definitely makes you blush. Minho laughs again.

"What?! I did not see him naked."

Well, look who's a liar now?

"Y/N, and whoever he's banging," Hyunjin supplies, which seriously doesn't help the flush on your cheeks at all.

"Why would it make sense that it was me?" you protest.

"Because you're his favorite." Jess is the one who answers, to which the rest of your friends all hum in agreement. The way they're reacting makes it seem as though it's just a fact of life that you're Minho's favorite, and that whatever boundary he lets you cross or whatever rule he breaks when it comes to you is simply a result of this fact.

Not once has it crossed your mind that everyone might have a favorite person in the group, but now that it's been said, you quickly conclude that Minho would be your favorite too (your secret arrangement notwithstanding.)

You glance up at him, seeking reassurance with a curious blink. "Am I?"

"You're alright," is what he tells you in lieu of a confirmation. "The least annoying one."

And you don't know if it's the way he speaks ever so gently when he looks at you or how his lips curl up in a knowing smile that sends a tingle of warmth down your spine. Or perhaps the culprit is the softness in his sharp eyes that makes you a little dizzy, makes a pair of butterflies go rampant at the pit of your stomach, as though they're prepared to soar when the ardor of spring begins to thaw the winter frost.

Chan laughs, "That's practically a declaration of love from Minho."

At one point, Hyunjin looks around and comments with a mouth stuffed full of pizza, "Wow. We are literally perfectly divided."

All eyes fall onto him, clearly no one is catching his drift.

Hyunjin swallows his food and washes it down with a big sip of beer before gesturing vaguely at the group, "All the singles are on the floor."

You look at the people on the couch while they stare back at you, Hyunjin, Seungmin, Changbin and Felix sitting comfortably on the fluffy rug.

"I'm single," Jisung says, pointing at himself. "Should I get on the floor?"

"No, you're not," Seungmin says flatly.

"What?"

"Didn't you get back together with your ex girlfriend?"

"What?" Jisung practically squeaks out. "Man, what are you talking about?"

"I live with you. We literally share a wall. I heard you last week. The whole two hours."

“You were home?!”

"My shoes were by the door. I had dishes in the sink. I went to the bathroom to pee several times."

Jisung gasps, growing redder and redder as more eyes start diverting their attention to him. He opens his mouth only to promptly close it as he thinks of what to say. Repeats the process a few times. "We didn't hear you. You never said anything," is what he settles on stuttering out. Then, "Why didn't you bring it up? Why do you have to air out my dirty laundry now?"

"It's more entertaining to embarrass you in front of everyone." Seungmin shrugs, and ignores Changbin's subsequent comment calling him a pervert. "And no wonder you didn't hear me. You were going at it like you were rabid."

"Wait," Jeongin says, "when did you even get back together?"

"We didn't. It's complicated! We're just… y'know…"

When Jisung trails off sheepishly with the bright blush still apparent on his cheeks, Minho cuts in, finishing his sentence bluntly, "Boning."

You send him a glare from where you're seated on the floor, to which he just gives you a lopsided grin and nudges you with his knee.

While everyone else is busy bombarding Jisung with questions on potentially getting back together with his ex, Minho quietly slithers down to the floor like a stealthy cat, squeezing himself into the space between you and Felix. Minho rests his arm behind you on the couch, leaving it stretched out comfortably on the cushions, just lightly touching your back. Usually, when you two are alone, he would have his arm wrapped around your shoulders so he could pull you close, until you're safely tucked into his side where you would remain on most of your evenings spent together. But for now, he leaves his arm where it grazes you only slightly as you sit among friends, with the exception of his hand reaching to play with your hair once in a while.

"Hey!" Hyunjin practically screeches, pointing at Minho when he notices. "Why did you get on the floor?"

"What?" Minho asks innocently. "You said the singles are on the floor."

"You're not single. You have a girlfriend."

"I don't have a girlfriend."

Hyunjin scoffs. "You have a sneaky link."

"Hmm, not the same as a girlfriend."

"Why can't you just tell us, man? There's gotta be something else you're hiding."

You stay quiet, still as a statue while they bicker back and forth, like the mere motion of your breathing could give your secret away. You don't doubt that Hyunjin has been hounding Minho about his new discovery ever since the night of Yeonjun's party, but Minho seems unfazed about it, evading Hyunjin's badgering with a calm composure that's distinct to no one else.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom, quickly shuffling away as if your absence at the table would help make things seem less suspicious for Minho. You splash some water on your face, wait for a while until it feels like an appropriate amount of time has passed for them to have already moved onto another topic. You are, quite literally, hiding from your own friends.

Moments later, you re-enter the room with gentle footsteps and a certain tension in your spine, but you soon grow relieved when you find that the conversation has somehow shifted to Seungmin and his on-again off-again not-girlfriend, about which he just seems kinda sad for a few seconds before he's telling everyone to fuck off and mind their own business, always quick to conceal any and all emotions. He's similar to you in that way, you suppose.

You sit back down next to Minho who's still on the floor, though you put a little distance between your bodies that wasn't previously there. You don't know if it's enough to be noticeable, but he does look at you for a brief moment before leaning a bit closer, asking softly so only you could hear, "Walk you home later?"

You embark on the familiar route from Chan and Jess' place back to yours. It's not that late, barely even 10PM on a Friday night, but the streets are almost deserted. Barely anyone tipsily roaming the streets with their friends in tow; just a few cars passing by every now and then. You relish in the peace and quiet, sighing softly to yourself as you walk in the crisp evening air.

Minho takes casual strides next to you, letting his hand brush against your hand for a while until his pinky finds its way around yours. The tranquility of the city is nice, but being with Minho is even nicer.

Just some of the stars have come out to play, though the way they gleam and glimmer is enough to make up for what they lack in numbers. It's easy to get lost tonight, when you're looking up at an infinite sky with little light and only Minho's pinky hooked around yours like an anchor to guide you back home.

In the grand scheme of things, you're just a speck of dust. You're young and confused - 23 is still a child in your mind - and most of all, you're insignificant. Not in a self-disparaging way. Maybe in the literal sense of the word would be more accurate.

You are insignificant, merely a face among billions of faces. In a crowd of hundreds, or maybe only dozens, you're not someone who would stand out and be picked. Sometimes, it's nice to blend right in and hide in plain sight; you don't particularly enjoy being under the spotlight anyway. But sometimes, it's lonely to be just a drop in the ocean. You could sink right to the bottom and no one would even notice.

Maybe that's why you enjoy being around Minho so much. He makes you feel safe, and seen, like you matter in the end. He makes you feel like if you were to disappear one day, there's a person out there who would go to the ends of the earth in search of you.

You hope that he sticks around, that he wants to be in your life for as long as you can have him. You're not sure what it is that makes you sick to your stomach at the mere thought of losing him; perhaps because you know you will never come across another one like Minho in your lifetime. There's nobody else that can make you feel the same way he does.

I don't want to lose you. You're the only good thing I have.

An intersection, two left turns, and your apartment building comes into view all too soon.

"Wanna come up?" you ask bashfully. The streetlights do a good job at masking your light flush.

"I can't tonight," he says, a little apologetic. "I'm going to my parents' house first thing in the morning."

"Oh." You're disappointed for no specific reason. Sure, you were practically glued to Minho's side for most of the evening, but you were also surrounded by the very friends who are unaware that you two have been sneaking around behind their backs. It's been about over a week since you hung out with him alone, which isn't that long ago by any means, but still. "For the weekend?"

"Yeah, just for the weekend."

There's a selfish urge, just a tiny one, to ask him to come for a while anyway, maybe only twenty minutes or so, but you swallow it down and wave it away. "Okay, have fun. Say hi to the cats for me."

"I'll send you pictures," he tells you. "They miss you, y'know."

You smile at that, laughing a little. "They've met me once."

Last fall, you and your friends all took a weekend trip to Minho's childhood home for his birthday. It was fun for you, though you're not sure how much his parents actually enjoyed it, considering they had to house and feed almost a dozen kids that weren't their own. You remember the cats, of course you do, and how Soonie took an immediate liking to you, how he mostly hovered around your personal space whenever you were in the house.

"No, seriously. My mom says Soonie meows your name once a day."

You throw him an eye roll, accompanied by a light punch to his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Min," you say. "Text me when you get home."

"Okay."

Even after that, the two of you still stay rooted to the spot, your pinkies interlocked. Minho's gaze doesn't leave your face, and for a moment there, it feels like most of the stars didn't show up because they all left to gather in his eyes.

"Can't go up if you don't let me,” you quip, glancing at your hands, knowing full well that you can easily retract your finger if you want to.

His eyes stay on you for just a moment longer. "Let me kiss you," he asks softly, releasing your pinky only to take your hand in his, tugging you closer until you’re all up in each other's personal space.

You blink at him, your heart caught somewhere in your throat. You're close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. "Min…" you murmur but you don't actually know what you want to tell him, so the nickname hangs like an idle lantern in the bubble of space between your faces.

"Just a goodnight kiss."

"Friends don't kiss," you say meekly, reminiscent of your conversation over a week ago.

"Friends don't have sex either," he repeats.

"But we’re not having sex."

"You asked me to come upstairs. What do you think we would've done?"

And he's right. If he had agreed to come up, then you would probably be pressed against the door right now, with his hands trailing down your body, removing every article of clothing they find, his lips kissing every exposed patch of skin along the way.

Minho would've been kissing you regardless - anywhere and everywhere, and you wouldn't have had any qualms about it like you do right now, even though you want to kiss him too.

"Maybe I wanted you to come up to make you peel tangerines for me while we watch a movie."

He says nothing to that, only grins amusedly and leans in to nudge his nose against yours. It's so cute that you can't help but mirror the quirk of his lips. You're sure that no one else gets to see this version of him - the one that boops you like an overly affectionate cat and smiles like you're his favorite person not just in your little group, but in the whole wide world.

"I haven't kissed you all week," he murmurs, his voice so gentle in the quietude that surrounds you. "You were right there but I couldn't kiss you all night."

You lose yourself in his brown eyes, the same eyes that hold nothing but sincerity and fondness for you. The stars here are brighter than the ones overhead.

"Let me kiss you," Minho says, "please?"

You cave. Of course you do.

The first glide of his lips over yours has you weak in the knees. Something sinks in as he kisses you deeply. Under the streetlights, not surrounded by your familiar four walls like a long lost secret but out in the open where anyone can see, even though there's not a single soul around.

Again, tears well up behind your eyelids the same way they did that morning you woke up next to him for the first time. You don't know what it is, never felt this way around anyone except for him. It's akin to the feeling of finally coming home after being away for a long time, or at least that's what you think that's how it would feel.

You don't want to be caged in by the walls of your own making. You want to be seen, and you want to be seen by him. You're the remnants of snow and ice stuck between cracks in the sidewalk, and he is warmth. You're a mosaic of a daffodil garden caught in an endless winter, and he is spring. Minho is the brief but wonderful moment when cherry blossoms have yet to fall from their branches, but green leaves are already growing impatiently, resulting in the beautiful coexistence of pinks and greens if only just for a few days.

You let him kiss you until you're both out of breath, let him wrap his strong arms around your body and hold you like he could mend all of your broken pieces. Maybe he could. Maybe you'd like him to make you whole again.

When Minho pulls away, he doesn't stray very far. He puts enough distance between your faces so you can catch your breath. But even then, you have a hard time getting air back into your lungs. He's looking at you like he would pick the moon for you if you asked, like moving mountains is no more difficult than peeling tangerines for you whenever you get a craving.

The streetlights are dim, but the stars in his eyes are bright enough to tell you something that his words don't.

It hits you all at once, in a moment where even the wind is still, as if it's been reduced to a mere spectator, watching the two of you with bated breath on the sidelines. The tipping point can be something as simple as him asking - almost pleading - to kiss you goodnight with no ulterior motive, no other intention than because he wants to. As though it would kill him if he had to go another minute without kissing you.

You realize why he's the yellow to your sea of blues, why you're so happy every time you look at the bracelet on your wrist. You realize why you feel so safe around him, why he makes you experience emotions that no one else can. You realize why you don’t like hearing about Hana, or any other person in the same sentence as his name with the implication that he could be romantically involved with them.

You realize why you kissed him for the first time all those months ago, and it wasn't because you were sad and he just happened to be there and let you cry on his shoulder. The times that your friends would tell you how you and Minho would be perfect together - you wanted it to be true. You knew it was true - that he was someone you could love, the only person who's worth opening up to. You kissed him because you wanted to love him. You realize why it made you soar when he kissed you back, because you wanted him to love you too.

You realize why the thought of losing this friendship terrifies you. You realize why you asked him to stay that night after the party and the club, even though you had never allowed him to sleep over before. You realize why the other week you let him only kiss you and nothing else, and you realize why your heart is hammering in your chest this very second, why your knees are weak, why you can't really breathe here in the middle of an empty street under a moonless sky, just because he's looking at you as if it's not the sun that the earth revolves around but rather, it's a girl who has never learned how to say what she means.

You're good at leaving things alone; it's a skill that you've unintentionally mastered over the years. Nothing has to change if you let it remain the same. And yet, the one exception always seems to be Minho, and you're a mirror of yourself when you're with him. You like the version of you that only he's able to bring out, and he does it effortlessly every time. He pulls happiness out of you so easily that it's hard to ignore what you feel for him, hard to convince yourself that what you harbor for him is still only platonic affection.

It comes bubbling up to the surface without your permission. It strikes you the same way lightning splits open the whole sky on a cloudless night, abrupt and unmistakeable. Love isn't something that you've ever come close to, and you have always been an unbeliever when people answer "You just know," in response to "How do you know when it is love?"

Though as you stand right here, right now, you think maybe this is what love is supposed to look like, personified with starry eyes and shallow dimples when he smiles.

Before he leaves, Minho presses another sweet kiss to your cheek. You're still dazed by the dawning, overwhelmed by the recognition that you can only mutter a stupid "Bye," when he bids you good night.

As you watch him go, there's something else you realize, almost tragically, that you've always been a ruiner. You run away the moment shit starts getting too real, even if it means letting beautiful things slip through your fingers like running water.

Love just isn't something you've ever learned to hold.

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loveforneteyam · 1 year

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hii! can i please request a neteyam x reader oneshot where reader is really insecure about her personality and afraid that he’s going to, one day, grow tired of her. she eventually expresses her feelings and neteyam is a little hurt and confused and reassures her. something like angst -> fluff. thank you! hoping this is ok. <3

❝love through anything❞ ( neteyam suli )

summary: neteyam loves you through your greatest insecurities. pairing: neteyam x omaticaya!reader wordcount: 1.9k contains: slight angst, mentions of insecurities, self-deprecation, hearing voices/feeling crazy, jealousy, teyam's a little idiot, fluffy ending notes: aww this request is sweet! i just know that neteyam would be so oblivious to the reader's feelings, but once she expressed them, he'd be so comforting. the part in the italics is a separate voice in the reader's head!

ma syulang : my flower

masterlist

"I will see you tonight, ma syulang," Neteyam whispered to you with his lips still firmly placed on your forehead, connecting the two of you with a kiss. He swung his bow over his shoulder and around his back before leaving your hold.

You smiled sweetly, "Be careful, ma 'Teyam." He grinned as his friends pulled him away from you. Neteyam looked over his shoulder so his eyes could stay on yours until he was so deep into the forest you could no longer see his figure.

It would be another day without your lover. He was off with his father and the other hunters in the clan. As time passed, it became sooner and sooner that Neteyam would become olo'eyktan. He slowly gained more responsibilities and duties, meaning he had less time for you.

Nonetheless, you would support him through anything. No matter how far he seemed to be or how long he was away, he carried his heart in your hands and you carried his.

You exited the village with an empty basket tucked underneath your arm. Since you had more time to yourself, you'd recently taken up small walks into the forest by yourself. As a child, you were not permitted to wander about the forest alone, so you had never seen the true beauty of your home. Now that you were older, you could appreciate Pandora's beauty. There were plenty of flowers that you'd pick by the stem, the animal life fascinated you, and there were a few times where you stayed out past eclipse when the plant life around you illuminated the night.

Sometimes, Kiri would accompany you on your walks; she had a beautiful connection to the nature of the forest. However, she had also been busy recently as the new protege of Mo'at, the Tsahik.

You were, unfortunately, alone today. You sang a sweet melody to yourself as a few elders said goodbye. Although you valued your alone time, it was also an opportunity for dark thoughts in your head to overwhelm you.

It's been harder without him lately, the voice said to you. The village was far behind you now. Maybe he doesn't feel the same anymore.

"Shut up!" You whispered. If anyone else heard you talking to yourself like this, you'd surely be called crazy. Even though...you did feel a little bit crazy.

Think about it. You found a small clearing of trees, where a spacious area of grass was adorned with small flowers. Why won't he spend time with you anymore?

"Neteyam is very busy now," you spoke out loud to the voice, kneeling on the forest floor and placing your basket next to your legs. You began to pluck an assortment of white, pink, and purple flowers from the ground. "He is to be olo'eyktan."

The various colors of the flowers complimented each other. "Perhaps I will make him another necklace." You said to yourself now.

Another necklace? Why would he want that? You groaned. The voice in your head was not yours. It was like a small demon lurking in the dark. You were most definitely losing your sanity. "Neteyam loved the necklace I gave him. He said he would never take it off, he wears it everyday."

You gently placed the flowers into your basket before reaching to pick more. Was he wearing it today? You froze. Your hand hovered above a pink flower as you retraced your thoughts to earlier that day when Neteyam said goodbye. You were trying so hard to remember that your head began to hurt.

And then the picture came to your mind. Neteyam, your sweet boy, kissed you on your forehead. You watched him as he was walking away and...there was no flower necklace around his neck.

You could feel your heart slowly beginning to crack, but you brushed off the thoughts before you completely split in two. "That's enough," you said, moving away from the pink flower.

You annoy him, it's so obvious.

This time, you did not respond to the voice. You stayed silent as you picked up your basket and made your way back to the village. Thankfully, the voice did not speak again.

──

You decided to take a different route back to the village than the way you had gone earlier. Although this path was longer, and it was urgent to you that you return before Neteyam did so you could welcome him with open arms, it felt necessary to use the time to make sure the voice was completely gone.

So far, it had just been you alone in the forest--no voice, no Kiri, nobody. And even though your loneliness had been the root of your unhappiness lately, you enjoyed it at this moment.

Until you heard the murmurs of someone else's voice from a distance. You were convinced that you had completely lost your mind until you saw the figure of a young Navi girl. Beside her was a Navi boy with braids that reached his shoulders. They sat side-by-side, their backs against the log of a fallen tree, and their bows thrown on the ground.

"Your father is so strict!" The girl giggled. You couldn't recognize her voice.

Are you willing to bet who that is? The voice returned, almost scaring you enough to let out a small gasp. "Shut up," you whispered, muffled by a collection of bushes and leaves.

The boy laughed along with her. "Yes, he can be a little much sometimes." You recognized that voice well. What was your Neteyam doing with a girl alone in the forest? Are you sure he's your Neteyam?

You refused to respond. Instead, you listened in even closer to them. "Don't listen to him," the girl looked at Neteyam with wide eyes and a smile that practically sparkled. She had small streaks of paint on her face--the marks of an Omaticaya hunter. "I thought you did very well, today."

"Thank you, Pemma," Neteyam chuckled, almost as if he was blushing. You recognized the girl as you heard him as say her name. Pemma was the same age as you, but you two were hardly similar. You were studying to become a healer and could never hurt a single soul; she was a fierce and tough warrior that made clean kills during hunts. "You are very skillful with a bow."

She smiled warmly. I was right, the voice spoke again. Look at how he's looking at her. "Would you leave me alone?" You whispered louder this time. Although neither of them noticed your voice, their ears slightly twitched like an instinct.

"Yes, but I could always use more practice," Pemma's voice practically dripped with want. Her eyes never left Neteyam's body. "Perhaps you can show me some tricks sometime?"

You could vomit collecting in your throat. Your hand whipped to cover your mouth to stop yourself from audibly gagging at the thought of your Neteyam being intimate with another girl.

As much as it hurt your heart, you continued to watch Neteyam and Pemma. He hesitated and laughed softly, "My father is a great warrior." Your Neteyam was so sweet and gentle, even when turning down another girl. "He would be a much better teacher."

Before you could hear her reply, which would've most likely been a sly remark about why she preferred Neteyam over Jake, you slipped away into the forest. Your footsteps were light as you neared the village. "See," you spoke to yourself. "Neteyam chooses me."

If that is what you think...

──

For the first time that day, it was peacefully silent in your tent. The rest of your family was busy with their duties, so you tended to yours by yourself. The voice you'd been hearing had disappeared, and you'd even managed to get any thoughts of Neteyam out of your head.

Until he appeared in the doorway with his soft smile that made your heart unfold.

"Ma syulang," he cooed when he saw you sitting on the floor like a child with a collection of flowers splayed out in front of you. Your fingers had been weaving them into a small necklace.

You smiled warmly, "Ma 'Teyam," as he sat down across from you. "You're safe." You pretended like you hadn't seen him earlier.

He took three flowers into his hands and held them in his palm, before taking the thin stems and knotting them together so they were interlinked. Just like you had taught him. "How was your day?"

"Good," you lied through your teeth, looking back down to your flowers. All of a sudden, you remembered exactly what the voice had said earlier. Another necklace? Why would he want that? You avoided Neteyam's loving gaze, igniting a spark of concern in his heart.

You did not feel the urge to finish the flower necklace as the dark emotions began to take over your mind. "Ma (y/n)?" he reached you to you, placing his hand on top of yours. "Are you alright?"

There was not much else to do except to lie or to tell him the truth. What would happen if you told him the truth? Would he feel annoyed? Would he even care? Neteyam loved you very much, it was unfair to doubt his feelings for you...but you'd rather leave him alone than make him irritated with your stupid insecurities.

With a long silence as your answer, he set the flowers down and moved closer to you. "What is wrong?"

You tried to look away as if it would help you avoid the conversation, but it was clear that Neteyam would not leave without an honest answer. "You love me," you began, and Neteyam nodded without hesitation. "so you care about me?"

Neteyam laughed with a confused tone. "Of course, I care about you..."

"And you love me no matter what, right?"

His fingers held your chin and pushed your head up so yours eyes met his. Neteyam's heart broke when he saw tears were just barely holding themselves from falling. "Ma syulang..." he caressed your cheek. "I will always love you."

Your bottom lip quivered, "I feel like a bother." A tear fell down your cheek, and Neteyam's own eyes began to water. "I do not want to annoy you...you are to be olo'eyktan, you have your duties. You have to focus! You don't have time to worry about me."

"(y/n), I will always worry about you if I need to."

The voice's words still repeated in your head. "I just don't want to become a problem."

"Oh, ma (y/n)," his arms swooped in and wrapped around you, pulling your head to his chest so his head sat on top of yours. His thumb gently rubbed over your hair. Neteyam quietly shushed you as you started to cry. "You will never bother me. You will never be a problem. My heart belongs to you, I will always be here for you."

"Why didn't you wear the necklace?" You motioned to his neck. You felt stupid for bringing this up at such a moment.

His hand reached the naked area around his neck. "I...didn't want to tell you. I felt awful," he said. "I lost it while hunting yesterday. Ask my father, I spent hours trying to find it. I was going to ask you to make me another one?"

You nodded, "Of course, 'Teyam, all you need is to ask."

"I will never take it off or lose it again. I love you, ma (y/n), I will do anything for you."

You broke the embrace to look at his eyes again. Beautiful, golden eyes that never failed to comfort you. "Do you promise?"

With a smile, Neteyam wrapped his pinky finger around yours. It was a silly trick that his father had brought with him from Earth, and now, Neteyam carried it on with you. "I promise," his lips met yours with a sweet, heartfelt kiss.

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beelmons · 9 months

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Hi! An idea I had was an enemies to lovers where Spencer says something he regrets like they slept together and reader sort of wears her heart on her sleeve and thought everything was okay between them but Spencer is still being hateful to reader and she’s confused until he’s like “I just wanted to sleep with you, nothing more”. Or smth like that 💗

cw: post prison spencer, mean!Spencer, angst no happy ending

You didn't know what it was, and if he was being honest neither did he, but Spencer Reid hated you to his core.

It started the day he met you, shortly after Emily Prentiss took over as Unit Chief, when you were assigned to the BAU as a probatory agent. Two rookies, Luke Alvez and yourself, being added to the team was not necessarily her vision of a perfect taskforce, but she could make it work with some help of her friends, hence why Tara and JJ were told to shadow Luke, and Rossi and Reid to shadow you.

But, of course, Rossi had less of a hands-on teaching style, so he was barely around in the field with you, leaving you to the capable hands of a recently traumatized Spencer Reid.

It was loathing at first sight, because, he'd never admit, something about you remided him of Cat Adams.

Maybe something in your eyes, or the way you walked, or perhaps the sound of your laugh, but his back muscles tensed whenever you were around, his hands curled into a fist, and his eyes couldn't help but narrow in suspicion.

A little extra issue, though, his member would also get extremely hard.

"You did what?!" Luke almost shouted from his desk.

"Shut up, man!" you pushed him by the shoulders, trying to sink him further into his seat "We slept together, alright?"

"How did you even make that happen? I thought he..." the man stopped himself once his ability to think before speaking came through.

"Hated me? Yeah." you finished his sentence "I don't know what to tell you. It was late, he was checking my preliminary profile, he said it was good and insightful, and next thing I know I'm facing the wall with my panties down to my ankles."

"Well, I guess that's one way to patch things up." he teased "So, what? are you guys dating?"

"I... don't think so?" you said with certain sadness "He left while I was cleaning myself up in the bathroom."

Luke was about to emit an opinion of his own when he sensed, but a foreign sound interrupted him.

"Good morning!" JJ's cheery voice caused the two of you to look up.

In the distance, Jennifer and Spencer walked towards your spot. You couldn't help the hopeless grin that appeared on your face at the sight of him, the same one he walked past without a single word.

Your crescent faded as quick as it came. What the hell was that? Giving you the cold shoulder like you are 10 and pulled his pigtails at the playground.

You heard the chief call to the round table and decided to save your little highschool quarrel for later. Luckily, serial killers had decided to take a break, and so your day would be desk duty only.

"Hey." when the clock neared lunch time, you decided to approach Reid.

He begrudingly raised his sight, pulling it away from you almost immediately. "Hey."

"Mind going to lunch with me?" you asked.

"I brought my own, thanks." he dryly refuted.

"Uhm, Reid." you moved in closer to his ear, and he almost flinched "That was code for 'I need to talk to you'"

"I'm aware of the connotations of your sentence, I just happen to not care for what the actual meaning entails." his eyes still refused to move to you.

He was back to being the annoying asshole you had always met, the exact opposite of the caring soul everyone else seemed to face on the daily.

"I..." a knot began to form on your throat "I thought we were okay again."

At last, he deemed you worthy of his stare, his eyes locking with yours and vaguely narrowing in your direction. You could see the burning flame of despise in them, the chilling sensation that if he could, he would take the life out of you with his hands in a second.

"Were we ever?" he snarked.

