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writing-intheundercroft · 2 months

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Wreck My Plans - S. Sallow

AO3 Link

Word Count: 8,734

Rating: E (Smut, Oral Sex, Fingering, Pregnancy, NSFW, MDNI)

Summary: You try to share some life-changing news with Sebastian, but it seems he has other plans. Specifically, recruiting you to join one of his missions.

A/N: Auror Seb is back! I've been writing this one in the background for a while. Who was going to warn me that writing action sequences was hard??? Next one for auror Seb is a prologue to the series :)

“You’re sure?” You ask, swallowing thickly as you process the information your fellow healer has just told you.

“Very.” She smiles broadly. “By the looks of it, ten weeks or so. You never noticed any of the symptoms until now?”

Your hand flies down to pet your stomach, and the tiny bump that now seems obvious. How could you have not known?

“I figured I was just hungrier,” you admit. “Tired from the transition to the day shift, adjusting back to the time zone after traveling.”

“Yes, well no more international travel for you.” the healer advises. “Not until the baby is born. I daresay, you might not be traveling for quite some time, especially with a young babe in hand. How’s that house in Marunweem coming along?”

You’ve been bragging about your fixer upper for months now; Sebastian has really made a dent in the work, adding another bedroom and fixing up a porch on the backside of the house. During the week, Sebastian is poised and collected, proving time and time again to his superiors just why he deserved the promotion to senior auror. On the weekends, he has his sleeves rolled up, shirt unbuttoned as he hammers away at the wooden planks.

More often than not, you’re ripping his shirt off for him, or situated below him on your knees. He works so incredibly hard for the two of you and the life he wants to give you; it's hard to keep your hands to yourself.

You start piecing together the timeline, what you’d been doing all this time; when you remember where you were at, you blush at the thought. Ten weeks ago, you and Sebastian were in Sicily, enjoying your first real holiday as a couple. He spared no expense, renting a palazzo from an Italian wizard he’d met through a contact in the department of international magic affairs. You’d spent three glorious weeks by the sea, eating fresh seafood and exploring every inch of Sebastian’s body at night.

“Sebastian!” You swatted at him.

He grinned at you, his fingers plunged inside of you. It was positively deranged the way he began fucking you with his hand, the seed he’d just spilt inside of you pushed further in.

“What?” he asked nonchalantly. “You did agree to have my baby a few months ago, if I recall correctly…”

Sebastian’s swollen lips descended upon yours, hungrily kissing you. To your surprise, his thick length started to swell again, clearly aroused by your whimpering and the wet sound of his spend being manipulated, pushed even closer to its goal.

“You’re incorrigible,” You laugh against his lips as he situated himself between your legs again. The room was dimly lit, only deeply burnt candles illuminating the room you’d called home for the past few days.

“What can I say?” Sebastian whispered, teeth grazing your chin. “I’m insatiable for my fiancee.”

You took in a sharp breath when you felt the blunt head of his cock pressed against your heat again. “That’s the third time tonight,” you gasped as he slid into you with ease. Your body knew who it belonged to–Sebastian was no intrusion. Your head tilted back against the pillows, moaning as Sebastian laved his tongue up and down your sweaty throat.

“I don’t care,” Sebastian grunted, slowly rolling his hips against you. “Three–fucking–weeks–ungh, all I want to do is have you in bed, naked, for three whole weeks uninterrupted.”

You clutch onto him, teeth sinking into his shoulder as you flutter around him again.

“Ma’am, are you listening?”

You blink out of your daydream, looking back up at your healer.

“What did you ask?”

“I asked if you’ve been doing any strenuous activity lately.” The healer asks.

You turn bright red, brushing the back of your neck with your hand. You’ve been bedding Sebastian nearly every night, at least when the two of you aren’t exhausted from work or feeling ill. Neither of you ever minded to track your courses, considering they’d been tricky after years of an off-kilter schedule at St. Mungo's.

“I’ll take it easy,” you assure the healer, who doesn’t seem all that convinced. She lets you off with a blood renewing potion and some vitamins, and you leave St. Mungo's in a daze.

Your first instinct is to run straight to the ministry, barreling into Sebastian’s office with the news. But on second thought, it’s probably news best saved for home–you’d rather not have the most important news of your life shared in front of his colleagues. Instead, you make your way to Diagon Alley to pick up supplies for dinner, stopping by the owl post office to send a note to Poppy. You haven’t heard from her in a little while, but you know she’ll be over the moon when she reads the news.

All is well in your life, you think. You’ll have to move the wedding up–Ominis and Anne have been insistent you wait until the next spring, once the frost has thawed and you can have a May wedding. You’d really rather not host your newborn at your wedding, so late autumn will have to do. Perhaps you can sneak away to Feldcroft for the weekend with a few friends in tow, take an unbreakable vow in the center of the hamlet–

“I’m home,” You hear a voice call out.

Dropping the ladle, you wipe your hands on your skirts as you rush to greet Sebastian at the fireplace. Skidding into the living room, your smile falters when you see the gruff expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

Sebastian shakes his head, hanging his coat on the rack next to the fireplace. “Long day,” he mumbles, sliding past you to go straight into the bedroom. You feel a bit deflated–Sebastian is rarely one to avoid your touch, but tonight is different. You hear the bathroom door slam, the faucets turning as he fills the bath. From what you can remember, Sebastian is only ever this grizzly after a bad day at work. Either bad news on a case, a perpetrator that’s gotten away, or the most dire, losing a colleague.

You tiptoe up to the bathroom, rapping your knuckles against the wooden door.

“Come in,” Sebastian sighs.

You slip past the door, kneeling next to the clawfoot tub. Sebastian is submerged in steaming water, bubbles dissipating in the water. Work has been particularly stressful–he’s gone a few days without shaving, dark stubble coating his chin.

“What’s wrong?” you ask gently.

Sebastian lolls his head back against the edge of the tub, staring at the ceiling. “We’ve got a real pain of a case on our hands.” he mutters, tilting his head to look at you. It’s an unspoken question, one that doesn’t need asking–he should know by now that nothing he ever shares about his cases ever leaves the four walls of your home.

“International dragon breeding ring.” He states, the water splashing as he pulls up his knees under the water. “Seems like they were trying to raise some Hebridean Blacks in the highlands. Clearly didn’t know how to handle their dragons, so the crew was burnt to a crisp by the time we got there.”

“That’s horrible,” you shake your head.

Sebastian wrinkles his nose. “I never, ever want to see bodies like that ever again.” he gags. “The worst part is now that they’re all toast, we’ve lost our only lead to the larger gang.”

“I’m sorry.” you pout, stroking his hair.

Sebastian sighs. “It’s okay. I’m just quite tired for the day; I had a sausage roll on my way home from the office, I think I’ll just tuck in to bed early tonight.”

He notices you visibly shrink, knitting his thick eyebrows together. “What’s wrong, pet?”

“I made dinner.” you say sheepishly. “Your favorite.”

Sebastian gives you a wry look. “I’m sorry, love. Rain check? I really do just want to get in bed.”

Sebastian can’t see the way your hand hovers over your abdomen under the lip of the tub. And while you’re desperate to share the news, you’d rather do so when he’s in a better mood. The last thing you want is the happy memory of your pregnancy announcement being marred by troubles at work.

“It’s fine, really.” you assure him. “I’ll pack it all up so you can take it to lunch tomorrow, bring a bit for the boys.”

Sebastian snorts, beads of water dripping from his arms as he lifts them out of the water. “I’m sure Everett and Andrew will love that. Those two rarely ever see a home cooked meal.”

“I’m not sure what those boys would do without me.” you say sarcastically. “Ominis was right–I have to stop feeding them so often; they’re coming back week by week like stray cats.”

“Oh please, you love babying the two of them.” Sebastian rolls his eyes.

The word has your smile faltering, and Sebastian tilts his head, giving you a sympathetic look.

“It will happen, you know.” he puts a hand under your chin, tilting it up towards you. “I know it’s upsetting that it’s taken this long, but it’ll all work out in time.”

“Oh, that’s not–”

“Perhaps we should wait until after the wedding,” Sebastian suggests. “I mean, that’s surely the more proper thing to do. Plan it out, do it the right order.”

You turn bright red, swallowing thickly; Sebastian really has no clue. “We’ve never been proper, the two of us.”

Sebastian lets out a low chuckle, eyes darting down to your lips. “No, I don’t think we have.” The pad of his thumb traces over your lips, slipping between them.

“Tell you what,” Sebastian breathes. “I finish washing up, and I meet you in the bedroom for a cuddle.”

“Something tells me we’re not going to be cuddling.” You raise an eyebrow, eyes darting down to Sebastian’s free hand, which has slipped underneath the water and between his legs.

“No, we’re not.” Sebastian says, voice low and needy. Your eyes flit down to the surface of the water, rippling with every stroke of his hand. “Get in the bed, now.”

You smile, biting down on your lip as you do what he says. After all, it won’t be long before two becomes three, so you want to relish these nights for as long as you can.

You wake up when Sebastian presses his lips against yours. He’s never been very good at kissing softly–almost always, your fiance kisses you with enough fervor to wake you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, nosing your cheek. “I wanted to kiss you before I left. Got a message that I need to be in the office earlier than usual–all hands on deck.”

You open your eyes, blinking up at him. He’s fully dressed in his suit, auror badge pinned to his coat pocket. His work bag is at his feet, last night’s carefully wrapped leftovers next to it. From the window behind him, you can see the sky is still black, a smattering of stars filling the sky. It has to be four, maybe five o’clock in the morning.

“Send Everett and Andrew my love,” you yawn. “Tell them to enjoy the short rib.”

Sebastian snorts, mouth descending upon yours once more. “I’m starting to think you like them more than me,” he teases, nipping your lower lip with his teeth. “Have a good shift today. I’ll see you at home tonight.”

You don’t follow Sebastian to the fireplace, instead electing to fall back into your bed for a few more hours of sleep before your shift at St. Mungo's. You’ll tell him tonight, you think, putting together the plan while you dress for the day. Perhaps roast chicken and potatoes for dinner, and a cake with the good news on it. You’re buzzing, eager to execute your plan once you’ve gotten home. So much so, you completely miss the owl sitting in the window, clucking at you while you hum over your cooking.

It’s only when the owl threatens to bite you that you pick up the note, deflating the minute you see the DMLE logo.

Urgent case. All hands on deck–we’ve been ordered to stay in the office until further notice; might be traveling internationally too. I’ll send an owl when I know more.

xx Sebastian

You shrug off your worries; this isn’t exactly unexpected. Given the high risk of Sebastian’s job, he’s often sequestered to the office or traveling for a case, sometimes days at a time. Perhaps the waiting will make your reveal all the more special. You can picture Sebastian falling to the ground in front of the fireplace once you tell him after much time away from home.

After two days, you’re worried. Come five, you’re irritated. Ten days later, you’re thoroughly mad that this case has wrecked your plans.

It takes nearly all your willpower not to break down the doors of the auror office. On the bright side, Sebastian knows well enough to reassure you of his good health via owl post. Per usual, he can’t say much, except that there had been a considerable development in their dragon breeding ring case. He’s been bunking up with Everett and Andrew in the office (the two bachelors also sending thank you cards for the feast you’d cooked) and he’s quite miserable without your company.

Sebastian’s owl post gives you some peace over the miserable days, especially considering the onset of your morning sickness. It seems that since your brain has accepted the concept of being pregnant, your body has decided to follow suit. You’re lucky that there are plenty of other mothers working at St. Mungo’s beside you, each of them offering a sympathetic smile or a packet of crackers once you've emerged from the bathroom.

You’re just returning from a trip to the porcelain throne, wiping the corner of your mouth, only to hear your name once you pass the ward matron desk.

“Oi, ministry man is looking for you,” one of your fellow healers says, jerking their thumb back towards the ward matron’s desk.

You whip your head around to see a sharply dressed man standing at the desk, seemingly annoying your ward matron. He’s older and gray; there’s something familiar about his face.

It clicks–he’s Sebastian’s superior officer.

The blood drains from your face as you walk towards him, hands clenched in fists. “Can I help you?”

He says your name, bowing his head slightly. “Augustus Green, we’ve met before. You’re Sallow’s fiancee, aren’t you?”

“Is he alright?” you ask, panicking. You instinctively press a hand to your stomach.

“Oh goodness, I should’ve started with that,” he admits sheepishly. “Sallow is fine, no cause for alarm. I’m here to summon you for an appearance at the office.”

“Summon? Me?” you gape up at him.

“All the information is here,” Green says impatiently, handing you a manilla folder. “And a letter for your matron to excuse you from your duties.”

It’s all a blur from there, the ward matron clicking her tongue disapprovingly when you hand over the letter. With that task out of the way, Officer Green starts herding you to the closest floo flame. It feels as if he’s got you by the back of your robe, pulling you into the green fire. You grip the manilla folder tighter, swallowing down the vomit in your throat. Floo travel is safe while pregnant, but certainly not comfortable.

When your eyes open, you’re standing in an unfamiliar office. You know where you are though–the ministry, the DMLE office specifically. The furnishings match Sebastian’s office, except this one is clearly larger. There’s a woman organizing files in the corner, quickly standing to greet Officer Green on his return.

“Marlene, put a kettle on, why don’t you?” Green huffs, walking over to his chair. “And summon the task force team. Meeting in my office.”

You cross your arms over your chest–it’s Marlene of all people, one of Sebastian’s former flings. She gives you a phony smile, eyes flitting down to the diamond ring on your left hand.

Well, you suppose the crestfallen look on her face makes the trip to the ministry worthwhile.

As Marlene passes through the doorway, a group of aurors makes their way inside. A few unfamiliar faces, but then three of your favorites–Andrew Larson, Everett Clopton, and Sebastian. Sebastian is giving you a proud grin, chest puffed out. You haven’t seen him in nearly two weeks, and his once sparse beard is now growing thick. It takes all of your self control to not throw yourself into his arms, relieved to see that your fiance is still well after being away for so long.

The aurors line up against the wall, awaiting instructions.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve asked you here,” Green states, folding his hands on his desk. “We’re assembling a task force team to work on a sensitive case. We normally wouldn’t operate on foreign soil, but considering the abductee is a British citizen–”

“Pardon, abductee?” You interrupt.

“Yes, details will be in your briefing.” Officer Green states, pointing down to the folder in your hands. “Our officers have spent the last few months tracking the smaller units of an international dragon breeding ring. They’ve gotten sloppy since we’ve started apprehending their top breeders, and have since retreated to their home base in Norway. A British citizen has been abducted by the ring leaders of the operation, likely due to her expansive knowledge on Norwegian Ridgebacks. Miss Sweeting is a well known magizoologist–”

Your throat goes dry, and for the first time in days, your stomach is churning from anxiety, not from morning sickness.

“Miss Sweeting was abducted from her home–sign of forced entry, her wand and personal effects were found littered throughout the property. Our auror department has uncovered evidence that leads us to believe the criminals are keeping her on hand with the dragons to provide guidance in their breeding efforts.”

Officer Green carries on. “The task force comprises several of our best aurors, some of which were classmates of Miss Sweeting and have a personal interest in her safety. You were recommended to join the task force by Officer Sallow,” Green continues. “Considering your relationship to Miss Sweeting, and experience with dragons in the past.”

You blink at the senior officer, mouth agape. “But I’m only a healer, sir.”

“A healer will be extraordinarily important for a mission like this,” Green points out. “With the imminent danger–”

“You saved half the department once,” Andrew Larson blurts. “Rather have you on our team if we’re facing dragons and dark wizards in one go.”

The room dissolves into nervous giggles as Green swats at Andrew. Sebastian, however, is completely unphased, smiling at you as if he’s signed you up for a field trip, not a mission across international lines to save one of your best friends. If Poppy wasn’t the one in danger, you probably would’ve wrung his neck by now.

“As I was saying before Mr. Larson so rudely interrupted,” Green rolled his eyes. “We need a healer on the task force. We will pay you for any days missed at your regular shift, and a bonus upon return. That, and all accommodations in Norway–”

“I’m sorry, Norway?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“Yes, where we believe the perpetrators are keeping Miss Sweeting to assist in the breeding of their dragons.” Green interjects, tapping the briefing folder again. “We have a portkey scheduled to depart in an hour. Please review your folder beforehand.”

You hardly listen to the rest of the briefing. The rational side of your brain is screaming at you to tell the truth–you’re pregnant, the healers just said to limit international travel, and you hardly think you should be jumping into battle with a dragon breeding ring in your condition. Is portkey travel even safe during pregnancy?

Your thoughts scream at you as Green dismisses the room; before your brain even registers movement, your feet are scuffling towards Sebastian’s office. He’s standing at his desk, two large duffle bags side by side. You shut the door with trembling hands.

“I took the liberty of purchasing some things you’ll need,” he says cheerfully, digging through the bag. You hold out your arms as he pushes a pair of trousers and a shirt into them. “Some wool stockings and your base layers, it’ll be cold, that’s for sure…” he trails off.

