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nerdburritos · 7 months

Text

I'm starving, darling

summary: you and Astarion decide to play a little game of hide and seek.

pairing: Astarion/f!Reader | Astarion/f!Tav rating: 18+ (MDNI) tags/warnings: blood drinking, explicit sexual content, porn with plot, predator/prey, smut, bodily fluids word count: 2.5k read on ao3: I'm starving, darling

a/n: english isn't my first language so please excuse any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors!

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"I'm home, my treasure." You slowly rose from sleep as these sweet words were whispered into your ear. You had no idea what time it was or when excatly he came home from one of his important meetings he now had on his schedule nearly ever other say since slowly taking over Baldurs Gate.

It started quietly, in the shadows. Getting invited to important political events wasn't hard now, you were the heroes of Baldurs Gate after all, the rest was fairly easy. Astarion slowly slipped into politics, barely noticeable at first - advising here and there, helping out and funding the restoration of the city. Now he sat in the High Council of Baldur's Gate, slowly filling the remaining seats with his people - his personal puppets, dancing just how he liked. No one noticed how influential he actually had become at first, until it was too late. He had slipped into every important part of Baldur's Gate - politics, finance, jurisdiction.

He was no merciless leader but people respected and feared him and that's all Astarion has ever wanted. The Ascended Vampire, a creature of night being able to walk in the blazing sun, enter homes uninvited and enjoy the pleasures of the flesh - most people didn't even dare to question him, it'd be foolish anyways.

You opened your eyes slightly, seeing Astarion towering over you on the bed, caging you in with his strong arms, the soft black, satin blankets clinging to your frame. He was still wearing his outfit from his earlier meeting - a black doublet with gold embroidery and matching slacks, gods how you loved that outfit on him.

"Good meeting?" you asked while slowly wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him close. Astarion immediately buried his head into your neck, breathing in your scent, placing gentle kisses over your collarbone.

"Mh-hm." he mumbled, still buried in your neck while he placed his hands on your waist, pulling yor body closer to him. "Such fools, all of them." Your gentle giggles were quickly interrupted by a moan as Astarion started to lick from your collarbone up to your ear, where he gently nibbled on your earlobe with his sharp fangs, making you shiver in anticipation - he was eager.

"How about some dessert?" Astarion whispered into your ear, making his way down your neck again, nibbling and kissing… he wanted to feed, obviously. You smirked, quite in the mood for riling him up a little.

"No." You simply said, grabbing his head and pulling him away from your neck. The look upon his face said it all - red eyes wide open in surprise, a mix of "what?" and "how dare you?" written all over his face.

"Oh, my love, your forget yourself. You're in no position to deny me. I know you want it, darling." Astarion whispered again in that deep, rumbling voice of his. You quicky jumped out of bed before he had a chance to pounce on you, making your way on the other side of the room, giggling like a little girl. Astarion smirked.

"Hmm, so you want to play a game, little love? Very well, I'll indulge you." He slowly unfastened the cufflinks on his doublet, sending you seductive looks - by the Nine Hells, this man was a vision. "So, how about this: you run and hide and I'll try to find and catch you. I'll give you a head start of 5 minutes, only within the palace, no gardens." He ran a hand trough his fluffy white curls and you nodded. "And when I catch you, you'll be all mine, like it's supposed to be." Astarions red eyes bore right into yours and you nodded. All his.

"Very well then, run off, my love. I'll see you soon." You immediately took off, running down the hall, figuring out where to hide. You knew the palace inside out but so did Astarion. You had to switch your hiding places after a certain time, that much was clear, you had to win! Astarion was a sore loser, so seeing the absolute disbelief on his face would be priceless. You suddenly heard the door of your shared bedroom shut in the distance, has it already been five minutes or was he cheating already?

You quickly hid in the old storage closet, it was fairly empty with the expetion of some old boxes and a few brooms, a bad hiding spot but it had to suffice for now. Astarion slowly made his way down the corridor, whisteling a gentle tune, already sure of his victory and thinking about all the delectable things he might do to you later. He continued to stroll down the corridor with his hands buried in the pockets of his slacks until he suddenly heard gentle movements from the laudry chamber next to him and smirked. How convenient. Sure it must be his little treasure inside, he ripped open the doors and stared right into the face of a shocked maid.