Something snapped, and you were blessed that the only two people you knew in the ballpen were Luke and Tara, who were merrily sharing some chinese food, otherwise you would had certainly been fired.

"Wha the fuck is your problem?!" you yelled as your hands smacked the surface of his desk.

"What are you-" he tried to complain.

"You had not once shown me a gentle face since I met you, and suddenly, you act reassuring and supportive, only to disappear without a word, and then act like not a thing happened!" you continued to raise your voice, your hands reaching to grip at his shoulders and force you to look at you when he tried to divert his gaze.

The sensation of being cornered and exposed caused an odd reaction out of him, you could see it in his eyes, almost as if he wasn't truly there.

"Did it ever cross your mind I said all this so you would let me fuck you?" his voice was almost as loud as yours "If not, then you are not half as good profiler as I thought you were."

Piercing. That's how it felt. The unmistakable sensation of a puncture to the heart. There was nothing else you could to do help yourself, or the tears that ran down your cheeks.

"What did I..." you began to mutter almost to yourself. Luke's arms had moved to your shoulders, tugging you away from your coworker. "What did I ever do to you?" you asked weakly, Luke now blocking Spencer from your line of sight.

The doctor was astonished by his own words, even more so by your tears. He didn't know how to describe them, they just seemed so... sincere?

"Spencer?" Tara called for a third time, snapping him out of a self-induced trance.

"What?" he asked.

"What happened?" she inquired again "Why would you say something like that?"

"I-" he looked around trying to find you, but your friend had taken you away "I don't know."

The fight would get to Emily's ears later in the day. Spencer was dismissed for the remainer of his shift, and so were you.

A part of him was being eaten alive by remorse, but the other, the one he deemed his conscious mind, tried to convice him he had done nothing wrong. Hadn't he spoken the truth? There was no reason to like you. Your gentle demeanor was not excuse enough, neither was your peculiar humor, or your relentless dedication to do good.

There was no reason to like you when you had caused him so much pain. Hadn't you?

His brain felt foggy, clouded, confused. Beyond his control, his body dragged him in the direction of your house, only to find himself at a crossroad he didn't know the name of.

Where did you live again? He had never asked you. Perhaps, he could call you. But your work phone was off and he didn't have your personal. What if he asked Luke? Yeah, right. After what he had witnessed, how could he be remotely on his side? He was forced back home, he would talk to you the next morning at work.

Was there something to talk about?

"A transfer?" Luke asked Penelope.

"She asked me to put a rush to it." the blonde clarified.

"And did you?" the man inquired with curiosity.

Garcia nodded with a pout.

"She just looked so sad." she clarified.

A knock on her door interrupted the conversation, and a soft 'come in' prompted Spencer to walk into the room.

The two coworkers shot him a look, curious and pitiful at the same time. Spencer narrowed his eyes questioningly at them.

"What?" he finally said.

"We know you've been through a lot." Penelope began to say "That you were taking it out on her for some reason, but I think you might have done this time, boy wonder."

Reid couldn't help but to swallow back a knot. They were right. Objectively, you had done nothing wrong. But objectivity had long lost its meaning, since he had learned that his reality could be bent to someone else's will to a point where he didn't know what was real and what wasn't.

"I didn't mean what I said." he quickly explained "That's what's I wanted to tell her."

"Well," Luke almost snarked at him "That's going to be a little hard now that she's gone."

"What do you mean?" Reid inquired.

"She had requested a transfer to the defense department months ago." Penelope explained "I just rushed some paperwork, but the deal was basically made."

Exposed to these news, Spencer bolted off the tech office and straight into Prentiss's. He basically stomped in, causing Emily to look confused for a solid second.

"Revert the transfer." he demanded, his palms firmly pressed on the desk.

"I thought you would be relieved..." she began to explain.

"We need her here. She's the most promising profiler we've seen in a while." he argued.

"Really?" Emily cocked an eyebrow "Because just a month ago your report indicated she was just average."

Spencer rolled his eyes and brought his hands to his hair, frustratedly turning around the office. He took a couple of deeo breaths, out of the corner of his eye he noticed your desk. Your belongings were already packed inna box, possibly Luke's doing to save you the awkwardness of a tidying up visit.

"I made a mistake." he admitted, his eyes still fixed on your empty chair.

"I'm sorry, Spence." the unit chief said "Sometimes, we just have to live with the consequences of our mistakes."

#feeling self conscious abt this bit #but i.hope you enjoyed!!!!#blurb: criminal minds #blurb: spencer #blurb: angst #criminal minds #spence #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid #blurb: mine

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 2 months

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i miss who i used to be

Summary: In the aftermath of Ultron, two Sokovians find themselves contemplating their pasts and their loneliness in the present. When their paths cross again, they might just find comfort in one another's company.

Word Count: 1379 Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader Warnings: grief/loneliness/a lot of reflection on topics of that nature A/N: First part of a short series of sorts? Childhood friends to lovers kinda vibe which maybe could have been a one shot but I wanted to try something different! I have the next part written but after that, let me know what you'd like to see happen between Wanda and R (any interactions/conversations to be had/etc.) and it might influence where this story goes 👀

Part 1 of 'half of my hometown' series masterlist next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

If there’s one thing she knows, it’s grief.

Wanda Maximoff was born and raised in a war-torn country; she’s borne witness to a lifetime of destruction, endured suffering, and experienced the slow death of dreams. It seemed like there could be no worse feeling since she’d already experienced it all, but life seemed determined to prove her wrong.

After all that, it took her brother.

If her life were to be likened to the myth of Pandora’s Box, then Pietro Maximoff would have been her hope – the one bright light in her life that she believed could never fade, that would never leave her. From the second she was born, and for 26 years thereafter, Pietro had always been by her side; no matter what happened, they went through it together, reacted together, and emerged alive on the other side together. For all their disagreements, Wanda couldn’t think of a single experience she hadn’t shared with Pietro. Which makes this new feeling – the painful, unenviable knot of loneliness in her heart – all the more terrifying.

Pietro will never share it.

Months continue to pass, with Wanda taking notice of nothing but herself becoming more withdrawn, avoiding Stark's parties and spending more time in her room, where she can let the loneliness consume her. She really did try when the Avengers first brought her to America, but Pietro had always been the social twin, and the conversations only made his absence more pronounced.

Wanda's mood worsens as her loneliness grows, but only she can see the change in herself. The team hardly noticed the difference -- they hadn't even known her before her grief, so how could they see what it had caused in her?

Lingering on the thought, Wanda realises there is no one left who remembers the girl she used to be before the pain and grief and suffering. She used to believe that her childhood friendships would last forever, but those friends are likely gone, she thinks, lost to the rubble just as her family were. Wanda Maximoff is the last person alive who could ever remember her true personality, but now, even she isn’t so sure.

»»————-　★　————-««

On that same night, in that same building, you suffer from the same line of thought. Brought from Sokovia to America in your early teens, joining SHIELD was your way of doing good in a world you knew firsthand needed help. You hadn’t expected it to be your own teammates and colleagues who had been causing the troubles in the first place; some went under with HYDRA’s exposition, but many remained, passing test after test because, despite the presence of their names on documents approving the bombing of your birth city, they truly had no allegiance to HYDRA. They are SHIELD agents throughout, but that doesn’t make them ‘good’.

Your sense of hope is naive, really. It’s a remnant of the lingering childhood sentiment that you would make the most of your escape to America, to make real change and bring peace to the friends you left behind. By now, you’ve seen the worst of SHIELD, endured mockery for your opinions, watched the organisation fall and then rise again only somewhat cleansed to assist the Avengers, yet you still work for them. Perhaps it’s fear that keeps you here, perhaps it’s delusion, but either way, you find your workarounds and do your best to progress.

That’s the situation that leads you to now, patrolling the halls of the Avengers Compound at 2am, pondering what you are even working for now that the only evidence left of your country’s capital city is a crater full of rubble.

Loneliness takes centre stage when you work night shifts – an unfortunate coincidence considering loneliness is what caused you to take the time slot in the first place. You don’t want to work with your colleagues, always feeling like you’re on the sidelines of the group, never quite as close to them as they are to each other – now exacerbated by the seed of doubt that any one of them may have seen your country as a necessary sacrifice, an inevitable fatality in a world of war.

It’s easier to work alone, you tell yourself again, but you begin to doubt it.

With no country to return to, no relatives, and no friends at work, you wonder how else you can change yourself before you finally fit in. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to be alone.

»»————-　★　————-««

Those thoughts are interrupted by whirring machinery, and you suddenly snap to attention and creep towards the Avengers’ gym. An intruder wouldn’t settle down for a quick training session, you imagine, and lower your guard marginally, but still ready yourself for a confrontation – there shouldn’t be anyone around at 2 am.

You walk in, only to stall immediately when you see a familiar brunette on the treadmill. She’s not one of the Avengers you’ve met before, nor one of the ones you’ve only seen on TV despite living in the same building – she’s new then, you conclude, or an intruder, but that doesn’t explain why you feel like you’ve seen her face before.

She looks up and her eyes widen when she sees you, before she shuts the treadmill off and quickly ducks her head. You don’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters while she hurriedly gathers her things, “I didn’t think anyone would come in here.”

You know why you recognise her now, the accent giving it all away.

“You’re Sokovian.” The woman clearly wants to leave; her belongings are bundled in her arm and she’s taken several quick paces aiming to pass you to get to the door, but she pauses at your statement and finally raises her head to meet your gaze.

“You’re not.”

“I am,” you reply, somewhat indignantly.

“You don’t sound it.”

Your natural accent had slipped over the years, it was true, a mix of natural evolution and forced acclimatisation on your behalf as an attempt to better fit in had led to the accent you now had. Not good enough to fool your American-born colleagues, but enough, it seems, to fool your fellow Sokovian. You think carefully, the new accent is so well practised that you struggle to separate what comes naturally and which parts you condition yourself to speak with. Eventually though, you speak and let the traces of your Sokovian past shine through.

“It’s been a while,” you tell her, “13 years since I last saw Novi Grad. I thought I’d return one day but… I guess not.”

Her eyes narrow as she tilts her head ever so slightly, the action once again striking you with a sense of familiarity. She seems to shake herself out of it eventually. She tightens her grip on her belongings and finally inches past you, not speaking again until her hand is on the door handle.

“I suppose neither of us can ever return home… your accent is rusty, Y/N, but it’s nice to see someone else survived.”

You jolt suddenly at her use of your name, but she’s gone before you can even turn around and acknowledge that she recognises you too; all that remains of her is the door slamming shut in her wake.

Memories crash back to you of the first half of your life, it's enough that you need to take a seat before allowing yourself to reminisce. It's been thirteen years since you last saw Wanda, but you'd never forgotten the shy brunette you used to run to and from school with; the girl whose apartment you would visit whenever the power went out, to huddle together and make up stories to entertain yourselves.

You wonder briefly why she left the gym so suddenly, rather than staying and catching up, but you realise that even you need a moment to process the fact that one of your friends, a memory from your past, is not only still alive, but also living in the same building as you. It seems likely that you'll see her again, and you hope it's something that she wants too.

You're already planning to give her time, but no matter how the night started, the encounter plants a seed of hope in you that the future might just be a little less lonely.

next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

General Taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

(Might do a series taglist for this too - let me know if you'd like to be added! @family-house-of-m you have no choice but to be tagged)

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #mcu #marvel #ikan writes #wanda maximoff & reader #ikan homh

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sarawritestories · 10 days

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Love Story (All Too Well Chapter 1 Pt 2)

Cassian X OC, Eris X OC

Summary: Under the Mountain, Estella, have flash backs to her 50 years in captivity, and losing hope she will ever see her lover. That is until a human girl shows up and give her and her brother Rhysand something they lost decades ago...Hope and in a matter of mere months she is reunited with the love of her life. The General of the Night Court Armies.

Content Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ Torture, Dub con, Physical abuse, Under the mountain trials

A/N: Special Thanks to @milswrites and @eve175 for keeping me sane when I wrote this and honestly prevented me from scraping and starting over again!

Also Two post in one day from me! I am on a roll! And probably will be taking a small break 😅😅

All Too Well Master List ACOTAR Masterlist

The sound of Amarantha’s screams was like music to Eris Vanserra’s ears. He watched as Tamlin ripped her to shreds, glancing over to see Estella holding Feyre’s body close to her murmuring something to herself that his fae hearing couldn’t pick up on. The screams ceased and Tamlin walked back to where the young fae princess and the human cursebreaker.

Eris watched as Estella a tear-streaked face looked up at the High Lord of Spring her laced covered chest heaving, “I’m so sorry Tamlin.” She lowered her head in shame, as if this was her fault.

Tamlin lifted Estella’s face to meet his eyes, “This wasn’t your fault. Okay?”

Eris moved toward Amarantha’s mutilated body as he heard Estella let out a sob, “You asked me to protect her I failed.” Eris closed his eyes and rubbed at his chest hoping the ache would dissipate.

Eris looked over at Amarantha’s remains that were mostly ribbons of flesh and found what he was looking for as Tamlin hushed the Princess of Night. “You did no such thing, Stella, now please give her to me.” Tamlin’s voice was tender as he knelt in front of the female holding his love’s corpse. “Come on, Flower.”

Romeo Save Me Somewhere We Can Be Alone

Eris looked over at the dais to see Estella, half of her pinned to the back of her head, the rest of her hair had fallen past her breast in soft curls. Clad in a sheer orange gown, the fabric barely covering anything, especially how his high queen had her positioned on Tamlin’s lap. Her legs spread by his thighs, her back pressed against his chest. The Princess placed her hand over the Lord of Spring and Eris noticed his thumb moved over hers and began swiping periodically. As if he was trying to bring her comfort. The heir of Autumn knew those two were friends just never realized how close the pair was.

The red-haired male moved his gaze to the rest of the ballroom, fighting the urge to clench his fist, he caught his brother’s attention. His russet eyes met with a similar pair of Lucien, his metal eye zeroing in on him. The young Emissary of the spring court’s face was impassive though his eyes, held pure resentment. Lucien didn’t let his stare linger on his brother rather it moved to his two friends at the front of the room. Guilt threatened to take hold, but the eldest Vanserra brother forced it down in a box where he kept most of his emotions shutting the lid tight. Another person that he had let down.

“Estella, darling be a dear and entertain us.” Amarantha’s voice drew Eris his attention back to the princess of night. “Dance.”

Estella froze, “Your Majesty?”

Amarantha pinched her chin, “I said dance, has whoring you around my court made you dumb.” Eris gripped the side of his leg tightly as he glanced over to the High Lord of Night, his tanned face a mask of cool indifference, Eris gazed lowered to Rhysand’s hands to find his knuckles were white as a result of gripping the arms of his chair tightly.

“No, Your Majesty,” Estella responded. “Or perhaps you would prefer to give a dance to one person.”

Rhysand cleared his throat, “Your majesty, I would be-“

Amarantha whipped her head, “No.” She looked out to the assembly in the hall. “I will accept volunteers from anyone that is not related to her.”

Eris’s feet moved of his own accord and managed to reach the dais before Lucien could. As he bowed lowed, “Your majesty. Though I have no need for a dance, I would be honored.”

Amarantha’s voice had a jovial lilt to it, “Ah Eris Vanserra. Yes, you have my permission to use her, however, you please. Rise. Claim your whore.”

Eris rose to his full height and walked up to the young heiress. He held out a hand for her, “Come now, Viper.” Estella curled her mouth in a small snarl, though her eyes were vacant, hallow as if she mentally went somewhere else. Though she gripped his hand all the same. He yanked her off Tamlin’s lap and pressed her chest to his. His arm snaked around her waist, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of her hip. Electricity bolted up his arm at the contact though he easily ignored it.

“Estella, how do you thank Eris, for claiming you this evening.” Amarantha prodded; Eris didn’t miss her face contorted in a grimace. Before she looked up her ice blue eyes meeting his warm copper ones, life had returned to her, but Eris could feel her dread, it emulated around her like a shield. Though that didn’t stop her from lifting her hand sliding it up the red velvet embroidered vest he was wearing. Or when her soft, gentle fingers slid up his neck and through the silken strands of his long hair.

She rose on her tippy toes her plump lips inches away from his own, “Thank you, Prince Eris,” Estella closed the distance kissed him. Eris slid his hand up her back, lightly grazing her spine as his hand wrapped around her raven-colored locks and yanked her back hard enough to cause a gasp from the princess’ mouth, giving the Autumn Court Heir access to slide his tongue against her. She tasted as sweet as he hoped she would. His tongue clashing with hers he could have sworn a small moan escaped her throat.

The need for oxygen and knowing that the two had put on enough of a show for their audience, Eris pulled away, with a smirk as Estella opened her eyes her pupils blissed out from their moment. Before he could ask, Amarantha, was waving her hand, “Eris you and your pet are dismissed for the evening.”

Eris bowed, and Estella followed suit, aware that it would expose her backside to the fae standing behind them. Eris placed a hand on the small of her back and led her out into the hall. The two had walked down for a few moments the sound of Estella’s skirt swishing against her skin, her hands clasped in front of her, when she asked, “What do you plan on doing with me, Princeling?”

Exhaustion weighed heavily on the prince’s body, as he sighed, “Sleep, My Little Viper. We’re going to sleep.”

This Love Is Difficult, But It's Real

The whole court ogled around and watched as the High Lords of Prythian dropped a kernel of power on the human girl that saved them all. Eris Vanserra on the other hand watched as his brother held onto the Princess of Night as her sobs softened. He could see Lucien whispering in her ear though from where he stood even his fae hearing wouldn’t be able to decipher. Ignoring the spectacle Eris walked over to one his handmaidens.

She bowed when he approached, saying nothing, he gripped the plump woman’s sleeve and began wiping the blood of the Tiara he grabbed. Once he was satisfied, he turned and walked over to Lucien and Estella. The youngest Vanserra son tightened his hold on Estella when Eris approached. “Relax, brother, today is a joyous day. We can put aside our differences for now.” Lucien growled, “Feel free to hate me again tomorrow.”

Estella’s eyes pierced the Autumn Prince’s and Eris presents the tiara glancing down at the lace covered bodice of her dress that dipped down to her stomach, “I believe this belongs to you, Little Viper.” He smirked as he met her eyes again. She glanced at his hands and reached out to grab the accessory from him, tearing herself from Lucien’s arms as she did so. Eris took a step back and dangled the tiara above her head, “Allow me.” He motions for his index finger to spin around. She obeyed and crossed her arms, the dark red silk of her dress swirling as she did. Her scent of Ocean mist and Jasmine invaded his nose he fought the notion to bask in her scent, as he placed the tiara on top of her head. Stepped closer and noticed the sharp breath she took as his nose brushed against her ear, “There now you look fit to rule a kingdom, Princess.”

He could hear her heartrate quicken as he took a step away and once more as cheers erupted through the cave. The three of them turned to find Feyre embraced in Tamlin’s arms, ears pointed heartbeat strong and steady. “By the Cauldron.” Lucien whispered and ran up to his friends. Leaving the two alone.

“I have to thank you, Princeling.” Estella’s voice broke the tension.

“For?”

“Giving me brief little moments of reprieve from this nightmare.” Her piercing eyes met his, “I am in your debt.”

Eris was about to dispute it when in a flash arm wrapped around Estella pulling her into a tight embrace, had he not seen the matching raven-colored hair, the heir of Autumn would have prepared for an attack. Rhysand pulled away as if remembering where he had put his hands in his pockets assessed his sister. “Are you hurt?”

Estella turned to Eris only to find he was already gone. She sighed and looked back at her brother. “I’m fine, Rhys.”

He nodded and, in her mind said, The High Lords are meeting to figure out the next steps. I don’t know how long that will take. Then out loud he said, “As your High Lord, I’m demanding you head home immediately and make sure our court held up in our absence.” Estella noticed the hint of a smirk on his face, Tell Cassian hello for me, and that I’ll be home soon.

Estella’s face lit up, she kissed her brother on the cheek, “Thank you, High Lord.” She took a step, looked back toward Lucien and Tamlin. Both males embracing Feyre. Green eyes met hers and with a dip of his chin she bolted and winnowed home.

I’ll Be Waiting

The Summer night breeze kissed her skin as she arrived in front of the town home. Home. She was home. Picking up her skirts she bolted through the front door of the town home. She could hear laughter in the dining room pause when the door slammed shut. Before anyone could get up, she ran into the room. Gasp and fallen utensils were the only thing she heard before, Morrigan her hair in perfect waves and dressed in her signature red gown rose from her seat, her eyes turning glassy. “So, it’s true? It’s over?” She asked.

Estella wiped the stray tears that had begun to fall, “Yeah. Its over.” She croaked as Mor pulled her into a bone crushing hug. “Fuck, I have missed you guys.”

A pair of scarred calloused hands tugged at her bare shoulders, “Don’t hog her, Mor.” Azriel’s deep voice joked as he pulled her into an embrace of his own. He pulled away and she felt the cool kiss of his shadows up and around her body, checking for injuries. He pressed his forehead to hers, “Its good to have your home.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and guided her to a chair. He began to make her a plate of food, as he asked, “Where’s Rhys?”

Estella eyes grew wide with the spread Azriel placed before her. Taking a heaping bite before she answered, she couldn’t help but moan as the warm food met her mouth. The bountiful flavor bursting on her tongue. She looked at Mor, and Az as she swallowed her food and said, “He said there would be a meeting with the High Lord’s about what is going to happen next, no doubt trying to get Amarantha’s” She fought the cringe at the sound of the female’s name coming out of her mouth, “men collected and figuring out what to do with them.”

Amren’s cold calculating voice was a welcome reprieve, “Why didn’t you stay with him?”

Estella turned her head to the female and smiled, “He wanted me to come home, let you know he would be back soon.” Estella, smiled and looked at the table, acutely aware of the empty missing, “Where is he?”

Azriel gave her a warm smile and placed his hand on top of her own his hazel eyes ablaze with warmth and happiness, “He went to the Illyrian camps a few weeks ago. He has been spending a lot of time up there to personally train his soldiers. He says its to make sure they have the best training we can offer.”

Estella felt guilt bubble in her stomach, “But?”

Azriel’s face fell slightly, his shadows curling around him as a form of comfort, “He had been struggling staying in Velaris for too long. It Reminded him of you and the future you two were planning. He missed you.”

“We all did, Girl.” Amren corrected. Estella’s blue eyes met her swirling silver ones, “Don’t look so surprised. Your quick wit against these overgrown bats was impressive. It was nice to not be the only one with a silver tongue.”

Estella blinked; she couldn’t remember a time when Amren had outwardly complimented her. Though she wasn’t about to question the tiny one’s motives, she went back to shoveling food in her mouth. She went for seconds and cleaned that plate too, Azriel grabbed her plate when she attempted to go for more, “Pace yourself, you’ll make yourself sick.”

“The food was awful down there.” If she got any that was. She didn’t miss the concerned glances from her friends when she arrived. She hadn’t looked in a mirror in 50 years and she was afraid to, terrified at what her reflection might reveal. How badly Amarantha’s abuse taken a toll on her physically as it had emotionally. Estella met Azriel’s gaze and he gave her a smile, kissing the side of her head. Estella cleared her throat, “Um, I am going to go upstairs and wash up.”

Mor gave her a warm smile, one she never thought she would see again, “Your room has not been touched, your clothes have been routinely cleaned.”

Estella rubbed her chest and the base of her throat fighting the emotion threatening to come up. “Thank you.”

Azriel cupped her cheek. Stroking his thumb against her cheek, “Welcome home, Princess.”

She wrapped her arms around Az and squeezed him tightly. “I missed you. I never thought I would see you again.”

“Likewise.” He pressed his hand on the back of her head holding her close. “Fuck.” She pulled away at the Shadow Singer’s expletive and saw that his eyes lined with silver. “I’m just..” He took a deep breath, “I’m just happy to see you.”

“Me too, Az. I missed your face.” He laughed wiping his eyes, as she looked to all three of her friends, “Not a day went by that I didn’t think about you.” The two females rose from their seats and as if they were reading each other’s thoughts smothered the young female into a tight embrace, where she let her tears flow freely.

Home. She was finally, Home.

On The Balcony In Summer Air

The cool night air kissed Estella's skin for the first time in fifty years as she leaned against the balcony the silk of her red night gown doing nothing to prevent the chill, but the female couldn’t bring herself to care. Looking up at the night sky. She couldn't help but smile as tears pickled her pale blue eyes. This is what it felt like:

To be free

"Hello, Sweetheart." The low timbre of a familiar voice elicited a sob to escape her throat. Turning from the view of the city, she met glassy hazel eyes, bruises darkening his tanned skin under them. His wings were tucked back, but his siphons glowed.

She gave him a watery smile, "Hello, General." She covered her mouth to stifle the sobbed. Not being able to contain herself, she leaped into his awaiting arms and legs wrapping around his waist. Burying her face in the crook of his neck.

Cassian's arm held her up by her waist, his free hand pressing the back of her head holding her close, tears streaming down his own face. Estella pulled away and pressed her lips to his.

Cassian pulled away, pressing his forehead to hers, "Welcome home, Estella." And his lips reattached to hers as he took her to their shared bed. Plopping her down on the bed his hazel eyes met her blue ones he swiped a strand of hair from her face.

She cupped her hands against his face, and took a moment to look at him, his eyes had dark circles under them, as if he hadn’t had a good night’s rest in the last fifty years. He had grown out a beard the scruff rough against her skin. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” She whispered.

Cassian cupped his hand against her cheek, tears spilling down his face. “I’m thinking that you are just as beautiful as the last time I saw you.” He kissed her forehead, “I’m thinking that I can’t believe that you are right here in my arms.” She closed her eyes as he pressed his lips to her cheek. “I’m thinking…” He took a deep breath, and she opened her eyes. “I’m thinking, how I never thought I would see you again. And yet here you are.”

Estella smiled, “Here I am.” She took his hand and placed it over her heart and he closed his eyes as he felt its steady beat. “Cassian, not a day went by where I didn’t wish to be with you. To be in your arms.” Tears threatened to fall but she forced it down. “I missed you so much.”

Cassian shushed her and placed his lips on to hers in a gentle kiss, “It’s okay, Sweetheart, I know. I missed you. More than you could ever know.” He kissed her again, “And just so we’re clear when your brother comes home. I am beating the shit out of him.”

“Cass?”

“Hmm?” He smirked.

She gripped the collar of his leathers and pulled him closer to him, he growled in approval as she whispered on his lips, “Do not talk say my brother’s name while you’re in my bed.” And she clashed her lips onto his.

Estella ran her fingers through Cassian’s curls as the General was fast asleep on his stomach. Sliding out of her bed, she opened the drawer of her nightstand, grabbed a piece of parchment, and walked back out onto her balcony. Looking back once more she made sure that Cassian remained asleep as she turned back to the parchment in her hands. Opening the parchment thinking about the author of the note.

Estella awoke back in her cell. The memory of Autumn leaves and cinnamon returning to her. She adjusted to a sitting position her brows furrowing as she felt something in her palm. Opening the note, her breath quickened as bile threatened to rise as the question, she asked the night before came to the forefront of her mind:

“Then what do you want with me, Princeling?”