“Sebastian,” you swallow thickly. “Sebastian, I–”

“I’m sorry if this is coming across as a surprise.” Sebastian shucks off his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt. “That, and for being gone for so long. It was all hands on deck with the case; I’ve been bunking up in here with Larson and Clopton. You have no idea how badly I want to be home.” he groans, slipping a new undershirt on.

Your brain is frazzled. You want to be angry at him, to be worried, but your heart is thumping in your chest. It’s been too long since you’ve seen him, and you’ve been worried sick. Your body’s first instinct is to wrap your arms around him and inhale his familiar scent.

Sebastian laughs when you do so, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I know, Pet. As soon as this is done and dusted and we’ve got Poppy home, things can go back to normal.” he murmurs against your hair.

You nuzzle your face deeper into his chest, inhaling his cedar cologne. “Are you sure this is safe? I'm not in dueling shape.” you admit sheepishly. In your youth, you would’ve charged into combat headfirst without warning–years of working in St. Mungo's has you untrained.

Sebastian laughs, his beard tickling your face. “Safe? You’re the best duelist I know–besides myself, of course. You’ll be fine. Besides, we mostly need you for healing purposes. That magic of yours works a trick on burns. Remember–”

“In the Undercroft, when you accidentally blew up a barrel of mead.” you snort at the memory. It hadn’t been funny then, watching Sebastian writhe on the floor from the burns. You’d fallen at his side, instinctively using your ancient magic to siphon the pain. He was healed in a matter of seconds, and it set you on the trajectory to become a healer.

“Precisely.” Sebastian licks his lips. “That, and to be with Poppy. I’m sorry, I wish I could have told you sooner, but we weren’t allowed to say.” He pulls a wand from his desk–Poppy’s wand, white ash wood with a swirling handle–and presses it into your hands. “You should hold on to it, for safekeeping. You can give it to her once we rescue her.”

You look up at his chocolate brown eyes, lids dotted with freckles. You want to tell him–you need to tell him–

“What’s wrong?” Sebastian pouts. “You’ve always said you wanted to come to work with me.”

You open your mouth, trying to find the words, but you can’t. You’ll be fine, you think. What’s one more trip? Besides, you’ll do anything to ensure Poppy is safe.

“I don’t like your beard.” you blurt.

Sebastian roars with laughter, rubbing his jawline. “I knew you’d hate it; Clopton and Larson were egging me on to grow it out. I don't have a razor here; I promise I’ll shave it when I get home. Now, come on, let’s get you dressed all warm and snug. We've got a portkey to catch.”

“I’m sorry–I thought I had your size memorized.” Sebastian mutters, helping you unlace your corset.

You wince, a low hiss coming out from your lips as you let the offending garment fall to the ground. Assessing your torso in the blurred mirror, you can see lines from the whalebone pins left in your skin. Your hand instinctively rubs over your stomach silently apologizing to the babe inside of you for being squished all afternoon.

“The portkey couldn’t just drop us off here, at the inn?” You complain, slipping one of Sebastian’s clean shirts over your head.

“We couldn’t draw attention to ourselves, you know that,” Sebastian tuts. “Besides, I thought you enjoyed hiking?”

“I enjoy hiking when it's planned.” you groan, falling back against the bed. “Almost thought I’d ask Andrew to cart me up the mountain.”

Sebastian starts unlacing your boots, letting the heavy shoes fall to the floor. Your woolen stockings are peeled off next, laid out next to the fireplace to stay warm. He carefully unlaces and works your trousers off your legs, draping them over a stool.

“I am sorry.” Sebastian says, climbing into bed next to you. Your muscles are sore, legs like jelly after the long trek. Knowing this, he pulls your legs into his lap, working his thumbs into your calves to massage them. “I thought it might be fun.”

You snort. “Fun? Sebastian, we’re on a mission to find Poppy, who's been taken hostage by dragon dealers. That hardly sounds like fun.” Your head falls back against the pillows, which have definitely seen better days.

“I know, but they were looking for a healer to join the force, and I knew you were the right person.” Sebastian reminds you, nimble fingers moving down to massage your sore feet. “Besides, it’s kind of fun to work together, isn’t it? Reminds me of the good old days.”

“Ah, yes, the good old days.” you parrot back to him. “Us, running like vigilantes around the highlands. Stealing bounty from old chests, blasting away at acromantulas.”

“What can I say? We were spirited teenagers.” Sebastian chuckles. His fingers slow, making deliberate circles in the arch of your foot. “I wanted us to have one more good adventure before we settled down, got married.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, raising an eyebrow at him. “We won’t have adventures after we’re married? Thanks for the vote of confidence.” you jest.

“You know what I mean,” Sebastian shrugs. “After we’re married and we’ve got kids in the house, we’ll be boring old parents.” he wrinkles his nose. “Might as well bank up a few good stories for the children while we still can.”

Your smile falters. “Do you really think we’ll be that boring?”

“We’ll have to be, won’t we?” Sebastian sighs. “I’ll probably take some time off after the baby is born, of course. And when I’m back to work, I’ll ask to be reassigned to low risk cases. So, in the meantime, I’ll enjoy all the tough stuff while I still can.”

You should tell him. You really do need to tell him.

You don’t.

He sounds so glum, trading in a life of adventure and danger for nappies and lullabies. Perhaps his interest in fatherhood was just spurred by the renewal of your relationship. It makes sense that he’d start thinking more clearly now that it’s been nearly a year together. Merlin, maybe he’s already bored of the little life you’ve created together–the house on a hill, far from the bustling city. The logical side of your brain reminds you that Sebastian loves you, dotes on you, hand and foot (quite literally, the man is still massaging your feet). Yet the irrational side of your brain, likely flooded with pent-up hormonal energy, reminds you that he hasn’t been home in days .

“You still love me, right?” Gods, the words sound pathetic coming out of your mouth.

“Of course I do.” Sebastian’s eyes widen. “How could you think otherwise?”

“It’s nothing.” you say quickly, waving him off. “Just a stupid intrusive thought.”

Sebastian clicks his tongue, pushing your legs from his lap. You stay, perched on your elbows, watching him move in between your legs. With a mischievous smile, Sebastian picks up your foot, pressing a kiss to your ankle.

“Then it seems I’ll have to work extra hard to put those thoughts to bed,” Sebastian whispers lowly. His tongue laves circles up your calf, eyes trained on you while his mouth moves up, up, up your thigh.

“You colleagues are in the other room.” You croak.

“We have magic, don’t we?” Sebastian teases. “ Silencio should do the trick, unless I’ve made you forget basic spellcasting.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, trying to hide the laugh bubbling in your throat.

It’s against your better judgment, but you reach over to the side table to grab your wand. Flicking it at the door, you mutter the silencing charm under your breath. The room suddenly feels like a bubble, no noise from the outside world permitted in, and vice versa.

“We can’t go crazy,” you whimper as Sebastian takes a deliberate lick, pressing a kiss to your center. A moan slips from your mouth, head crashing against the flat pillows. “We have to wake up– oh, yes, right there –ugh, Sebastian, we have to wake up early.”

Sebastian grins, teeth grazing your skin lightly as he presses a languid kiss to the crease of your thigh. “I won’t keep you awake too long.” he promises, before diving back between your legs.

Sebastian knows you–almost a little too well, you think. Somehow he knows the sex you need is tender and soft, his hips rocking into yours while he whispers how much he missed you, how he longs to come home to your bed. His hand ghosts over your abdomen, but you quickly pull it up to your lips, pressing soft kisses to his worn knuckles. When he comes, face buried in your neck, he can't stop telling you how much he loves you. It isn't long before Sebastian drifts to sleep, lightly snoring against your skin with his arms wrapped around you. His beard tickles your shoulders, but you’ve missed him too much to push him away.

You flick your wrist at the candles, quickly extinguishing the fire. With only pale moonlight streaming in through threadbare curtains, you pull the blankets up to your neck, focusing on Sebastian’s steady breathing.

Steady. Unwavering (except the time that you broke up…well, he’s more than made up for that by now). Dependable, devoted. Sebastian is going to make the most amazing father. You shut your drooping eyelids, reassuring yourself that Sebastian will be excited when you finally get to share your news.

“I'm freezing.” you spit out, shivering from the cold air.

“We’ve been waiting for hours,” Everett complains, recasting an anti-fogging spell on his glasses. “Larson should’ve made contact by now.”

“We have to stick to the plan,” Sebastian bites back. “Larson was to make contact with the dealers, send a signal leading to his location. If he didn’t by sundown, we’d abandon the post and go back to the inn.”

While Sebastian had kept you busy the night prior, Andrew had gone undercover. Your sweet Ravenclaw friend is unassuming, and quite the actor it seems–he reported at breakfast to say the breeders had given him coordinates to a meeting point, where he’d be given the opportunity to purchase a Norwegian Ridgeback dragon egg. Poking at his poached egg, Andrew assured the group that he’d send a patronus signal for back up once he’d identified the location of the operation.

Waiting for Andrew’s signal is excruciating, the better half of the day spent sitting around a now nearly burnt out campfire. You were pacing back and forth in the snow, drumming your fingers against your throat. While you’re sure Andrew can hold his own (he has for years now, Sebastian tells you–a surprisingly astute duellist, much improved from his days in Crossed Wands) you hate the idea of your cheerful blond friend being alone.

Sebastian stands up, brushing snow from his pants. “It’ll be dark soon,” he muses. “We should start heading down to the inn soon.”

Your eyes widen. “And leave Andrew?”

“Andrew is an auror, Pet.” Sebastian reminds you. “One of our best. He’ll be just fine getting down the mountain on his own.”

“If he needed back up, he would’ve called by now.” Everett tries to assure you, wiping his fogged up glasses again. “Gosh, I hope we’re only here another day or so–I fear my chomping cabbages are dead by now, I’ve been away from home for too long.”

“We can’t possibly leave him,” you gasp, stomping your foot in the snow. “I won’t allow it.”

Sebastian opens his mouth to argue with you, but clamps it shut when the sky darkens.

“Take cover!” he roars, grabbing you and tackling you to the snow. You gasp, curling into him as he rolls you behind a collection of boulders. In seconds, Everett has joined you. His mouth is hanging open, staring up at the massive dark spot soaring above you.

“Sweet mother of Merlin,” Everett gasps. “Is that–”

“A Norwegian Ridgeback,” Sebastian grunts, tucking you in tighter to his chest. “A young one, based on the size, but still dangerous.”

Peeking over Sebastian’s shoulder, you can see a young dragon soaring overhead. You can see the cracked collar, chains hanging from its neck. The poor beast is clawing at the collar, a high pitched squeal coming from its mouth as it flaps its wings. When its jaw opens, you can see the flames curling up from the back of its throat. Sebastian backs into you, an arm curling around your waist to keep you shielded from the heat.

“Protego!” you hear a familiar voice scream.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Sebastian spits out. He peeks around the boulder, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets as his jaw falls open. You stand to sneak a peek, equally shocked at the sight before you.

Andrew is running, bloodied with gashes in his clothes. His blond hair is matted down and you’re not sure if it’s from blood or melted snow. Wand extended, Andrew casts a shield charm to protect himself from the fire and waves of green curses. His arm is looped through a short brunette’s, her wrists bound in goblin-forged silver cuffs. It’s Poppy, who is yelling at Andrew to avoid hurting the young dragon. Several breeders are chasing after them, firing curse after curse on Andrew’s heels.

“A little help here!” Andrew roars, waving his arm the second he spots his colleagues.

The aurors break into action with little hesitation. Sebastian and Everett waste no time sprinting towards their partner. It feels like you’ve barely had a second to blink before the flashes of red and green start clashing around you. Sebastian jumps to avoid a well-aimed shot, rolling to the ground before firing a countercurse at his attacker. His hair is covered in powdery snow, cheeks red from the cold as he fires off a defensive spell set. You watch him, mouth agape, barely registering his voice calling out your name.

“Get Poppy out of here!” Sebastian hollers. “Both of you, before the dragon circles back!”

Right, you think, shaking out of your stupor. You run, feet slowed by the snow, towards your friend. She grabs your hands as soon as you reach her, staring at you in a panic.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Poppy shrieks.

Over her shoulder, you can see one of the breeders teeing up a spell. With ease, you raise a boulder from behind him to knock him down the hill. In doing so, you’ve drawn attention to yourself, the other breeders realizing that you’re a bigger threat than anticipated.

“Here for you,” you assure her. “Come on, let’s go.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Poppy panics. “I got your letter, the morning they broke into my flat–”

“That’s the least important thing right now,” you screech, firing off a countercurse; the rebound is so strong, both of you are nearly knocked off your feet.

“But the baby!” Poppy shouts. “This isn’t safe!”

“Now is hardly the time to be scolding me,” you argue, panting as you channel your ancient magic to disintegrate one of your attackers. “The baby will be fine, I’m more worried about you!”

“What the bloody hell are you two talking about?”

Now you’ve really let the cat out of the bag, you think between spell combinations. You pause in place, braid whipping through the wind, to see Sebastian staring at you across the way. His eyes are as wide as saucers, blinking rapidly as his mouth opens and shuts.

“Congratulations, guys!” Everett yells sarcastically, glasses now fully fogged from the fighting. “Think we can discuss this another time?”

“You’re pregnant?” Sebastian shrieks.

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” you pant, dodging a curse, “but you’ve been gone, I only just found out the day before you left–”

“We have to get you out of here!” Sebastian panics, running towards you from across the field. “You’re pregnant! This is unsafe!”

“We don’t have time for this conversation!” You roar, casting confringo on the poachers drawing near.

“Careful with the heat, it’ll be bad for the baby!” Sebastian chides, but you roll your eyes.

“You got me into this mess, Sallow! Both messes, I might add.” You say through gritted teeth. It’s true–he’s the one who got you pregnant in the first place, and then volunteered you to join a covert mission. Honestly, you might find his rapid shift in attitude hilarious if you weren’t being rained down upon by flames and curses.

“We had sex, is that bad for the baby?” Sebastian asks. “For him? Or her? Oh Merlin, what if it’s a girl–”

“I’m sorry,” Everett raises a brow, sidestepping a diffindo that had been thrown his way. “The two of you were shagging last night when we were supposed to be preparing for a mission?”

“You two are disgusting!” Andrew spits, casting stupefy on his assailant.

“Can someone please figure out a way to get me out of these cuffs?” Poppy roars, shaking her still shackled wrists. “And does anyone have my wand by any chance?”

You curse under your breath, wiggling Poppy’s wand out of your too-tight breeches. She grasps her wand with both hands, wincing as you channel your ancient magic into snapping the metal. Her wrists are rubbed raw from spending weeks in chains, but she shakes them out as she reacquaints herself with her wand.

The sky goes dark again; the dragon circles in the air, flapping wings causing the entire battle to cease while everyone braces in the snow.

“You need to get out of here,” Sebastian hisses. “I’m begging you–”

“And leave you here, with this lot and the dragon? Absolutely not.” you snap. “The father of my child needs to see another day.”

“Hello!” Everett screams. “There’s still a fight going on here, if the two of you haven’t– ouch !”

Both of you turn your heads to see Everett laying in the snow, groaning. One of the breeders is stomping towards him, twirling his wand in hand. Nostrils flared, you push Sebastian aside and aim your wand. With barely even a flick, the man is thrown back against the snow, a disconcerting crack ringing through the air.

Not your boys , you think. You plan to see all of these aurors back to London, alive and without injury.

“Poppy,” you yell, firing basic casts at the approaching breeders. “Can you secure the dragon?”

“Working on it!” Poppy’s voice is muffled, her wand between her teeth. You can see her, your little firecracker of a friend, trying to scale the rocks to get closer to the dragon. As the country’s leading expert on dragons, you hope she’ll have the dragon under control before long. She’s babbling towards the beast, cooing reassuring words as it snorts steam.

“Bertie, calm down.” You hear Poppy cluck at the dragon, her hands held high. “It’ll be alright–”

Andrew, who has foregone his wand, punches one of the breeders squarely in the nose. Shaking his hand out, he turns back to Poppy. “Bertie? Bertie, who you were droning on about while I was trying to rescue you, is the damn dragon?” he yells. “The one who was trying to kill us just a bit earlier?”

“I was alone!” Poppy shrieks back. “You try being alone with just dragons for two weeks, you would start naming them too! And he was not trying to kill us, he’s just afraid–”

“Shut up!” Sebastian hollers. “Can you two behave?”

Sebastian is shouting at both Andrew and Poppy, and doesn’t see the breeder approaching from his left. His arm is raised, a knowing smirk on his phase as he brandishes his wand at your fiance. Sebastian is too preoccupied with scolding his subordinate to notice the flickering red tip of the breeder’s wand, teeing up what you can only imagine is the cruciatus curse.

You don’t have time to shriek. Instead, you feel your anger bubbling up through your fingertips, the telltale signs of your ancient magic starting to spill from your hands. You’re running, wand arm raised, about to attack when you feel the wind knocked out of your lungs. Your body betrays you, losing balance as you crumple to the snow with no control. There’s a sharp ache in your head, ears ringing as you try to make sense of what’s going on. As if life is stuck in slow motion, you see a sizable boulder plop into the snow next to you.