One sentence gave her his answer in perfectly neat handwriting.

I want you, My Little Viper.

Estella folded the paper and threw it on the opposite side of the cell. Pulling her knees up to her chest she had to question just how far the Prince of Autumn would go to get what he wants.

Estella sighed, staring down at the swirls of Eris’ handwriting, questions swirling in her mind. As if she summoned him with her thoughts; a note appeared in front of her. Grabbing the parchment, she unfolded it.

Will you ever truly be free, Little Viper?

Estella glared at the parchment hoping it would erupt into flames. Folding both notes, she walked into her room, placed the notes in her nightstand, and went back to bed. The General of the Night Court’s armies arm pulling her against his chest. Though luscious red hair and russet eyes plagued her dreams.

You’ll Be The Prince and I’ll Be the Princess

After fifty long years Eris, stepped into the familiar room of orange, red and gold hues of his study. Twelve heads perked up as they saw Eris step in. The familiar dark eyes of his hounds perked up and all of them ran to their owner’s side. He bent down on a knee and allowed each of them a total of one lick per dog. Unable to fight the smile from his features of reuniting with his companions. “Hello dear Friends. I have missed you dearly.” They all swished their tails at the sound of their master’s voice.

Home after Amarantha’s fall, the High Lords met for two days in a row and after sitting in a room with massive egos, it was nice to return home to the quiet of his study. He walked over to his desk the mountain of paperwork there. He sighed and leaned against his chair closing his eyes, only for the ice blue eyes and raven-black hair plagued his brain. He pressed his hands to his eyes and groaned.

He sat up and removed his hands from his eyes, as an idea began to form. Opening his drawer to find his favorite quill and ink pots right where he left them. Pulling them out along with the stack of parchment. Eris began to write, as soft pink lips and the scent of Ocean Mist and Jasmine lingered in his mind as his quill began swirling across the parchment:

My Sweet Little Viper. My Beautiful Mate.

It’s A Love Story, Baby, Just Say Yes

To Be Continued...

Story tags: @milswrites @eve175 @melsunshine @believinghurts @awkardnerd @historygeekqueen @mischiefmanagers @mybestfriendmademe @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @glitterypirateduck @littlestw01f @mal-adaptive-dreams @lilah-asteria @hellodarling1357 @shadowdaddies @bxm-1012 @inkyvelvet @chasing-autumns-chill @ghostwritermia @esposadomd @anuttellaa @slytherintaco @marigold-morelli @saltedcoffeescotch

If I missed someone please let me know!

#cassian x reader #cassian acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar #cassian imagine #eris imagine #eris x oc #eris x reader #eris vanserra x oc #eris vanserra #eris acosf #eris acotar

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thoughtsfromlayla · 2 months

Text

Love and Loss

Summary: Despite being married for centuries, the two lovers have yet to produce an heir. Desperate for a child, she makes a deal with Phanes, God of Life, unbeknownst to her that motherhood has its own complications much like love and marriage. Now she must find a way to save both her child and her love.

Notes: ~11k words, only lightly edited... so yeah. Also, this is my first time posting any of my writing so I'm nervous as fuuuuck. I keep switching between past and present tense but I think I caught them all but idk. Let me know if I miss any tags or warnings! (There's so many plot holes but shhhh)

Warnings: MDNI - 18+ content, one use of Y/N but written in 3rd person, Reader has a "name" that's only used twice, pregnancy, loss of pregnancy, metaphorical use of surrogation, usage of miscarriage themes, jealousy, P in V, oral (F! receiving), unprotected sex, jealous Dream but that's to be expected really, regency-esque, diverges from cannon

Masterlist

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Despite having been in the Dreaming for so long, its frigid air was something she could never get used to. The temperature always fixed itself somewhere between an unheated house on a winter’s day and a spring day in the shade. Despite her title in the realm, she always felt like a child walking to the kitchen late at night to grab a snack whenever she meanders into the great hall.

The castle of the Dreaming was her home, and she was the owner in every right as her husband. A small black cat accompanies her, its green collar and bell jingle with each step in its preppy trot. Her Lady wore simple garments, a dark green dress with slits to match her feline friend. Its light-weight fabric billows around her with a breeze that never seems to stop and some golden jewelry decorated her neck and arms, all gifts from his Lord. She opted to walk barefoot, skin to soil, so as not to hurt her feet necessarily before the upcoming dinner the Dreaming would host later today—the idea her own entirely that her husband agreed to for her sake.

Her legs move her toward the throne room, where she is certain her husband presides. Still, her feet are cold and thus she picks up the pace. Her steps are lighthearted as she prances on her tiptoes, heels dangling from her fingers.

Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of the Nightmare Realms, Prince of Stories. She was sure there were more, but if she were to start listing them all in her head, she’d be stuck there all day. Morpheus was as old as humanity itself, perhaps even older. But as she sees him spread out on his throne, the air of authority is never questioned. Age has only made him more intimidating.

Morpheus commands any space he enters. His shadow fills each nook and cranny it seemed fit, aura chilling and distant. Yet he himself was a beautiful creature indeed. His modern form molded himself into a lean body, distinct muscle lines, and a strong jaw. His dark hair always looked tousled as if he had rolled out of bed a mere minute ago, and despite how often she would run her hair through the silky strands, they never behaved as they should have.

“Wife, mine,” Morpheus greets as she nears the bottom of the stairs. “What ails you to seek me out?”

The Lady smiles and gives a small curtsy before she ascends the curved stairs. “Nothing ails me, my lord. Must one have a reason to see her husband?”

Morpheus lets out an entertained breath before opening his arms in invitation. Another graceful smile appears on her lips as she sits comfortably in his lap, his arms encircling her.

“No, I suppose not,” He replies. He watches as she makes herself as comfortable as she can, leaning her head on his shoulder in a way that wouldn’t mess up her hair. The handmaidens would not stop fussing over it if a single strand was out of place from their original design.

“I simply wish to spend some time with you before our feast. I fear that I will be whisked away as I entertain guests for the evening.” She closes her eyes and steadies herself on the patterned breathing of her husband.

“I will stay by your side if you so command it,” Morpheus says. He runs his thumb in circles on her bare shoulder.

“And have everyone afraid to approach me? With your dark and brooding act?” She jests, her eyes opening briefly to look into his.

He can’t help his eyes rolling at her slight tease. “As you wish, my love.”

The two lovers sit for a moment. The sounds of her cat purring and their breaths mingling fill the air. But serenity such as this never lasts long in a castle like theirs. Lucienne comes from a hallway, presumably, the library’s, dressed up as well. Her coat was tailored to fit her body, her shoes freshly shined, and her glasses cleaned.

She gives a curt bow to the two sovereigns. “My lord, my lady,” She addresses. “The guests will be arriving soon.”

“Thank you, Lucienne,” Her lady says. She reluctantly releases herself from the warmth of her husband and uses the throne as a brace to put on her shoes. Her husband’s hand rests on the small of her back to further assist her.

“I will see you very soon, my king,” She says leaning down to peck his cheek before descending the stairs. She looks back once with another smile and then follows Lucienne to greet the arriving guests.

Morpheus’s eyes watch her figure until she turns a corner. He was still underdressed, his day previously preoccupied with trying to find a certain nightmare. He was simply idling on his throne in a simple black attire with his long coat. After all, a king need not worry about how he looks if he commands respect without golden bribes. With a wave of his hand, sand befalls him and covers him like ivy to a broken wall. When they recede he is dawning a tight button-up undershirt and vest, its fabric weaved with intrinsic cloud-like designs. His coat is now replaced with another of a similar shape and design but resembles cotton instead of the original felt. He fastens the raven cufflinks and smooths down his pants before rising from his throne and going to the Dreaming’s castle garden.

When Morpheus enters the gardens he immediately spots his wife at the entrance, standing underneath a pergola of purple wisterias and climbing hydrangeas. The flowers slowly lean towards the goddess as her presence fuels them by simple proximity. Her cat is nowhere to be seen and probably ran off into the gardens after a rodent caught his eye.

Morpheus slides up beside his wife as she greets the last of the guests arriving. He turns his head towards the decorated table and can see a great spread of gods, goddesses, fairies, nymphs, and other mystical creatures that his wife had managed to befriend—the feeling of her arm wrapping around his redirects his attention.

“Shall we, lord husband?” She gives him another one of her smiles and he understands how the hanging flowers feel. How he had ever lived without her before was still a mystery to him. To be him without her, it is like the Earth without its Sun - and he wishes to always feel the gravitational pull of her love.

Morpheus leads them towards the aggregation of guests, all of whom devote their attention to them.

“Beloved guests,” His wife starts speaking in her nectar-like tone, “Despite what is currently happening in the waking world, we are pleased that you could make time and attend this wondrous dinner.”

The goddess pauses for a brief moment as her guests clap in agreement. When they stop, she continues. “The feast is served buffet style, please eat and enjoy yourself to the fullest content. The Dreaming is here for your convenience.”

With her open palm, a long table appears with dishes of all types. Wreaths and fresh flowers decorate any empty space, which is to say, not much. Lambs, beef, and several types of poultry and fish take centerpieces along the table. Fruits, vegetables, and freshly baked bread weave in between the large plates as palate cleansers and small plates appear on the very corners of the table. A satisfied smile appeared on Her Lady’s face as the guests began grabbing food.

As the dust settles and smaller niches of guests start grouping, Morpheus is displeased when his wife leaves his side to mingle amongst the other gods. He watches from the shadows, small fruit plate in hand, glooming as she smiles with her guests. A hand comes up to hide her mouth as she laughs at something Phanes, God of Life, said. Jealousy brews and grows bitter like spoiled milk.

Morpheus stands, ready to come to his wife’s side in hopes of deterring the god, but before he can a nymph comes forward and gives an exaggerated curtsy. He can’t help the slight roll of his eyes as she begins to talk him up. The nymph’s voice carries a small lithe to it and he becomes unfocused, only noticing the movement of his wife’s green dress and Phanes walking off into the hedge labyrinth.

A frown etches itself onto his face. The nymph choosing to ignore the frown finds the courage to lift a mossy hand to caress his coat’s lapel, to which the Endless notices. Morpheus looks down at the nymph, his hand tightly grabbing into her wrist and dropping it away from him.

“Do not presume you may touch me, insolent child.” His voice is deep and grave as his frown deepens.

The nymph’s face contorted into embarrassment as red poppies boom across her cheeks and ears. She briskly walks away, forgetting to curtsy, with her tail tucked between her legs. The forest nymph looks forward to the next time she meets the Dream King, but she does not know that this will be the last time the doors of the Dreaming will open to her.

Dream makes a beeline towards the hedge labyrinth, taking a right turn as he had witnessed his wife doing moments ago. But, as something as lucid as the Dreaming, the labyrinth path twists and turns in new ways each moment. Morpheus turns left and right based on where he could feel his wife’s presence, but seems that she does not want to be found.

As a deity in her own right, should she so command it, she would not be found. Something that the Endless found infuriating at the moment. What could she possibly be doing with Phanes? Did she invite him for a personal reason? Was the dinner event a ruse so she could speak with him without raising any questions? Well, Morpheus surely was starting to ask questions.

Jealously turned into guilt quickly like the crack of a lightning bolt. Has he not been a good husband? Was she getting bored of their marriage? It has been several centuries, after all. Guilt turned into sadness as the questions he asked started bringing down his spirit. Surely there is something he can do to make her happy again. Surely she is faithful, surely, surely, surely…

Morpheus stands still, the drive to find his wife lost. The hedge leaves shiver as the temperature grows colder from the king’s mood. The lovely sunset leaves the last of its warmth before disappearing, leaving the sky full of stars. He turns around and retraces his steps, if his wife does not want to be found, he will grant her this wish.

Morpheus would never admit to anyone that he mopes. But with his sluggish walk and downturned lips, he clearly was. He sees his wife had made it out of the labyrinth quite some time ago and is already waving her guests goodbye, Phanes nowhere in sight. When she sees him emerging from the hedges, she perks up and excuses herself from her conversation.

“Dear husband, where did you run off to? Too many people in your presence?” She jokes, latching herself onto his arm.

“I was merely looking for you,” Morpheous murmurs. He starts walking with her back to the castle.

He waits as his wife takes a pause, slowing down in step. “You followed me into the labyrinths?”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting her to say, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Yes…” He draws out, trying to tread lightly, hoping that she would open up without much prompting. “I saw you and Phanes entering together.”

An amused huff escapes her. “I see.”

The silence lingers like the plague: uncomfortable and heavy in the air.

“Will you not speak as to why?” He questions and he almost hates how desperate he sounds.

The lady takes a seat on his throne, only to lean down and take off her shoes with a satisfied sigh. She rubs the ankles of her foot when she speaks again. “I believe it to be a personal matter.”

The answer was vague, and Morpheous hated it. Angry, gray storm clouds formed overhead and the ice-cold rain started to hit the stained glass behind her.

“Am I not worth sharing with?” He asks again, but he doesn’t stop to let her answer. With her eyes wide in surprise, he continues. “Am I not good enough? Faithful enough? Am I not devoted enough to you, my love? Will you command me to beg on my knees, I shall if you so ask.”

He falls to his knees before her and runs his hands from her ankle to her knee, slowly, deliberately. His lips follow soon after, tracing the same path his fingers had. Her breath hitches and her hearts start beating faster.

“How can I show my devotion to you, my love?” He kisses.

“My wife?” He kisses again.

“My forever goddess?” And again.

“Morpheus,” She breathes out, and it’s all he ever wants to hear. She is all he ever wants to breathe and all he wants to taste.

“I pray to Daleena, Goddess of Husbandry, for forgiveness. I have left my wife unsatisfied and feel the crop of our love withered. I shall repent for my sins by your guidance.” Morpheus says in a hushed tone as he slowly inches higher on her leg.

The goddess feels power surge through her as the prayer leaves her husband's lips, and she craves the touch of them on her own. Heat pools between her legs as her husband’s breath fans across her lower regions. Her dress slits exposed her legs deliciously to Morpheous but there were still her undergarments, which he removed slowly, keeping contact with her silky skin as it slid down.

Her Lady looks down at him with uneven breaths and waits for him to give her what she wants. Morpheus, however, is patient. He traces his lips higher, he kisses all the spots she wants, but not where she needs it the most.

“Morpheus,” She pleads, and it is all he needs. One moment it is the cold air of the Dreaming and the next it is the warmth of his lips, tongue languishing the length of her slit.

She jerks in place, strong hands holding down her hips. Her own hands shoot out, desperate to grab onto anything. One, bear-clawed and desperate, on the arm of the throne and the other weaving itself into the silky strands of her husband. She gasps at the wet sensation and her head is thrown back in pleasure.

The Endless is unmovable, driven solely by the purpose of satisfying his wife. A low groan emits from deep in his throat at the unapologetic sounds she cries, babbling in a series of his name and other obscenities. He tilts his head higher until he finds her clit and relishes in the pain of her nails in his hair, lapping at her arousal with contentment until it drips down his chin. He is a starved man and she is his salvation.

Morpheus continues his demonstrations, alternating between her clit and her needy cunt. She clenches her thighs hard as she feels the impending rise of her orgasm. Her fingertips buzz with excitement as he continues to ravish her sensitive clit. His pace continues, and her eyes roll to the back of her head.

She calls out his name again, and a high-pitched whine leaves her lips as he easily adds two digits into her weeping hole. He moves them slowly, slightly curved to touch that delicious spot inside her that has her arching her back taught like a bow. From below, Morpheus looks at her through his lashes, and he can’t help the smirk that tugs on his lips as his wife tries to thrash from the sensations. She tightens around him, cunt pulsing sporadically, and he is flooded with her orgasm where he drinks greedily from the taste - sweet like a plentiful summer wine.

He places a final gentle kiss on her clit before looking at her again, the skin of her extremities glowing ethereally as she tries to control her ragged breaths. She is still in the midst of her orgasm, trying to calm herself from the high and he finds it the perfect time to leave a bruising hickey on the inside of her plush thighs. Morpheus gets up, dick painfully hard as it brushes against his pants. He takes hold of her hands to help her stand on wobbly legs and leans back.

He leans until he falls, through the throne room floor and then onto the plushness of their shared bed. His command dematerializes both of their clothes and he basks in the sticky warmth of his wife on top of him. He runs light fingers down her spine, shivers following behind like a loyal companion, whispering sweet nothings into her ears.

“Come back to me,” He murmurs, kissing her sweat-filled brow.

“Hmm,” The goddess exhales after a few more seconds of silence, eyes opening languishingly, lashes tickling the skin of her husband.

She looks around the dimly lit room for a moment before realizing that she is in their bed. Using her husband’s chest, she props herself up, effectively straddling him beneath her. Morpheus remains unmoving, ignoring the way his tip brushes against her lower lips, only messaging the meat of her hips with his thumb.

When she meets his eyes again, he speaks. “Have I proven myself, dear wife?”

It takes a moment for the goddess to remember what he was talking about and her feelings crash down again. “You had never needed to prove yourself to me, Morpheus. What happened between me and Phanes will remain between me and Phanes.”

She lifts herself on sore thighs, but can’t get far as gentle hands turn rough. The next moment, she is lying down with her husband looming over her. There was not enough light to illuminate his face, leaving only the impression of his merciless, mercury eyes. Deep down, she knows no harm will ever befall her, but in this moment, something primal presents itself.

Perhaps it is how his eyes bore into her very soul, to the very moment she was born several millennia ago. Or perhaps, she was just crazy about how his touch was driving her mad. She was very aware of the appendage that settled between the two of them and the way that her slick was coating it. His hands cup her cheek and slide down her neck and her head tilts back at the ticklish and yet pleasurable sensation. She swallows thickly and a broken sigh escapes her as his hand ghosts over her nipple.

Shivers bloom once more as his mouth incloses over the perk nipple, suckling at it in a way that has her legs wrapping around his waist. Her arms come up and snake over his shoulders, fingers gliding over the smooth marble-like skin, then resting behind his neck. One of her hands finds itself back into his hair, clenching as he gives continuous pleasure to her body.

Her hips buck up, her pussy clenching down on nothing. Cold fingers glide down the center of her stomach, going lower and lower until they cup her heat. A thumb gently circles her clit, understanding the overstimulation it recently received. They trace over her outer lips, downwards, then upwards again, coating themselves with a mixture of spit and arousal.

Morpheus removes himself from her breasts and presses his lips at the junction between her neck and shoulder. He licks at the sweat that accumulates on her collarbone and continues up her neck. When he faces her again, he speaks.

“Beg for it.” He commands.

Her Lady remains silent, slowly chewing on the inside of her lip, weighing the options in her head. Morpheus, as always, is patient and he continues running his fingers between her folds, keeping his pace but occasionally rubbing his pointer finger in circles around her clit. When she realizes that he really would just keep rubbing her and nothing else, she opens her mouth.

“P-please,” She stutters, the mere idea of begging or pleading foreign on her tongue. As a goddess, one would never allow such lowly behavior. Nevertheless how her husband will give her whatever she asks for.

Morpheus hums in approval, removing his hand to hold his dick instead. He rubs it this time in lieu of his fingers around her cunt and the goddess almost begs again. Before she can, a moan releases from both of them as he inserts himself into her and she whimpers at the familiar dull ache of being stretched out. Morpheus dips his head between her neck and shoulder again and remains stiff, feeling the warmth that only his wife can provide.

He pulls out and she mews beneath him in pleasure, ushering him to fill her up once again. Her cunt sucks him back and he wraps one of his arms underneath her waist to ground him. The other slams against the headboard of the bed, and he grabs on for all he is worth. His thrusts grow harder as her cries grow louder and he feels the way she clenches down on him.

“How divine you are, my love,” He says with a shaky breath, kissing more bruising hickeys that he hopes will last for millennia. He blows cold air over them and goosebumps rise in place, her back arching again and he can feel each perk nipple rubbing against his chest.

She moans his name again, losing herself in each drag of his cock, screaming curses when the head brushes against her sensitive spot, and whimpering when it kisses her cervix. Morpheus rises, looking down on his wife with half-lidded eyes, running a hand down between the valley of her breasts, feeling each desperate breath of air. He goes lower and groans when he sees how the two of them are connected.

Each thrust creates an unholy, slick noise and he can see the inflamed clit begging for attention. He presses his fingers on her lower stomach and she cries out for him.

“Can you feel me, my Queen?” He growls down at her, feeling the way his dick moves within her.

“Yes!” She cries back, her brows furrow and her cunt pulses around him, gripping him like a vice.

“Do you love me, my Queen?” He asks again.

“Yes!” She cries again. She starts begging again. Please, please, please, please. “Don’t stop, please my King. Please, don’t stop!”

“Will you tell me why you spoke with Phanes?” His last question.

Her eyes snap open, all the build up from her orgasm lost in the question. With her legs still around his waist, she twists her hips and topples Morpheus over until he is beneath her again.

“No,” She whispers, rocking her hips back and forth to regain the momentum they had lost.

This time, it is him who pleads. “Please,” He whispers back. His hands cup at the roundness of her ass cheeks, loving how soft they were.

She increases the ferocity of her grinds, looking down at her husband like he had just done with her. His head tosses back and she loves watching his Adam’s apple slide up and down his throat as he moans for her. His eyes are squeezed shut and his grip tightens but she doesn’t relent.

That familiar searing hot feeling appears again in her lower stomach and with one final grind she releases her orgasm all over him, falling onto his heaving chest. Morpheus cums right after, shooting his release into her in hot loads and she feels each jolt inside of her.

Her orgasm rocks through her body, feeling both too hot and too cold at the same time. It tingles in her fingers and toes and when she closes her eyes, she sees the stars of the Dreaming shinging back at her. When she comes back to her senses (again) she can feel her husband’s hand running through her bed hair, untangling it as much as he could with the one hand. The other hand holds her waist flush with his. The two lovers share a quiet moment after their throw of passion before she speaks again.

“Phanes and I…” She starts, and she can feel Morpheus stiffen under her. She groans as his cock is still deep in her, semi-hard and the only thing keeping them together.

She shifts a bit and some of their combined release pool down onto his abdomen. He would never admit to her how filthy he thought it was, nor the fact that he loved it all the same.

“Yes?” Morpheus urges, looking down at her on his chest with full attention.

“We made a deal.” She finishes her sentence.

Everything stops as Morpheus sits up. “What deal did you strike? I can do it instead, terminate the deal at once, my love.” He says with anxiety.

His wife grabs onto him as she is rocked back and a smile appears on her face. “Morpheus, my love, you have done your part.” Her smile turns sad and a forlorn look cloaks her face and she casts her gaze downwards. “We just needed some extra help.”

A confused look crosses Morpheus’s face. He brings a hand to lift her chin to look at him. With the raise of an eyebrow, he doesn’t have to say anything for his wife to know he wants a better explanation.

“I asked for a child, Morpheus.”

When her husband remains quiet, her lips start to tug downwards and his heart lurches at the sight. Her waterline soon floods with tears.

“We have not been able to produce an heir once.” She says, voice wavering. She dares not to blink for she is afraid if a single tear were to fall, all of them would.

“What in return?” He asks.

“I look after his pet snake for a weekend.” She replies simply. Morpheus has returned to his previous position.

The tears start to fall, each fat drop hitting his skin seemingly striking him directly in the heart. “You need not worry, wife. This time it will take, with Phanes’s help or not.” He whispers into the crown of her head.

She nods once, sniffling as her nose starts to run, too. The rhythmic breathing below her and the continued brushing of her hair rocks her to a dreamless sleep. Morpheus wraps his arms protectively around her frame and should he have known, he would’ve stayed longer. He would’ve held her tighter, kissed her longer, and promised her that he would be there when she woke. Alas, there was a missing nightmare, rampaging through the waking world, something that was his responsibility as king.

When she wakes up the next morning, with a satisfying ache throughout her body, the bed was cold and empty, and her husband was nowhere to be seen. To say that this was new behavior would be a lie, unfortunately. The number of times that a night of passionate love-making ended in a cold and lonely morning was more than she could count on her fingers and toes. That isn’t to say that Morpheus didn’t want to stay in bed with her, it’s simply a sovereign that understands his responsibilities, and she could never blame her husband for that.

Avoiding the difficult conversation the two lovers shared last night, her Lady avoids the locations her husband is most likely to reside in. Instead, she chooses to look towards her duties in the Dreaming. She finds herself amongst a simple dream from a small farmer who looks after sheep, who struggles with getting their weight to increase during the harsh winters. Carefully, she admits herself to him, dressed in a light yellow dress, sunflowers decorating the fabric and her hair. Her hands were covered in dirt, and she held a shepherd’s crook that had a bell attached to the end.

The farmer looks up from his rocking chair, prized sheep chewing lazily around him, and smoke from his pipe circles him. His face was rough - old and wrinkled from long days in the sun during his youth. But she smiles gently at him when his laugh lines appear around the edges of his eyes and mouth.

She stands next to him and they stare out on his flock together. He shares his life story. The story of a young boy whose father was also a farmer, and his father before him, and his father before him. He talks about his first puppy, named Barkly, his first love, whom he lost after he was drafted into the First World War, and how he now finds solitude with his late wife’s grave and his grandchildren.

He mentions that he needs to fatten his sheep up for the winter as he can’t lose any more stock so he may afford medicine for his sick grandson. He confesses that he has tried everything and nothing seems to have worked. He looks up at her now, tired, and slumped over, and realization dawns on his face as she smiles down at him.

She whispers at him a simple solution, one he can’t quite hear over the muddle of a dream. He stands abruptly as her figure distorts, the dawn is rising and a farmer’s body rises with it. He thanks her - he offers a sheep for her, which she nods at before he wakes from his dream.

The goddess visits a few more dreams, each giving her ethereal presence. Some were like the one she was just at, some needed comfort from the loss of animals, and some dreamed of a new pet to have. By the 5th dream, she realizes that several days had passed in the waking world, and her husband was nowhere to be found.

She admits to herself that she had been avoiding him longer than she intends, but perhaps it was time to face him again. She teleports to the castle, summoning herself before the drawbridge of the magnificent building. The ivory dragon perks up at her arrival, but otherwise pays no attention to her, going back to hoarding its gold coins, a few of them falling when she crosses the large doors.

As always, the castle is slightly colder than what she likes. A small sense of deja vu encapsulates her as she walks to the all-familiar throne room. This time, however, it was empty. No figure on the throne, nor the stairs as he sometimes preferrs it. Odd, she thinks, but not impossible. So she turns a corner to the library, she often finds him here as well, looking over the books of his dreamers. She searches high and low, through each aisle and reading spot, but still nothing. Anxiety and thoughts of doubt begin to fill her. Perhaps she did mess up, making that deal with Phanes.

Her last stop was Cain and Able’s homes. She finds the two brothers in front of their own homes, tending to their garden and playing with the gargoyle that Morpheus had given them. The two were of no help as they were unable to answer something worthy of even a hint of where her husband was.

She rolls her eyes as the walk away from their homes was accompanied by the sound of a scream and the resolute bang of a metal shovel hitting a skull.

As her last resort, she calls for Lucienne. Often, she hopes to never bother her, understanding that the work she puts into maintaining the Dreaming is never-ending. And, she knew that if she were to ask something of her, Lucienne would stop everything to help her.