A fucking rock. You’ll be damned if you let a rock take you out.

Trying to stand, your knees buckle beneath you. The sharp ache in your head starts pounding, and you can’t stop blinking your bleary eyes. Fingers grazing your temple, you’re shocked at the slippery sensation on your fingertips. Droplets of bright red dot the pristine white snow, and despite your fuzzy vision, you can tell that it's your own blood on your hands.

“Oh, shit.” you slur.

It feels like you’re underwater (a sensation you know well from the Keeper’s trials during your fifth year). Things are slower, soupier almost. You can see Sebastian’s head turn when another auror shouts at him, and he narrowly misses a flurry of red bolts aimed at him from one of the attackers. Skidding in the snow, Sebastian fires a counter curse that knocks the breeder off the edge of the cliff.

Someone is shouting your name, and Sebastian turns his head. You think you’ll remember the look of horror on his face forever, a twisted grimace as he dashes towards you. You want to sit up, but your body says otherwise–your head is pounding, and perhaps it’ll feel better if you sleep. Sebastian is patting your cheeks with cold hands, repeating your name like a prayer as you hear the commotion ensue behind the two of you.

“Stay with me,” Sebastian pleads. “I’m sorry–”

You don’t hear anything after that.

When you open your eyes, you’re in St. Mungo’s. Specifically, the intensive care unit, your own ward.

“What the hell?” you mumble, leaning up on your elbows.

“Oh thank Merlin, you’re awake.” Sebastian sighs with relief. You turn to look at the brunette next to you–his head is in his hands, dark waves unkempt and tangled from sleep. His beard is the longest you’ve ever seen it, shaggy and uncombed. After taking in a deep breath, he launches himself to your bed, fingers pressed against your pulse. Once he’s determined that you are in fact well, he presses a firm kiss to your forehead.

“Is the–”

“The baby is alright,” Sebastian smiles. “Healers have been checking on you two probably twice an hour for the last two days.”

“Two days?” you gape. “I’ve been out for two days?”

“It was a nasty hit.” Sebastian shudders. “I was so worried about you, I haven’t been able to sleep,” he admits. The chair next to you has become his little nest; bundles of blankets are tossed on the floor, a hospital grade pillow squished into the back of the chair.

“What happened?” you wince as you sit up. Sebastian immediately places more pillows behind your back, handing you a cup of water from the night stand. “Is everyone alright?”

“Everyone is alright,” Sebastian assures you. “Everett broke his arm, but that was quick to mend. Andrew looked like a champion prizefighter, that’s for sure. I think he likes the black eye, he thinks it makes him a bit more popular amongst the ladies at the pub.”

“And Poppy?” You ask between gulps. Merlin, you really must have been out for two days–you’re positively parched. Before you can set the cup down, Sebastian casts aguamenti and you’re happily sipping once more.

“Safe and healthy.” Sebastian promises. “Let’s just say Bertie the dragon really bonded with Poppy while they were imprisoned together. He made quick work of the breeders.”

You blink at your fiance, brows furrowed as you try to make sense of his comment. When he bares his teeth and clicks his jaw open and shut, you cover your mouth with your hands.

“He ate them?” you gape.

“Well, it was us or the breeders.” Sebastian scoffs. “Better them than me.”

“I suppose that’s why the dragon was chasing after Andrew,” you muse. “He thought Andrew was trying to kidnap Poppy, not save her.”

“Spot on.” Sebastian laughs. “Speaking of, there are some people who’d like to see you.”

The door opens, and your friends spill through the door as if they’ve been waiting right outside the entire time. The normally stoic Anne runs to you, clutching your forearm. Ominis stands over her, pressing a long kiss to the top of your head.

“I can’t believe the two of you.” Ominis shakes his head. “Battling a dragon in the first trimester.”

Sebastian furrows his brow. “Hey–I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known.”

“And I would’ve gone regardless.” You declare, pulling Sebastian’s hand into your own.

Andrew, Everett, and Poppy file into the room after your sister and brother-in-law. Everett has his arm in a sling, while Andrew still looks like hell. Poppy has a few bandages on her hands, but she easily slides down at your side next to Anne. The brunette girl gives you a teary eyed smile, mouthing her thanks.

“First mission and you get taken out by a damn boulder.” Andrew laughs. His knuckles are bruised and cut, black eye starting to go green around the edges. “I thought you’d be an asset to the team, but you ended up a liability.”

“Oh shush,” you wave him off, pressing your hand to the soft edge of your belly. “You needed me.”

“That we did,” Everett says softly, squeezing your hand. “Thank you. I would’ve been clobbered off the cliff if it weren’t for you.”

“I can’t believe you volunteered to come along pregnant.” Andrew blurts. “Are you insane?”

“It was for Poppy.” You admit, winking at your favorite magizoologist. “I’d do anything for her.”

“Well, I must demand that you start relaxing.” Poppy declares. “You shouldn’t lift a finger for the rest of your pregnancy. If Sallow volunteers you for any missions, Bertie will take his head–you have my word.”

“Rest assured she won’t be doing anything but relaxing from now on.” Sebastian says firmly, crossing his arms. “I’ve already had a discussion with the ward matron about your leave of absence–”

You hold your hand up. “Sebastian, I’m not going to stop working. You know that.”

“You’re going to take a few weeks off to rest,” Sebastian continues. “Trust me, the matron told me they’ve had enough of your puking.”

You lick your lips, eyes roving the room as you take in the scene. It’s all of your favorite people in one room, the people your child will know best. You imagine your child growing up with them–visits from Aunt Poppy and her wild beasts, dinners with Andrew and Everett. You swallow thickly imagining Anne and Ominis doting over your newborn, and tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Are you tired?” Sebastian’s voice brings you back down to ear, his gentle murmur in your ear.

You nod, squeezing his hand.

“We’ll all be off, then.” Ominis announces. “Anne and I will get started on planning your elopement.”

You wipe at your eyes, which are now properly tearing up. “You don’t need to plan our wedding.” You let out a watery laugh.

“You’ll have the best wedding.” Anne assures you. “Certainly better than ours; I still remember Sebastian’s dates fighting on the dance floor–”

“I think that’s a story for another time,” Sebastian interjects hastily. “My wife is tired, she should get some rest.”

The motley crew files out of your hospital room, each promising to follow up with you in the days to come. Ominis has to practically tear Anne away from you, your sister-in-law spouting questions about wedding cakes while her husband pushes her out the door. He winks an unseeing eye at the two of you, his best friends, before the door clicks shut.

Immediately, Sebastian is climbing into your bed, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“We’re having a baby.” Sebastian says softly, his large palm flattening over your belly. “You’re having our baby.”

“We’re having a baby.” You echo, turning to him in the bed. The hospital beds at St. Mungo’s aren’t big by any means, and Sebastian will have a backache if he sleeps with you–but it doesn’t look like he’s planning on going anywhere.

Sebastian’s eyes are trained on you, hungrily taking in every detail of your face. “I can’t wait,” he garbles out, eyes watery. “You’re giving me a family. Gods, I’ll never be able to make it up to you.”

“Make what up to me?” You ask gently, pressing a palm to his cheek. Tears start streaming down his face, sniffling his freckled nose.

“For everything . Dragging you into a mission with a fucking dragon,” Sebastian laughs. “For tackling you on the mountain. Being gone for nearly two weeks, not giving you the opportunity to tell me. For wasting so much time–for not making you my wife earlier. Merlin, if I hadn’t been such a bonehead five, six years ago, things could’ve been so different–”

You press a fingertip to his lips. “I won’t have them any other way,” you whisper. “I’m so happy. You’re happy, aren’t you? You’re not upset?”

Sebastian laughs harder, shaking his head. “I couldn’t be happier. I’m going to be a father.” he says gleefully. “How could I possibly be upset?”

You chew on your lower lip. “The night I meant to tell you, you said something about us waiting until after the wedding. And at the inn, you seemed so worried that we’d be boring once we had a baby. Rather thought I was ruining your plans for us.”

Sebastian shakes his head. “I can't believe I ruined the surprise. Darling, I was being an absolute cad that night; I can't believe I didn't see it coming. You'd made my favorite dinner, and I turned it down for a sausage roll.” he says dramatically, shaking his head. “And I’m sorry about what I said at the inn. Pet, you and I could never be boring. Not while we’re together.”

“And you’ll be okay getting married earlier?” you ask nonchalantly, drawing circles on his chest. “Even if it wrecks our plans for a spring wedding?”

“I’ll marry you tomorrow if you let me.” Sebastian murmurs. “Fuck the plans. The only thing that matters to me is our family.”

You pull Sebastian into a hug, face nuzzling into his beard. He’s whispering into your ear–promising to shave his beard, to finish the flooring in the second bedroom as soon as he’s back home. He’ll take a few weeks off now that this case is over, and perhaps he’ll apply for low-risk cases now that he’s a father. He talks about your wedding, about how you can still get married in the center of Feldcroft if he can conjure enough tents.

Your eyelids are drooping, head resting against his chest when you think back to the topic of weddings.

“Earlier when Anne was talking about her and Ominis’s wedding–you had two dates?” you ask sleepily. “What was that about?”

Sebastian lets out a roar of a laugh, pressing his lips against your hair. “A story for another time. It’ll make you laugh, I promise.” he assures you. “I’ll tell you when you wake up.”

You nod, shutting your eyes. Tucked into Sebastian’s arms, you fall asleep against his chest.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #writing-intheundercroft #auror sebastian sallow #dad sebastian sallow #domestic sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow smut #ngl I love andrew larson in this series #ominis and anne would plan great parties #poppy is a bamf per usual

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imagine-darksiders · 2 months

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Y/n: Don't worry Death! Any demon who wants to hurt you will have to get through me first!

Death: You're a noble friend. I'll treasure those three extra seconds.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #Death/Reader #Bamf

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aftgficrec · 7 days

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My favorite fics are soft andriel, and teen andriel.

Here’s my recs:

Raised on little light by maqicien

Falling is a lot like drowning by chaoticas_hell

This wasn’t in the prophecy (series) by Arirmis

(Account locked) Raise me up so you can watch me fall by Yes_No_ofcourse

And this last one is angst and dark but I do love it

Hiding scars under exy gear By rinz

Wow, that’s a lot of recs in one submission! Usually we just get one or two 🤣. - S

You can find some of those fics here:

‘Raised on Little Light’ here (since updated)

‘Falling Is A Lot Like Drowning’ here (since updated)

‘Raise me up so you can watch me fall’ here (locked, now complete)

This wasn’t in the prophecy by Arirmis [Rated T/M, 73294 words, incomplete, last updated Feb 2024]

Percy Jackson AU where all of the foxes are demigods, Andrew meets Neil shortly after his mom dies, and joins him on the run instead of going back to camp. Part one spans from their first meeting to their first kiss; Part two will take place a few years later, when certain circumstances force them to return to camp, and Andrew has to deal with what he left behind, on top of their current problem. While both fics should be able to be read individually, it does make more sense if you read them in order :)

Part 1: Cross your fingers, here we go (T, 25037 words, complete)

Millport is a horrible, dry as fuck little town in the vast nothingness of the dust hole that is Arizona, and Andrew hates it with vigor. He has been tracking a horde of Manticores for weeks now, and isn’t that something? A half-blood having to chase after the monsters. He is starting to feel like one of Renee’s hunters, when Andrew is pretty sure the nasty scorpion-cats should want to kill him more then he wants to kill them. Or, Andrew expected to find all sorts of things on his first quest. He didn’t expect a twitchy, blue-eyed half-blood with monsters on his heels, and he surely didn’t expect to fall in love with him.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/non-con, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: child neglect, tw: assumed character death

Part 2: Mortal Bodies, Timeless Souls (M, 48257 words, incomplete)

„Minyard! Get your ass up and put some armor on! Abby, Greene, get the infirmary in shape, border control just spotted a motherfucking Drakon in the woods!“ As if Wymack’s order triggered it, a ear grating screech echoes all the way to the big house. The camp counselor curses. „Move it people, there are half-bloods out there that need to get to safety!“ Or, for two and a half years, Aaron has been grieving the brother he buried, only to learn now, that Andrew is very much alive. He also has a scarred little shithead in tow, that Aaron wants to punch in the face regularily. Life is fun like that.

tw: blood, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/non-con, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: child neglect, tw: assumed character death, tw: vomit

Hiding scars (under exy gear) by rinz [Rated M, 34309 words, incomplete, last updated March 2024]

Juggling a mobster serial killer household and high school is harder than Neil had anticipated. and that goth kid on the roof really needs to mind his own business. OR a high school AU where neil and mary never run from nathan and neil meets the foxes in private high school instead.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: imlied/referenced torture, tw: graphic violence

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chaotic-on-main · 1 year

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i want a rescue oneshot of levi saving me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gjdjyfjy you got it. I KEPT YOU ALIVE THIS TIME. :3 @humanitys-strongest-bamf

You'll Be Okay | CanonAU One-Shot (drabble? it's teetering between the two lol)

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x gn!Reader

☾ warnings/content ➼ soft crushing, being rescued (duh), blood, canonverse, fluff, slight hurt/comfort?

☾ word count ➼ ~1k

The abnormal came out of nowhere. One second, Levi was watching you smile back at him from your horse after a successful takedown—the next, he was watching in horror as your horse reared from a sudden titan hand sweeping down at you from the sky. You were thrown back onto the hard ground headfirst as your mare ran off to who knows where. Levi is quick to react, zipping from his own horse straight to the nape as the 15-meter titan bares down on your seemingly unconscious body. As always, his blade strikes true.

Once landed, he takes a quick survey to make sure there are no other threats. When Levi is satisfied, he makes sure to sheath his blades before bounding over to your still body. He swallows the panic bubbling in his throat from the sight of you. Blood runs down your face from a wound hidden beneath your hair and your chest heaves with ragged breaths. Levi exhales in relief because your moving chest meant you were still with him. But your pallid skin alerts him you need help, and fast.

Even without a titan in sight, being out in the open like this is a death wish. As gingerly as possible, Levi bends down to slide his arms under your limp body and lifts you up, your head lolling against his chest. He whistles for his horse, which rouses you against your wishes.

“C-captain?” You mumble, painstakingly aware of the throbbing against your skull. The smell of sweat and lemons permeate your senses.

"You're okay. I've got you." Levi feels your warm, sticky blood already seeping into his shirt. "Shit, you're bleeding a lot." You feel his heart beating hard against your head. It was a peaceful rhythm that threatened to lull you to sleep. Levi notices this and gently shakes you in his arms.

"Hey, keep those eyes of yours open. Stay with me now." You crack an eye open to the blurry sky above you, dots obscuring your vision. Your gaze flickers onto Levi’s face – it’s spotted with dirt, blood, and grime from the past 24 hours.

"Captain, you're really pretty. I think I like you." You let loose a giggle as you blink slowly. Sleep sounds so nice.

"Okay, you definitely have a head injury. Shut up, stay awake, and hold on to the mane.” He grunts down to you.

“Huh, what d-?” You barely get the words out before you’re heaved up on something – Levi’s horse. Your muscle memory kicks in and you’re quick to throw your other leg over the body but not without a hiss of pain as a flare of heat burns through your whole system. You grab onto the mane in tight fists to steady yourself, but you can already feel whatever strength you had left start to wane. Levi pulls himself on behind you and grabs the reins with one hand while wrapping his other arm around your waist to keep you from falling off. You’re too weak to mutter a thank you, and instead lean forward against the horse’s crest to bury your face into the coarse hair.

You must have blacked out because the next time you open your eyes, you see the dark underside of a leafy canopy. A groan escapes your lips as a flood of pain comes washing over you again, each wave worse than the last.

“Don’t move.” You hear Levi mutter somewhere off to the right of you. In your periphery, you see your captain with his back against a wooden trunk, his heavy-lidded eyes peering down at something below him. You also notice that you are not on the ground but lying on a thick branch of a large tree.

“What happened?” You wince as the words rip through your dry throat. Levi steps over to you as he pulls out a canteen, kneeling next to you once he’s close enough. Another groan slips out as you push yourself up on your forearms. Levi gently brings the cold metal to your lips and you relish in the even cooler water sliding down your throat.

"The titan came out of nowhere. I couldn't out run it, not with you in this state. I zipped us up here so you could rest before taking off again." Levi explains as he stares down to the ground. You follow his gaze and spot at least five piles of steaming bones sitting at the base of the tree.

"Oh." You bring a couple fingers up to your head, which still pulsed with pain. You feel a soft fabric wrapping tightly around your crown, a fabric you know all too well. The breeze blows through the trees and your eyes are drawn to Levi's cape flitting in the wind. It’s roughly ripped at the bottom and shorter than it's supposed to be.

"Captain… your cape." Your voice comes out hoarse and scratchy.

"Did you want to bleed out?" He quips back.