“His Lord left several nights ago to fetch the Corinthian,” She spoke, pushing up her round glasses.

“And since then?” She questions, her hands wringing with themselves. She hopes for an answer she knows she won’t get.

Lucienne shakes her head no. “My Lady, Jessamy hasn’t returned either. Perhaps his Lord is simply taking longer than usual.”

“Let us hope,” She says defeated.

For the next few months, the goddess stays within the Dreaming. Each day that passes, more hope was lost for her husband's return. Doubt and anxiety cloud her mind at the uncertain future.

She looks down at her stomach, a distinguishable bump had made its appearance and she rubs it gently with her hand. The deal with Phanes went through, she is with child. She should be happy right? Except for the obvious fact that Morpheus still had not returned.

Her cat lounges at her feet where she sits and she pets its head. With a trill, it looks at her, similar mercury eyes of her husband stares back. She had no choice but to find him herself.

“Go,” She asks of it. “Go to the waking world, find Morpheus.”

The cat sits up and stretches, hind high in the air. Its claws grips into the plush carpet it rests on. With another stretch to its lower back, it trots off, the jingling sounds of its bell disappearing as it crosses over to the waking world.

All the goddess could do was wait and hope. She runs another anxious hand across her stomach and a tear escapes her.

Lucienne had mentioned it to her in passing a few days ago. The librarian stated that it probably was nothing to worry about, but the conversation had stuck with the goddess since.

The Dreaming is dying.

As much as the Dreaming is hers through marriage, it is suffering without its true ruler in the realm. She could see it in the dying leaves and small cracks of the castle. The ivory dragon that rests above the castle has gotten more restless in the past few weeks. And despite her best efforts to comfort the animal, the dragon did not listen to the Goddess of Husbandry.

This brings up a second concern of hers. The child she carries is as much a part of her as it is the Dreaming’s. It embodies a part of the Dream Lord and if the Dreaming is suffering, there stands to reason that her husband is suffering as well. If both of these entities are suffering, what is to happen to her child?

This child that she already loves until she is forgotten and nothing but stardust and she had been asking for centuries. This child that Morpheus is finally ready to love after the untimely death of his son. She must find Morpheus, and soon.

For the sake of the Dreaming and her child.

Several more weeks pass and her cat had yet to come back. She only hopes that it was due to the difficulty of finding an Endless and not because it got distracted with a family whose heart was big enough to take in a “stray” cat. Each day that passes, she grows significantly weaker. The prayers of her followers still ring in her ears, but she could not leave the Dreaming to help her devotees.

Another war broke out among the humans, the one they call World War II. Less and fewer people were crossing over into the dreaming and slowly, the once beautiful realm was losing its colors. The goddess couldn’t stop the residents of the realm from leaving its gates, the Dreaming was no longer a place they wished to stay. Furthermore, there weren’t enough dreamers for them to bother staying. She only remains thankful for those who decided to stay.

She sits on Morpheus’ throne, the castle colder than ever. Behind her, the once beautiful stained glass had shattered. The Corinthian had still not been captured, or else her husband would have been home and Fiddler’s Green had decided to leave. She runs a hand through her hair at the issues that seem to keep piling up. As she ignores her prayers, her powers start to wane. Fewer and fewer people were still believing in her.

And how could she blame them? She hasn’t made herself present in any of their prayers and with the war, people were less concerned about animals and more about themselves. She sighs.

A sharp pain yanks her out of her thoughts and a scream rips from her throat. She doubles over from the throne and kneels, hunching over on the floor. The pain spreads across her lower abdomen and a shaking hand holds her stomach. Immediately she knew something was wrong and it involved the safety of her child.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, too focused on staying conscious. The throne room was empty, her fall echoed around and bounced across the wide walls. When she thought the pain was over, she took in a large breath, inhaling shakily in gulps.

Salvation lasts a few seconds before another wave of pain overwhelms her. It wraps around her like a hot blanket on a sweltering day, sticking to her skin and making her overstimulated. Too much was happening at once and it was almost too hard to bear.

“Lucienne!” She screams between cramps. Tears fall in fat drops onto the floor and wets the hand propping her up.

Lucienne appears quickly, followed closely by Mervin. Hands grab at her weak body and hoist her back onto the throne. Where she had fallen, blood pooled and more fell from between her legs.

Her whole body shakes with shivers and a whimper leaves her.

“My Lady,” Lucienne says with concern. The librarian couldn’t stop from staring at the growing pool of blood below her.

“What do we do?” Mervin asks. Even though he was a glorified janitor, constructor, and destructor for the Dreaming, he didn’t know how to fix this.

“Call for Phanes,” Their Lady said weakly. Sweat begins to appear like morning dew across her forehead. For once, she was grateful for the cool temperature.

“Mervin, take her to his Lord’s chambers,” Lucienne instructs. She doesn’t stay to watch as she sprints to the library.

She flips through leather-bound books, old and new until she finds the correct summoning spell she was looking for. The loyal librarian could only hope that a god would listen to a dream like her.

She hauls the large book into the room her Lady lays in. Labored breathing came from both women, although for two vastly different reasons.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I require your assistance,” Lucienne said next to the goddess’ bed.

The goddess gives her a hand limply and Lucienne starts chanting the words on the page while holding her cold fingers. The wind whirls around them and Mervin holds onto his pumpkin head to not have it knocked off.

Lucienne finishes the spell and looks down. Her Lady was glowing with power but she could not have looked any more weak. Nothing happens for a few bated breaths, only the sound of howling wind around them. Then nothing, not even the sound of crickets could be heard.

Enters Phanes, golden and warm like the sun. He materializes in a cloud of golden dust. He slams his staff down, and his golden snake slithers up from under his robes.

“Who dares summon m-”

“Lord Phanes,” Lucienne interrupts, something she knows she would be punished for, if not for the more important matter at hand.

A glare is thrown her way and softens at the familiar face. Phanes’ eyes travel across the intertwined fingers and land on his friend.

Weak eyes open and meet his. The godly figure is almost too much to stare directly at.

As if understanding what was happening to his friend, he drops the golden light he had been shining. The Dreaming returns to its cold blue, and it was just two deities and two dreams in understanding.

“A new deal,” Phanes announces and the goddess wants to weep again. Judging by how her husband acted the last time she had done this, she was going to be doomed. But the decision was easily made.

“Anything,” she whispers. Her eyelids are starting to feel heavy. She had delivered countless calves, kittens, and cubs, but never another deity. Was she supposed to feel this weak?

Silky scales slide across her feverish skin and she is face to face with Phanes’ serpent.

“Give your child to him, he will keep them safe until they may come to fruition. Until then, you must look after the serpent as if it is of your blood.”

The goddess could barely pay attention but understood in a way without words. She nods in agreement and the relief begins almost immediately.

Pain seeps out of her body, slow, like molasses and her body starts to glow again. Lucienne shields her eyes and peeks through her fingers. The goddess’ stomach glows and deflates.

A small glowing ball releases itself from the warmth of her womb, its dim light is warm and lights the room like a lantern on a foggy night. A weak hand cups it and it sits in the palm of its mother.

“Hello, darling son,” She whispers. The ball stays still, a small high-pitched noise emitting from itself.

The goddess smiles. “Darling daughter, then?” This time, the ball bounces gently a few times in response but otherwise doesn’t do anything.

The golden serpent is slowly making its way up the arm that holds the glowing orb. A tongue flicks out and smells it. Then with a nod from the goddess, the serpent unhinges its mouth and swallows the child whole. The light shines through the crevices of its eyes and ears as it makes its way down the serpent's throat. Eventually, the light dissipates and the serpent looks all the same, save for the bulge in its stomach.

A sense of longing borrows itself into her chest where her heart lies. Quite literally, the light disappears right in front of her. Physically, her pain had been removed, only the dried blood between her legs reminded her of what had happened just moments prior. And yet, a dull pain resides. Something she couldn’t put her finger on, but she could feel it behind her eyes and how it lodges in her throat.

Her gaze is unfocused as she pets the golden snake, her golden snake now, her child. For the rest of the night, she rests and Phanes leaves without a word. Lucienne stays by her side the whole time, eyes only moving when the serpent shifts. Mervin went back to work after a few hours, the castle’s foundation still cracking under their feet. He left with a sorrowful look, well, as sorrowful as a pumpkin head could be.

As the sun rises the next day, the goddess wakes up to not only the snake by her side but the librarian and her long awaited cat. Lucienne wakes up at the first shift that her Lady makes and stands.

“Let me draw you a bath,” She said before any debate.

“Lucienne,” Her Lady calls after her anyway in rejection. All of her handmaidens had left. They were only there to help the goddess under the instruction of the Dream Lord who created them. Without him here, no one would punish them for leaving and not attending his wife.

Still, the librarian doesn’t listen and disappears into the joined bathroom. Meanwhile, the goddess looks down at her cat and raises an eyebrow. It has certainly gotten fatter. And a new name tag was attached to his collar next to his bell.

“Buttons,” She said out loud, reading the new name. At that, the cat perks up and stares back at her disappointed face. “You got distracted on your mission didn’t you?”

She pets his rounder stomach and scratches his head. “Well, they certainly loved you…” The hidden passive-aggressive message was evident.

The cat, now Buttons, doesn’t bother with a response. Instead, it lays back down, flicking its tail aggressively at her comment.

She rolls her eyes. “Did you locate his Lord?”

Buttons rolls onto his back and stretches, belly exposing to her, and opens his mouth in a yawn. “Burgess Manor,” He says and turns his body away from her.

Finally, an answer. She throws the blanket off her body and goes to stand. She looks at her closet, thinking of what to wear to the waking world to retrieve her husband.

“My Lady!” Lucienne exclaims as she walks out of the bathroom. The goddess looks over at her and notices her staring at her dress. She looks down as well and remembers all of the blood that she spilled last night. It had caked itself into the fabric and was still crusted on the inside of her legs.

The librarian’s shock was still on her face when she realizes that her Lady fully intends to go to the waking world looking like that, having overheard the conversation between her and the cat. Lucienne insists she take a bath first and that she would find something for her to wear.

Her Lady doesn’t disagree and disappears into the steaming bathtub that was made for her. She doesn’t regret it for a second the moment she steps in. The warmth was comforting like a mother huddling to keep its cub warm. The water washes away the filths of yesterday and within the embrace of the water, she finally cries.

It’s not a gentle cry, it is hiccups and gasping for breath. The pain of yesterday that she felt behind her eyes and in her throat spills out. Her bathwater which used to smell of apples and cinnamon now turns into a maroon as her blood washes out. It starts to smell of iron and salt and it reminds her of war.

Her hand runs over her stomach and a whimper leaves her again at the lack of the bump she had grown so accustomed to. Logically, she knows that her child, no her daughter, was safe. But, one would have to admit that having their daughter in the stomach of a serpent was a bit unnerving.

A golden head peaks at her over the side of the ceramic bathtub and flicks out its tongue.

She sniffs the last of her tears away and pets its head with her index finger. “I’m sorry for leaving you already, dear daughter.”

The serpent’s stomach had grown twice as large since last night and since this is new territory for her, she must make haste so she may be back in the dream to witness the birth of her daughter.

Before she left, though, she walks into the castle gardens and gets to work. From her fingertips she grows a birch tree, its white branches and muted green leaves fit right into the dying realm around them. She sprouts flowers and brushes for scenery and a bed made of straw under a tunnel that she dug out.

The golden serpent follows her and slithers up her body, wrapping around her curves. When its head was next to hers, it let out a rattling-like noise in agreement with the small open enclosure the goddess had made for it. It slides back down her body and makes it home in the tunnel.

“Mommy will be back,” She whispers to it when it settles in and gives it a quick peck on the top of its head. It flicks its tongue at her and moves further into its nest.

The goddess stands back up and dusts off any dirt that could have gotten on her dress. Lucienne helps her pick out an appropriate attire for the waking world. Something she wouldn’t personally wear, but it certainly helps to blend in with the mortals. She quickly had to locate her husband. After all, she has no idea how long it takes for a snake to incubate a child.

It was easy to find the Burgess Manor when she arrives in the waking world. Everyone who was anyone spoke about the grand magus who managed to capture the devil in his basement. That the devil had granted him eternal life and some other rumors. All she had to do was flaunt a smile and go where the fingers pointed.

The rumors, of course, were mere rumors. The devil? No. Without knowing it, Rodrick Burgess managed to capture something even more powerful. How he had managed to keep him captured was a different question entirely and the goddess had a sneaking suspicion that he had some help.

It was nightfall when she arrives at the gates of the manor. Thousands of people clamor in the front garden, talking amongst themselves. Suddenly, the clothing she had worn was not fit for the environment she was walking into. Using a little bit of her powers, she changes the outlook of her clothing into something else. It was a bit more formal, growing longer and softer to the touch. However, if someone were to squint and stare hard enough, they would be able to see the original dress she had worn.

She weaves her way to the front and listens carefully to the words around her.

“I had arrived this morning, my feet are killing me.”

“Ha, me as well. But anything to get into the manor. I want to see what the Great Magus is hiding.”

“Not to mention the party of your lifetime!” They joke together.

Someone taps her on her shoulder. Another young man was waiting to be let in.

“You are a new face,” He comments and takes her hand. He presses his lips to the back of it. She takes her hand back and wipes it away on the back of her dress while keeping a smile.

“Yes, I wish to see the Great Magus himself.” She half-lies through her teeth. The young gentleman offers an arm to her which she reluctantly takes. Perhaps he will be the key to getting into the manor.

The doors of the manor open and people slowly trickle in. She peers over shoulders into the manor but couldn’t immediately find anything of note that would be dangerous. The warmth of the building fans over her as she enters through the large doors and a breath of relief escapes her.

“Isn’t it everything you could ever dream of?” The gentleman asks. He looks down at her with a smile.

She looks around, the manor was certainly lively. Foods of all kinds sprawl out on tables, fresh flowers almost too sweet to smell, and candlelight flickers and dances from the sudden wind. There were some party tricks as well, the flames seem to sparkle a bit more, bubbles were floating around in the air without popping, and the statues follows her with their eyes. But, they were all small party tricks, nothing to indicate this holier-than-thou man.

Through the buzz of it all, she could feel it. The string of fate that connects her to her husband. It was faint, but it was there and she knew she was in the right place. She just had to find out where.

A man emerges on the top of the stairs to the second floor and opens his arms in a flourish. She frowns at him because there he was, Rodrick Burgess, the man who took her husband. By the end of tonight, she promises herself, there will be no Rodrick Burgess.

“Ow, dang you’ve got a grip on you,” She breaks eye contact with Rodrick when her escort for the evening exclaims out. She releases the iron grip she had wrapped around his lower arm and apologizes.

“I am terribly sorry,” She apologizes. “Actually, I am parched, can you be a gentleman and fetch me some lemonade?” She bats her eyelashes and gives a smile. His face lights up in a blush and runs off to fetch her the lemonade she wants.

As soon as he was out of eyesight, the goddess began moving. She moves between bodies like wind on the beachfront - gracefully, wistfully, but with purpose. She uses her senses to locate where her husband could be. It was like an invisible dance.

When the sense weakens she backtracks, when it strengthens she moves forward. She was so lost in her quest that she almost did not register when she ran into a wool-covered chest. Surprise overtook her face as she looks up, ready to apologize and continue on her way. But she stops when she realizes that the man she bumps into is the very host of the party.

“Rodrick Burgess,” She says almost breathlessly. Oh, how she wants to commit a grievous crime to this mortal.

The old man chuckles above her and grabs onto her shoulders. His fingers are cold when they come into contact with her bare skin and she wants to cringe away from his touch, but he holds on strong.

“You seem like a curious creature, my little dove,” He comments and starts to walk. Without much room to budge, she is reluctant to follow him.

“Yes,” She drawls out much like how Morpheus tends to do. She suddenly acts with interest when she realizes that the bond strength between her and her husband increases. She holds on tighter and presses her body against his arm.

“I heard that the great Magus kept the devil in the basement of his manor. Can we see it?” She fakes a supple voice and looks up at him with an innocent smile.

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think a small thing such as yourself would want to see the devil.”

“No!” She belts out, a bit too quickly. But she recovers smoothly. “What I mean to say is, I am far too excited to see him. Please don’t deny me this one pleasure Great Magus.”

“How loathsome,” She thinks to herself.

“Very well, I can’t deny you anything if you keep looking at me like that.” He confirms.

Rodrick Burgess leads her away from the party, down a long and quiet hallway. It is decorated with antique and rare collectibles. The older man talks about each one, dragging on his time that leads to her husband, but she nods along anyway.

She had waited decades to be in the arms of her husband again, a few more minutes surely wouldn’t hurt. Soon, she is led to a dark and demanding set of double doors. Locks and bolts seal it from top to bottom. With a nod of Rodrick’s head, the guards stationed outside open the door slowly and a cold air seeps out and blows her hair back. The basement smells musty of old water and stale air. A cough emits from further down the stairs and she frowns.

“Scared yet, child?” Rodrick says to her mockingly.

She only shakes her head no as she continues down the steps.

The smell grows stronger as she gets closer and she can also make out a small portion of dirt and sand amidst it all. Despite it, the air was crisp and cold, suitable for a stone basement.

A light emits from the end of the long staircase downwards and she can’t stop her jaw unhinging as she finally sets her eyes on her husband. Tears well up in her eyes as they dart across the room.

Arches supported the basement throughout the floor and a moat still separates between her and her husband. A singular fluorescent light is cast on him in a glass prison as if he were some circus animal on display. Below the glass prison were some sort of gold runic markings and even from far away, she could feel the real magic emitting from them.

Rodrick releases her hold on him and turns to the two guards on duty that night. “You two may go,” He instructs, and the two leave without debate.

At the sound of his voice, Dream opens his eyes but remains in his laid position. His gaze pierces into his corrupt heart, if he even had one left, but quickly notices his wife by his side. With this, he sits up and gently places a hand on the glass barrier.

“Would you look at that!” Rodrick boasts. “He moves, he doesn’t do that much. Perhaps he has feelings for a pretty thing like you.”

The goddess doesn’t hear him and walks up to the glass cage in a trance. How does she free him? Tears fall restlessly down her face and her stature dejects. She snaps out of her trances on the small bridge above the stagnant water when a rough hand squeezes her upper arms.

“Stop, you must not get any closer. He is trying to seduce you into releasing him!” Rodrick hashes out between gritted teeth.

She opens her mouth to tell him something, anything, to release her husband but stops when she hears Dream’s voice again.

“Wife,” He calls simply and her body fills with all of the love and adoration she had been missing for decades.

Rodrick’s grip tightens at his voice, the first time he remembers hearing it. With a shocked face, he looks down at the woman in his grip. “Wife?!” He screams at her furiously.

She takes a deep breath and steels herself, ripping herself away from his bruising grip, and stands between him and her husband. The tears had dried and only anger left in its wake.

“The one before you is Daleena, Goddess of Husbandry, Mother of Agriculture and Protector of Animals, Saint of Farmers, Queen of the Dreaming, wife of Dream of the Endless. You face me now, mortal.”

Wind swirls, somehow, in the basement but it is the least of Rodrick’s worries. He plants himself firmly as the wind picks up and sand envelops the two of them in a vortex of anger.

“I have captured something more than a god! I have an Endless!” He points a finger at her, eyes scrutinizing. “What makes you think you can defeat me? The Great Magus Rodrick Burgess?”

Walking a few steps forward, her shepherd’s crook materializes in her hand, the bell jingling violently in the wind. Her extremities start to glow their familiar light as she musters power. She points the staff at Rodrick as billets of wheat start growing around his feet and crawl up his legs, the nice wool of his pants long forgotten against the harsh stalks of the plants. The plants bloom as it sucks the life away from the very thing they grew on.

Rodrick starts chanting in Greek.

“Prostasía,” He chokes out. “Prostasía.” He chants again and he breathes easier. “Prostasía.” He chants one more time and he’s back to standing at his full height. The plants that were wrapped around him wither away and fell into dust, sucked into the sand vortex around them.

The goddess frowns, she did not realize how much power she had lost until now when a simple protection chant could stave off her attacks. Rodrick lunges at her, hands open and clawed, ready to grab onto any piece of her clothing. In turn, she slams her crook into the ground and a fissure opens up, but not before he can shove her further and her body slams into the wall of the glass prison. The fissure separates the two opponents away from each other and Rodrick steps back before he falls into the Earth.

She braces herself on the glass wall at the impact and loses her breath for a moment. She could feel the warmth of her husband’s hand and she turns away from Rodrick to look at him. His hand was aligned with her own, so close, only inches apart.

“The runes, my love,” Morpheus tells her. She looks down at looks at the graphics that surround them, the sand had erased some of it through the abrasive nature of itself. The magic within the runes would still be strong if not for the defiant smudge she creates with her foot, just in time for the fissure to finish opening. With a final look at her husband, she walks closer to the fissure, pulling the sand vortex smaller so it was just her and Rodrick again.

From the fissure glows a golden light, soft and merciful but quickly overshadowed by the growing dust. The light expands as the golden serpent which holds her daughter emerges. It had grown in size since the last time she had seen it. Its length and mass have nearly tripled in size and the baby bulge it used to flaunt was now merely a small bump.

Rodrick’s stare grows higher and higher as the snake continues to emerge, it stares at the man, tongue flicking angrily at him for daring to harm the goddess. The snake lunges, all fangs and dripping venom, its large scales clattering against each other like gold coins. Rodrick moves to the side and the serpent misses. It hisses in retaliation and comes around again, this time wrapping its body around the legs of the Great Magus.

Panic sets in as the serpent starts to constrict around the man and he can feel his pulse pounding against his head and the blood circulation gets cut off. The bones in his knees pop as they press together.

“Father!” A young boy’s voice screams across the vortex and the goddess sees a glint of silver cross into the vortex arena.

The serpent is halfway up Rodrick’s body when the goddess notices the sharp dagger that Rodrick now possesses. He rises it high in the air and with a large gasp plunges it into the flesh of the serpent. The golden scales provide little to no protection against the artifact.

“No!” She screams and takes a step forward, only to be stopped by the protective tail of the serpent.

The metal hisses as it melts against the golden scales, melting the scales together until they become smooth around the wound. Rodrick slides again and again until the weapon becomes too slippery with blood and he loses grip. The snake is now a mosaic of gold and red as it tightens one last time.

“Curse… you…” Rodrick strains out, his face turning purple as the last bit of air leaves him. The serpent weakens and falls in a slump like an inanimate rope and the sand around them falls like rain.

The goddess leaps over the fissure and after making sure the man is dead runs to the head of the golden serpent. Its eyes were dim, mouth agape as its muscles weakens and she can no longer feel it breathing on her skin when she places a hand above its nostrils.

“No, no no,” She mumbles to herself. She grabs her dress up and away from her feet as she makes her way down the length of the serpent. When she reaches where she last saw the small baby bump, she runs her hand along its underside, soon becoming slick with cooling blood.

She finds a particular cut that was deeper than normal and when she sticks her hand in there, they grab around a small appendage. A cry of relief leaves her lips as she digs deeper. She pulls her baby from the dying body and cradles it to her body. Golden scale imprints are decorated across her arms and legs and a few more along the spine of her back.

Her breath hiccups as silence fills the air. She pats her daughter’s back and wipes her mouth clean and panic seeps into her bones when still she remains quiet.

Morpheus appears behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turns to him, tears streaking down her neck.

“Crying, why-why isn’t she crying?!” She wails and clutches her child harder against her chest.

Morpheus hugs her from behind and holds the two of them to his chest.

“Y/N,” He calls her name, her real name. Not her titles, or what the mortals call her, but the name given to her since her creation.

She weeps into his form, salty tears mixing with blood and the amniotic fluid that covers her child. Her tears fall into her daughter’s mouth and feed into the child her grief, regret, and guilt as well as the hope she still had in her.

A soothing hand pets her and the silence disappears. Loud wailing comes from below and her eyes shoot open. Her daughter was finally crying, her hands in fists as they move around in the air.

“Praises,” She sobs again, this time tears of joy. Her child's eyes peel open and smiles as she grabs at her mother’s hair.

Morpheus smiles, a rare one, all teeth showing as he touches his daughter’s head gently. The three, now a family, return home to the Dreaming. There will be more to do, especially for Morpheus but for now, a small victory lies within the hope that is their daughter.

Extra:

“Well I’ll be baffled, bamboozled, and befuddled,” Phanes says, hands on his hip and his staff leaning against one of the walls of the basement.

He stares at his serpent covered in dried blood and dearly departed, lying alone on the cold basement floor.

“Look at how they massacred my boy!” He screams to no one in particular, arms out in disbelief.

He lets out a huff and crosses his arms. “I’ll let you borrow my snake, blah, blah, blah, take care of it like it’s your own, meh, meh, meh,” He mocks.

Phanes runs a hand across the top of the snake’s head and watches as the dried blood rehydrates and moves thickly back into the cuts. The gnashes done by the weapon stitch itself back close and the gold scales return to their original form.

The snake shrinks smaller and smaller until it is back to its original size. At which, it perks up and flicks a tongue out in thanks to its god.

“All right, let’s go,” Phanes says with a sigh as if this was a mundane chore. He extends out a hand for the serpent to slither up to.

“I am never making a deal with those two ever again, that was crazy.” He says to his snake.

The snake flicks its tongue again and rattles the scales on its back.

“Ohh, that’s nice that she made you an enclosure.” He responds, then remains silent as the snake says something else. “What do you mean she forgot to put mice in the enclosure for you to eat?!”

#morpheus #morpheus x reader #morpheus x reader smut #the sandman #the sandman x reader #dream of the endless #dream #dream x reader #dream x reader smut #angst with a happy ending #light angst #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x wife!reader #morpheus x wife reader #dream of the endless smut #dream of the endless x reader

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januaryembrs · 1 year

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DEEP ARE THE SCARS | Din Djarin x Mandalorian!reader

Request: Hello! Congratulations on 1k my friend! You deserve it <3 I am wondering if you are comfortable with writing a din djarin x insecure/depressed reader. Thank you!!

description: Din and you have a conversation after one of his past lovers shows up, beauty and all.

Word count: 1.5k

trigger warnings: insecure feelings, scarring on face, established relationship, kissing, parental death mentioned, crime ridden planet mentioned?

main masterlist

Author’s note: it comes as no surprise to anyone this is another part of the KISS THE SCARS universe since I am now apparently very attached to these two and their love but this can be read separately if you like. READ KISS THE SCARS AND TOUCH THE SCARS here!

The world had always been cruel; you had learnt that at a young age. Your planet back was riddled with crime, and when it wasn’t, it was riddled with Empire sympathisers creating just as much chaos and tension between the people, resulting in your parents’ death and your Mando caburs [protector/guardian] to take you to their guild on Nevarro as their own.

Where you met him.

Din Djarin. The man who you had laid your life on the line for hundreds of times, who had shown you the furthest reaches of the galaxy that you never thought you would see in this lifetime or the next. Who understood you like no one else did, like no one ever had. Din, the one you knew you were going to marry when the time was right, though he had already proposed months before and neither of you had the money spare to settle down let alone afford a ceremony.