"Well, no but- "

"Capes are replaceable, you are not." He stares hard at you. Only when the inevitable heat from his comment flushes your cheeks does he realize what he just said. Levi clears his throat and shifts his focus on the canteen in his hands as he screws it close.

"How much longer are we going to be up here?" You ask as you gently lie back down.

"Until you're ready." There's rustling next to you and when you turn your head, you watch as Levi settles in with a knee pulled up against his chest and his other leg dangling off the branch's ledge. He's staring out past the horizon, lost in thought. The wind whips around again, causing his hair to fly in different directions.

"Hey, Captain Levi?"

"What, cadet?" He side-eyes you.

"Thanks. For saving me. You're a great captain." And an even greater guy, you think.

"Tch. Your death is not allowed." He mutters before going back to watching the sky. You notice a pink dusting start to creep into Levi’s ear and cheek that faces you. You smile as you watch him keep an eye out, feeling safe in his presence

#attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #levi ackerman x gn!reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x you #levi x reader #asks #answered #hurt/comfort #??#humanitys-strongest-bamf #sky's flying adventures #fluff

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helpinghanikan · 2 years

Text

Stay in Sight

Sum: Tangerine isn't supposed to be doing anything too dangerous while he's recovering. The same isn't said for you.

AN: I'm sorry to who requested this that it took a minute. Work hit me with OT so I wrote this on my phone during breaks. Please excuse the grammar.

Saturday night at the mall is a busy place. It’s a big building, an easy place to get lost in or to lose someone in. Barely an hour in the building and already three different announcements were made for kids to meet their families at the front.

Tangerine was about to the be the next one.

“Stupid, mustached, sexy idiot…” You muttered while sliding through the contacts. Looking over the banister as if Tangerine will be one floor down, staring right up at you and waving. “Better answer.”

It’s only been three weeks since Tangerine was carried to your door. Covered in blood, a hole in his throat sew together by a back-alley doctor and breathing just enough to prove that he wasn’t dead. Lemon looked exhausted, but he was the only one in control during this time. Good thing, too. Otherwise the neighbors would have heard your screams at seeing Tangerine like this.

The first week was spent with Tangerine in bed. You and Lemon took shifts sitting by his side. To make sure that the wound was clean, but also to be sure that the idiot didn’t try to get up before he was at least a bit better.

A few rings and your call goes to voice mail. Of course Tangerine wouldn’t answer, this was likely his plan all along. Go out somewhere and then sneak away the moment you let go of his hand. He’s being trying to do this since you let him get up from bed: whether it was to visit the gym, pick up some food or even just take a piss you were making sure he wasn’t doing something else.

“We’re taking that two-month vacation, Babe. Whether you like it or not.” You had told him one night when he wanted to step out for a smoke. He had smiled when you said that. Which was probably when you should have known he was already planning something.

Next option was Lemon. Quickly scrolling your contacts until the little fruit emoji showed.

One ring and he picked up; “What’s up?”

“Where’s Tangerine?” You ask, still scanning over the people from the second-floor banister.

“Well, hello to you too, Love. I don’t get a greeting or nothing?” Lemon says with a fake voice of sorrow. He is definitely part of Tangerine’s plan.

“Lemon, please…”

“He’s alright, I swear. He’s just doing some shopping.”

Shopping, at least he wasn’t lying about needing to stop by the mall. Just trying to find him would be the real bear.

“You know where he is, then? Is he safe?” You were starting to sound like a concerned mother more than a girlfriend right now. “Damn it, Lemon, I just got him back.”

Lemon, always the big brother, is quick to change his voice. “Hey, hey. It’s gonna be okay. I’m worried just like you, ‘kay? But he’s not going anywhere and I’m making sure of it this time.”

“You’re watching him right now, aren’t you?” You ask.

“’course I am.” He says although he claimed to have had a date today and couldn’t come. “I’m not letting that prick out of my sight either. And I hope you like pearls ‘cause he’s spending our last two jobs on them.”

Usually you would have laughed at that comment. But slight pressure of a person stepping into your space made you silent. It wasn’t Tangerine who was suddenly so close you could be spooning. Even if you didn’t have this conversation with Lemon you couldn’t pretend Tangerine was right behind you.

Tangerine was a firm presence with a cool, sometimes cold, feeling in his hands. It made goosebumps on your arms when he touches you. It excites when he finally talks after placing a kiss on your head. This person wasn’t Tangerine, but they certainly were a threat.

Especially when they leaned into your ear and whispered; “If you don’t want him to have another hole in his neck. You’ll hang up.”

“I wouldn’t mind moving him towards something else if you-.” Lemon was interrupted by the practical slamming of your phone. Silencing the only contact to your man or your friend you hand.

“Good girl,” The stranger seemingly coos. Sliding their hand into yours like a lover. “Very good girl. Now come along.”

The stranger was a woman. A non-descript white woman who would fit in with the countless other college students meandering around. Perhaps just a few years older and with quit a bit more confidence. She pulls your hand close, forcing you into her side where she puts an arm around you. Your phone now hers as she slides it into her coat like it’s no big deal.

“Sorry you’re part of this,” She says, voice low next to your head. “But a debts’ gotta be paid and you’re the only money Tangerine’s got.”

It’s pointless to ask but you do so anyway; “Who are you?”

He smiles like you are just oh-so-cute. “I’m your new best friend, Baby. Let’s go for a ride.”

The mall was still busy and seemed to be only made worse by the situation. This woman held you too close to try and slip away from. If she’s anything like the people Tangerine and Lemon usually deal with there would be no point in trying anyway. Best case scenario you would make some distance. Worst case and Tangerine is dead, along with several bystanders who have no way of knowing what is going on.

On the escalator a family denim jacket and tie peaks out from the crowd on the lower floor. Although he was a big man Lemon was pretty good at blending in with the crowd. Especially when he just stand next to a protein shack or some other gym bros and not look a bit out of place.

He make eye-contact and only needs a light shake of your head to understand. His own phone out and talking into with a smile. Totally not talking to Tangerine or anything, and certainly not walking in your same direction for any particular reason.

Into the parking garage and This woman is walking faster. She doesn’t give off any other impression than someone wanting to get their girl home real fast. The only hitch in the camouflage was the Cobalt taking a sharp turn right in front of you. Trunk ready to be opened.

Fear and logic two warriors fighting in your head. On one hand the fear makes you think of the trunk. A second location means nothing but death. If you don’t go in then Tangerine is gone. Lemon will have to live through his brother’s death again or killed himself.

On the other hand logic tells you to scream. Shove This woman hard as you can and starting running just as strong. Normal circumstance says that they won’t bother chasing if you run into a populated area screaming. It’s usually not worth the risk. Usually.

You don’t have time to think about which warrior you want to win. Metal is already hitting your knees and gravity takes you forward. Face first into the dark trunk that is quickly slammed shut behind you. Nothing to look for and nothing to find but the rough ground and harsh sides you could never hope to punch through.

“Lemon! LEMON!” You immediately start screaming, open hands slamming on the trunk roof. “Get Tangerine! Get Tangerine!”

Your man was still injured; he had left the apartment today with a pretty white bandage around his throat. You were gently when placing it on. Giving him a soft kiss when you were done. Smiling when he chuckled at the gesture. Demanding one onto his mouth as well.

The car takes a sharp right turn and you still almost feel his facial hair during that kiss. It’s almost enough to distract you from being slammed around from all the turning and sharp takes.

“Where is Tangerine?!” You scream, sure that they can hear you. “He better be okay!”

Although you yelled this like a threat, it wasn’t like you could do anything. These people weren’t like normal thugs and punks on the street. Who would run away at a warning shot into the ground or surprised by a brave victim. These were the kind of people who were after revenge against Tangerine.

Based on his past it’s not surprising that Tangerine would have enemies like this. What little you knew about his work usually meant there were always hurt parties left behind. Widows and orphans made from a single job that neither Tangerine nor Lemon cared to really remember. It was just another workday for them.

A few more turns and then it’s a straight shot for at least an hour. Long enough that you fell asleep in the warm trunk. Curling close until your knees were as high as they could go while waiting for the car to finally stop.

You don’t wake up when the car stops, only when someone slams a hand on the trunk hood. They don’t open the trunk, but they do keep hitting it. Again and again slamming into the metal that threatened to cave in, although that might just be a dramatic thought. Didn’t make it any less scary though.

Through the metal you can hear the voice of This woman and a male. Neither seeming to care that you might be able to hear through it.

“Going after wives are never good. We’re fucked the moment she dies.” The male says.

“Tit-for-tat, Tangerine take’s my boy I take his girl. If he wants to show up and make it worse then he’s gone too. That’s how it works, that’s what makes it fair.” This woman says, another hard slam to the trunk.

“Murders never- fucking move!” The man yells just before a massive impact hits the side of the car you are still trapped in.

While you are rocked completely upside down the car is now sideways. Pain and bruises will be covering you in the next few seconds and are going to stay for days to come. Especially when you landed so hard on your side. Only thing you’re able to see is the slightly cracked glass of a taillight peeking out from the trunk carpet.

A concussion is very likely with massive of a headache. Shooting, shouting and profanity make it all worse. Not that you can take a second to lean forward and cradle your head from the pain. Not when your trunk is given light through bullet holes appearing just over your head.

“I’M STILL IN HERE!” You screamed, as if that was going to make it stop.

When it obviously doesn’t stop you look back to the taillight. Using all your strength to rip the carpet away just enough. Cringing at the pain of broken glass and mental poking and cutting into your arm while reaching out to your elbow. Waving around, grabbing the ground, and tossing whatever you could get your hands on. All the while yelling for someone to remember that you were still there.

“I see you; oh, baby, fuck yes I see you!” Tangerine, or Tangerine’s voice at least, pants just outside the trunk. His strong hand, long finger, grab hold of your so tightly he could have cracked a finger. “Stay here. Just wait.”

He’s gone just as fast as you had found him. Leaving your hand grasping the empty air as stones scrunched under his feet as he ran.

“Lemon! Got a crowbar? Or a screw or a fucking bat? Something?” Tangerine yells.

“How about the car keys, mate?” Lemon yells back, jingling in the air.

It was more than a little bit dramatic the way you fell out of the trunk. Tangerine there to catch you before you could have landed on the hard ground. He holds you close enough that no one would be able to separate you again.

At least until Lemon shows up and ruins the moment.

“Who the fuck was that, man?” He asks, gesturing almost wildly at the two bodies next to the car you had just escaped from.

If there is something Tangerine and Lemon know how to do; it’s killing. This woman, who had started it all, was left mangled from the initial impact of Tangerine reaching the scene. She never had a chance when Tangerine knew she was the one who had taken you.

The man looked to have lasted longer. Having hidden behind the car and participating in a shoot out that only lasted a couple seconds, into a few minutes.

Tangerine quickly turns your head from the bodies. Not that he was looking much better, either. His hair was a mess, some splatter had gotten onto his nice white shirt, and his bandage was bleeding again. You reach out to the bandage, covering the growing red with your hand as if you could heal it with your touch alone.

“You said we’d stick together today.” You said. Almost angry, almost crying.

He cups your face. “I’m a fucking mess, I’m sorry. Fuck, love, I’m so sorry.”

It didn’t really matter how much he apologized. This was part of his life, therefore it made it part of yours. He can make promises and even try to quit but we all know that wasn’t going to happen. Not when the movie was so good, not when Lemon was with him until the end, and especially not when you never asked him to.

“Let’s go back to the apartment, please.” You asked, staring straight to tangerine to avoid looking at your kidnapper and what was left of her.

Lemon drove while Tangerine sat shot gun. No one talked, not until you moved Tangerine’s coat and felt the box inside. Black velvet, large enough for a necklace and earrings. Perhaps even a bit more.

“What’s this?” You asked, making tangerine jolt a bit from the surprise.

He looks at the box and sighs. Taking it from your hands, popping it open to show exactly what you expected. A row of pearls and earrings, salt-water raised, and silver chain to hold them together. “Completely forgot I snatched that.”

“I thought you were doing better?” Lemon asked, rather accused, Tangerine.

“I am or was. It was an emergency, Lemon. I didn’t have time to get in the queue!” Tangerine spat, not noticing when you slipped the box back from his hands.

“All I’m hearing is an excuse, man.” Lemon retorted.

You looked good in the earrings and necklace. Leaning forward between their seats tog et a better look at them. Only then Tangerine notice when you were close enough he could place a sweet kiss on your cheek.

“You look lovely,” He says.

“I better, because you owe me so much more than stolen jewelry.” You reply. Both as a joke and as a reminder.

#reader insert #tangerine x reader #bullet train reader insert #bullet train movie #bullet train 2022 #tangerine #street smarts!#Lemon is a BAMF #Tangerine lived #requested

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smurphyse · 9 months

Text

Hope and a Haircut | Spencer Reid

Smurph’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Chapter 18 of Operation: Sand Leopard

Warnings: canon typical stories, Christmas visits, crying, happy hugs, fear, espionage, confessions

Summary: Spencer gets worried the longer he doesn't hear from you, and then he gets unexpected visitors that only make him more anxious.

Spencer was growing more anxious by the day. You still hadn't called, and all the hubbub of the city around Christmas wasn't helping him either. He flinched at backfiring cars, his gaze laser focused on the things around him. His mind was still in Iraq, still with you and Alijah, sitting on mountainsides and looking through binoculars.

He'd spent each day with the team, and Christmas morning finally arrived. JJ went down to Louisiana with Will and the kids, Rossi with his daughter and grandson. Even Luke and Penelope planned a getaway, so Spencer spent the day visiting his mom and then with Emily and Tara at a soup kitchen.

His mother at least recognized him, but she spoke to him like he'd been visiting every day for months. He was both grateful and devastated by it.

He felt good helping out, and they invited him over after, but he declined and instead made his way to his empty apartment. He knew you had a house outside the city, and he looked forward to spending time with you and the girls in the open air of Virginia.

Spencer decided to make the walk from the soup kitchen. The brisk air chilled straight through his coat, which admittedly wasn't warm enough for a white Christmas. Spencer stuffed his hands in his pockets and drove on as you'd say. The frigid air was just another thing to deal with until he got on the flight back to you.

Cars slid through the slush on the streets, spraying his ankles with black and gray slurry. The lamplight gleamed every ten feet, flickering under the weight of the cold. Spencer angled his head down to avoid the freezing breeze, but his ears and eyes were hypersensitive to his surroundings in a way he hadn't felt before.

This place was so different from Balad. It was almost like he'd never lived here before and had only seen it in pictures. Everything was so familiar but foreign at once. He was so out of place.

Turning the corner, Spencer stopped short as he spotted a small group huddled outside his building. The spotlight in front of the badge access door hit the tops of their heads, casting them in shadow. He was about to walk past and take a turn around the block when one of them called out.

"Doc!" Spencer recognized a familiar voice, and she sounded scared.

"Peanut?"

Spencer made his way closer and sure enough, Garrett, Morello, Barretti, and Peanut were waiting for him. They didn't have their families with them, and the stiff way they held themselves sent a shiver of fear down his spine.

"What's wrong?" Spencer asked solemnly.

Garrett stepped forward, "Have you heard from the boss?"

Spencer shook his head, "No. She was supposed to call the night we got back."

An exchange of glances only solidified his worry, which up until now he'd chalked it up to you being busy.

"We should talk someplace private," Morello decided, glancing around the tall windows that surrounded them. "We're too exposed."

Spencer agreed and ushered them up into his apartment. Even in their worry they were still curious about his living situation it seemed. Garrett went straight for his bookshelf, clutching his hands behind his back and eyeballing the spines in the lamplight. Morello stood in the doorway, watching them all protectively while Barretti plopped down on the couch like he owned the place.

Peanut waved toward his hardly used kitchen even before he went halfway across the world, "Should I make some coffee?"

Spencer nodded and followed her in. It was pretty small and cramped, and admittedly coffee was one of the only food items he even had in the apartment. Spencer pulled out the container of grounds and handed it to her, and she went about filling up the carafe and filter.

Leaning against the counter, Spencer listened anxiously as it percolated. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, which had become a habit after months in the desert when before he felt best shoving his hands in his pockets. He used to show anxiety as a shield, but now he chose to project strength like this. It was a strange turnaround for him, one JJ pointed out the night before, but it felt natural now.

"Something's happening," Spencer asked, but it came out more like a statement. Peanut just watched the machine drip black gold into the pot, refusing to meet his gaze. She had her tight kinky curls down, when in Iraq they usually were pulled into a tight bun. They puffed out over her shoulders, impeded by the thick bulk of her coat, but her dark curls were beautiful in the dim lighting.

"I'm hearing chatter I don't like," she replied quietly. "Something isn't right, but I can't figure out what."

Fear rotted in his gut like an acidic apple. The lining was slowly tearing away from itself, and his legs wobbled beneath him. Surely, the floor would soon open up to swallow him whole.

Spencer opted to pull out some mugs instead of falling into his terror. He didn't like not knowing what was going on, but he trusted you to lead… the only problem was that you weren't here to do so.

Peanut took two of them in her small hands, and he grabbed the rest by the handles and followed her out into the living room. When he got there, he nearly dropped them at the sight before him.