Who had seen you for exactly who you are, perhaps the first to ever do so with such love and unbridled adoration in his golden brown eyes.

It didn’t bother you so much; him seeing your face, your scars. It was ugly; you had always been aware of it, but since the day he had seen you without your helmet on, he had made you feel nothing but beautiful even with the unsightly tissue marring your face.

That is until you ran into her.

You had been collecting credits from a bounty at a nearby tavern, the buyer particularly pleased with your reputation and efficiency. Din was standing barely a few feet behind you waiting for you to finish with the man, when your ears pricked at a feminine voice.

“Mando!” You immediately turned around, seeing as people used the name for both of you. A tall, incredibly toned Togruta sauntered up to your fiance. The buyer seemed to fade into white noise, mumbling something about needing your service some time in the future, as you watched her throw her arms around Din’s neck. He straightened up awkwardly, but gently returned the hug with a large arm around her waist.

“Kuri,” He choked out, as if someone had punched him in his throat.

Do not act out, You barked at yourself, but your heart willed you to move towards the two like a panic alarm.

“It’s been years since I saw you! The moon solstice on Kashyyyk, wasn’t it?” The lady, her skin a blossom pink colour reached out with a small laugh and held his wrist dearly, “Oh, I suppose it was the morning after, wasn’t it?”

Do NOT act out.

But you were there. Stood behind her with your hands lingering on your dagger sheathed at your side, freshly sharpened this morning and ready to cut down any foe that challenged you. Especially the ones that tried to take what was yours.

Din’s helmet flicked over Kuri’s shoulder, and you could practically see his face begging you to not behave rashly over this. He hadn’t reciprocated one flirtatious advance in the few seconds she had arrived, so he held no blame. Even so, you supposed he didn’t want to deal with the consequences of uncontrolled jealousy.

The two of them went quiet for a second, and this Kuri woman seemed to notice his eyes were no longer on her. She turned to face his gaze and instead was confronted with you. A female Mandalorian decked out in pristine armour from many very successful bounties, guns and large blades at your hips. She didn’t need to see your face to know you did not look pleased.

And yet all you saw was perhaps the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever met. Her lekku were long and draped over her perk breasts, covered in white stripes and tiny, brown feathers. Her eyes were siren-like, mouth full and a naturally dark pink as if to attract your attention there first. Her red eyes flicked up and down your figure, faintly attempting to hide the fear that was clear as day in her face.

“Kuri, this is my riduur, Y/N,” Din said as you advanced on the woman slowly. She gulped dryly, stepping back though her face tried to seem poised.

“Is there a problem here?” You asked coldly, taking another step towards her before Din put his arm on your shoulder to halt you.

“No, j-just catching up with an old friend is all,” Kuri choked out, her eyes flicking to the door as if begging the Maker to send someone to save her.

“Charming,” You bit out, your voice lowering as you stared daggers at the woman who looked beautiful even when she was cowering in fear, “Though I suggest you leave now. You’d hate to find out what’ll happen if I catch up to you,”

And with that the woman fled the tavern without a single utterance of goodbye to her ‘old friend’. But you didn’t feel accomplished. In fact, you had never felt so low.

—

It was three days before he brought it up. You seemed sluggish, quiet at times when he was waiting for you to chime in with your own thoughts, granting him nothing but hums of agreement when prompted with a question. He knew you weren’t sleeping either. He heard the way you tossed around your bunk, even the blanket grating on your nerves for one reason or the next. You’d wake up the following morning, eyes heavy and face dull of life.

“Are you hungry?” Din tried to offer, as he had been trying for the past three days to get you to respond at all, but you simply shook your head.

“No thankyou,” Your voice was empty, your gaze zoned out as if you were miles away from him despite standing in front of him. And you were. He had never seen you so dead. It shook his resolve, and he couldn’t help himself from stroking a hair away from your face as an excuse to cup your cheek in his large, warm hand.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispered, the voice coming out deep and rugged. But the tenderness was still there. It was always there when Din spoke to you.

“Nothing,” You murmured, though his hand caressing your cheek seemed to thaw away the cold you felt inside. Sighing, you nuzzled into his palm and shut your eyes gently, liking the way he pet you too much for your own good.

“Tell me, pretty girl,” Din whispered, bringing his thumb up to trace over where your scar lay at your lip like he always did when the two of you were this close. Yet you flinched as if his fingertips scolded you, as though him touching that part was as sensitive as the day it came to grace your face.

It had been years, but the pain of it cut just as deep.

“Do you ever wish things were different?” You asked, watching him frown and shrink back. Obviously, he had interpreted your question in the worst possible way, as you having second thoughts on this marriage that had not yet come. “That I was different?” You clarified.

He stared at you aghast. “No, never,” Din replied with such earnestness that it hurt your chest to hear him so disappointed, “What ever have I done to make you feel like that?”

“No, it's not you, it's just-” You huffed, getting frustrated with the words that seemed too difficult to produce, “Kuri is pretty,”

“Pretty terrified of you, you mean,” Din tried to joke but it fell flat when you glared at him. He chuckled at your mean face, bringing you in close and kissing you on the nose, “And what does that matter?”

“You were together weren’t you?” Your voice was hostile, something you couldn’t help. The Mandalorians never really taught you emotional regulation growing up, it was all fighting as a means to end a dispute.

He sighed, looking down at you with such love despite the fact you knew you were being selfish, “Not the way me and you are, no.”

“So? It doesn’t matter, it still proves you could be with any and every woman much prettier than me. Someone not tainted by a Tusken hound, someone with a perfect face, someone-”

“My sweet wife,” Din cut you off, his hand slipping into your hair to cradle the back of your head. His lips pressed to your brow this time, “I do not want anyone else,” You opened your mouth to interrupt him again, but he shut you up with a kiss there too, “You are strong, and beautiful, and powerful. I loved you just as you are even before you took off that helmet, and I’d love you even if the stars burnt out and the world went dark.” He kissed you once more on your lips, “You are the only one I see,”

You pouted, knowing he was being too kind to a scornful woman like you but melted into his embrace nonetheless. He petted your head kindly, kissing your hairline as you hugged him back, “Thankyou,” You said into his chest though he deciphered what you meant.

“I enjoy seeing you jealous. You had that poor woman running like a scared sand rabbit,” You pinched his ribs in retaliation though you felt him shaking with laughter. “Don’t worry, meshla. I’d show any man just the same manners if they tried to take away my sweet almost-wife,”

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outlaw-apologist · 1 year

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Save Yourself | GN!Reader x Various (RDR2)

Summary: It’s the beginning of the end and gang members are starting to flee. Things are looking grim, fights are breaking out. Arthur begins to realize you’re in danger. However, he’s not entirely sure whose side you’re on. It’s time for an unfortunate conversation.

Multiple endings if a specific gang member is your lover

Pairings: Friend!Arthur, Arthur, Charles, Hosea, Javier, John, Kieran, Dutch

Warnings: Mentions of death, Murfree Brood activities AO3 LINK

The air was so thick you couldn’t breathe. Was it the humidity of this shit-hole or the unsettling presence of iron and burnt skin wafting forward from the cave so rank you could almost taste it? Perhaps it was the mood everyone was simmering in now that betrayals have been made? You weren’t too sure, but it was hard to exist inside of. Whatever it was, it was only worsened by the heavy loss you held in your chest. Hosea, who had been a father figure in your life, and Lenny. Truth be told, you thought Sean’s death was pretty horrific. Never did you imagine you’d lose so many of your family in such a short period of time.

Molly’s death seemed to haunt everyone, even those who hated her. Was she a rat? Nobody could agree on an answer. To certain gang members it was a just cause and a good riddance; while to others it birthed paranoia in their minds that they, while innocent, may be next. You couldn’t sleep. Not that most of the gang could. Echoes of the Murfree Brood washed over Beaver’s Hollow all day and all night creating a sense of unease. They could return and attack at any moment. Slit your throats and skin you alive. Could you really trust those on guard duty when arguments are breaking out daily?

The line was being drawn in dirt before everyone eyes. Sides were being picked. You knew it was coming. Everyone did. It was hard to believe. Hard to accept. Everyone here… You love them all so much! Some more than others, but the fact still stands that these people have been your life and your family for years. This was all you knew. It scared you. Who were you without the gang? What would you do? Where would you go? That monstrous weight of reality sunk in while you watched Arthur physically remove Strauss from camp. No one said a word.

Because soon it’ll be their turn.

Because soon it’ll be yours.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop was agony. Frightened whispers were exchanged between the women as the men threw words like ‘brothers’, ‘loyalty’, ‘rat’, and ‘betrayal’ around violently. “It’ll be okay.” So many tried to comfort each other, but you know the truth. You know it’ll only get worse from here and it weighed heavy on your mind the past few nights while staying up listening to strange calls from the forest and arguments around the fire.

You didn’t know what to choose or where to go. You love everyone so much, life without them seemed terrifying. A loss within its self you’ll have to grieve hand in hand with the deaths. How could you do that to yourself when you’re already so down? Maybe dying with them would be best… You could tell Arthur’s nearing his end and he seems to know it too. Watching him die, watching everyone lose their heads trying to make sense of everything, knowing more deaths will come and not knowing who will be the next to go… Hell… It was hell.

“Looks like Trelawny is gone for good.” You gazed up as Arthur leaned against the tree across from where you were trying to read in an attempt to escape the reality of things. With a sigh you folded the book shut, studying Arthur’s pale face. It’s hard to believe this is the man who had been so strong for you all these years. Who was as healthy as a bounding deer only months ago. Seeing hin in such a state broke you in ways you couldn’t even describe.

“It’s probably for the best.” Was all you managed to say. It was hard but you tried to keep your feelings swallowed away. Arthur didn’t need that on his plate right now.

You were surprised when he bent down, meeting you at eye-level. “Ride with me.” There was no room for argument, it must be something serious. You both rose in silence, making your way through camp towards the horses. As you walked you couldn’t help but to check on Karen who was passed out drunk, making sure she won’t choke to death on her own spit while you’re gone. Jack waddled past the two of you. “Have you seen Kane? I can’t find him anywhere.” Your eyes scanned the area as you realized you too haven't seen the dog around for some time. “He might be out exploring. I’m sure he’ll come back.” Your words were little comfort for the boy who walked off with a pouted lip to ask someone else.

“It’ll be okay.” Arthur’s voice startled you out of your thoughts. He must’ve noticed a tint of darkness wash over your face. “I mean… It’s not okay, but we’ll make it okay.” Tired eyes searched your features. He was trying hard to understand where your head-space was at in all of this.

Pulling yourself into your saddle, you tugged the reigns of your horse. “I know. We always do the best we can, right?”

“That’s right.” Something in his voice gave way to his heart in this moment. He was just as torn up about all this as you were.

The ride was silent. You both just sat with your peace while riding towards the East Grizzlies. “I thought… Uh… We’d head up to O’Creagh’s Run. Maybe do some fishin’.”

“Sounds good, Arthur.”

“I had a friend up here, Hamish, he’s a funny guy. An old veteran who lost his leg. Found him on the side of the road one day while I was uh,” he shrugged, “wonderin’ around. Said his horse bucked him and took his false leg, asked me to get it back. After that he invited me to go huntin’ a few times. We had a nice talk, recalled our lives and the things we should’ve done different. That’s how I got Buell here.” Arthur pat Buell lovingly as he spoke. “Old Hamish didn’t make it back from one of our hunting trips, asked me to take care of him. How could I say no?” His voice was soft since Arthur switched from talking to you to talking to the horse himself.

A fond laugh found its way past your lips. Arthur loved animals so much, it was endearing. You could tell he cared greatly for Buell. “I did wonder when I saw Buell show up suddenly. Found a good match after Boadicea?”

“I think so.” He flashed you a brilliant smile. “I hate to think our time together might be cut short with all this-” He waved his hand as if motioning to some abstract thought-form created by Dutch’s recent behavior. “Boadicea was my girl. But Buell? Well, I think I can trust him to carry me for the rest of my days. He’s strong, stubborn-”

“Like you.” You interjected cheekily, causing Arthur to playfully roll his eyes.

“If you say so.”

Soon you came upon the lake and slowed your horses. Despite his physical state, Arthur still helped you down, giving you an affectionate pat on the back. “The real reason I wanted to bring you out here… Well… We need to have a talk, away from all this mess.” You could tell it was hard for him to get these words out. Arthur didn’t quite know exactly where you stand and a part of him was worried he’ll make the situation worse than it already is.

Your legs carried you until the front of your boots were licked by lapping water. This place is peaceful, you thought. Not muggy. Not decaying. Immediately you sucked in a deep inhale, allowing your lungs to fill with crisp clean mountain air. Deer bound across the other side of the lake and you can see colorful fish dart beneath the waters surface. In this moment you felt so much gratitude towards Arthur for taking you here. “This is a good place to have it, can probably keep my head straight here for once.”

He grunted in agreement. “I know what you mean. Beaver’s Hollow…”

“More like Beaver’s Shithole.” You sat a moment, screwing the components of your rod together before accepting the bait Arthur stretched out in the palm of his hand. He let out a hearty laugh which then dribbled into a coughing fit. Without a second thought you rubbed his back while passing over your water canteen.

“I’m fine.” He waved it away, wiping his mouth while his chest settled.

Silence spread over the shore. You and Arthur soaking in each other’s company. The only sounds that reached your ears for awhile were of your lines casting and the chattering ducks. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.” You cocked your head to look up at Arthur. His eyes were trained on the water, as if trying to see something.

“Where’s your head at with all this? I mean Javier is…. And Bill hasn’t had a thought a day in his life, but he’s stayin’ with Dutch. Then there’s that business with Marston being broken out too early, there was talk of hanging him for Christ’s sake!”

“I know…” You paused, reflecting on the tone in Arthur’s voice. His heart is broken for his brothers. For his family. “I saw the way Dutch talked to you yesterday, couldn’t believe my own ears. Looks like Micah’s the golden child now.”

Arthur let out a mirthless laugh. “I said to John just the other day, looks like we don’t gotta worry about who Dutch’s favorite is anymore.”

“You went and blew that bridge up, right?”

“Yeah, we did it.”

“How’d that go?”

He shrugged. “Almost got ran over by a train, but it went as well as expected. Don’t know if this is the noise Dutch wanted. Seems idiotic if you ask me.”

“I’m gonna be honest Arthur, I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t understand any of this. New York? We hardly survived Saint Denis and that’s nothing compared to New York… It makes no damn sense. He gets pissed off when people treat us like a bunch of yokels but that’s who we are. That’s who we’ve always been.”

“Don’t I know it. But Dutch… He’s gone. He’s changed. I don’t know when it happened or why. I-” Arthur shook his head, eyes tilting up to watch the clouds float by, “I tried so hard to make sense of it all and I just can’t wrap my mind around it.”

“John mentioned he thinks it was the trolley accident but I remember even at Horseshoe, Hosea was calling him out on his bullshit. He started changing things then. The plan he had was good, was solid. If we had just gone West, back to our home… And bought some land we could’ve lived peaceful lives.” Old feelings of upset swelled in your belly as you reflected on your time camping out at Horseshoe Overlook. It now seemed as though it were a lifetime ago instead of mere months. You paused to let it settle before continuing. “Hosea knew then.”

Arthur’s eyes squinted and you could tell he too was recalling these moments. “I remember that. He said something to Marston, told him to get out while he can. Take Abigail and the boy and run far far away. Suppose he knew something was up before the rest of us did. Hosea knows Dutch best… knew…”

The correction made you both flinch. It still wasn’t real, Hosea being gone.

Thankfully attention was diverted when a fish tugged at your line. Jerking the rod sideways you quickly reeled it in with excitement. “I caught something!”

“Let’s see it.” Arthur leaned down to scoop your fish out of the water, showing off a nice pike. “Not bad.”

Pulling out the hook, you decided to stow the fish away. “Nice dinner, we’ll have to cook it before we head back, I don’t think Pearson would be happy with our fish haul.”

“Probably not.” Arthur mused. “I’ve seen him drinking recently. Karen too, poor Karen.”

“She hasn’t been the same since Sean.”

“None of us have, but she definitely took the worst of it. This whole thing… I guess we’re at the end now.” He side-eyed you in an attempt to measure your reaction. “You know, while we’re about all this…. I know it’s not easy but you should get yourself out. Start makin’ a plan, do something. I don’t want this to end with you gettin’ hurt.”

Anxiety shot through your heart like a streak of lightening across a pitch black sky. “Arthur-”

He said you name quietly in an effort to silence you. “There’s no way forward now and some distance between you and this will do you some good. You’ve been with us for a long time. Hell, we had a good run. But, John and I were talking, and I know you wanna stay loyal to Dutch, but we ain't the ones who changed. I’m afraid… well… I’m afraid Dutch’s gonna get you killed. Losing you ain’t worth all the money in the world.” The tears in Arthur’s eyes showed you just how much those words meant to him.

___

If Arthur is your friend/brother and you have no lover in the gang:

“Obviously I can’t tell you what to do and I don’t wanna force you to pick sides. Javier and Bill are our brothers and I don’t wanna fight them. You’re my family before everything else, before money, always. Get yourself out. Make a life for yourself.”

You stay silent, holding eye-contact with your long time friend. “Is this really how you feel?”

His head dipped down as he kicked at a stone. “It is.”

Nodding, you let out a tensed breath. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. Just- put yourself first. You worked yourself to death for this gang, that’s good enough. I don’t need to be burying you too. So get out of here. It doesn’t have to be now, it doesn’t have to be tonight.” You watched as Arthur fished a bill clip out of his bag. “When the time comes, take this and go.”

Taking the wad of cash, you flipped through seventy bucks. “Arthur, I don’t need your money.”

“Oh yes you do! Don’t pretend with me, I ain’t that stupid. How you gonna start a new life with ten cents to your name? Dutch has all our money, every last dime of it hidden somewhere out there. You take this and you make the best of it. I don’t need it anymore.”

You reached over, gently squeezing Arthur’s shoulder in solidarity. There was a moment where you both swapped fond smiles. “Thank you Arthur, truly.”

“Don’t mention it. Go somewhere and start right. No more of this life, got it?”

“Got it.”

“Now,” he picked up his rod again, “let’s catch me a fish so I don’t go hungry.” Arthur’s laugh rang out across the lake, sounding wonderful to your ears. There was something so bittersweet about this moment in time. The other shoe has dropped. This will probably be one of the last peaceful moments you’ll have with Arthur.

___

If Arthur is your lover:

You could feel your own oncoming tears now starting to burn the corners of your eyes yet not ready to spill. No… Not like this. This can’t be how things go. “Run away with me!” You blurted desperately.

Arthur seemed confused as you grabbed his hands, squeezing them tight as if you were afraid he would leave you. “What?”

“Run away with me, Arthur. We can… I don’t know. Get you somewhere warm and dry. I heard Colorado’s a great place for people with tuberculous. We can go West, just like we wanted. We can make a home for ourselves, get another dog.”

Arthur forced himself to turn away in an attempt to hide his tears, shaking his head while repeating your name like a mantra. “What about the rest of the gang?”

“They can come with us! Listen, we can make plans for everyone to slip away and make their escape. Then, if they want, they can join us again. We can get that land together. Build a house or two. That was our idea all along, right?” You gently pulled him towards you, wrapping your arms around his thin waist. God he had lost so much weight in the past month… “Arthur… Please look at me.”

“Christ.” Came Arthur’s trembling words. He finally looked at you. Crying. He wanted so desperately to have a life with you. A future. Reaching out he caressed your cheek. “It won’t work, sweetheart. Not with the price on my head. We’d be runnin’ forever and you need to get out of this life.”

You frantically searched his face, hopelessly trying to hold onto any crumb of information that might aid your racing mind. “Then… We’ll help everyone else get out and we hide in the Rocky Mountains. I heard the Pinkertons don’t bother searching anywhere past Telluride. Let’s go to Colorado city, it’s our kind of place. Real rough and the law is loose there.”

He scoffed, pulling away from you in frustration. “Damn it! Just stop. Why’dya gotta be so damn stubborn all the time?”

“Oh, I’m the stubborn one?”

“Look at me.” He raised his arms out, doing a little spin so you could take in all of him. “I ain’t making it to no Colorado city. I’m dying. It’s too late for me. But you? You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“Arthur-”

He interrupted you, words cutting like a knife. There was no changing his mind. “Get yourself that plot of land in the West. Somewhere nice, peaceful. Get yourself a hound, okay?” You hadn’t noticed in the heat of things; tears of frustration and heartache that were clouding your vision now fell freely over your rosy cheeks while Arthur pushed a huge wad of cash into your shaking hands. “There’s a thousand here.”

“A thousand?” You breathed, simply staring at the money. You made no move to count it or put it away. It was just too… surreal. Too fake. This couldn’t be happening…

“Should be enough. I can try to get you some more, but…” The flat of his palm dragged across his tear stained cheeks. “Don’t waste your life on me. Find a nice man to settle down with, you deserve that much. I can’t go with you… I wish I could I-”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

Arthur flinched at the heartbreak in your voice. This was just as hard on him as it was on you. “I know darlin’. But I rather die happy knowing you got out and you’re long gone before anything can happen to you. You can finally live the life I could never give you.” His large hand gently folded your fingers over the money and he guided you to your satchel, prompting you to tuck the money away safely. “Please… Please, this is all I ask.”

A gut wrenching sob ripped through your trembling form. All of your pent up negative feelings were rearing their ugly head, stampeding through you like wild horses until you completely broke. You found yourself in Arthur’s arms, sobbing miserably into his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I know.” His voice held just as much pain while he said your name and kissed your hair. “Now set me free. I’ll always love you, wherever you go. So leave.”

“Okay.” You whispered. “If this is what you really want, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.”

___

If Charles is your lover:

“Charles has a good head on his shoulders. He and I’ve spoke about this and-”

Now it all made sense. “He asked you to talk to me.”

“He did.” Arthur confirmed. He gently said your name to draw your attention back towards him. “Look, I get why he’s worried. You’ve known me far longer than he’s known you. We’re family and you’re one loyal piece of work.”

It was hard to fight the small sad smile that made its way to your lips. “He wants out then?”

“Charles? Shit, he’s your partner. You know what he wants. He just doesn’t know if you’ll choose him or me.” Abandoning his rod, Arthur took out a pack of smokes, placing a cigarette between his lips. “Choose him.” He struck the match on the bottom of his boot only to flick it away once the cigarette was lit.

“Arthur-” You scoffed. “Charles knows what you and John mean to me. What this gang means to me. I know he won’t ask me to pick sides, but you and I’ve been together for far too long. It seems wrong if I don’t see this through with you ‘til the end….”

He simply shook his head. “This is the end. Everything beyond this is some fucked up story we ain’t got time for. Dutch’s twisted fairy-tale. I’m already on my way out a different route. Hell, even Marston’s realizing he needs to pack his family up and leave. You’re right about Charles, but to be frank, he shouldn’t have to ask you to pick sides. You choose him. You always choose him, you hear me?”

Arthur’s words dissipated into the air followed by a long silence as you tried to register everything being said. “I hear you.”

“Good.” He picked his rod back up, attempting to keep the fish interested by reeling it in a bit. “I’m happy for you, ya know? Out of all the men you could’ve ended up with I’m happy you’re with him. He’ll take care of you, treat you right.”

You gently elbowed him, wearing a shit eating grin. “Does that mean we have your blessing to marry?” You took delight as Arthur squinted at you.

“As if you need my blessing. But yeah, you have it.”

You both laughed and for awhile it was peaceful as you fished. “It still feels wrong.”

“I know it does. It is wrong, Dutch should’ve never gotten us in this situation to begin with.”

“And now I have to leave my brothers behind.” Even though they were your own words they shocked you as they reached your ears. Realization finally hit you like a fearful deer frozen in front of an oncoming train. “I don’t want this situation to be the last time I see you, Arthur.” You reached up to brush away a stray tear. “I can’t bear the thought of that.”

He hummed in appreciation. “I know. But we’re all leaving one way or another. I rather you leave right.” Shuffling beside you drew your attention over to him as he pulled a bill clip from his satchel. “It ain’t much but Charles is a capable man. I’m sure this’ll last you long enough.”

You counted out fifty dollars. “Arthur-”

“Don’t you say you can’t go accepting my money. You can and you will. Charles sure as hell won’t. That doesn’t change the fact that you need money to survive.” He eyed you almost threateningly. “Put that way before I make you.”

There was no arguing with him, you knew better and so the money disappeared into your bag without fuss. “Thank you. For always taking care of me. I wish you could come with us, I know Charles feels the same.”

Arthur simply shook his head. “I have a lot of unfinished business to take care of. And, if I’m honest, I’ll sleep better at night knowing you got out safe before anything gets worse.” He took a final drag of his cigarette before stomping it out, then he pulled you into a tight embrace. “You live a good life for me, okay?”

A shaky breath rattled your body while you hugged him for dear life. God, did you love this man. He always cared about you before anything else. “Okay. I will.” The promise was true to your heart. Anything for Arthur.

You two stayed hugging for awhile until a tug on Arthur’s line diverted the emotional tension. “Looks like I got dinner!” He giddily grabbed at the pole, reeling it in. “Check out the size of this one! You sir, are a fish.”

You couldn’t help but to laugh and admire the way the setting sun illuminated him. There Arthur was, one of the most genuine human beings you’ve ever met. Your heart swelled with love and adoration for him in that moment, just appreciating it for what it is. This will be one of your last core memories with him, you thought. Might as well make it last.

___

If Hosea was your lover:

“I know you stayed loyal to us because of Hosea, but… I think he’d want you out.”

It was hard considering what Hosea would want for you in this situation. He had wanted you out since Blackwater but you insisted he should stay with his found family… The family that got him killed. Not that you blamed Arthur and John, but you weren’t stupid. You knew Hosea didn’t feel great about the bank robbery and you knew Dutch played his hand. There was a time you were upset with Arthur for not taking Hosea’s side that evening, yet you had seen how much guilt riddled him already and so any harsh feelings fell away almost as quickly as they began.

“He would. He did.” You finally spoke, idly playing with a loose strand of your hair. “But I know if he were here he’d want to make sure you boys were safe. I can’t do that to him. I want to fulfill his wishes if I can.”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head while cursing your name beneath his breath. “Don’t do this to yourself. Look at’cha,” he motioned to you, “you’re exhausted. You’re miserable. You need to go. Before Dutch decides his dear old friend’s lover is a rat or- whatever’s going on now. Don’t stay in this mess on his account. That’s what got him shot. He should’ve left with you when he had the chance.”

“There’s no point in should’ve’s Mr. Morgan.” Arthur’s face softened when he realized you’re on the verge of tears.

“I know.” He said quickly, voice dropping to a harmless tone. It wasn’t Arthur’s intention to drag you down further. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I just want you to understand.”

“The message is loud and clear.” You sat yourself on a nice rock, needing something solid beneath you in an attempt to help ground your raging feelings. “Hosea loves you boys so much. I love you boys… And the girls too, of course. I guess… I feel like I have a responsibility to make sure you’re all okay.”

Arthur stepped forward and bent down to meet you at your level respectfully. “Thank you. I truly do mean that, but you’ll get yourself killed. Now, how are John and I supposed to live knowing Hosea would beat our ass for letting you get hurt? I know it’s scary. Hell, it’s scary for me too. Hosea’s gone. He made it out his own way. It’s only right you go too. Live your life for him, it’ll make him happy.”

You looked down when Arthur placed something in your hands. “You’re giving me this?”

“Sorry it ain’t much, but you’ll need the money. Abigail snatched up Hosea’s savings before they moved camp, gave it to me in case I wanted to put it in the box but it only seems right if you have it. This is your money now.” He gently squeezed your hand, flashing a tired yet genuine smile. “Thank you for making Hosea happy for all these years. We had a good run.”

You searched his fatigued face, taking note of how genuine Arthur looked. His eyes heavy with pain and his smile was somber from old memories. “Yeah,” you breathed out a mirthless laugh, “we did.” It was truly over now. Time to let go. “I know there’s nothing I can do for you, Arthur. That’s why you’ve been so quiet with everyone, isn’t it? Because it’s bad…. Hosea, he-” Your fingers idly played with the dollar bills in your hands. “Well, you know. He was sick for awhile. Not sure if it’s what you have or not but- He lived quite long.”

“He did. Not as long as he should have, but you’re right. Can’t say I have the same fortune as he had, or maybe I do in another sick way. I don’t know. All of this is confusing. Despite everything, one thing has been clear to me for some time now. You belong somewhere you can build a nice peaceful life. I don’t know exactly what I believe in just yet, but I do know… Wherever Hosea is, if he can look down at you and know you’re safe and happy, then that’s enough.”

No longer could your tears be held back. You let out a soft cry, leaning down to rest your forehead on Arthur’s shoulder “Thank you Arthur. I wish I could do more… Just… Please keep him company until I can come home to him.”

“You have my word.”

____

If Javier is your lover:

“I won’t stop you if you choose to stay. I know your loyalties probably lie more with Javier than Dutch himself, but Javier is… Well…. He’s something else. I ain’t gonna lie, it hurts knowing this is what he’s choosing.”

You nodded slowly, seeming to understand what Arthur meant. He and Javier have been brothers long before you joined the gang. It must be hard knowing a bond like that was being broken. Javier himself has been devastated Arthur and John aren’t on his side.

“After everything Javier’s been though… I don’t think he can picture a life without Dutch. Whether he’s giving too much importance to him in his life or not, it’s not my place to say.” You turned kind eyes towards Arthur. “Just know there’s more to this than loyalty. This is bringing up a lot of feelings in him and I don’t think he knows what to do with them. Somewhere along the way Dutch become his safe place.”

Arthur hums slowly, squinting as he listened. “I’m not sure I fully get what you mean, but I think I understand. I’m just worried is all.”

“You and me both.” You sighed, staring up at the orange sky. Your eyes followed the darkening clouds as night approached. “If I’m honest, I don’t know what to do. I can’t lose Javi... He’s my everything.”

“I know. I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel. I know your relationship is none of my business, I just can’t help but to worry about you. Javier ain’t got his head on straight and I’m afraid Dutch’ll have the barrel of his gun right at your temple while Javier’s swearing he won’t shoot you. I don’t know how much he can be trusted right now and I mean no offense by that. He’s my brother, and you’re my family same as him.”

Arthur rubbed the sweat from his brow before continuing. “I’m not gonna tell you to leave him or nothin’ like that. Just… Make yourself scarce for awhile. Get out of the line of fire. Javier’ll find you again. Come what may, he does love you.”

It killed you to consider something like this. Everything was happening so fast it was frightening. There’s even a small part of you that fears someone will claim you’re a rat and you’ll end up with a bullet in your skull. If that happened… would Javier watch you die with disgust on his face? Or would he be heartbroken for you, his lover?

You know Javier would never hurt you. He’s always been sweet on you, so much so the camp used to playfully make sick noises whenever they ran into you two… It’s hard to believe that wasn’t so long ago, when you were all friends and jokes were harmless. You hated how things became. You finally got your Javi back from Guarma and now… This all must be so traumatic for him. It sure was for you.

“Arthur… If I leave it’ll destroy him.” You finally look down, electing to study a rock beside your shoe. “I can’t do that to him.”

Arthur was silent for a long time. You could tell this decision pained him. He’s always been someone who cared deeply for you and your well-being. “Okay.” It was such a simple response, yet it was not uttered lightly. Arthur knew there was nothing he could do. “Just pretend I didn’t say anything.”

You gently pressed your elbow to his arm in an attempt to lighten his mood. “And Arthur?” He grunted in response. “Thank you for always being such a good friend. I’m sorry it’s come to this. I hate seeing you two fight. I know you’re doing the best you can and it hasn’t been easy on you… Just… Thank you.”

A warm arm embraced you in a side hug, causing you to look up at Arthur’s smiling face. He really did just want you to be happy. “Don’t worry about it. Just catch me a fish. I’m hungry!”

“Huh?” You laughed, wiggling out of the hug. “What makes you think I’m catching your dinner?”

“You’re the one who knows Javier’s secret fishing techniques. I’m sure you can manage.”

Maybe this decision isn’t the right one. You didn’t know. But, for now, you enjoy the last moments of happiness with your dear old friend, Arthur Morgan.

_____

If John is your lover:

“Your relationship is none of my business. I know you and John are sweet on each other, but I also know he cares for that boy and his mother. If you can… take them with you. Maybe some good can come out of Jack’s life.”

You took time to consider Arthur’s words carefully. “I hate that everything’s so complicated.” You admit. “I know our relationship ain’t the most proper thing to do, but you can’t choose who you fall in love with.”

“I know-” Arthur laughed a little followed by a few body shaking coughs. “Maybe I fell in love with the wrong people, I don’t know. But I get what you mean. Love is complicated business.”

“Jack, he’s… Such a cute kid. John already told me Abigail might know where Dutch hid the money… I understand she’s not fond of me and I don’t blame her. I’m worried she might only help herself and Jack.”

“Abigail? No, she’s not like that.” Arthur’s hands came to rest on his gun belt while he took you in, giving you a gentle smile. “Even if she did, she has every right to. That boy should come first.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“You and John will be fine. You’re a good shot and he’s… A mangy coyote of sorts.”

Arthur’s comment amused you enough for a chuckle to pass your lips. Your eyes settle on the ducks resting across the shore for awhile, watching them prune themselves. Life as a duck must be so peaceful, you thought. They only had to worry about surviving… Then again maybe you and the ducks were one in the same. In the end everything is just trying to survive, including you. “You don’t think John’ll leave me to save Abigail and Jack, do you?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed, “but what I do know is that he loves you. At least, I think he does. It’s hard to tell with him sometimes. After he left Abigail and Jack like that… I’m glad he realizes he messed up. But… Marston…” Shaking his head, Arthur slowly began reeling in his lure in hopes it would invite a fish to his hook. “My best advice is to get friendly with Abigail and all three of you make a plan together. Don’t try to go it alone, it’ll only make things harder.

You nodded in understanding. “I love Jack, I really do. Every day I hear him ask Abigail why everyone’s being so mean and it breaks my heart. He shouldn’t have to grow up like this. And John… Well, of course I want him out too. He almost died for Dutch’s foolishness. Dutch could’ve saved him in Saint Denis!”

“I agree with you, but maybe it was a blessin’ in disguise.”

You scoffed, brows furrowing with both upset and confusion. “How can you say that, Arthur!?”

He held his hand up in surrender, signaling that he meant nothing nasty by it. “Our boat sank to the bottom of the ocean. The chaos was so great, I’m not sure if I could’ve grabbed Marston before the damn thing went under. You know he can’t swim. I’m glad he was in prison than with us. If he was there… You can break a man outta prison but you can’t break a man outta death.”

Shoulders falling, you searched Arthur’s face. It was easy to get lost in your feelings nowadays but you knew Arthur’s words rang true. So much gratitude was held in your heart for Arthur Morgan. Saving John all those times… You didn’t know what would happen without him. “I know I haven’t said it enough, Arthur, but you’re a good friend.”

“Maybe sometimes, but not always.” He gave you a knowing look, offering a small smile to show he appreciated your words. “Take care of them for me, okay? Make sure Marston stays straight and Jack has a good life.”

“I will.” You promised.

____

If Kieran was your lover

“I’m surprised you stuck with us for this long after….” Arthur trailed off. He was struggling to figure out the right way to bring him up. “Kieran was a good kid. I didn’t know him well but I liked him enough. I know you loved him a lot and he was real sweet on you… After what happened to him... After you watched…” He fell silent again, afraid he’ll say the wrong thing. “Look, all I’m sayin’ is maybe it’s time to find somewhere peaceful.”

You searched Arthur’s face, desperation reflecting on your own. “But… Where will I go?”

“I don’t know.”

“How will I make money?”

“I’ll give you some money, so don’t worry about that. I’ll find something for you. We’ll figure it out. It’s the least I can do after all this mess. Kieran didn’t deserve what happened to him. If you want to watch Colm swing you’re welcome to come with us, but I doubt that’s any business you wanna stick your nose in. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of O’Driscoll boys there.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, eyes clouding up at the very thought of your beloved Kieran. What a gentle soul with his whole life ripped away from him. You two had spoken about maybe one day owning a stable together, or trying to make a life for the both of you… Those dreams shattered your heart these past few months. The image of his death still haunts you. “I’ll thank about it.” You responded to Arthur’s hanging comment. You weren’t sure if you wanted to see any more death. “I’m going to be honest… I don’t know if there’s anything out there for me.”

“Sure there is.” Arthur gently nudged you in a brotherly way. “I know it’s hard to see the future now, but Kieran had big plans for the both of you, didn’t he? You can still do that if you want. Wherever he is, I’m sure that would make him mighty happy. Or- uh… I don’t know… We’ll figure something out.”

Imagining yourself surrounded by beautiful horses made you smile. “It would be peaceful. I could use a little peace in my life after all this.”

“Yeah, me too.” He chuckled. “Whatever you decide now you don’t have to do that forever. Just take each day at a time. But one things for certain, you need to leave.”

“I know.” Your voice shook with emotion. “This has all been scary and I feel so overwhelmed.”

Stepping sideways, Arthur wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into a warm side hug. He rubbed your arm in an attempt to soothe your fears. He wasn’t good at comforting people but he hoped this would do something. “Hell, I feel the same way. But we’ll get you taken care of. Don’t you worry.”

“Thank you, Arthur. I’ll try to be strong. I think… I want to live the life Kieran always wanted but never had. And maybe… If he’s ever here with me… He’ll be able to enjoy it too.”

“That sounds nice. I think you’re right, I’m sure he’d love it.” Arthur’s blessing lifted a weight off your shoulders. He was one of the few members of the gang you trusted with your life. If he agreed it would be good for you then it must be the right choice.

Calmness washed over you for the first time in days. Your gaze met the clouds, wondering if Kieran could see you right now. “Then it’s settled.” You decided. “I’ll pack tonight.”

____

If Dutch is your lover

“I know you love him.” Arthur gently placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Dutch is.. was my family. But all this insanity…”

You immediately pulled away from Arthur. You weren't upset with him, Dutch had been treating you coldly too. But to think your Dutch wasn’t the man you loved anymore was terrifying. What happened to him? Was everything a lie? Did Dutch sell you a dream? It made you ill trying to make sense of everything. Arthur pulled you out of your thoughts by gently calling your name.

“Look, I’m sorry but after Molly they’re already looking for someone else to be the rat. Now, I don’t know if we have a rat or not, but if we do it sure as hell ain’t you. Bill’s been talkin’. His words don’t mean much to anyone with half a brain but Micah’s starting to agree with him and now those words are gettin’ into Dutch’s ears. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. “They’re saying all that… About me?” A dark look washed over Arthur’s face confirming his truthfulness. Fear froze your blood ice cold. Suddenly you were hit with a silent understanding that you probably won’t make it out of this alive even if you didn’t want to betray Dutch. “Shit!”

“I know.” A weary sigh left Arthur’s lips. “The girls in camp are real worried about you. Molly loved Dutch in her own special way, look where that got her.”

Wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to find comfort, you stared at the ground in contemplation. “I know... Shit, Arthur! Dutch… The Dutch I know is such a loving man. Someone who always wanted to do right by everyone, who wanted to see orphans taken off the streets. This isn’t him.”

“Look at me.” Arthur murmured your name so you’d raise your head. “That Dutch is gone. I wish it weren’t the case, but it is.”

“Is he still in there?”

“I don’t know. If he is… He’s buried deep inside. I can’t see him no more and I tried… I really tried.”

“I can’t give up now! I-” You trailed off in an attempt to swallow down the cries that wanted to escape your lips. “After Hosea, I’m afraid of leaving him alone.”

Arthur understood. You could tell he felt similarly and that this was destroying him as much as it was destroying you. “It’s hard. I hate going against him like this, he’s all I’ve ever know. I wish there was a way to… Uh…. I don’t know… But we can’t risk it. I can’t make you do anything you don’t wanna do. All I’m saying is that it might be better to cut your losses. Leave now so you can remember Dutch as the savior you knew instead of the man he became.”

“Betrayal is out of the question even if I don’t wanna stay.”

“C’mon now. That’s not true.” You could hear the groan in his voice. “You stayed loyal far longer than you needed to. Sometimes things just end. Knowing when to step away isn’t betrayal.”

“I guess.” Your finger brushed against your cheek to catch a falling tear. “I don’t know what happened to him, Arthur. I miss him so much. All I want is my Dutch back.”

Arthur abandoned his pole to pull you into a tight hug. Such a simple gesture, you hadn’t been hugged in so long. You didn’t even realize how badly you needed a hug until your emotions broke through your walls. He gently rubbed your back as you wept openly into his shoulder. Arthur’s voice was soft and soothing while he spoke. “Me too. But he ain’t comin’ back. I wish he was… Believe me. We’ll have to do the best we can. We’ll get through this. Just consider it, alright? That’s all I ask.”

“Alright.” You whispered, holding onto him for dear life. You couldn’t bear the thought of your family falling away just yet. Trying to dismiss your anxiety you close your eyes and take in a shaky breath. All the crying in the world won’t help you. It was over whether you liked it or not.

You felt gratitude towards Arthur for being so patient with you. He held you until you felt well enough. “Now, let’s get you that fish dinner.” You could feel the rumble of laughter in Arthur’s chest as he responded heartily with ‘Gladly!’. Dutch was gone, but it made you feel better that you at least still had Arthur.

#Arthur Morgan x Reader #Charles Smith x reader #john marston x reader #Dutch van der linde x reader #Hosea Matthews x reader #kieran duffy x reader #javier escuella x reader #Arthur Morgan #Charles Smith #john marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #javier escuella #kieran duffy #rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #reader insert #writing #my writing

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imagining-in-the-margins · 1 year

Text

Maddening One, My Goddess (S.R.)

*Picture is not indicative of Reader's appearance.

Summary: Spencer hooked up with a goddess on February 13 and almost immediately comes to regret it when he attends a pre-planned Valentine's Day blind date.

Request: Spencer has a one night stand with a random woman but on valentines he's supposed to go on a blind date with one of Penelope's friends and it turns out it's the same woman Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Fluff (16+ for sexual themes) Content Warning: Fade to black scene with sexual themes, alludes to sex, one night stand, Greek mythology, Reader as Aphrodite, second hand embarrassment, awkward dinners, kissing/making out Word Count: 4.85k

MASTERLIST

Many mistakes begin with a poorly timed question. There is no more obvious rendition of this tired trope than a book chosen at random from the romance section of a bookstore.

So often had it happened, where the hero seals his own fate by misunderstanding the weight of his words. Whether he had been the one asking or the one being asked, it always ended with tragedy reminiscent of the Greek Gods.

I knew I would be that hero from the moment I saw my heroine sitting lonely at the cafe on the corner. Her eyes, half-lidded but filled with yearning, remain affixed on the empty chair across from her.

The place was packed with busy bodies, but she seemed so still. It was as if an oil painting of Aphrodite had come to life and left her without her other.

Perhaps it was just the foolhardy romantic in me, but I found that a woman waiting for nothing to arrive was a bit too tragic with Valentine’s Day only one night away.

“Are you waiting for someone?” I had asked.

Those eyes that had been lost resurfaced. They’d turned to me with a dreamy sigh and a demure charade to hide the deviance hidden betwixt the words.

“No, I wasn’t,” she had purred, “but now I’m hoping you’ll ask me to stay.”

Who was I to deny Cupid’s arrow, no matter how poorly timed? Was it chauvinistic to want to save her from solitude when she was so clearly aware of her own tragedy? She had not been a woman who needed to be saved. But she had wanted someone to try.

Try, I had. We spoke until long past the flickering of shy streetlights. I’d watched the sun set behind her, casting its halo as her backdrop. The jealous star had burned twice as beautifully in an effort to outshine her. When it had finally accepted defeat and gave in to the night, she also had to take her leave.

It had only been a few hours. It was only a few hours before the day of the lovers’ feast. I’d spent the afternoon fantasizing about an alternate reality where I could let myself be consumed by her. I had trailed behind her, her Icarus chasing what felt both unattainable and inevitable.

When she had leaned forward to kiss me, wax wings turned to a puddle at my feet. I had been trapped in place, powerless to her as she kissed me again, and again, and again. I fell for her then, with no reservations.

The chilly February air had presented the perfect contrast to her warmth. Her scorching lips were still soft. I had felt the intensity growing stronger with each meeting of our lips. When she had shyly asked for entrance, I had given it without hesitation.

Like the fools in every Greek tragedy, we plummeted swiftly into the inferno of lust. Cupid had claimed another victim, but I hadn’t been able to find a reason to resist her.

It was inevitable, after all. Fated by Eros himself.

Yet I’d been surprised that she’d lingered when her had chariot arrived.

Still sporting that intoxicating stare, she had asked, “Are you coming?”

So many mistakes begin just like that.

“I-I just met you,” I’d answered honestly, “I’ve uh… I’ve never done this before.”

She’d tipped her head back and laughed. It had hurt less than I would have expected. How could it, when the sound had been so beautiful?

“Oh, honey, I know,” she’d giggled, “But don’t worry, I’ve done it enough for the both of us.”

The animal in me trembled as it puffed it’s chest at the taunt.

“Is that supposed to be attractive? Because it is,” I’d laughed.

It had been enough of a yes for her. She took my hand in hers and began leading me away from the remnants of wax wings that I no longer needed. Like them, I’d shed my insecurities in exchange for a promise of a bed less painfully empty.

“Really? Not worried about where you’ll end up on the rankings?” she’d snickered.

“Terrified, actually.”

She had paused before she could climb into the backseat. She’d turned to me with an overwhelming, paradoxical nature. Still somehow seeming shy, she’d tugged me forward until her lips ghosted over my ear.

“Good boy,” she’d whispered, “you’ll be on your best behavior, then.”

And I had tried. I’d tried with everything I had to please her any way that she would let me. We had remained tangled together from the moment we’d crossed the threshold to her hotel room until long after the clock had struck midnight.

She had been every bit as idyllic as I’d expected. My shy seductress with her eyes full of wonder and ambrosia spilling from her lips. I had worshipped her like Aphrodite herself, and like her devout followers, I felt no shame in my own humility.

But as the sun peeked through thin veils, I knew that reality had persisted. The jealous sun rose and shone brightly as it sought to reveal the aftermath of a night with a goddess.

I woke to an empty bed and the distant sound of the shower. The feeling of regret was nonexistent up until I heard the raucous reminder of exactly what day it has been.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

At first, I thought about ignoring the call. I considered the most cowardly option of not alerting Penelope Garcia of my indiscretions. If I simply didn’t answer, maybe it would spare me some of the humiliation.

Of course, that also risked her searching the location of my cell phone, which would take her approximately fifty five seconds to do. If she were to do that, I feared that the moment she discovered I was in a hotel room a couple blocks from my apartment, she might come kick my ass herself.

I knew I had to be brave. I had to tell Penelope the truth that, despite her kindness in finding some poor woman who would put up with me on Valentine’s Day, I had to cancel.

I had to cancel because I had made the truly heinous, foolish mistake of a one-night stand on February 13th.

Without allowing myself to dwell on my idiocy any longer, I picked up the phone and spoke as quickly and quietly as I could.

“Penelope, I have to cancel.”

“What?!” she shouted back.

“I’m sorry!” I tried to interject, but she shouted over me with a contained fury, “Reid, what the hell are you talking about? You can’t cancel, the date is tonight!”

When I didn’t answer, she continued—much louder— “It’s Valentine’s Day! The day of love, Cupid’s birthday, the holiest of Hallmark holidays, the day on which we agreed that you would come with me on a double date with a woman I very carefully chose specifically for you!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry just—.”

I stopped as soon as the shower had. The sweet sound of her humming in delight caused butterflies to roar in my chest before they were caught in the vortex of anxiety that was beginning to peak.

“I have to go,” I rushed, but she hasn’t understood.

“Damn right you do!”

“No! I meant I have to get off the phone. I can’t go tonight,” I repeated.

On the other end of the phone, Penelope remained blissfully unaware of my predicament.

“Reid, if you abandon me on my favorite day and leave me to pick up the pieces of this poor girl’s broken heart, I am never going to personally make sure that—!”

The door opened.

“I’ll call you back,” I said before hanging up.

Despite the obvious fear plastered on my face and coursing through my veins, my Aphrodite strolled past me with a wave of her hand.

“You’re bad at whispering,” she droned.

I hadn’t exactly been trying to, but I realized that actually just made me seem worse, so I didn’t dare correct her. Instead, I just watched her nonchalantly drop the towel from her naked body.

I was so distracted by her beauty in the morning light that I almost missed when she spoke again.

“Also, relax,” she sighed, “I already have plans today, so I’m not interested in whatever you were planning.”

Perhaps I had been wrong about how it would feel to be struck through the heart by Eros. I had thought it felt like sweet torture, but in that moment, any remnant of sweetness turned to bitter waves in my stomach.

“Oh, okay,” I muttered.

I’d tried—and failed—to hide my disappointment. In a way, I think she was doing the same.

I thought about saying something, anything to prolong my time with her. I looked at her again. Just the same as the day before, the sun hung behind her and made her appear like a vision from the heavens. She glanced at me over her shoulder as she tried to collect her clothing scattered on the floor.

I opened my mouth to ask her if she was sure she’d wanted me to leave when she still looked so tragic.

The words never made their way through my lips. They died on my tongue the second that she spoke.

“Do you need me to order you a cab?” she asked.

So many mistakes had started just like that.

The walk home to my apartment had been a grueling endeavor. Partially because of the vengeful wrath of Penelope Garcia in my ear, but mostly because I couldn’t help but feel that I’d made the most horrible mistake by accepting her invitation to leave.

It would have been rude to overstay my welcome, of course. But there was something about the way she’d looked at me as we had stood at her door.

I’d expected her to shut it in my face, but she hadn’t. In fact, before I had departed for likely the last time, she had taken the time to press a lingering kiss to my burning cheek.

“If you ever work up the nerve…” she’d whispered, “I’ll be waiting.”

The nerve for what, though? The question had haunted me the whole day. I feared it might haunt me forever.

But this had hardly been an opportune time and place to ponder and yearn for another woman. There, in a beautiful restaurant on Valentine’s Day, with two close friends and waiting on a woman whose heart I was fully prepared to break.

My own heart pounded with the anticipation of the disappointment. I carried my own heartbreak in a lead arrow that would surely drive everyone away.

I knew when she’d arrived because I could hear Penelope’s excitement from across the table. She nearly leapt from her chair to greet my date.

By contrast, my eyes stayed fixated on her feet. That was, until Penelope said something that seemed impossible.

“(Y/n),” she said so simply, as if it hadn’t been an earth-shattering revelation. “This is Spencer. Spencer, this is…”

My Aphrodite, my damsel, my greatest desire and my greatest regret. I stared at her with wide eyes and a dropped jaw that floundered rather than spoke.

“(Y/n),” I muttered when my mouth managed to make words.

She smiled.

Then, as if no part of this was strange or fateful, she continued, “It’s so nice to meet you, Spencer.”

Each step of her perfectly polished heels felt like a knife to my heart. When she took the seat beside me, her perfume hit me the same as her lips against my cheek that morning.

I was so stunned, I couldn’t even breathe. I was waiting for everyone to reveal that this had all been a twisted joke they were all in on.

She seemed so… calm. So prepared to pretend. I wondered how I’d ever thought of her as a damsel. If anything, in that moment, she was more of a villain.

The wrath of Aphrodite came with a quirk of her lips and her hand resting gently on my forearm.

“You know, Spencer…”

How cruel it was, the sound of my name on her lips at a time when I could not kiss them.

“Penelope told me you got cold feet this morning.”

“Uh,” I blabbered. My eyes darted up and down from her hand to her eyes.

I tried to find a way to pretend. It seemed so futile. From the corner of my eye, I saw Luke’s eyes expertly navigating the tumultuous waves between the two of us.

It would only take one poorly worded statement, one question, one answer—one mistake—and he would know the truth.

Assuming he hadn’t already.

“It’s nothing,” I said as confidently as I could, “I uh… It had nothing to do with you.”

Great job. Super convincing.

The bustling sounds of the restaurant felt overwhelming, but still nowhere near as deafening as the way she giggled under her breath. She took her time slowly dragging her hand down my arm until it finally fell away.

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said with a sigh. “I would hate to have ruined such a wonderful evening.”

Of course, she hadn’t. I had. I had become so consumed with the weight of my feelings for her that the mask I would’ve worn was heavier than any lead arrow that Eros might craft.

Even when Penelope and Luke tried so hard to help her maintain the facade that any of this was normal, I remained stubbornly stuck to the truth.

There was a goddess beside me with revenge to exact on the man who thought himself worthy of worshipping her. And, my god, she knew how to make a man suffer and squirm beneath her heel.

She didn’t even need to touch me to make my body react. Her voice alone was enough to cause goosebumps to ripple over my skin. I nearly dropped my fork against the ceramic from the shock of her speaking so boldly.

“So, Spencer, what do you like to do for fun?”

“I don’t have fun,” I answered immediately.

Just like she had the night before, she tipped her head back and laughed. She bared her neck to me and I tried not to think about how it felt against my lips. I tried to drown out the memory of her calling my name with a trembling timbre.

“Really?” she said between chuckles, “So no crazy late nights with people you’ve just met?”

Instead of answering, I just stared at her as I took a long drink of water. I didn’t bother pleading with her because I knew it wouldn’t work. My gaze was not made of saccharine attempts to please her into showing me mercy. It was heavy and filled with the rocks now lining my stomach.

Underneath the table, hidden from prying eyes, that damned woman punished my insubordination by running her foot up my leg.

I jumped hard enough that I bashed my knee against the table. It backfired—or rather, worked exactly as she’d intended it to—when she took the opportunity to rest a warm, gentle palm against my thigh.

“Are you alright?” she asked, still smiling.

“Yes. A-And the answer to your question is… no. No, I-I don’t do that.”

Smooth.

Smooth like the supple skin of her thighs as she perched herself against my hips. Stinging like the drag of her nails down my back.