Barretti was standing on his couch, pulling open the light fixture on the ceiling. Morello was elbow deep in his old school record player, digging down in the horn. Garrett was sifting through the bookshelf, pulling out books and setting them gently on the ground, then searching the empty spaces.

"What the he-," he began, but Peanut waved a coffee up in front of him to stop him. The liquid sloshed over the rim, barely missing his chest before splattering on the hardwood.

The guys didn't even look, and Spencer stood in shock as Peanut held that cup in front of him until they were done. Spencer watched with his jaw dropped as they put everything back in its place, and only then Morello turned on the old record player.

"Let's play some music, yeah?" he said confidently, but his jaw was clenched tight. "I haven't had a chill night in a long time."

The player had a bluetooth option, as it only looked old. Emily got it for him, though he had suspected it was only so she had a chance to play music other than classical when they all came over now and then. A familiar song from his first trip outside the wire came on as Morello took out his phone.

He set it on the desk the turntable was on, and one by one they all set theirs next to his. Without much thought, Spencer handed Garrett a coffee mug and put his phone down too, then gave Morello the other. Peanut gave her second one to Barretti, and they moved silently to the center of the room and sat on the rug.

"If there's a fire in your kitchen. And when your roof just won't stop leaking," it played, not quite loud enough to bother the neighbors, but higher than he would have normally put it with company. "I got your back without you even asking. If I gotta whoop somebody's ass, I'ma do it with passion."

Huddled in the circle, speaking just under the volume of the music, Garrett leaned in close, "Boss hasn't called all week, and she's not answering any form of communication. She's gone radio silent."

"That's why we were looking for bugs," Morello said, nodding. He looked straight at Spencer. "She always calls on liberty and checks in. She wouldn't stop otherwise unless she was dead or incapacitated."

Spencer's heart dropped down in his stomach. If something happened to you, who was protecting Alijah? If something happened to the both of you, how was he expected to go on?

"I got wind from Agent Garber that there's been some chatter about Sayeed, that he's been spotted where we found Alijah six months ago," Peanut continued as Spencer clutched his coffee cup tightly. The heat grounded him, but he was sure to disappear into nothing soon enough.

He rarely saw his CHUmate, but remembering that he worked in the satellite tents it made sense that he'd hear word of one of the biggest heroin distributors in the Middle East.

“An emergency, or when you just can't sleep, and I'll slide through for ya with that urgency,” Teddy Swims came through around them. As sweet as the song was, a solid blanket of dread covered the room.

“Then we get on the next flight and go back early,” Spencer offered, but Garrett shook his head.

“No communication means someone is listening in and watching. If we go back early it might tip them off that something’s going on. Boss is sending a message.”

“Yeah, to be careful,” Barretti grumbled. He frowned down at his big hands. “We just have to follow her lead. She spent years in MARSOC, doing all sorts of clandestine shit. She knows something we don’t.”

“We can’t just sit here,” Spencer insisted, waving a hand. “Not if she needs our help.”

“Morning after next we’ll go to Anacostia and head back to Iraq, doc,” Garrett told him firmly. “We can’t go before our leave ends unless we receive orders.”

“I’m an agent! I can go back whene-,” he began, but was overruled with a flat palm facing him.

“Boss will tell us what to do when we get there. She’s got more answers than we do right now. You could set something worse in motion by making a move.”

“Aren’t you worried at all? She’s not a military robot. She can’t do it all by herself.”

Garrett sighed and flashed Morello a look, who shrugged. He turned back to Spencer, “Of course I’m worried, doc. I worked with Teddy before he died, and he got real paranoid towards the end. I didn’t know much about what he was working on but when Y/N asked for my team’s help I agreed because even though Teddy started to lose it, I knew he had a good reason.”

He sighed again and scrubbed his face with his hand, dragging it down his chin. “This mission is bigger than just the girl and the heroin. The person we’re looking for has hooks in places we probably don’t know about. We don’t make a move without her say-so.

“You gotta remember, doc,” he finished, giving him a knowing look. “The boss always knows more than we do. You have to trust that she knows what she’s doing.”

Spencer nodded in defeat. He was right. You always knew more than you let on, and he suddenly got a sneaking suspicion that even before this there were things you hadn’t told him. Was it because you didn’t trust him? Or had you existed like this for so long that you didn’t know any other way to be?

He just hoped Garrett was right.

He hoped you had a plan.

Spencer sat in JJ’s bathroom the day after Christmas. She’d nearly force-fed him leftovers and dessert for dinner, then dragged him in here by the wrist. Spencer put up a good front for Will and Henry and Michael, chatting and pretending to be interested in the things his godsons were talking about, but his mind never left you.

JJ draped the little cape she’d bought just for him years ago when he first asked her to cut his hair over his shoulders. She tightened it and went about wetting his hair and combing through it.

“I can’t believe how long you’ve let this get,” she exclaimed as she raked a brush through it. Thank god she never had daughters, because this was torture. Spencer tried not to wince each time she caught his roots, since she did give him good cuts… besides the time Hotch asked if he joined a boy band. That was the last time he ever gave her free reign over styles.

“Hmm,” he hummed noncommittally. Instead, he fiddled with some army man toy Michael had left on the sink. It pointed a nondescript gun out, legs akimbo in a wide stance as he prepared for danger.

“Michael’s been taking those everywhere with him,” JJ went on as he turned the green piece of plastic in his fingers. “He tells everyone how his uncle Spencer is a hero.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Spencer mumbled, frowning to himself. “It’s like saying what we did at the BAU was heroic… it wasn’t. It was just bloody and sad.”

JJ stilled, her hands freezing mid-air. Her blue eyes blazed as she watched him in the mirror, “Then why the hell are you going back?”

“Because… There’s a future there that isn’t a black hole of loneliness and murder,” he decided, and her jaw clenched tightly.

“You’re going back to Iraq for a girl?” she pressed, getting angrier. “Spencer, I know you’ve always been a romantic but that’s fucking insane.”

“It’s not just that,” he replied calmly.

“Then what?”

Spencer sighed, his eyes meeting hers. He was so tired all of a sudden, weighed down with the enormity of the possibility of loss that could come tomorrow. “I have hope. Honestly, I haven’t had that in such a long time, JJ. I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep searching for that final happiness. Y/N is a lot of things…”

“She’s mean and crazy. She charges headfirst into every door without caring that something on the other side would hurt her. She’s only focused on protecting those behind her. She’s not known for telling you everything, and I’m trying to be okay with that because for once, someone knows a lot more than I do. She leads, she protects, she cares. Most of all, she’s kind. Even when she’s mean, she’s kind. She only pushes as much as you can take.”

“She sounds like Hotch,” JJ muttered, and when Spencer stared at her wide-eyed, she burst into a laughter he couldn’t help but join in on.

“That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me!” he guffawed with her. They laughed until their bellies hurt and JJ had to sit down on the tub edge to hold herself upright.

After it died down, she looked at him with a spark of joy, “I really hope it all works out. I just worry about you. You’ve changed so much in the twenty years I’ve known you, and you always came out the other side somehow. I just want you to come back, even if you’re different, I just want you to love the life you live.”

Spencer reached out a hand and she took it, squeezing him tightly. “I’m learning a lot about myself. Sometimes… you just gotta suck it up and drive on. The only way through it is to get through it.”

“You seem so different again,” JJ whispered, her eyes filling with tears he wasn’t sure were happy or sad. “But… not like you’re broken. You seem more confident, not like after prison when you were so angry. You seem like you know what you’re capable of.”

She made a face, “Does that make sense?”

Pride filled his heart and he nodded, “I think I finally know why I went through everything that I did. I can’t talk much about it, but I really think that I’m about to get everything I ever wanted.”

JJ smiled. Spencer smiled back.

“Hope looks good on you, Spence.”

You hadn't really slept in days. It was Christmas, five days after Spencer and the unit left for America. The stress of what you were about to do was eating you alive, and each time you managed a nap you woke up in a panic.

You were being listened to. After Mercer's confession that he'd found bugs in your office, you tore the whole thing apart in near silence until you found three more than he had. You went through your CHU, found two more. One under your bed and one in your bookshelf. You searched Spencer's next, but surprisingly found nothing. The rest of the unit's bunks were clear too.

You were starting to feel as paranoid as Teddy sounded before he died. He sent you his coded words but they were filled with veiled messages, as if someone besides you and him were reading. You had nobody to talk to besides Mercer, and even then you kept him at arm's length. You didn't trust him, but still he was the only one who knew of your plan. Even the unit wouldn't know until after, and you still might never tell them what you were going to do.

Spencer and the unit were all the way in America. They wouldn't be coming home for two more days, so you were sending Mercer to meet them. Alijah had thankfully been hidden enough through false paperwork that there were no bugs in her room. It seemed you had become the mole's target.

Without Spencer, you couldn't enact your plan. You had to explain to Alijah many times why, and eventually she agreed and understood. You needed him here to stay behind and keep her safe while you went after Sivan and Sayeed.

You didn't destroy the bugs in your office. You told Mercer to go on doing so, to keep acting like he was struggling with himself. It would make those watching think everything was going according to their plan. So, you kept the bugs, and here you and Mercer sat in your office, going over the FRAGO for the day out loud and writing notes to one another.

You lounged on one of the old metal chairs, your heavy boots set on the table. You tried to sound dreadfully bored and irritated, "There's been a few scuffles in the nearby villages, but we can't go out without the rest of the team since your dumb ass let your guys go home for Christmas."

You quietly slid a paper his way. You didn't put your pen down, and you wrote slowly to drown out the sounds the best you could.

Is everything ready?

Mercer nodded, but he leaned back and let out an angry harrump for the ears listening in. "I thought you'd have your lackies around. I only gave my guys what was coming to them. Your stupid fucking team hasn't done shit all year."

All you needed was for your team to come back, then you were going outside the wire to kill Sayeed al Hafiz. Mercer was going to make sure that happened.

"Fuck you," you spat.

"Fuck yourself," Mercer snapped back in reply. He got angrily to his feet and stomped out of the trailer, slamming the door behind him for good measure.

Let them think you still hated him. You didn't trust him, but you were coming around on him after Hitchens died. That didn't mean you hadn't fought in the last two months. He was still an asshole.

Everything was going according to plan… so far. You had to remind yourself that this could all fall apart. You could die on the twenty eighth of December of this year. Sivan might not make it if you didn't succeed.

But you had a backup plan.

You always did.

Spencer was the first to arrive at Anacostia on December 27th. He’d said his goodbyes to the team and their families the day after Christmas, teary eyed and filled with dread. They clung to him like he wouldn’t come back alive, and even if he didn’t Spencer knew he had to get back to Iraq.

You needed him.

You were all alone out there protecting Alijah. Sayeed was hiding in the desert, waiting to strike. You had no one to back you up and he knew he needed to be by your side. Even if it all ended in flames, Spencer would be with you and the girls and the unit until the very end. He wouldn’t want it any other way.

Spencer had no idea what he was walking into once he stepped foot back on base. His mind conjured images of firefights and explosions, a dramatic entrance to the scariest day of his life. The ground would thunder and the sky would alight with red washes of fear and smoke. But he would find you. He always would.

He walked through the dark hangar at 0500, much like he had four months earlier, clutching his pack and fighting the urge to sit down and melt into the concrete. Shadows lurked as he approached. Spencer took a deep breath, adjusted the pack on his shoulder and made his way toward the plane.

It was such a strange familiarity. The Antonov An-178 transport plane loomed ominously above him, blanketing him in darkness as its shadow cast over him from the lamplight. He left America for the first time in August. Now it was almost January, and the cool shadow under the plane was ice cold.

He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Captain Mercer leaning against the frame of the walkway into the belly of the plane. His arms crossed over his big barrel chest, a confident smirk washing over his weathered face as he saw Spencer with his mouth agape.

“No cryin’ on my plane, boy,” he drawled like he had what felt like years ago.

“What are you doing here?” Spencer seethed as a sudden rage overtook him. He didn’t exactly trust Mercer, but if he was in America who was with you and Alijah?

Spencer was about to stomp his way up the ramp but Mercer sauntered down. He seemed far too jolly until he reached the bottom, where he pulled Spencer by the arm a bit away from the plane.

“I know you don’t like me, and you’ve got every reason not to,” Mercer whispered as he and Spencer huddled close. “But I’m in this until the end. I know you know about Ted.”

Spencer managed a silent slight nod, so he continued. “He was a good guy, and I’ve never really managed to be anywhere as good a man as he was. I’m trying. The boss sent me here to make sure you all made it on the plane.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Spencer asked softly. Mercer’s eyes told him what he meant before he even opened his mouth. The fact that he called you ‘boss’ when a few months ago he used another choice word somehow made him more worried than ever.

“Accidents happen,” he grumbled ominously. “Brakes go out, carbon monoxide detectors stop working… sometimes transport planes blow up midair due to mechanical failure.”

He knew something then that you never told him. Teddy’s death wasn’t an accident, or at least you didn’t believe it was. The plane crash was an assassination, and you weren’t going to let it happen to the unit if you had any power to stop it. You didn’t trust Mercer enough to stay behind with Alijah, but your faith was enough to send him to keep them safe over the ocean.

It made his heart weary. Were you just growing paranoid as Teddy had? Were you justified in your worries? What the hell was about to happen?

What the hell were you planning?

Notes: Y'all ain't ready for the end of Part 1 of this story... Shit is about to go DOWN

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03 @the-sun-died-out @squishycalumxo @sebastiansstanswhore

@louderfortheback @pandabiiissh @calebye

@dottirose @lfaewrites @padsfirewhisky @wheels-upin-thirty @f-me-reid @justanothercmblog @academiareid @moyo5653 @comfybabie @duds31 @trxshwriting @boimlers-gonna-boim

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youre-ackermine · 1 year

Note

HIIIIII <3 can you do 11. don't you dare

for levi :D appreciate you, hope you're having a good day!!! <3

Hey Kat 🌹

I had a good day & I enjoyed writing this little drabble for you!

Thank you so much for your request!

I hope you'll enjoy this 🫶

*****

English is not my usual language

*****

Drabble prompt 11 "Don't you dare"

Levi x gn!reader / fluff / protective!levi / canonverse / 450 words

The mess hall was buzzing with lively conversations.

After a hard day of training, running in the mud & trying not to lose grip on the swords hilts, hands becoming slippery as the rain poured down heavier & heavier, the warm comfort of a full bowl of aromatic stew was most welcome.

Most Scouts were exhausted & you were no exception. Freshly bathed, water was still dripping from your damp hair on your neat, comfy clothes. Your limbs were sore & your back hurt so much that you had had a hard time walking all the way from the bathroom.

Spoon & empty bowl in hand, you looked around the room for a free seat. But the whole canteen was so crowded that you finally gave up your search with a heavy, tired sigh.

As you turned to go back to your dorm, a gentle but firm grip around your wrist made you stop. A quick glance over your shoulder was enough to see that your Captain would not let you go away without an explanation.

"The fuck you're doing, soldier?" Levi asked in a deep voice, his eyebrows knitted in a worried frown. "You're supposed to eat something warm & sustaining to recover from today's training."

He released the pressure of his grip on your wrist only to slide his hand up your arm & gently squeeze it in an encouraging gesture, dragging you along to the nearest table.

"Move your stinky ass over!" he ordered, casting a cold glare at a new recruit, startling the hell out of him.

The soldier's attempt to protest was quickly nipped in the bud by a harsh warning.

"Don't you dare!" Levi uttered in a hoarse voice, leaning towards the young man until their foreheads were almost touching.

The soldier averted his gaze, beads of cold sweat instantly running down his temple, his face turning pale with dread.

"Please Levi, stop it, this is embarrassing!" you muttered under your breath. "I don't need any special treatment after all."

"Stop saying this kind of shit right now! You're exhausted, you're starving, you need to sit down & eat a proper meal as much as this average guy!"

Levi firmly made you sit down & ladled some hot stew into the bowl before handing it over to you. His hand squeezing your shoulder as you finally grabbed your spoon, he leaned down to reach your ear.

"I know you're exhausted" he whispered. "Come to my office with two cups of tea when you're done, I'll help you get rid of the pain."

As he headed out of the mess hall towards his quarters, you couldn't hold back a soft smile at the idea of the Captain taking care of you all night long.

*****

#val's requests #drabble prompts #drabble challenge #lovely moots 💕#kat 🌹#humanitys strongest bamf #levi ackerman #levi x gn!reader #levi fluff #levi x reader drabble #val writes ✍️

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corn-fanfiction · 6 months

Text

ARMS TONITE (PT 2)

18+ ONLY

CW: canon-typical violence, language, smut (p + v sex), dub-con, mentions of r*pe. If I missed any, let me know.

"Easy, easy. No, no, tighten that one first."

"I'd do a lot better without you hovering over my shoulder."

"Someone's gotta make sure you don't blow up the warehouse."

You stick your tongue between your teeth as you do when you're concentrating. Mark's eyes flick to it. He never slows down. Never stops.

Whatever bolt you're supposed to be tightening you manage to get it done. Mark exhales and straightens behind you. You feel a kiss on the back of your head.

"Good girl. Proud of you."

You giggle but he can't see your face drop and the way you suppress a shudder. He thinks you're brainwashed. He thinks you've fallen. He doesn't know you despise his touch even still, months later.

Laying it on thick, you turn your body that's trapped between his and the table.

"Did you sigh? You're not supposed to sigh. You're the one showing me what to do."

Mark leans in and you lean back. It looks like you're teasing him. He doesn't know you're doing everything in your power to create distance.

"Well, I'm not the perfect teacher."

He's fishing. You'll bite.

"Well maybe I'm a bad student."

Oh he likes that. He seizes your lips in a kiss and you inhale to distract yourself. He takes this as enthusiasm. A hand travels up your shirt to grab a breast but you gently push it away.

"What if Amanda comes in?" You smile against lips.

"Let her watch, she's just jealous anyway."

"No, Mark..." You squirm, but don't want to put up too much of a fight. However, thankfully, he pulls back.

"Ah, you're right. I'm a selfish man after all."

No kidding.

He places one final kiss on your cheek and finally frees your body.

"I'm gonna wash this grease off my hands," you say and head to the bathroom. He doesn't respond, which is a good thing. Mark doesn't keep a super tight leash on you, at least not in the warehouse.

In the bathroom you scrub your hands raw under hot water. You imagine you're also scrubbing off his touch, his smell, even his taste.

"Scrub all you want, Princess. No washing that away."

You look into the mirror and spot Amanda behind you, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. You turn off the sink and dry your hands.

"What do you want, Amanda?"

"Oh, that's not very welcoming. How do you greet Mark?"

She steps up behind you and brushes hair away from your neck. You do your best to act unbothered.

"Wouldn't you love to know."

"Actually, I would."

She allows you to duck away from her touch and leave the bathroom. Anywhere you can go to be away from Mark and Amanda is top of your list.

Amanda follows you out of the bathroom and into the expansive center space. It's decently organized for what it is: some long abandoned warehouse fitted to all the Jigsaw's personal and business needs.

Mark catches you by the waist before you can get too far and an immediate spike of panic shoots through you. But a wet kiss on your cheek lets you know that he's only trying to be affectionate. In his sick way.

"Get a room," Amanda groans, going to work on her own project.

"Not such a bad idea," Mark nuzzles into your neck. How much longer, you wonder. How much more do you have to endure to secure your freedom?

As much as it takes, you know. You'll only have one shot and you have to make absolutely certain you don't throw it away.

So you let him lead you to a specially locked room- your room. Or at least, it had been for a while. He knew he couldn't keep you there forever, and you had a sneaking suspicion that John Kramer wouldn't let him. Not that you've ever met the man. It's almost like a rite of passage you've yet to earn.

Mark had always kept the room nice for you which you could appreciate. It wasn't a dirty stained mattress on the floor with handcuffs hanging from the walls. It was as nice as a makeshift bedroom in an abandoned warehouse could be.

After the initial shock of having kidnapped a coworker wore off, Mark started keeping you at his apartment, then occasionally bringing you to "work" with him.

The deal had been, in his words, 'simple'.

"You're gonna quit your job at the precinct-"

"No!"

"Yes. You're gonna drop school. You're going to tell everyone in your life that you found a better situation. No forwarding address."

"And you don't think anyone would look for me when they realize I'm gone?"

He gave you a villainous grin. "Like who?"

And now, he's got you on top of him. Once he realized he could basically force you to ride him (like he could force you to do anything) it had become his favorite pastime. Him with a bruising grip on your hips, you will nails carving crescents into the headboard. You've found ways to make this as enjoyable as possible for yourself, of course. Disassociating, pretending he's someone else. It started as anyone random but soon your fantasies had zeroed in on one specific guy; some poor man you went on a single date with months ago. You'd wanted to keep seeing him. For obvious reasons, it didn't work out. It's easy to see him under you now instead of Mark.

And then, there are the times that you can't imagine anyone else. These aren't the times you're proud of.

Call it Stockholm Syndrome. You're doing what it takes to survive. You've got your eye on the prize. Your race to freedom.

Sometimes, it is enough to just have his thick, veiny cock inside of you. It makes lying to him easier, anyway.

"Fuck Sweetheart. You're so good for me, aren't you?"

You can't stand his dirty talk. But you're not going to tell him that.

"Yes," you moan.

"So good at taking my fucking cock."

He's close. You know by now when to tell. If you really play into the moans it'll get him there even faster. Faking your own orgasm helps, too. So does letting yourself have a real one.

He does want you to feel good, for his own fucked up reasons. He wants power. He wants you to hate yourself. Or at least that's how it started.

You still can't imagine why he's kept you alive this long. Surely the complacency has bored him. Surely there's nothing else he can want from you.

He cums and makes sure you do as well. You can let yourself enjoy it. Even as he cleans you up and insists on cuddling afterwards. You'd never ever pegged him as a cuddler. Well, maybe you could've, before you knew what he was capable of.

It goes on like this. Mark teaches you more and more about how to build Jigsaw traps, though you and Amanda both know he's not the best at it. He's too aggressive, sloppy. You're more careful.

"You're gonna help me build traps."

"What? Why me?"

"Because you're smart, and capable... sometimes. But we'll work on that. Or, if you prefer, you can end up in a trap. One of mine, too. And mine are rough. Maybe I'll even be assigned your case. Distraught with grief because 'oh, she was such a sweet girl. Such a diligent worker'. And oh, when we find your body... I might even cry. And no one can believe it because 'what could she possibly have done to end up in one of those?'"

"And if I don't? I'd rather kill myself the first chance I get."

"You won't. You're too stubborn. You hate me too much. You'll go on for forever trying to beat me."

Not that you'd ever tell anyone, but he was right about that. He was right about that.

-------

"Fuck, fuck!"

You zap yourself as you try wiring a head trap for the fifth time in a row. Giving up you toss the wires onto the table and sit back.

"You're rushing," Amanda says over her shoulder. Mark is out.

"I don't know why he wants me to do the electrics. I'm not good at it."

"That's why. He wants you to learn."

You huff. "I don't get it. Why hasn't he just killed me yet?"

Amanda snorts. "Don't let John hear you say that."

You know that Jigsaw has the place bugged with mics and cameras.

"I'm not saying I want to die, I'm saying I don't understand it. And why would John give a shit about me asking questions when Mark is a rapist?"

"Ooh, nasty word."

"Accurate one."

"I'm not arguing." Amanda turns to face you. "To tell you the truth? I don't know why either. I've wondered a lot, myself. But, it's John. If he's doing something it means he has his reasons."

You slam your hand on the table.

"That's not good enough!"

Amanda looks at you, shocked at your bravado. Then, a smile creeps onto her lips.

She's impressed.

"Look, you have pull with John. You could talk to him!"

"Why would I do anything to help you? Letting you live was a mercy. You should be thankful. Anything more and you would've ratted us out in a heartbeat. You still would."

An idea strikes you.

"You hate Mark."

Amanda crosses her arms.

"It's no secret."

"Wouldn't you wanna see him squirm? Pissed beyond reason? Being beat by the two of us would wreck him. If I can get satisfaction out of that I know you can too."

Amanda looks you over.

"Shit. You might be as clever as Mark thinks you are. Alright, suppose I agree. What do you suggest, short of me just letting you walk out of here?"

"That's not enough?"

Amanda clicks her tongue.

"Aww, you think I'm not gonna make you work for it even a little bit?"

You close your eyes. Sigh. Shudder.

"What do you suggest?"

Amanda wanders around, finger to her chin for effect. But then you see a gleam in her eyes that you know is real.

"How about...you go into one of my traps?"

The words send you dizzy.

"No..."

"Come on. If you're half as smart as I think you are, you may just stand a chance."

You know the kind of traps Amanda does- the kind that are impossible to escape. She and Mark share a brutality; hers is just better crafted.

"If you get out, then I'll help you escape. If you die, I get to watch Mark suffer anyway. At least this way I get something in return."

"Will it even be possible to get out of?"

"Come on. If I made it impossible it would ruin the game."

You chew the inside of your cheek. If this is your only option, it may as well be the best one.

"So how do we dress this up? Make it look like anything other than you just trying to kill me?"

"Practice. What better way to learn traps than to be in one?"

You comb over the possibilities in your brain. What could she possibly use against you to create some twisted form of poetic "justice" in her game?

"It'll be survivable?"

She crosses her heart. "Scout's honor."

You exhale a shaky breath. "Okay. Fine. Let's do it."

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

It was a hard sell to Mark, but once you backed Amanda's reasoning, he hesitantly agreed to it, even though you and Amanda working together prompted some suspicion. One kiss and fuck session and he forgot about that real quick.

Amanda was going to drug you beforehand to give you an "authentic" experience. Beforehand, Mark gives you a quick, almost gentle kiss.

"You've got this, okay? If it gets to be too much, I'll pull you out."

You search his eyes and you're surprised to see them filled with concern. Holy shit. He means it.

Amanda jabs you with a needle a little harder than necessary and soon, you're asleep.

When you wake up, you're in a room unfamiliar to you, secured to a chair with mechanized wrist cuffs, the outsides of which are patterned with rusty spikes. You wonder if she took you from the warehouse to a different location. The walls are tall, and when you look up you see a window on some sort of office- likely a factory floor or something. Behind the grimy glass you can make out Amanda, Mark, and another silhouette. White wispy hair, calm demeanor, eyes like a hawk-

Holy shit, you think.

Holy shit.

It's John Kramer.

Suddenly you get a feeling almost like stage fright. Like, if you weren't afraid of dying in this trap or never being able to escape Mark, then you'd be afraid of disappointing Jigsaw.

Okay, so maybe there was a little bit of Stockholm Syndrome.

"Hello. I would like to play a game."

The familiar, altered voice plays out over a speaker.

"You've ended up in our...strange little family due to your inability to know your place. To know when to stop looking. Perhaps now, you'll learn a lesson."

As if you haven't already.

"You will notice that the cuffs attached to your wrists are mechanized. The spikes on the outside are rigged to a timer. If you do not complete your task in time, the spikes will be forced inward, puncturing your veins. Apart from being excruciatingly painful, it will also cause you to bleed to death.

"To your left you will see a table with a tray holding a syringe. This is a chemical that will heighten your pain receptors. Inject it into your bloodstream when the timer starts.

"Once you have completed that task, you will search the desk behind you for a key. Get the key, secure your freedom. Allow the timer to run out, and face your demise. Live or die. Make your choice."

The directions swim in your head but all you can think is the word death. Something releases the cuffs from the chair and you launch yourself forward and face the window.

"Amanda! You said it was survivable!"

Amanda leans over to a microphone with a grin. "It is. You just have to survive it."

You don't bother looking at Mark to gauge his reaction because the timer is ticking down from three minutes.

Whatever pain you will suffer here is nothing compared to what you have, and could possibly feel.

You run to the tray and uncap the syringe with unsteady hands. You inject it into your arm and wince as you inject the heavy fluid. Almost immediately, the sensation of the needle in you arm is unbearably present and you jerk it out and throw it to the ground.

Okay, first part done.

You rush to the desk. You go to yank open the first drawer but an electric jolt is sent through your body and you fall, twitching against the ground.

Damn bitch electrified the handles.

You sit up again and look at the timer.

2:00

You fumble and remove your belt and bite onto it. You yank open the same drawer, screaming through the pain only to find it empty. There's three more.

You open the second. Empty. Tears are streaming down your face.

You open the third. Inside, thin shards of glass. Sharp as knife-point. Beneath them you can see a key.

You barely spare a thought for the pain and plunge your hand inside.

The screams escape you anyway and the belt falls from your mouth.

If you were in the room above, you would hear the ensuing argument.

"Amanda, that's enough. She's gonna bleed to death," Mark says and makes his way to the release button.

"Don't you even think about it, Hoffman. She knows what she signed up for."

"You can't kill her!"

John Kramer watches you. You tug on the drawer to remove it from the desk, presumably to dump it to the ground. Smart, he thinks, but it's secure in its place. You curse and continue digging your hand inside.

1:00

Mark tires to shoulder past Amanda but she pulls a gun on him.

Meanwhile, you're losing the skin on your hand. But, right as you think you'd rather just die and get it over with, your fingers wrap around the key and you yank your hand out, passing the key to your unmarred hand.

There's a door behind the desk.

00:30

You struggle to fit the key in the lock through your tears and your entire body shaking.

00:24

You slot the key in and turn it. An alarm blares. The clock stops. You cry out in relief and throw the door open.

But your relief is cut short when you see two bodies kneeling in the adjoining room. You don't recognize either of them.

You turn back to the window.

"Amanda? What the fuck is this?"

But Amanda just smiles as another recording begins to play.

"Before you are two corrupt businessmen. Never mind their crimes. You absence at the precinct has caused certain things to slip through the cracks, including any justice for the individuals in the room with you. You have a choice. Pick up the knife on the floor next to you. Kill one of them. You have one minute. If you do not, the wrist bands will deploy. One sacrifice for two lives. Make your choice."

You can't think straight and the timer has already started. Both of the men are shouting at you, begging, pleading, telling you about their families and their hardships. You're going numb.

"Amanda, you can't make me do this!"

"You're right. It's your choice."

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" You yell. You pick up the knife.

00:28

To you, it doesn't matter who you kill. You look between them. One looks to be a bit older than the other. Wedding ring.

You look at the younger man.

"I am so sorry."

Whatever it takes.

00:17

The man hardly has time to respond before you plunge the knife into the left side of his neck, aiming for the carotid artery to give him as quick a death as possible.

You hear the timer buzz. The shackles undo and fall from your wrist. You drop the knife. The man's blood has sprayed onto you. You ignore the other man's relentless thanks and wander back into the main room.

The sound of a door opening and closing doesn't register to you. Hands come to your shoulders, then your face.

"Hey, hey, look at me. You're okay." A kiss on your forehead. "I'm so proud of you. You're safe now."

No, not now.

But soon.

#mark hoffman x reader #mark hoffman #amanda young #john kramer #saw fanfic #smut #angst #amanda being a bamf

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merlinfic · 1 year

Text

Find Me In The Future

Author: Malus_sieversii

Rating: T

Setting: Canon AU

Word Count: 97,706

WARNINGS: Violence

Summary:

A few months after Morgause and Morgana's failed coup, Arthur is doing his best to run the kingdom; Gwen is caring for Uther, a broken man, confined to his chambers; and Merlin is still juggling three jobs as manservant, physician's apprentice, and secret guardian angel to a seemingly oblivious prince. As all three grapple with the reverberations of Morgana's betrayal and look anxiously towards the future, the future comes to them in the form of Arthur and Merlin from a decade later, accidentally plopped into their past. Together, they set out to return the pair to their proper place in time, confronting mistakes, secrets, and an unexpected peek into what the future holds. Featuring teasing, arguing, crying, roughhousing, more teasing, innuendo, and a sneaky little horse named Hengreon, join this cast of confusingly named characters for an attempt at humor that became a harrowing emotional journey featuring: Arthur, Uther, Arthur, Merlin, Merlin, Gwen, Gwaine, Gwyn?!, Morgana, and Morgause.

Reader’s Comments: This was such an amazing read, featuring Merlin and Arthur from 10 years in the future showing up on the doorstep of Merlin and Arthur around the beginning of season 4, there are revelations about feelings and magic and all that jazz, plus bonus morgwen! Very very cute and plot-heavy in a good way as the future M&A struggle to get back to their own time.

Thanks to @merthurmagic for sending in this rec!

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marblemoovt · 2 years

Text

Catch Me If You Can - Griffith/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: None, just good ol’ fluff and some angst (don’t worry the ending is happy)

Summary:

As the crown princess, you're expected to behave every bit like a lady. Except you frankly don't care and live how you want much to the dismay of your parents. When Charlotte visits your kingdom, a banquet is held.

Somehow you manage to get yourself grounded a few days prior, but it's no big deal, you'll just sneak out like you always do. Except Griffith happens to foil your plans every time.

---------

"I am afraid your parents have ordered everyone to escort you back to your room should they discover you escaping."

"I wouldn't call it escaping," you mutter under your breath.

"And what would you call it, dear Princess?"

"I'm simply taking a walk away from my room and out of the castle."

"As far as I recall, walks don't usually involve scaling buildings."

"What can I say? I like to take the scenic route—

Note:

This was requested by @Bravo6_go_in_dark on Wattpad and I am so sorry for taking forever to write this. I've been writing this on and off for about a month and a half but it's finally done! (Note my username on Wattpad is @Parascythe- )

Request: "Can u do griffith with a fem reader who is Charlotte's royal best friend from another kingdom who is very chaotic childish bold and a trouble maker and once the king and queen of her kingdom has to drag her by the hair and keep her in her room but her multiple tries of escaping didn't work cuz griffith is outside her palace"

I will say that I do not like Griffith for obvious reasons, but I can respect who he was before a certain point in the manga/anime. I think some of my bias leaked into my writing, and as a result, this is not pure fluff. The realist in me demanded something more realistic.