I had to stop picturing her naked when her hand was on my thigh.

From the other side of the table, Penelope and Luke broke free from each other and attempted to dissipate the awkwardness ensuing between my Aphrodite and I.

At least, I would like to think Penelope had good intentions. Then again, I had scorned her first thing in the morning while still laying in a hotel room with the most beautiful manifestation of God.

“He says that,” Penelope ushered with an excited and accusatory hand gesturing wildly to me, “but he’s definitely kissed both a movie star and a serial killer, so…”

Yeah. She was pissed.

“Garcia!” I pleaded because I thought she might show me mercy.

She didn’t.

“Stop being weird and I’ll stop saying embarrassing things. Like this one time—!”

Thankfully, though, Luke was familiar with the wrath of women and had no problem neutralizing both threats with a simple question.

“(Y/n),” he called, “what about you? What do you like to do?”

Unfortunately, poorly timed questions never boded well for me.

“Most of my time alone is spent at local places,” she answered.

The truth. The terrifying, dangerous truth.

“I meet the most interesting people,” she sighed.

I could feel it on my skin. Not literally, but figuratively. What I could feel literally, was the way she gripped my thigh tighter until her nails could make marks to match the others she left behind in her wake.

I nearly whimpered. I swallowed it with a bite of food that could never taste as good as her. I had abandoned all hope of Luke not figuring out what was happening. Judging by the shit-eating grin he sported, he had probably known from the moment she’d arrived.

I was in full blown damage control, and absolutely none of it was working.

She was, though. She was working so hard at ensuring my downfall would come swiftly and in the most embarrassing manner.

“For example, yesterday, I met the most beautiful man, and he…”

With a sigh of defeat and absolutely no self-preservation, I groaned, “I’m not going to like this story, am I?”

“Why?” she snickered. She had this glimmer in her eye as she removed her hand from my thigh. “Which part are you worried about?”

She’d won. She knew she had won.

Penelope’s patience snapped like a twig beneath a boulder.

“If one of you beautiful, infuriating people doesn’t explain to me what the hell is going on at my dinner table right now, I’m gonna lose it!”

That dastardly goddess turned to me and smiled. I stared at the ceiling and prayed for a miracle.

I got Luke instead.

“These two already know each other,” he explained very gracefully with a wave of his fork in our general direction. When Penelope still didn’t understand what he was saying, he clarified, “They know each other… very well.”

“Actually, we just met last night,” I corrected.

It had been in the spirit of my incessant need to ruin everything.

“That’s definitely not what he meant,” explained my Aphrodite, who had apparently decided to join in on the celebration of my descent into madness and debauchery.

“I know,” I sighed.

As soon as I looked at the woman beside me, I couldn’t help but drown in the residual feelings left behind from Cupid’s bow. I looked at her, dressed beautifully for what she must’ve thought was another man. I thought about how her beauty never waned, only altered in its theme.

She was still smiling. I wondered how much of it had been driven by her adversarial teasing. I would be lying if I said I’d hadn’t sensed the competitive spirit in her the day before.

After all, Aphrodite could be jealous and petty. She could be vindictive and clever and, when she wanted to be, she could be human. Those were the moments where I would love her the most. The quiet vulnerabilities and wordless exchanges in the middle of the modern warfare that was a double date with an established couple on Valentine’s Day.

I’m the midst of my internal monologue of adoration for the woman, I heard a sharp, scandalous gasp come from across the table.

Followed by a salacious whisper from my Aphrodite.

“Oops.”

“Spencer!” Penelope screeched in a failed whisper, “Why the hell would you sleep with someone the night before your very thoughtful friend sets you up on a blind date?!”

Before I could respond, the woman beside me held her hand to her chest in feigned disbelief as she sarcastically cried, “Really, how awful.”

I couldn’t help but voice the obvious, despite Luke warning me not to with a quick, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“Why are you only asking me?!”

Mistake.

As the only merciful one remaining, Luke chimed in with a desperate attempt to save me from being devoured for dessert.

“He’s got a point. Not sure I’m meant to believe he was the Casanova here.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. Normally, it might wound my pride, but in that moment I was willing to slaughter the beast inside me for any freedom from my current, personally crafted hell.

“No offense, Reid,” Luke managed through his lighthearted laughter. Then, he turned to the beautiful goddess beside me and offered more bashfully, “A-And no offense to you, ma’am, you’re just uh… a little intimidating.”

To her, it was the highest compliment a man could give.

“Thank you,” she purred.

I took the concession and tried to wield it as both shield and sword.

“Yes! What Luke said!” I squeaked, instinctively leaning away from her when she swayed closer. As if proximity made her more powerful, because it did. I could practically feel the warmth emitting from her. I could smell the champagne on her breath as it mixed with her perfume. My olfactory organs failed me, clinging instead to the memory of her and the way it both calmed and excited me.

Snap out of it!

“She’s the one who asked me to go to her hotel room! Ask her!”

The accused raised her hand further to cover her treacherous lips and she mimicked Penelope’s gasp. Behind lithe fingers, I saw how she still smiled.

“You can’t just ask a woman why she has sex with someone, Spencer,” she chastised playfully, “I wouldn’t answer such an impertinent question anyway, I’m a proper lady.”

For the first time of the night, I laughed. It was a loud, bitter, uncontrollable sound immediately followed by something we both knew was true.

“Oh, you are not—!”

Unfortunately (and fortunately), I wasn’t able to finish the thought because Penelope’s clutch whacked the words out of me.

“Stop it!” she scolded before bringing it down on my head for a second time.

“Ow! Why are you hitting me?!” I whined.

“Don’t slut shame her!”

Fair point.

“You should only be so lucky!” she huffed.

Then, in the spirit of the continued chaos that had led to basically everyone in the room staring at us slack jawed and fascinated, Luke decided to throw all caution and good will to the wind.

“It seems like he was that lucky,” he chuckled.

It earned us two whacks each.

We looked at each other and tried to stifle the laughter. From beside me, I heard my partner in crime snickering along with us.

Worth it, I thought.

Worshipping her was always worth whatever punishment would come.

“You two— Ugh!” she groaned in disgust as she finally took her seat. Defeated, she stubbornly remained angry only at the two of us who really should have known better. “You have ruined my plans to make these two fall in love. I hope you’re happy.”

Raising a celebratory glass to perfectly painted lips, my Aphrodite smirked.

“I’m having a great time,” she said dreamily.

Then, to make it absolutely clear that she had only been teasing for the drama of it all, she cheekily whispered to me, “Had fun last night, too.”

Penelope watched the scene unfold with an apathy that was so unlike her. It was if her excitement from her plan having worked—albeit in an unexpected way—had canceled out her anger.

In the end, she had nothing left to say but, “You two deserve each other.”

I turned to the woman in question at the same time she turned to me. I was immediately caught in the inferno of lust and adoration in her eyes. The flames felt all consuming. The longer I looked at her, the harder I fell. If I hadn’t been sitting, I’m certain I would have fallen to my knees trembling.

She knew it, too. That’s why when she smiled, it was softer and more genuine than the rest.

“There are worse fates,” she hummed.

She would know. Aphrodite was familiar with the Fates.

I, on the other hand, was a mere mortal who had sacrificed almost everything he had. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, and an overwhelming desire to kiss the goddess hidden in plain sight, I had to test my torturer one more time.

“Does this mean I can leave now?” I asked.

That time when Penelope raised her hand towards me, it was firmly grasping a knife that was pointed straight at me.

“No, you’re going to sit here and be respectful and eat your damn cake!”

Just once more.

“… She started it.”

“Eat your damn food!”

So, we did. We ate our food with calmer heads. Throughout the meal, the distance between each half of the couples diminished. Eventually, I’d even managed to summon up the courage to accept a perfectly manicured hand resting against my palm.

That night ended in an eerily familiar way. Once Penelope and Luke had abandoned us in the night, only the two of us remained. The streetlights shone down on Aphrodite in a pathetic attempt at mirroring the relationship between the sun and the moon.

She just stood there, still tragic, still beautiful. She looked off at the blanket of darkness to find any sign of stars fighting against the man made mimicries of their wonder.

I wondered if her soul seemed so sad because she had missed laying alongside the universes. I had been so enraptured by the theory that when she addressed me, I’d jumped.

“So, Spencer…”

“I’m sorry,” I replied immediately. What for? It didn’t seem to matter. I had been sorry. I was sorry for not having asked to stay.

She laughed and my heart shivered at the sound. I watched how her whole body relaxed as the joy fell from her lips.

Don’t think about kissing her.

But oh, how I wanted to.

“Please, Spencer, that was the most entertaining Valentine’s date I’ve ever been on, by far,” she said between wonderful sounds, “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Oh, good,” I strained nervously, “I had fun, too.”

A lie, but she already knew that.

“No, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.”

But we still could.

“What I was going to ask was…” she trailed off. She turned to reveal a wicked smile and provocative eyes that would forever render me helpless. “You are coming home with me, right?”

All the fight left me at once. I surrendered myself to her. My head and shoulders fell with a wave of relief.

“Oh, thank god, I thought you’d never ask.”

Thank Goddess, I corrected myself. But she had already known that, too.

“Were you really planning on leaving me alone on Valentine’s Day?” she teased. She swayed closer to me until the floral scent of sweetness felt almost suffocating. The intoxicating taste of ambrosia, the indulgence of her lips haunted me still.

I fought past the lowered inhibition and overwhelming lust to offer her a more genuine vulnerability.

“Well, I uh… I found someone else I wanted to spend the day with, but she kicked me out of her hotel room.”

She accepted the piece of my heart with a godlike grace. She took my hand in hers and rested a weary head against my shoulder.

It had been soft. There was no ulterior motive in the movement. She had simply wanted to be closer to me, and I had offered her a place to perch among the mortal coil.

I thought of how different it had been from that morning. Even more so, I thought of how it had been exactly like the night before.

“Did you know it was me?” I asked.

She wordlessly tilted her head to the side with an inquisitive look in her eyes.

“I just figured you might’ve heard me say Penelope’s name.”

After a quiet, saturnine moment, she confessed in a whisper, “No, I didn’t.”

My heart sunk in my chest, if only for a moment. Like she was so loath to do, my Aphrodite willed her way into my heart and held it up with strong yet quivering hands.

“But I was hoping that you would ask me to stay.”

It was soft. It was fated. It was human.

That time, we opted not to take the chariot. Together we ventured through the concrete jungles and climbed Mount Olympus. We sought comfort in each other through the trials and tribulations that was our blasphemous feelings.

We worshipped each other in Eros’s name and never stopped to think about what would happen in the morning.

I realized that it was true that many mistakes began with a poorly timed question. But it was not the question itself, it was the timing that mattered most.

So when the time was perfect, when the sun served as her backdrop and the intoxication from Cupid’s bow had finally subsided, I would ask her again.

I would ask her to stay.

(Tell me what you thought about this piece here!)

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swanmaids · 3 months

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cw domestic abuse. thank @undercat-overdog for the term "great year".

What Aredhel thought she missed the most, in dark Nan Elmoth, was the Sun.

Perhaps it was a strange thing to think. The Sun was young – it had existed for just over three Great Years when she rode past the gates of her brother’s kingdom. The Eldar had scarcely known it. Aredhel remembered the divine maiden who was now the Sun as she had been in Aman, tending to Laurelin with a lover’s devotion. What was the Sun, to one who had seen the Trees?

Besides, Aredhel had other things to miss. The brothers and friends that she supposed she would never see again; though Eöl said that they needed nobody else, so long as they had one another. The feeling of shaping her tongue into the language of her faraway mother; though Eöl said that it grated on his ears to hear, and that if she truly loved him then she would not wish to cause him pain.

Where was she? Oh yes. Her thoughts had drifted off track, as they were wont to do these days. Perhaps it was strange to miss the Sun more than anything else, when it was only a fruit of the Trees of her youth, and there were other parts of her former life that she missed, which others might have accounted more important. But Aredhel was a strange woman – all her life she had been told as such, and now Eöl said much the same.

At first he had said it with great compliments. There was nobody else like her in the world. Now, more and more, it was in anger – why could she not simply behave as a proper wife ought? He would not become so wroth with her, if she would just act right.

But she had become distracted again. She had been trying to think of the Sun. What was it that she missed about it? Oh, everything. The gentle warmth of the rays against her naked skin that told her when spring had finally come. The splintered light filtering through the trees and alighting the forest on a morning’s ride. Each day in Vinyamar and Gondolin, she had taken a walk in the early hours to witness the break of dawn — and each time the sight reminded her, just as the first ever sunrise in Beleriand had, that there was still beauty to be found even in this forsaken world.

It was an unkind thing to think of one’s husband, but sometimes she could not help but find Eöl’s determination to keep her in darkness to be unspeakably cruel.

Sometimes too she wondered: what would happen to her, if she were to walk out of Nan Elmoth, beneath the sunlight again? Perhaps she would become like one of the creeping things that made their homes in the corners of Eöl’s house, wincing and skittering away from the brightness, dull eyes streaming. But it was an unnecessary thought. She was not going to leave; she would never find out.

#my post #my fic #feb ficlet challenge

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lalal-99 · 1 year

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Slumber Party {b.c.}

Bang Chan x fem. original character x afab!reader | trope: threesome, start of a throuple relationship, best friends to lovers | word count: 9k

Synopsis: Chan, Ash, Y/N. The perfect trio. Spending so much time together, people usually mistook you for a throuple. Not that you were complaining. Your best friends were hot, your past sexual encounters with each of them the subject of most of your dreams. All it takes is one fateful night and a bunch of Tequila to finally make that dream a reality.

Warnings: explicit content | alcohol consumption | dni if your under 18

Note: I had this story idea a while ago but didn't think I was ready to write it how I wanted it. But then I thought, if I don't write it, then who will? Anyway, enjoy, and leave lots of feedback please :) This was inspired by Slumber Party by Ashnikko.

Taglist: @shincode @skzho @bubblelixie @flakywig @itsallaboutkey @avyskai @mekuiikore @joonghands @changbiddies0325 @knowleeknow @sensitiveandhungry @svintsandghosts @keellzzzz

Tumblr works on a reblog system. Please consider reblogging this post so that it can reach more people. Thank you :)

Please don't flag as mature or repost this story - Thank You!

A bottle of Tequila.

A bad-bitch playlist in the background.

Truth or Dare.

What else could a girls’ night need?

Maybe some more girls to play with, but you were perfectly content with just your best friend. She was everyone you needed for a good time anyways. Had been for years. Your girl, your soulmate, in the most platonic sense.

You met at university on the third day of your third year. After placing identical coffee orders at the store next to the library, you thought meeting each other that way was a coincidence. And when you found out that both of you were going to the same concert later that night and lived mere minutes apart, coincidence turned into destiny.

She started dating your childhood best friend Chan after you had introduced them at some party, though that didn’t terminate your friendship; if anything, it deepened it even further. It wasn’t just you and her who grew closer afterwards. All three of you started hanging out more; similar interests and life paths seemingly connected you for years after graduating.

Chan, Ash, Y/N. The perfect trio. Spending so much time together, people usually mistook you for a throuple.

None of you cared about how people portrayed you. You didn’t listen to the rumours on campus depicting all three of you in sexual scenarios. Perhaps it would have been different had you ever been in serious relationships. Considering all you ever got caught up in were mindless flings or the occasional one-night stand, the strictly platonic relationship with your two best friends was the closest thing you had to a romantic bond.

“What happened to that guy from Friday? Yeonjun? You seemed to get along well enough.”

That was truly an understatement. The man in question had talked to you for no more than 5 minutes before you stuck your tongue down his throat. He was cute and kind enough. Though other than his name and the address of his apartment, where you went, once you decided a club bathroom was too shabby even for you, you knew nothing about him.

“The usual. We went to his apartment. Did it like 4 times,” you answered, rolling around on your best friend’s mattress and stuffing your mouth full of chips.

“So, I can put the best-maid outfit back on the hanger?”

You laughed at Ash’s joke, shaking your head. “Might as well burn it while you’re at it.”

“Oh, come on! You’re gonna find someone eventually.”

It wasn’t so much a question of finding someone. You had plenty of options. Although you weren’t sure if you ever wanted to have more than a few nights with anyone. It got boring too quickly for you to stick to anyone for longer than a few months. By now, you weren’t sure you’d ever find someone you could be with forever.

Monogamy? More like Nonogamy.

“Honestly, I don’t think I’m made for this one person for the rest of my life thing. If I did, I’d probably be married to San by now.”

You and San had dated for a year – needless to say, the longest relationship you ever had. A few months prior, you had decided that being tied down wouldn’t do it for either of you. You had even tried an open relationship, though he seemed to get jealous more than he saw the advantage of the whole thing. So, back to square one, it was.

“Your turn,” you announced, turning to face your friend. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

You thought for a second, taking another swig from the Tequila. You had shared about half of it, the alcohol finally taking over your mind. It made you more daring, the little amount of shyness you still felt around your best friend settling.

“You mentioned something spicy you purchased for your anniversary with Chan.” Ash nodded at your words, a smirk overtaking her face. “I dare you to show me!”

She bit her lip, embarrassed redness taking over her cheeks.

“You really want to see?”

“Come on now! I’m curious what he’s into.”

It took Ash longer than usual to get off the mattress before she stumbled to her dresser. She rummaged through the hangers, eventually pulling out a pastel pink bag. Holding it out, you took it, inspecting its content curiously.

The first item you pulled out was a white two-piece set of panties and bra, though neither of the parts was made of much fabric. The bra part was technically just two triangle-shaped cups with small cushions at the bottom, causing a push-up effect. A thick band connected the two pieces, reaching just above the belly button. Letting the panties run through your fingers, you noticed just how little material it was made of. And the lace was something else.

With wide eyes and a taunting look, you threw your best friend a smirk.

“Girl. He’s gonna go wild!”

“You think so?” Ash questioned as she pulled out the second set, turning towards her mirror and holding it to her body. It was almost an exact replica of the garments in your hands, though the colour was more of a rosé tone.

“I know so,” you assured her, watching her twirl before looking at you through the mirror.

Maybe you shouldn’t have, but with her big doe eyes staring at you, you couldn’t help imagining her wrapped in the item. Biting the inside of your cheek, you felt heat arise inside your body, soon reaching your collarbones and neck.

Before you could think again, you had already opened your mouth, “Wanna try them on?”

“Only if-” Ash turned to you, expression bright as if she had waited for you to suggest a fashion-show sorta thing, “Only if you try the other.”

You nodded with a smile, agreeing with her suggestion. “Sure, why not?”

Bottom lip wandering between her teeth, you tried ignoring the rush of blood running through your body as she pulled her shirt over her head, exposing her perfectly shaped breasts to you. It took everything in you to hide how quickly your mouth started watering. There was no doubt in your mind that her boobs would fit your hands perfectly.

Dang, that alcohol was a backstabbing bitch.

Taking off your shirt, you slid the bra over your chest, fixing it in the back with a skilled movement.

Next were the panties, both of you sliding into them simultaneously, all while watching each other out of the corner of your eyes. Knowing your best friend was as excited about it as you were, was soothing. Even if her reason was far less selfish than yours.

At least as far as you could tell.

“I think yours came with garters,” Ash suddenly remembered, scrambling through her drawer again before pulling out the two strings of fabric. She threw them at you with a chuckle, watching you as you swiftly slid them up your naked thighs. They sat slightly too tight, though you figured it was intentional, so they would stay up. “Fuck, you look amazing!”

“Ditto.”

You watched each other for a few seconds, your eyes wandering over her chest to her stomach and legs. The rosé colour of the panties and bra perfectly accentuated her skin tone and innocent face. She looked straight out of a Playboy. Or Playgirl, for that matter. Any gender would find her attractive; you were sure of it and felt it in your veins.

Ash noticed your fixed gaze, turning around with just a hint of pink on her cheeks. Your tongue clicked at that, tasting a hint of mutual arousal in the current situation. Perhaps that was more wishful thinking than reality, so you decided to test your theory.

As she watched herself in the mirror, hands wandering over her naked skin, you crawled across the mattress before taking a seat at the end of it.

“Do you remember Jisung-ie’s 21st birthday party?”

Her eyes found yours through the mirror, tongue running over her bottom lip as she nodded. “How could I forget?”

“Well, we weren’t exactly sober. Some might say we were too hammered to know what we were doing.”

“I wasn’t.” Agreeing with her, you let your gaze wander over her butt to her ponytail. She looked stunning, beautiful, and anything in between. Tasty. You quickly pushed that objectifying thought back, not letting it mess with your head too much. “Were you?”

“Not enough to not know what I was doing. Or want it, anyways.”

Silence fell upon you, covering you in a thick veil of mutual uncertainty. This wasn’t exactly how you had expected the night to progress, though you didn’t hate the excitement in your body. It was like playing with fire while surrounded by gasoline. A small move could have been enough to set the situation alight.

“Truth or dare,” Ash spoke up after a while, tip-toeing towards you as she sat onto her mattress. Mere centimetres separated you, your chest flushed by the proximity of naked skin.

“What?”

“It’s your turn. Truth or dare?”

You pondered for a second before answering, “Truth.”

The smile tucking at the corners of her mouth made your heart leave out several beats. She looked so innocent in the pink tone of her ‘clothing’, exciting you like you had barely been before.

“Who’s a better lover? Chan or me?”

Eyes widening at her question, you swallowed hard in realisation. She knew. Chan had told her, and now she knew. This revelation caused a handful of questions to arise. Like, how long had she known? Why wasn’t she jealous? And did the thought of you with her boyfriend excite her as much as it did you?

“He-” With a dry throat, you barely got a word out, your tone scratchy. You quickly grabbed the bottle, chugging down a burning mouthful as you pondered how to phrase your thoughts delicately. “He told you?”

“Nuh-uh,” she replied, leaning back against her arms. “My question first.”

You and Chan had happened years back. You were both 18, horny, and virgins long enough to finally want to get it over with. So, being best friends since kindergarten, it only made sense to do it together. Seeing as you trusted one another and had an open enough relationship to be able to talk about it. Express your thoughts and walk the other through what you liked.

It was a rather uncomfortable memory. Neither of you knew what you were doing. You had tried blowing Chan – though unsuccessfully so – as you accidentally bit him. And he had taken forever to finish you off. Not to say that you didn’t in the end. You had never regretted sleeping with him, though it had made your friendship somewhat awkward for some time.

Ash and you, that was a whole other thing. Both of you had experience, though never with another woman. It had happened at Jisung’s birthday party after everyone else had gone home. The two of you had shared a bed, or rather a couch, intoxication driving you to eventually confess to having fantasised about being with the same sex. All it took was the right person to come along to help you explore your sexuality.

Naturally, you had ended up exploring each other. And you had found so much pleasure in each other that it followed you wherever you went for months. You had been just as inexperienced as with Chan, though more realistic about your abilities.

Both memories you thought about occasionally, finding pleasure in either of them. Still, having been with no other woman since then, despite finding just as much arousal in that part of your sexuality, Ash had found her way into your inner eye many more times.

“I don’t-”

You were cut off by the beauty before you, “Yes, you do!”

“Fine,” you gave in, finger playing with the string around your thigh, “I guess being with you was somewhat more exciting. But that had nothing to do with either of you doing better. You both had convincing arguments.”

“Interesting.”

Before Ash could reply to your revelation, you spoke up again, “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“How did Chan react? When you told him about us, I mean.”

You imagined your best guy friend to become somewhat jealous upon hearing about his best girl friend and his girlfriend having had any sexual experience with each other. Even though it had happened months before the two of them eventually got together, you imagined he would be somewhat uncomfortable with that thought. Especially since you had been very open about finding out about your bisexuality.

“He almost burst when I told him.” You nodded understandingly, seeing him having a whole tantrum. He wasn’t the easiest to anger, but this must have enraged him. “He also nutted super hard when we had sex later that day.”

Your eyes widened upon hearing those words, “He did?”

That Chan hadn’t been as mad as you had expected him to be filled you with more unanswered questions. Why didn’t he hate the thought of his girlfriend being with his best friend? Was he aroused by the two of you together? Or had his fantasy gone wild, thinking about you doing his girlfriend in front of him – possibly alongside him?

“You’re his best friend, you already had sex with him, and you’re beautiful. There’s no way he didn’t think about all of us together after I told him.” That only proved your suggestion.

“And that doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

“Are you kidding me?” The disbelief on her face contradicted any hesitation she had felt before. As though what you had suggested was unbelievable. “I’m the first one to hop in on a potential threesome. You and Chan in one bed with me? Sounds like heaven, if you ask me.”

Your eyes met, your chest rising with every deep breath you took after her revelation.

It was pure respect for Chan stopping you from listening to your heart at that moment. And maybe some fear of what a possible night with your two best friends would do to your friendship.

You found both of them extremely hot. That wasn’t the problem. Nor was your willingness to spend a night with them. This constellation sounded like the one thing that could answer all your questions. Most importantly, your suspicion that monogamy might not be for you. The ticket out of the boredom you felt whenever you slept with someone more than a handful of times. But you also understood it could terminate your strong bond with Chan and Ash on the spot.

Your heart wanted this; it wanted the possibility of an epiphany. Disclosing if this sort of thing was endgame for you. But your brain didn’t budge, telling you it was a mistake. It told you it was wrong even when Ash leaned in, nose brushing against yours. It begged you not to connect your lips as your eyes were drawn to them.

“Say something, Y/N.”

When Ash had found the confidence to look at you this way, eyes eating you up, running down your body and back to your own, you couldn’t tell. She seemed much more reserved and nervous when you first put on that see-through set of lingerie.

Not much of that hesitation was left now.

“What about Chan?”

A smirk played on her lips as she widened the distance, grabbing her phone from behind her. You couldn’t control your gaze wandering down the length of her half-naked body, watching her spine arch as she sat back up, holding the item up.

“He’s only one call away. Probably gaming with Minho, two apartments down.”

It seemed like a blessing and a curse that Chan’s best friend lived right next door. And the thought of calling him was tempting, almost as much as the plumpness of Ash’s lips, curling up into a smirk before wandering between her teeth. Her eagerness was overwhelming, the curve of her ass begging you to grab it, that your brain malfunctioned for merely one second.

You eventually found yourself nodding at her question. Intentionally or not wasn’t a question that concerned you right now.

Her gaze left you, your eyes focused on her as she started typing before setting her phone onto the bedsheet between you. Raising her eyebrows, she nodded towards the screen as you followed her.

Ash had typed mere three words, check marks turning blue after a few seconds, confirming that Chan had read them.

Whatever his thoughts were, there was no turning back now. Either he approved, or he didn’t. And all that because of three words that sounded almost too easy.

10:23 PM: Eating out Y/N – Ash

So easy, but also easily explainable if Chan didn’t like the thought. Ash could tell him she had missed one word, and the text would be soon forgotten. Eating out with Y/N. Easy enough.

Nevertheless, the words excited you to the point you swore your heart almost gave out. Just the thought of Ash’s lips on you sent your heart into overdrive, your breathing shallow as you awaited an answer from Chan.

Your eyes fixed on the phone as though you’d miss his answer if you blinked. You didn’t want to miss the reply for anything, the sound coming from the front door only a minute after she had sent the text making both your heads snap towards the bedroom door.