I also never intended for this to be super long, but here we are at around 7k words. Maybe the long fic will make up for the amount of time spent waiting lol.

I hope anyone who reads this enjoys it. On with the fic! ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

You never were the ideal princess your parents wanted. Some find it hard to believe that you’re royalty and would say so if it didn’t mean treason. While your parents made every effort to raise you properly, there was always your brash attitude that none of your tutors could tame. Etiquette and grace were drilled into you. You acted like a perfect princess—diplomatic and reserved—at events and official settings. Outside, however, is an entirely different story.

“Princess! Please come back! Her Majesty says you must look presentable for your upcoming betrothal meeting!” Your maid shouts, failing to keep up with your running.

You toss your head back with a laugh and continue gleefully dashing through the castle. “If he really wants to marry me then he should accept me as I am,” you refer to your pants. “Having to dress up to impress some man I might not even like is foolish.” As you run, you pass by a familiar white knight—viscount now—and meet curious blue eyes. Griffith is here to guard Charlotte while she’s visiting your kingdom. Flashing a cheeky smile, you wave and continue on your path to meet your potential fiance, unaware of his lingering gaze.

You stand in front of the drawing-room and enter unannounced before any of the servants can stop you. “Princess! It’s a pleasure to meet—” a man immediately stands up to greet you, pausing mid-sentence when he notices your attire. If you remember correctly, he’s the prince of a neighbouring kingdom. You also recall that your parents were adamant about signing a trade treaty with them, hence the sudden need to join the two kingdoms through marriage. The slight furrow of his brow already puts you in a bad mood. “Is the princess not able to come? I must say that I have never seen such a rude maid barge into a room, let alone one dressed so inappropriately. Are those pants?” You swear you see red but the diplomatic voice in your brain begs you not to cave his face in to avoid instigating a war. Instead, your fingers curl into a fist and you can feel the sting as your nails dig into your palms. You school your expression into something neutral and not at all the seething rage boiling underneath your skin.

“You’re speaking right to her.” His face pales. “I wasn’t aware that they skipped lessons on proper etiquette in your kingdom. How barbaric.” You look at him with disdain, already deciding that you wanted nothing to do with this man. His complexion quickly flushes with colour. He takes quick, angry strides towards you and grips your wrists tightly. Where were the guards?? You glance around the room and notice that it’s only the two of you and that there’s no commotion from outside. Part of you is scared, but another part of you is furious—furious at this man who looks down on you because he thinks you’re an easy target.

“Listen here, Princess,” he spits out your title with venom, “I would watch my tone if I were you. Your kingdom needs mine, not the other way around. My parents have left the decision up to me whether the treaty is signed or not.” His other hand drifts uncomfortably low and you glare murderously. “You should smile more, otherwise you’ll ruin that pretty face of yours; after all, that is your only redeeming quality.”

“To hell with the treaty.” Deciding that you’ve had enough, you rotate your wrist and pull your arm out of his grip. Taking the efficient route, you deliver a swift kick between his trousers and he crumples to the ground like a puppet that had its strings cut. “Don’t you ever threaten me again.” You rest your foot on top of the area you kicked, noting how he winces. “Do you understand?” When you receive no response you add pressure to your foot. “Do. You. Understand?” You emphasize each word. The question of whether this man would be able to continue his family line lingers in the back of your mind.

“Fucking bitch!”

Before you can stomp your foot down, your parents enter the room.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Your father demands as your mother drags you away from your fiance—ex-fiance now.

“He started it!” You say, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“Honey, we have talked about this,” your mother tries to soothe you, “you cannot keep making such childish excuses.”

“He threatened me! H-he tried to touch me!” you sputter, voice rising as your shoulders go rigid with tension. You whip your head and see his cocky smirk that immediately changes into a tearful expression when your parents glance over.

“She just suddenly attacked me!” He sobs pitifully, his acting even worse than that jester your parents hired. “I went to greet her and she kicked me without hesitation. What will my parents do when they hear their only son may never be able to produce heirs?” You feel one of your eyes twitch in annoyance, but the look on your father’s face keeps your mouth shut.

“We can still sort this out.” Your father sighs and turns to you. “You are grounded, young lady. You are to stay in your room until the upcoming banquet.” You open your mouth to begin protesting. “Not a single word from you. Guards!” At his command, a group of guards enter the room. Where were they when you needed them?? “Escort the princess back to her chambers.” His tired eyes look over you once more. “Drag her if you must.” The guards salute and nudge you out of the room. Eventually, they do end up dragging you because you insisted on going back and reasoning with your parents.

You spend the next day locked up in your room, grateful that you were at least allowed visitors. And so here you were, sitting with Charlotte as she listened to you over a cup of tea. She frowned when you mentioned the man’s rude behaviour, and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head when you got to the part where you kicked him in the balls.

“I mean, honestly, Lottie. How could they expect me to marry such a pig?!” you exclaim indignantly. She pats your hand as a comforting gesture. “What’s with that look on your face?” You lean back in your chair and try to analyze her expression.

“I am surprised and envious of your boldness,” Charlotte admits. She is a lot more demure compared to you, something you assumed was a product of her father’s doing.

“And look where that boldness got me.” You gesture to your temporary confinement and the noticeable increase in guards around and in your room.

Charlotte laughs, and it’s what you would expect a princess’s laugh to sound like—melodic and light. “When has that ever stopped you?” She raises a brow and her lips lift softly into a smile.

You clamber out of your seat and rush to give her a hug, adoring the way she squeals joyfully in your arms. “This is why you’re my best friend.” You grin at her, already planning an escape in your head.

There are three more days until the banquet, which means three more escape attempts. On the first day, you decide to try climbing out of the window. Your room was only on the third level and you managed to gather enough silk sheets to form a rope. During the day there were guards inside your room, so you decided to wait until the evening to put your plan into action.

Once the pale moon rises into view, you walk to your closet and pull out the pile of ‘rope’ and quietly carry a chair to your door, wedging it beneath the doorknob. This way you could give yourself more time before they realize what you’ve done. Tiptoeing to your window, you secure one end of the rope around the lantern hook next to the frame and carefully lower the rest of it. A light breeze brushes against your face and you shiver as you stare at the dark abyss below. You’ve read in books about heroes and heroines doing this countless times. How hard could it be to execute in real life?

Not as hard as you thought, but a lot harder than you expected. You never considered what would happen if you were to slip or fall before reaching the ground. But to be honest, this is a fanfic and you’re feeling fairly confident in your plot armour.

With the fourth wall broken, you begin your descent towards freedom (hopefully). Thanks to all the horse riding and swordsmanship, it takes you less than half an hour to reach the ground. You internally sigh with relief when your feet come in contact with solid ground.

“I believe you are supposed to be under room arrest, Princess?” A familiar voice shatters the small moment of victory and your shoulders immediately tense up—your back straight as a rod. Lucky for you, there’s a layer of amusement in his tone, so you’re probably not completely fucked. Turning your head, a small gasp falls from your lips. You already thought he looked handsome during the day, but the moonlight did wonders for his ethereal beauty.

“Is your hair made out of moonlight?” The words escape before your brain has time to process them. Your eyes widen and it feels like you’ll snap in half if your body becomes any more rigid. “Shit—I mean, pardon me.” Your breathing quickens and heat flushes from the crown of your head to the base of your neck.

“I can practically see the steam rising off your head. And no, Princess. My hair is simply just hair. Although the colour seems to intrigue most people.” He comes closer and makes an attempt to grab your arm. His fingers send a jolt of electricity and you jump back, the castle walls trapping you from behind.

“I’m not going back, not yet at least,” you refuse, flinching away from his touch again. His lips turn into a small frown but it disappears when you blink again. His expression is more neutral now and that polite smile is back on his face.

“I am afraid your parents have ordered everyone to escort you back to your room should they discover you escaping.”

“I wouldn’t call it escaping,” you mutter under your breath.

“And what would you call it, dear Princess?”

“I’m simply taking a walk away from my room and out of the castle.”

“As far as I recall, walks don’t usually involve scaling buildings.”

“What can I say? I like to take the scenic route—

A squeak escapes from your throat as the ground suddenly vanishes beneath your feet. Instinctively your arms cling around his neck. You glance up and notice that Griffith’s face is significantly closer to yours now. When did he get so close?

“W-what are you doing?” you ask, unsure whether to faint from excitement or embarrassment.

“I am escorting you to your chambers,” he responds in a matter-of-fact tone, carrying you with ease.

“I figured as much, b-but I’m capable of walking. Y-you don’t need to carry me like this.” You stumble through your words, oblivious to the way the corners of his lips curl up.

“I believe you and Charlotte called this the ‘princess carry’ during one of your book discussions.”

You furrow your brows and think back to all your recent interactions with Charlotte. Had he been paying attention all those times? Your heart skips a beat and you begin to sweat. If he remembers this then he probably remembers how the two of you drooled over the male leads in the romance novels you’ve been reading.

“I didn’t expect you to eavesdrop, Sir Griffith.”

“One can hardly call it eavesdropping if the entire conversation consists of loud screams and squeals over fictional men.”

“Touché.” You look around and notice that he’s walking away from the main castle. You unconsciously tighten your grip.

“Not to worry, Your Highness. I am still under orders to escort you back to your room.” He squeezes you gently in reassurance. “The length of time, however, was not specified. We are taking—what did you call it?” He flashes you a dazzling smile. “The scenic route?”

Blood rushes back to your cheeks and you turn away bashfully, hoping he doesn’t notice the dopey grin on your lips. “And pray tell what the scenic route entails?” You ask, trying to steer the conversation.

“Through the gardens. I hear the flowers are lovely this time of year.” You reach the familiar archway with ivy woven between its frame. He sets you down gently and offers his arm. “M’lady.”

You accept and hope the lighting is dim enough to hide your glowing cheeks. “Thank you, for—“ you try to find the right words “—for everything tonight.” You admire the petals of the peonies nearby. “You could have taken me straight back to my room, but you didn’t. So, thank you.” Shyly, you tuck some hair behind your ear and smooth out your blouse.

“Terribly stuffy, isn’t it?” You tilt your head at him. “The aristocrats and nobility.”

“As difficult as it is, it’s a responsibility I was born with.” You shrug. “One I hear you hope to also carry?” Your question was innocent enough but his expression falters for a second.

“I do aspire for my own kingdom.” He looks down at you with a serious gaze; there’s a fire in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. “It is a lifelong dream.”

You nod thoughtfully. “Is that why you and Charlotte…?” On numerous occasions, the two of you have gossiped over Griffith and his godly appearance. Lately, you’ve noticed the two of them growing closer.

“Charlotte is lovely but I do not care for her as a lover,” he admits without hesitation.

“Are you sure you should be telling me—her best friend—this?” you tease, nudging him playfully.

He bends down and you can feel his warm breath tickle your ear. “Perhaps I wanted you to hear it.”

“Is that a confession?” You tease him, not expecting a serious reply.

“Would you accept it if it was?” His words cause your steps to falter and you have to tightly grip his arm to steady yourself.

“In your dreams.” You try to deflect your embarrassment. Griffith raises a brow; your flustered appearance does not go unnoticed.

“Well, in my dreams I would present a flower—“ he plucks a rose from the garden “—like this and—“ he tucks it behind your ear “—and proceed to claim how no other flower is more beautiful than the one blossoming in front of me.”

The blush on your cheeks puts the rose petals to shame. “I wasn’t aware you were such a wordsmith, Sir Griffith.”

“There are plenty of things you don’t know about me, Princess.” He flashes you a smile that borders on a smirk.

“And do I get the pleasure of learning about them all?”

“That depends.” He stops walking and you realize that you’re back at the main castle. Bringing your hand to his lips, he presses a gentle kiss against your knuckles. “Goodnight, Princess.” He leaves as swiftly as he appeared. You begin to process what just happened tonight and the familiar warmth returns to your cheeks. Shaking your head, you realize the only way back to your room undetected is to climb up again. With a sigh, you begin your journey back to your window.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

The security is laxer the second day and there are no longer any guards inside your room. So when the guards rotate for their shifts, you pull out a spare maid uniform and change into it. For good measure, you put on a wig and remove any makeup you had on. Using the pretense that you’re a maid the princess called for earlier, you manage to walk right past the guards. You tell them that the princess ordered you to pick up her favourite pastries from the capital for tea later. With a solid excuse, you are free to venture into the capital. You even make it past the gates until you’re hit with a sense of déjà vu.

“We meet again, Princess.” You don’t dare look behind you, opting instead to increase your pace into a brisk walk. He matches your speed with ease since he’s on horseback. He tilts his head curiously. “Taking the scenic route again?” The grin in his tone is evident. “A walk through the capital this time?”

“If you’re here to stop me, it won’t work,” you stubbornly say. The fabric of your skirt bunches between your fists and you force yourself to let go before any damage is done. Griffith smiles and shakes his head slowly.

“I am simply here to escort you back to your room again.”

“Like you did last night?”

“Precisely.”

“Does this include a complimentary tour on your horse?” you cheekily ask. While the capital isn’t too far, riding a horse is much quicker than walking.

He extends an arm to you and hoists you onto his horse. You sit in front of him, caged between his toned arms. The rhythm of riding a horse is unfamiliar to you, but you quickly pick it up, comfortably swaying in tandem with Griffith. He doesn’t speak for the rest of the way and neither do you. You lean into his chest, missing how he tenses slightly, and close your eyes to enjoy the warm sunlight. In your oblivious state, you remain unaware when he brings his arms closer until they hover just beside your waist.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

This was not what he planned for, not at all. He had meant to take you back straight to your room, just like how he meant to last night. However, if someone were to ask him to explain why he didn’t, he would simply have no answer.

At first, you were just Charlotte’s friend—her obnoxiously outspoken counterpart. But something has changed during the past few weeks. It’s gotten to the point where even those around him have noticed a difference.

There was something refreshing in your behaviour. He was used to lowering his head, spewing false words of compliment to please the nobility. Despite being the crown princess, you were humble and kind, but stern and level-headed when necessary—someone fit to stand by his side. He always knew that he would need someone to rule beside, an equal if possible. However, from his many encounters with noble women, the chances were close to benign.

He honestly didn’t think there would be a woman who would catch his eye. Most of them reeked of perfume or were trying to sleep with him to bolster their husbands’ reputations. And on occasion, he would accept their advances if they benefit him enough. But you, you were different. The first time you met, you were dangling from a tree branch to get a laugh out of Charlotte, hoping to make tea shoot out of her nose. When he saw you scaling the castle wall last night with leaves littered throughout your hair, it reminded him of that time.

You’re honestly everything he would want in a partner, as difficult as it is for him to admit. Maybe it was your warm smile that sent his heart palpitating or your flustered appearance that made his chest puff with pride. Maybe it was because he found you so damn lovely that he unconsciously wanted to spend more time with you. And he didn’t know how to feel about it all. He was always in control, there was nothing he couldn’t sway in his favour, no person who could shake his calm exterior. Well, you came in and obliterated all those beliefs. Destroyed them with your sparkling eyes, the way your lips twitch when you hold back a laugh during meetings, and…

Fuck he had it bad for you.

A small movement breaks him out of thought. You were squirming in front of him, trying to match the rocking of the horse. He could have turned back and handed you to the guards. But he didn’t, and he doesn’t know why. If he moved his arms any closer, they would be resting directly on your waist. A small feeling of pride swells in his chest when he notices how you ride the horse with ease now. He tries to ignore how you’re at the perfect height for him to plant a kiss on the crown of your head. Impulsive thoughts like these scare him with their unfamiliarity.

The outskirts of the capital come into view and he decides to break the long silence.

“What brings a princess to disguise herself?” He asks, noticing how your wig is starting to slip off.

“Pastries.”

A deep belly laugh wracks through his entire body, and he feels you tense between his arms. “My apologies.” He manages to pull himself together after a few moments. “I wasn’t expecting such an answer.”

You giggle, snorting a little. The sound sends pleasant tingles through his body, and he ignores the urge to squeeze you tight. “You’ll find that my priorities are rather different than most princesses.” You turn your head back and smile in amusement. “What were you expecting?”

He shrugs and meets your eyes, mirroring your amused expression. “More scandalous novels about forbidden love and status gaps.” You let out a noise of indignation.

“I would never!” you deny, lips lifting into a smirk. “Not without Charlotte, anyway.”

“Yes, you have been a wonderful influence on her.” And he genuinely means it, but you seem to take it the wrong way when you snap at him.

“Look, I already know it’s disgraceful how my ‘unconventional’ behaviour has rubbed off on her. I don’t need another person to chew me out on it.” The bite in your tone stings, wounding him unexpectedly. Why did it upset him so much if you were upset?

Why did he care?

All he knows is that this growing affection for you will be the death of him.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

The bakery quickly comes into view and you sigh with relief, desperate to get away from the awkward atmosphere. You feel Griffith flinch at your remark and dread instantly punches you in the gut; he meant it as a compliment. He was trying to be nice and you bit his head off after misinterpreting his intentions. You mentally scolded yourself for being the biggest idiot in the kingdom. Suddenly the space behind you is empty and you notice that Griffith has dismounted and is offering you his hand. You gnaw on the corner of your bottom lip and hesitantly accept his help, unable to look him directly in the eyes.

“Hey—” a million words go through your mind but none of the combinations you create are good enough “—I’m….” Whatever poor excuse you scraped together dies in your throat. “Shit, why is this so hard,” you grumble to yourself. Griffith remains the perfect gentlemen and waits patiently for you to say your piece. Running your fingers through your wig in an attempt to fix it, you clear your throat and flick your gaze up to his eyes. “I don’t know what else to say except I’m sorry. I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier; it was undeserved. I understand you were trying to praise me, but I misinterpreted your words.”

He smiles, although there’s now a warmth that you don’t normally see behind it. “Sometimes ‘sorry’ is all that is needed to convey what you mean.” Bringing a hand up, he hesitantly pats your head. His smile gently curves at your wide eyes. You were panicking. If you got this embarrassed with a wig on, what would it be like if he patted your actual hair?

“A-anyway. Shall we head inside?” You avert your gaze again, cursing yourself for acting like a love-struck maiden.

“Certainly, I hear that the princess is often impatient when demanding items from the capital. I hear she sometimes sends guards to storm the local bookstore to obtain new books that are popular amongst women.” His teases do little to rile you up.

“I’ll have you know that gossiping about the royal family can be seen as treason.” Your face hurts from smiling so much. “Besides, that only happened once and I would have had to wait another month if I didn’t do anything.”

“M’lady.” He offers his arm to you again. You become aware of the increasing attention the two of you—mostly Griffith—are drawing.

“I am but a humble maid, Sir Griffith.” The last thing you wanted was to have your identity exposed. Your father would most likely increase the duration of your punishment and then you would really die of boredom.

“You are a lady nonetheless.” To avoid further embarrassment, you grab his hand and tug him into the bakery. The timbre of his laughter sends your heart racing. Your hands begin to feel clammy and you release your grip, praying he doesn’t notice. “I underestimated your enthusiasm for baked goods.”

Your lips turn up into a wry smile and you wipe your palms on your skirt. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good tart.” You head to the owner, Sadie, and greet her. She’s one of the few people who know your true identity. When Charlotte isn’t visiting, you are often in the bakery helping Sadie. She has voiced her disappointment many times that you would be a great baker if you didn’t have a kingdom to run. While she heads to the back to retrieve the order, you tell Griffith that he can pick out anything for himself. “My treat,” you insist.

“I can’t say I’m a fan of sweets,” he admits, browsing the displays of various cakes and other desserts.

“Then how about a muffin? Or maybe some cookies?” you suggest, unsure of what he would like. “Of course, I can always offer you something else for your trouble?” Your bottom lip feels raw from the abuse it endures as you worry it between your teeth periodically. Flinching when a metallic taste fills your mouth, you swipe your tongue over the wound, hissing quietly at the sting.

“I sense that this is causing you distress.” His brows furrow and concern fills his gaze. He walks over to a shelf lined with bags of cookies and picks an assorted mix. “This will suffice.”

“Are you sure that’s enough?” There’s a tinge of doubt in your voice and the corners of your mouth tug down. Griffith ponders for a minute. You fidget under his calculating gaze.

“Then perhaps the privilege to call you by your name.” You suck in a breath; will you really allow this man to have such power over you? Your heart already nearly combusts when he calls you ‘princess’. Hearing your name fall from his lips will surely cause your heart to stop. On the other hand, you feel guilty seeing the simple bag of cookies in his hands. He offered you a ride to town and his protection instead of handing you to the guards.

“No titles?” You start biting your lip again, yelping when the forgotten wound reopens. Griffith rushes over to you and takes out a handkerchief, pressing the fabric firmly against your bottom lip. “I-I’m so sorry,” you stutter, the cloth impeding your ability to talk a little. Griffith’s face is close, his eyes are focused on your lips and you swallow nervously.

“You should be more careful, Princess.”

“You can say it.” You avert your gaze.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My name. I’ll allow you to call me by my name—but only in private. Father and Mother will kill me if they find out I let a man, especially one who isn’t my betrothed, address me informally.” Your eyes flicker back to him and they widen at the smile that spreads on his face.

And so he does. He says your name in a gentle whisper, testing it on his tongue. Hearing it sends fireworks exploding in your rib cage; your heart pounds loud enough that you’re afraid he can hear it.

“Then please just call me Griffith, I insist.” His kind smile sends the butterflies in your stomach fluttering.

“G-Griffith,” you hesitantly say. The pure joy in his expression is worth all the embarrassment you feel. Your lip has stopped bleeding by now and you stare guiltily at his handkerchief that you’ve stained. “It seems you’re always there in my time of need.” Before you can stop yourself, you ask him a question that’s been bothering you the past few days. “Why are you so nice to me?” His expression falters and the handkerchief scrunches up in his fist.

You aren’t stupid. You’ve seen how he interacts with other women besides Charlotte. Disingenuine. Similar to how all of high society socializes, where smiles hide sneers and insults are disguised as compliments. Sure you’re Charlotte’s best friend, but that shouldn’t mean anything to him. And so you tried to ignore the little voice in your head, telling you that he’s treating you nicely because he wants something from you.

He pulls away and smiles ruefully. “Indeed. Why am I nice to you?” Only one side of his lips curls up, and his tone is melancholic. You fold your arms and hug yourself, uncomfortable with the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

“I asked you first,” you whisper. The silence in the store is deafening. Now would be a really good time for Sadie to come back—

“Delivery for the princess coming up!” Sadie cheerfully strides back into the room with an elegantly wrapped box in her arms. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to take so long. It turns out that nobody packaged any of the sweets despite my reminders.” She shrugs her shoulders and sighs. “Here.” She presents the box to you and you thank her profusely—grateful for the interruption—and hand her the payment along with a generous tip. You look around and deduce from Griffith’s absence that he already left and is waiting for you by his horse. “He left a few minutes ago.”

Your head snaps back to Sadie and you smile sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”

“Honey, you have no idea.” You consider Sadie as an older sister. When everyone scolded you for your unladylike behaviour, Sadie encouraged you to find healthy outlets to express yourself with. She is also incredibly perceptive much to your dismay.

You fiddle with a stray thread on your sleeve, unable to bring yourself to look her in the eyes. You already know that she’s looking at you with concern. “I like him—maybe a lot more than I want to admit.”

“But?” Sadie asks, sensing the hesitation in your voice.

“But I know his type and I know what he wants to accomplish.”

“And you think he might be playing nice to get what he wants?” Her blunt words sting with the truth. Your shoulders slump and she steps around the counter, taking the box from you and setting it aside. She gently grabs both of your hands and squeezes them, and it takes you every ounce of control to not break down in the middle of the bakery. You nod, unable to speak for fear of bursting into tears, and she wraps you in a hug.

“I’m worried, Sadie. I’ve seen ambition and greed corrupt souls before. What do I do if he becomes a monster? Or what if he already is one?” You feel Sadie tremble, but then you look down at your arms and see that it’s not Sadie. It’s you. When did you start trembling? These unfamiliar feelings scared you. You were always in control, the person with the highest status in a room. Hell, a few days ago you made a grown man whimper like a baby.

Sadie pulls away with a frown and her hands are on the sides of your face. “Then if you like him so much, you make damn sure that he doesn’t stray down the wrong path. And if you fail and he becomes a monster, I’ll break his damn kneecaps and we’ll run away together and start a bakery in another kingdom.”

You choke out a laugh, your vision becoming blurry. She tuts and brushes away your tears with her thumb. “I will never understand your obsession with kneecaps.”

“You don’t have to be tall to reach them.” She grins, relaxing when your mood noticeably brightens. “Listen, you don’t have to make anything official or label what you have with him.” She drops her hands to your upper arms and squeezes them affectionately. “Your decision isn’t permanent, so just see how it goes for now.” You soak in her words and nod slowly, your gaze drifting towards the door. “Hey.” Looking back at Sadie, her expression is solemn. “I mean it. I’m always available for some kneecap busting.” Her face breaks out into a grin and you start giggling. The two of you laugh until your sides ache and your lungs beg for oxygen.

“Sometimes I wonder how you’re not an adventurer or in some job that requires physical violence.”

The Cheshire grin on her face sparks some curiosity. “Who’s to say that I’ve only done baking my whole life?” Before you can ask questions, she pushes the box against your chest and steers you to the door. “Your knight in shining armour is waiting.” You stick your tongue at her over your shoulder and she returns the gesture before waving goodbye.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

Griffith is beside his horse, feeding it a nice, shiny apple he bought while you were inside. You can’t help but notice the large group of girls admiring him from afar and the small few that gathered the courage to go up and talk to him. You lean against a wall and observe. His smile never reaches his eyes. His actions are all polite but he doesn’t go above the bare minimum. You could sense some irritation from his body language, which was so subtle that you almost missed it.

“Lord Griffith, what brings you here to town?” One of them presses up against his arm, purposefully sticking out her chest. He smirks and grabs the woman by her chin, brushing his thumb over her lips.

“To admire lovely ladies such as yourself.” You have to push down the bile rising in your throat as you watch the woman swoon and faint.

She literally passes out. It takes two men to drag her to the nearest doctor.

The group continues to gush over Griffith in hushed whispers, their incessant giggling begins to get on your nerves. Deciding that you were fed up—and most definitely not jealous—you push off the wall and walk over to Griffith. He immediately notices your presence and a more genuine smile appears on his face. “As much as I would love to stay and chat, ladies. I’m afraid duty calls.”

The group of girls glare at you. You beam a sweet smile at them, trying to convey with your eyes how little fucks you give. It seems to work as a majority of them wither under your gaze. “What would Lord Griffith have to do with an ugly harlot?” one of them says. If you weren’t holding a box of your favourite pastries right now, hands would be thrown.

“The princess urgently requires some desserts for her afternoon tea and I was sent to escort her maid to pick up the delivery,” Griffith replies, emphasizing your title. The girl pales immediately. Insulting a direct servant of the royal family was like insulting their master, and insulting a member of the royal family usually ends with someone’s head being lopped off. Without another word, he mounts his horse and helps you up. He grabs the reins and signals his horse to start walking, easing into a trot. A loud thud behind you signals that the number of fainting women today has increased by one. Although you would faint too if you thought you were surely going to be decapitated.

“Thank you,” you say, watching the scenery pass. “For standing up for me. I could have handled it—” you interrupt him before he can interject “—but I’m thankful for the assistance.”

“Well, I certainly couldn’t let them slander you like that.”

“Do you think I’m pretty, then?” you tease him, silently chuckling at how his chest tenses behind you.

“I won’t deny that you are,” he answers, his voice lilting. “I have to make sure my head remains on my shoulders.” You guffaw and smack his arm, leaning back harshly and ramming your head into his chest in hopes of winding him. He grunts and tightens his arm around your waist. “It’s dangerous to move around so much on a horse, Princess.” His warm breath tickles your ears and your face is ablaze. You simply huff and adjust yourself until you’re comfortable, trying to ignore the tingles running through your body. His arms are still around your waist, resting on them and almost holding you in an embrace.

You stare straight ahead, not wanting to see Griffith’s expression when you continue the conversation from the bakery. “You never answered my question.”

“If I think you’re pretty? I thought we already established that you’re exquisitely beautiful.”

“W-what! No, not that!” You smack his arm again out of embarrassment.

“Careful, Princess. I can’t swing a sword if you maim my arm.” You retaliate by smacking his other arm, but he grabs your hand before the blow can land. He doesn’t let go and you secretly don’t want him to, so you don’t mention it.

“I was talking about earlier when we were in the bakery,” you say

“Are you always so violent with men?”

You frown. “Why are you trying to change the subject?”

He squeezes your hand and flashes a smile. “I see my attempts to steer the conversation are futile.” He leans forward and sighs. His warm breath against your neck sends shivers down your spine. “You have become far more important to me than I intended,” he admits in a hushed tone. You struggle to process his words, the only thing grounding you is the brush of his thumb across the back of your hand.

“Is that a confession?” you squeak out, struggling to keep your breathing steady.

“That depends. Would you accept it if it was?”

The familiar response brings you back to last night in the garden. Your heart nearly leaps out of your ribcage and it takes you every ounce of self-control to not jump off the horse and run away. Could you really trust his words? Did he genuinely like you? Or is he just like that prince you nearly made sterile this morning?

“And if I did?” You turn around, looking up at him through your lashes.

He breathes in sharply and dips his head down, nose bumping against yours.

“Then I would say your standards are considerably low if you call that a confession,” he whispers. His eyes flicker from your lips and back up to your eyes. Feeling bold, you straighten your posture. Your faces are so close that you can feel his warm breath fanning against your skin.

“Then how about—” you brush your lips against his “—I show you a proper confession?” and you close the gap. He doesn’t move at first. He seems to freeze behind you and this makes you pause in hesitation. But he quickly reciprocates, moving his lips in tandem with yours.

Kissing Griffith is everything you imagined and more. His soft lips are gentle and he doesn’t try to push you further. But you want more. You want to feel more of him. He’s been the subject of many embarrassing dreams and you didn’t know if you would ever get the chance to kiss him again. Taking the initiative, you slip your tongue out and swipe it across his bottom lip. You hear him curse quietly as he opens his mouth and lets you explore. Before the kiss can get any more heated, he pulls away. There’s a soft blush dusting his cheeks and you stare. You stare until he ducks his head and buries it into the crook of your neck.

He laughs joyfully, and it sounds so carefree and happy. The butterflies in your stomach flutter in response. “You’re killing me, Princess,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss on your shoulder.

“I can’t help it. I’ve never seen you look so…” you trail off.

“Weak? Vulnerable?” he says and adds more suggestions, each word more venomous than the last. “Stupid? Effeminate?—” you cut him off with a chaste kiss.

“I was going to say lovely, Griff.” You tug on the necklace he never takes off to pull him down, resting your forehead against his. “I was staring because at that moment, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you because you looked so lovely.” The pink on his face flushes into a deep red that reaches his ears and down his neck. His eyes look over your face as if he’s searching for something. “What are you trying to figure out?” you ask with an amused grin, unconsciously watching his mouth when he licks his lips nervously.

“You,” he answers simply. “How a wonderful creature such as yourself can exist in this dreadful world.” His arm around your waist pulls you closer to him and he basks in your presence. For a rare moment, you see his mask disappear and marvel at how innocent his expression looks. A desire to protect this Griffith is born and you open your mouth, but the horse suddenly stops. You’re back at the castle.

You didn’t even notice that he had taken you all the way back to your own section of the castle. He demounts the horse and you accept the familiar offer that follows afterwards. Clasping his hand longer than what your etiquette teacher would deem appropriate, you look up at him. His expression is back to that neutral smile that’s always plastered to his face like a shield. You shuffle your feet and look down at the ground.

“Thank you again for escorting me. I really do appreciate it.” You can feel your neck straining but you refuse to look up, to look up and see the mask on his face again.

“Princess,” he whispers softly. He gently tilts your head up and cups your cheek in one hand. Out of instinct, you nuzzle into his touch, eyes wide. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Well, that depends.” The corners of his lips twitch up in amusement.

“On what?” You hum and pretend to be lost in thought, unable to stop the grin spreading on your face.

“On whether you can catch me again.” Your grin quickly becomes smug. “The banquet is tomorrow evening.” Understanding flickers across his face. “If you can catch me escaping again before then, I will grant your request and you get to be my escort for the night.”

Mischief sparkles in his eyes. “Do my escort duties end at the banquet? Or are you requesting that I be your escort for the duration of the entire night?” You catch his suggestive tone and pull him into a passionate kiss.

You leave him stunned in silence, flushed with swollen lips; it’s a good look on him.

“Why don’t you find out?” You peck him on the cheek and skip merrily to your room with the box of desserts in your hands, eager to spill all the juicy details to Charlotte over tea. You giggle and glance back at him over your shoulder. “Catch me if you can!” He’s still rooted to the spot like a lovestruck fool, but you can clearly see the determination in his eyes.

You can’t wait for tomorrow night.

And neither can he.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

Wasn't that a wild ride! I hope you all had as much fun reading it as I did writing. Originally, I thought three was a good number of escape attempts, but as I was writing the first one, I realized that three would end up being way too long and settled for two. The plot kinda developed on its own and became the giant fanfic you just read.

If you're ever reading one of my works and want to make a request, feel free to leave a comment! I can't guarantee I'll write or finish it quickly though if this request was anything to go by lol.

Until next time! (｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ

Reblogs are appreciated!

#berserk #griffith x reader #fluff and angst #angst with a happy ending #no y/n #pre-eclipse #reader is a princess #banter #escape attempts #bamf reader #Charlotte is a supportive friend #Griffith is psychic I swear #How else does he find you every time #Gender neutral reader other than the use of 'princess'

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