Mere seconds later, the door was thrown open. An out of breath Chan searched the room and found the two of you sitting in the bed. The same bed they had shared many nights before.

When he scanned the two of you, the position you were in and the clothes you wore, it finally dawned on you that this scene was less simply explainable. You were wearing lingerie, almost naked, and you felt the tension; In the literal and the metaphorical sense.

Chan took a few more moments to speak up, throat dry from… anticipation. Maybe? Hopefully?

“You- Wow!”

Looking between the two of you, Chan became aware of how close you were seated to each other. His gaze lingered on your exposed chest for a few seconds before finally being dragged away and towards his girlfriend, swallowing.

“You texted me.” Finally calming down as he understood, nothing had happened yet, he searched her frame for an answer. For all he knew, Ash could have mistakenly written him. Though, from his expression, you knew he wished for something else. That she meant it. Wanted it.

“I did?” Ash played innocent, hand coming to your thigh, running over the skin and causing goosebumps as you shivered. “What about?”

“You were-” Cutting himself off, Chan looked at you. “I didn’t misread that, did I?”

He took his phone out of his pocket, checking the text she had sent him. A grin spread on her lips as she watched his confused face, searching hers for an answer.

“Oh, yes. I guess I did write you.” Fingers running further up your thighs in deep thought, you bit your tongue not to moan at the mere touch. It felt like your skin was on fire, burning your body and the moment into your brain. “Y/N and I were talking. Do you remember what happened at Jisung’s 21st birthday party? When Y/N and I slept on his pull-out?”

“I- I do,” Chan answered quicker than you had expected, revealing that he had thought of the same thing within the past few minutes.

“And remember when I told you about it? How you almost busted at the mere thought?” Swallowing hard, Chan looked at you for a second, debating whether to answer before doing so anyway. This moment was too tempting for him to deny the embarrassing effect your one night with Ash had on him. He was only a man, nodding once he figured that agreeing would give him more than it would take. “Do you want that fantasy to become reality?”

“I- I-” You had never seen Chan stutter so much in the almost 20 years you knew him. He must have really been anxious about this. Or for this to happen, maybe? “Y/N?”

“Oh, Y/N’s perfectly fine with it. Aren’t you, baby?”

Catching Ash’s sight, you nodded, taking a deep breath when she leaned in, eyes on your lips before she finally closed the space after what had felt like hours. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of her lips against your own, her sweet taste mixed with the Tequila as intoxicating as can be.

As she moved against you, her hand came to your neck to keep you steady, your heart palpitating out of rhythm. She must have felt it at your neck, the vein pounding against her fingers, so she drew away, throwing you a questioning look. You understood she was asking you if you were still with her, so you became active and closed the gap again. Your own hand met her shoulder as you pulled her towards you.

The moan from Chan took you out of the moment, a stupid grin on both your faces as you looked over at him. It was unmistakable that he didn’t know what to do; what his role in this scene was. So you moved apart, patting the space between you.

With both of you still clad in that dang lingerie, the whole scene could have been straight out of a porno movie. One of the good ones, with years’ worth of plot.

Chan closed the door behind himself, muscle memory taking over as his brain couldn’t be trusted. He took the spot between you, hands unsteady as he looked from one side to the other.

“Babe?”

“Huh?” Ash chuckled at his intense reaction speed, hand coming to his cheek to get him to focus. Chan was on edge, tipping over any second if one of you were to make the wrong – or in this case, right – move. So much was clear.

“Relax, okay?” He nodded, though from his fingers anxiously fiddling in his lap, you knew he’d need more confirmation than that.

Ash seemed to get Chan just as well, leaning in and planting her lips onto his. You noticed Chan relaxing on impact, hands now stilling their erratic movement.

You watched them kiss for a few seconds, your hand coming to his thigh as Ash dragged it there. She wanted you to join the fun, guiding your fingers along the thick muscle. Her action was met with gratitude, as you otherwise wouldn’t have participated at all.

After a few moments of intimacy between the couple, Ash pulled Chan off her, tilting his head towards you by his chin. He took the hint, inching in closer, his eyes drawn to your lips before they finally tumbled upon meeting. You did, too, a breathy sigh leaving your mouth as though his kiss breathed energy back into you.

Ash’s grip on your hand didn’t falter as she interlaced your fingers with hers, running higher up his leg. Soon enough, your hands met the visible tent in his sweatpants, softly running over the length of it. Memories of his size came flooding back as you touched him, having caused you some discomfort the first time you had been with him. Been with anyone.

Years ago, when you had lost your virginity to the same man you were presently palming, he had been so careful not to hurt you. Today, you knew you could take him better. You had been with many men since then, your body learning to adjust to someone his size. Excitement filled you as you imagined showing him how much you had learned over the years.

You noticed Ash peppering Chan’s neck with kisses while guiding your hands around him, setting the pace and pressure. He seemed to like it, moaning and whimpering into your mouth whenever you stroked him a little harsher. It didn’t surprise you to learn that he liked it rough.

When he pulled away from you after what had felt like minutes, his cheeks were tinted an innocent pink, a smile spreading over his face to his eyes.

“Can you-” Sobbing at one particularly harsh stroke, he collected himself before looking back at his girlfriend, “Can you kiss again?”

Smiling at you, Ash’s second hand came to your chin, pulling you in. Your lips met right before his eyes, a whine escaping him at the combined stimulation from his view and your hands on him. You couldn’t help thinking this must have been even better than any of his fantasies. For you, it was anyways.

Ash nibbled at your bottom lip, pulling on it every few seconds to catch your gaze with a wink. She was so enticing – almost toxically so – you could barely take your eyes off her. If Chan hadn’t been here, capturing just as much of your attention, you would have been all over her already.

When she threw a side-eyed look at her boyfriend, your eyes finally left her, a smirk dancing over her features as your tangled hands ran up his body, pushing him to lay flat on the mattress.

“Y/N, baby, why don’t you give him a little show? Show him some of what you learned since the last time.”

Call it telepathy, but you instantly understood what she was referring to. Chan must have told her about the awkward experience when you had tried sucking him off all those years ago. Being best friends for years, she had also heard how well those particular skills had developed. Not that you had a reputation for giving good blowjobs, but you had certainly been given your fair share of compliments over the years. You didn’t know when, but you must have let that information slip to her at some point.

Dragging Chan’s shirt over his head, Ash exposed his chest to you, all your movements stopping in their tracks.

Now, he had been well-built back then. He had always had a swimmer’s body through and through. It startled you at 18 and did the same to you today.

Your eyes followed Ash’s fingers as she let them glide down his shoulders, between his pectoral muscles and down to his abs. That dang six-pack – or rather eight-pack – he barely let show under other circumstances. On the occasional pool day, sure. But you had always been around other people then. You couldn’t have possibly admired his body for what it was then.

Chan’s body was handcrafted by the Gods and hours at the gym. A dangerous combination you hadn’t seen elsewhere. Chan and Ash together were a true sight to see, eyes locking as her fingers raked over his naked skin. And you were the one at the receiving end of it. Whatever reason that was for.

It took you a moment to comprehend that – yes, this was really happening – for you to travel back to the present. Getting off the bed and settling between Chan’s thighs, your fingers experimentally circled his abs, memorising their respective shape and location for future reference. Chan gasped at the coldness of your fingers, eyes finding yours once they ran further down, teasing the hem of his sweatpants. Lust filled her every fibre as you didn’t mind Ash following your every move. If anything, it spurred you on further. You now had an audience other than Chan, who was at the receiving end of your attack.

“Fuck, you look so pretty like that, baby.”

Ash’s words made you smile, pride filling your motions. If you wanted to show them your abilities before, you were dying to have them watch you now.

Delicately, you dragged down his sweats with help from the man himself, taking your sweet time in undressing him.

Even through the fabric of his boxer briefs, Chan looked painfully hard. Keeping your eyes locked with his, you put your lips against his right thigh, agonisingly slowly dragging them further up. You left a wet trail of saliva on his skin, hands following your mouth until you reached his briefs.

“Fuck me,” Chan groaned, throwing his head back against his girlfriend when you licked a stripe up his length over the fabric. Ash pulled his head up, positioning it against her chest.

“Keep your eyes on her, babe. She’s doing you a favour here. Might as well honour her properly.”

You ignored her words meant for someone else, instead letting your fingers reach under the last piece of Chan’s clothing. Giving him an innocent smile with your lip wandering between your teeth, you finally rid him of the constraint, cock slapping against his stomach once freed.

It was right then that this moment finally reached your brain. You finally understood what was happening. You were having sex. Your two best friends and you. And if you weren’t doing it now, you were about to. So close, you could almost taste him. Taste her. Their combined atmosphere.

The air was thick, like a veil hanging over your mind. It was hot, too. So hot your bodies were coated in sweat despite having done almost nothing. Nothing but kiss them. Your best friends. The two people that should have been the most platonic of relationships you had.

Still, you were kissing them like you wanted them. Needed them. And you did.

This moment would go down in your personal history – the story of your life, if you will – as your sexual awakening.

The first taste of Chan made you moan. An overall saltiness covered his shaft, his pre-cum coating him and his boxer briefs. Chan groaned when you touched him, finally touched him, where he had needed you most. The first true relief he got from his overall arousal made him long for more of both of you.

Ash was right there with you, hands on him, mouth sucking on his neck while her eyes were focused on you. Her gaze burned into the top of your head as you licked all over him, from base to tip, coaxing him to tell you what he wanted. You needed to hear it from him, her, anyone, really. Ash seemed to understand your longing for approval.

“Tell her what you want her to do, babe.”

Honestly, in the one or two times your mind had wandered to this moment – imagining a dimension in which you were with them rather than by their side – you hadn’t imagined Ash to take over control as she did now.

She wasn’t the most open person, her upbringing of always having to behave prim and proper sending a tint to her cheeks every time someone even mentioned something slightly raunchy. The woman watching you sucking her boyfriend off, urging him to talk to you while you did, was someone else. She seemed like a different person, curiosity getting the best of her.

“Please, Y/N.” Chan was begging, digits coming to your cheeks as he ran his thumb across your jaw. “Make me feel good. Take me in. All of me.”

And all of him, you took.

After years of training, blowing almost every man you had been with, you knew just what to do to make him see stars. You moved slowly but purposefully, coaxing him to his release as though this was a competition. As though you wanted to break some record.

“Fuck-” Chan cursed, hands tangling in your hair as he guided you around his length. As much as you let him, that was.

You wouldn’t let him take over completely, some of the control staying on your side as you didn’t let it go. Didn’t want to let it go.

You wanted him to go crazy, and giving him control would stop you from providing one crucial part of the experience. The suspense. The not knowing where you’d go next. When you’d wrap lips around his head, sucking. Or when you’d deep throat him, hollowing your cheeks around him.

You did all that but tried surprising him with a rhythm. A pattern, driven by no more than your imagination. As much a surprise to you as to him. Whatever felt right at that moment, always overwatched by his girlfriend, providing hints on what to do, guiding you through some of it as she knew what he liked. How to make him feral.

You had no doubt that she knew what he liked and how he preferred it. Her words stirred you on – harder, kitten licks, take more, less – having you obey wherever she led you. Like she was in control over your mind even more than you were. And that, she was. She was in control and dominant, but not exclusively so. That became very clear, her mind slipping when Chan put his hand around her neck, squeezing some while running his lips over Ash’s neck.

This whole thing seemed crazy, straight out of a porno. You sucking off Chan while he peppered his girlfriend with sexual advances. Some might have become jealous of how she and not you were on the receiving end of his touches. She deserved to participate every bit as much as you. Maybe even more, for letting you, another woman, pleasure her boyfriend. Her best friend, but a woman, nonetheless.

Swallowing around Chan’s length, you felt his thighs tense below your digits. He was close, so much was evident. Though Ash seemed to have other plans than letting you finish him off.

She pulled you off him and towards herself, knees leaving the ground as your lips met in a heated kiss. This kiss, other than the ones before, was filled with less caution. She wanted you, wanted to feel you, cherish you, have as much of you as Chan had.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Whoever Chan was referring to, it didn’t matter. It was probably the two of you together, making out heatedly above him, giving him a sight for months.

Ash sucked on your lip, almost drawing blood from how needy she was for you.

“Let me taste you.” As though you had read her mind.

She guided you onto the bed, laying you beside her boyfriend, higher up towards the headboard. Chan was never far, following you like a lost puppy, hoping for a front-row seat to the show.

Smiling at you, Ash crawled over your body, towering above you as though she was so much bigger than you. Right now, she seemed to be anyways. She leaned in to peck your lips, slowly trailing her path down your neck. Kissing over the junction of neck and face, you rolled your head back against the mattress, eyes closed at her overpowering movements.

Your skin was on fire, burning to your flesh wherever she touched you. Her lips were on your chest, hands on your waist, and one of her legs between yours, so your whole body was going up in flames below her. When she slipped further down your frame, lips suddenly circling to your hipbones, you thought your soul evaded you.

Slowly dipping her hands below your garters, letting them snap against your skin in short, piercing stings, you noticed Chan watching the scene before him. You grabbed his hands, bringing them to your upper body, for the first time touching him without Ash’s supervision.

You felt Ash’s tongue over your navel as you guided Chan’s hands to cup your breasts. He seemed unsure, gaze searching for Ash to get her approval, though she was occupied otherwise. So, he merely laid himself beside you, on his side, for better access to you. With one hand still on your breast, fumbling with the straps, he connected his mouth with yours.

You hummed in his mouth as the combined touches quickly drove you crazy. When Ash pulled your – or rather her – panties to the side, licking a slow stripe up your folds, you stopped in your tracks.

Most of your previous partners had known how to go down on you well enough. They had understood the main anatomy of it all. Where to lick, what to prod. Still, none of them had ever understood it as well as Ash seemed to. The last, previously only time you had been together, you had gone down on her. Had you known just how skilled she was at it, you would have asked for retaliation then and there.

With Chan’s fingers circling your nipples and Ash’s mouth on your clit, sucking lightly before kitten-licking over it, you would not last long. So much was clear. It also didn’t help that they communicated with each other, driving you to insanity in unison. They synched their every movement, providing you with so much constant and unfaltering pleasure that all you could do was lay there and let them.

Your body was trembling already, kissing Chan becoming more of an inactive action. How could you have properly kissed him back when they were working wonders on you?

When Ash’s fingers came into play, knocking against your entrance, it became too much.

You threw your head against the mattress, a low growl escaping your lips as Chan moved in, kissing over your chest. His lips engulfed your nipples in a warm, wet hug as his girlfriend continued to lick you in a perfect rhythm, your heart palpitations adapting instantly.

“Fuck!” Seemingly, the only word that was left in your foggy brain.

Usually, you directed your partners, telling them what to do and how to better their performance. None of it was necessary, as both of them just knew. Knew what you liked. Knew how you liked it. Knew your body like their own. That’s what it felt like, at least. Like all of you were on the same page, written in the very same font.

Soon enough, Ash found your spot, rubbing her digits against it to the beat of your heart. It filled you with a need for release. You had been trying to hold back on moaning, unsure how much their walls could take before they’d get complaints. Though, with the amount of pleasure coursing through you, you couldn’t control your sounds anymore.

Groans tumbled over your lips, muffled only by Chan’s mouth on yours.

“You sound so good. Music to my ears.”

His confession somewhat went by you as too much else was on your mind to focus on and properly take it in.

“I think she’s close,” Chan warned his girlfriend, who gave your clit one last kiss before withdrawing. Your mind cleared of the fog, eyes hazily opening while looking down at your two partners. “Welcome back, baby.”

You smiled at Chan and the nickname they had chosen for you, running your hands over your face as you tried to regain composure.

“This is a good angle on you.” Ash grinned up at you, chin moist from your arousal, so she wiped it off.

“I would like to note that this is better than any of my dreams.” Another confession from Chan you didn’t know how to react to, though you didn’t need to act on it. Ash took over, pushing her boyfriend onto his back to lie flat against the mattress.

“Are you ready for the grand finale?”

Whatever she had in mind, her expression told you it would be good.

“Y/N, why don’t you take a seat?” Nodding towards Chan, you quickly understood her intention, cheeks reddening as you crawled over to him. Ash gave you a hand as you positioned yourself over Chan’s length, under constant supervision of the man himself, before guiding you onto him.

It took you a couple of seconds to fit all of him, carefully moving as you adapted to his size. It had been a while since you had anyone close to it, so they patiently waited for you to be comfortable.

Pressing a kiss to your lips, Ash pulled you off once you gave her the go, pushing Chan back into you until he bottomed out. He hit spots inside you no one had ever done before; it almost felt like he was right there, tip kissing your cervix. Without the comforting kisses from Ash, you probably would have given up already.

After about a minute of riding him, slow and steadily guided by Ash’s delicate fingers, you had gotten entirely used to Chan. Smiling warmly at you, Ash gave you one last kiss before letting go of you.

She tongued over Chan’s abs, licking her way up his beautiful body. You could tell from the way his Adam’s apple bobbed that he was overwhelmed by the joined stimulation from the two of you. Somehow, knowing he wasn’t doing any better than you made you feel better about yourself. It reminded you that all of you were in this together; them just as much virgins to this as you.

As you slowly bobbed on Chan, steadying yourself by his hips, Ash finally landed at his face, planting a heated kiss onto his lips, their tongues slipping into each other’s mouths. The sinfulness of it all urged you to move faster as you leaned forward to feel his pelvis rub against your clit.

You couldn’t believe there could be more stimulation for your arousal, though you figured you were wrong once Ash took a seat on Chan’s face. Her excited gaze met yours as she sank onto his waiting tongue, moaning when he moved it against her. Holding herself up on his torso, Ash was close enough to kiss you, moaning into your mouth when her boyfriend’s hands wrapped around her thighs, pulling her closer. How he wasn’t suffocating was a mystery.

You brought one hand to Ash’s breasts, pulling the cups of her bra down and playing with them as she was brought closer and closer to her release. She seemed to close in on her impending orgasm unbelievably fast, considering she hadn’t been as involved in your ministrations previously. Until now, she had taken a guiding role, comparable to the narrator of your favourite erotic novel. No doubt, the dominance slipped out of her grip as she was stimulated beyond belief by hands and tongues all over her body.

Wriggling her hand from underneath her, she let it wander up your arm towards your neck, pulling you closer to kiss you deeper.

The occasional moan escaped her plump lips as you tasted her strawberry lipgloss mixed with your juices. When Chan’s tongue hit a particular speed, lapping at his girlfriend like a man starved, Ash lost her cool, throwing her head back into her neck. You seized the opportunity to connect your mouth to her neck, sucking at the tender flesh.

“Fuck…”

Now it was her turn to be overwhelmed, her body spasming under the touch of your hands and lips. Chan didn’t let go yet, forcing her to remain on his greedy tongue as she was the first to tip over the edge. Overstimulation set in soon enough, her pleading eyes rolling back as you kissed her, swallowing her moans as best as you could.

Her eyes turned black as she nearly choked on the pain and pleasure, the view threatening to burn into your brain for eternity. Never had you seen someone so sinister, no porn actress or actor able to fake an orgasm so mesmerising. Your movements slowed down to take in hers, both your hands coming to her chest to twist at her nipples, bare breasts laying heavy in your hands. That Chan hadn’t stilled his ministrations yet told you that there was some understanding between them; overstimulation an usual part of their sex life.

You were more than willing to participate, leaning forward to take one of her nipples between your lips. You rolled it softly, tongue prodding at its stiffness before giving the other the same attention.

Ash, still trembling on top of Chan’s tongue, kept her hands at the back of your neck, drawing you in closer. It was then that you understood how Chan could handle such little airflow. Having a beauty just like Ash as the reason for your lack of oxygen seemed like the best way to go out; death was more than acceptable if it was to cause her pleasure. Her wanting and longing for constant pressure on all her vital body parts.

When a second orgasm hit her not soon after the first one, you weren’t surprised. It had been inevitable with how well you cared for her, touching her most delicate spots everywhere, all at once. A whine escaped her as the overstimulation eventually became too much, pulling you off her chest and herself off her boyfriend.

Looking down at Chan, you shared a smile of pride, patiently waiting for Ash to come down at her own speed.

“Fuck. Me.”

The words out of your best friend’s mouth made both you and Chan chuckle.

“You want to go again? Fine by me.”

“God, no.” Ash quickly answered, swatting Chan’s hands away when he tried pulling her back down. She rolled off him easily, taking another few seconds to catch her breath as her eyes met yours. “Let’s focus on you again.”

Ash noticed you had stopped moving, still seated on Chan’s lap and your hands running silently over his abs. Moving her boyfriend back a few centimetres, he finally reached the headboard, placing himself against it. When Ash positioned herself behind you, hands on your hips, she began guiding you on top of him.

In this new position, Chan reached even deeper parts of you, if that was even possible. The added pleasure from Ash’s second hand, grazing over your nipples, brought you right back to the orgasm that had previously been so reachable. Chan’s fingers met hers at your hip, sharing their task to move you over his length.

“Do you feel him? Reaching so deep you almost suffocate?”

Ash’s words were met with a wordless whimper, your head thrown against her shoulder. Her lips came to your neck, sucking at the flesh as all their attention was drawn to you. Chan himself appeared to close in on his release. Still, his eyes were focused on your body, his second hand coming to your clit and softly rubbing into it. It only pushed you closer to the edge, all this stimulation from the two most attractive people you had ever met.

When Chan started kissing the other side of your neck, his tongue lapping at your skin as his plump lips wrapped around your vein, your movements became sloppier.

“So close,” was all you could say before they sped up, together pushing you over the edge.

You spasmed on top of Chan, abs tightening and loosening as your thighs contracted beneath their hands. The crumbling of your walls sent Chan over the edge seconds later, his seed filling you. Deliciously and warm.

You had never been to heaven before, but this was damn close to what you expected it to be like. The level of satisfaction filling your body, reaching into the deepest parts of your bones, seemed unattainable; the mere concept of how it felt better than any dream, any fantasy you could have ever come up with.

A dazed “Fuck” left all of you collectively as your eyes searched the ceiling for leverage. Your mind was hazy, sight still blurry as you came down from your high. Chan and Ash weren’t doing any better spread out wordlessly beside you – Chan in between his girlfriend and you.

When your eyes finally slowed down, features forming faces again, your head turned to the couple beside you. Ash had her head on Chan’s chest as they took deep breaths, almost in unison. Watching them seemed so intimate. Almost too much so, both their eyes closed as they bathed in the afterglow. You wanted to give them a moment, so you sat up, missing how Chan was reaching out for you to pull you against him.

His release dribbled out of you and into your – or rather Ash’s – panties as you got up, mumbling something about getting some drinks before hurrying out of the room.

Once you reached the kitchen, you searched their fridge for cold water bottles. It was when you closed the fridge door that you finally caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the digital screen.

Your makeup was smudged, your eyes heavy, and your stomach dropping at the settling reality the first moment your head cleared. That’s when your thoughts began racing a never-ending marathon, your pupils following an invisible line from left to right in your reflection.

You had just had sex with your best friends. You had just had the best sex ever with your best friends. You had just had the best sex ever with your best friends, and things would definitely be different now. And what if it wasn’t good different? What if your dynamic had just now changed so much that you’d lost them? What if they regretted it? What if they didn’t like you like that – the way you liked them?

Because you did. You liked them. And not how other people liked their best friends. You liked them as you had never liked anyone before. Some people would have probably called it love, though you had never truly felt love for anyone before. Or at least that’s how it felt right this moment. Because if you had loved all the people before them, then what was this? What stronger bond was there than love?

Chan and Ash made you feel like no San, no Yeonjun, and no Soyeon had ever made you feel. It had taken years and multiple sexual encounters – with Chan and Ash separately, other people in between, and both together just now – to recognise that. You had never liked anyone like that before. And you couldn’t imagine ever liking anyone like that in the future.

You shook your head to snap yourself out of this because, no. You couldn’t overthink this. Not when they were in the next room, still coming down from what had happened. It wasn’t as though you could take it back, anyways. It had happened, and the only thing you could do was move on. However you were supposed to do that, you hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“Here you go.”

Entering the bedroom after a minute, you sat on the mattress, handing one of the two bottles to Chan before taking a sip from your own. That sip was about half the bottle, the previous physical activity seemingly more exhausting than it had shown first.

“Thanks,” Ash thanked you when Chan handed her the bottle after gulping down his own half of it.

Silence took over the room as the three of you calmed your breathing to its usual rhythm.

Unsurprisingly, Ash was the first to cut the silence, having been the main instigator for everything that had happened within the past hour, “So… That happened.”

“Sure did,” Chan agreed, eyes meeting Ash’s as they fell into giggles. You didn’t know what to make of this, so you stayed silent, watching them in confusion and adoration. “Fuck, that actually happened. I can’t believe it.”

Looking at you, he reached out to pull you closer. This time, you let him.

“How are you feeling? You’re unusually quiet.”

“I’m-” you trailed off, hand on your hip causing goosebumps to rise all over your stomach. “Good. Still a little dizzy, to be honest.”

“Yeah, this was a lot.” Ash smiled at you, her fingers trailing over Chan’s abs absentmindedly. “So, Chan and I have been talking.”

Ash’s eyes met Chan’s as he nodded in encouragement.

“We – Chan and I – feel like something is missing between us. We’ve been feeling like this for a while, actually. But we never quite figured it out before just now.” Smirking while her gaze met you, Ash’s cheeks turned a shade of crimson. “We believe we’ve found it. In you.”

“You figured that out in the minute I was gone to get water?”

It was a half-joke, her words baffling you. The swarm of bees in your stomach only made you giddier, your body shivering as the impact of Ash’s words got to you. They wanted you, too.

“No, silly.” Ash chuckled, her hand coming to meet your waist. “We’ve been talking for a while. A few months, maybe. We joked about inviting a third party into our relationship before, but we didn’t really assume it would lead anywhere. As I said, we only just figured out that’s what we want.”

Chan’s head turned to you, heart palpitating against his chest under your palm.

“If that’s what you want, of course. You can totally think about it first if you like. Or you can say ‘no’ right away. Just-” A sigh left Chan’s lips as he let himself breathe through his nervousness. “We really, really like you.”

“You do?” you questioned in disbelief, all the worrying from before ejected from your mind, carried by the bees that went berserk at his words.

“Yes. I’ve sort of been in love with you since that night at Jisung’s.”

Ash’s confession knocked the air right out of your lungs.

“And I’ve loved you since we met in kindergarten. So, I guess that means I win?”

And just then, you considered yourself braindead.

Hearing how long they’ve felt this way about you made your heart swell, your arteries burst and rendered your body practically useless. They had loved you for years. Felt this way about you for years. And you, well, if you were being completely honest with yourself, had loved them like this for about the same time. You just hadn’t identified the feeling correctly until now.

But that hardly mattered. Because, as you sat on their bed after having had the best experience of your life, laughing at Chan’s words, your heart and mind numb from how much you wanted to be with them, nothing else mattered anymore. Because you had found your place, and you wouldn’t give up your seat at that table for as long as you still had power over yourself.

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