"Lord Ancunìn! How can I be of service?" she stuttered, right in the middle of folding the bedsheets, clearly not expecting his sudden appearance.

"Have you seen my consort, maid?" He snapped, already on edge. This was most embarrassing.

"I-i think Lady Ancunìn went further into the west wing, my Lord." Astarion slammed the door shut and made his way towards the west wing while you quietly removed yourself from the storage closet and headed into the opposite direction, quite sure of your victory but your inner celebration came to a quick halt as fast steps approached you. It was him but how? How did he know?

You quickly ran down the corridor and into Astarion's private study, the footsteps getting closer and closer. You were pretty sure that he used his vampiric powers to find you - that cheating bastard, he just couldn't bare to lose this silly, little game. The study didn't offer any good hiding spots either but you had no way out, Astarion was propably right behind you, you'd be running straight into his arms and you'd never hear the end of it. You slilently tucked yourself into a corner of the room, casting invisibilty just in time as the door swung open and Astarion stepped in, looking quite confused as the room appeared empty. He slowly shut the door, locking it - he knew you were still here.

"You can come out now, little love. There is nowhere to go." He chuckled, walking across the room and settling himself on the edge of his desk, leaning slightly back, waiting patiently - he knew the invisbility spell you propably casted was going to wear off soon. He proceeded to teasingly unbutton his doublet, eyes glancing across the room. By the gods, you wanted him but you were not ready to give up just yet, you still had about thirty seconds of invisibility left.

You quietly snuck to the door and teleported yourself out of the room - Astarion immediately noticed and ran after you, the doublet now open and his bare chest on full display. He saw you run across the corridor right in front of him as your invisibility slowly faded and let out a dark chuckle, he was enjoing this hunt massively. While your stamina was not bad, you were terribly aware that you could never outrun a Vampire, let alone an ascended one, Astarion was letting you get away with it, he was playing with you. You sprinted around the corner and came face to face with a wall, shit. You forgot that you closed off the entire wing that led down to the ritual chamber, only Astarion was able to enter and said Vampire was now right behind you, slowly getting closer and closer with a predatory smile.

"There you are, my little treat." You pressed your back against the wall, giving him a shy look, hoping you might get away with it. "Now, don't be coy." This was obviously not working, he seemed to be immunue to your charm so you had to beat him at his own game, that was your only hope now so you let him approach, playing the part of the poor, weak consort who just lost their silliy little game, his own damsel in the distress who needed a big, strong Vampire Lord to save her day. Astarion's protectiveness and his need to play your big, strong consort was a major turn-on for both of you. He loved to show off how powerful he was in comparison to you, knowing he could easily overpower but keep you safe anytime.

"Aww, don't pout." Astarion teased. "Don't you dare to give me an attitude now, my pet." He pressed you further into the wall, sure of his victory. You gave him a coy smile, placing your arms around his neck and Astarion was sure you were about to give in but you suddenly slipped down, crawling through his spreaded legs, freeing yourself and running away, laughing.

"Cheeky little pup." Astarion chuckled. "You want to play dirty? Fine, 'cause I love it dirty." He used his powers to teleport himself right in front of you, managing to elict a shocked gasp out of you.

"Cheater!" you yelled, ready to push him away but he immediatly grabbed your hands, pulling you into his naked chest.

"You're quite the insolent little pup today, my treasure." Astarion pushed you into the nearest wall, securing your arms above your head with one hand while the other made his way down your body, immediately cupping the sensitive spot between your legs - you let out a loud gasp. "My my, is this getting you all excited, my pet?" He leaned closer, whispering in your ear now. "Is this getting you all wet?" Astarion pushed his thigh between your legs, settling you down while still pressing you against the wall, making you whimper with need. He grabbed your hips and began moving them up and down his thigh, creating a dangerous friction between your legs and you let the most pathetic moan escape our mouth, Astarion laughed.

"Look at you, precious thing, you do want this." He gently nuzzled your neck, teasing the column of your throat with gentle kisses and the occasional suck while you continued to grind on his thigh, working yourself up more and more. Your sweet moans were nearly enough for him, he quickly freed himself from his slacks, giving his already hard cock a few gentle strokes while he continued to lick that delicious throat of yours. Your breath started to quicken, you were close and Astarion removed his thigh and pushed your dress up to your hips.

"By the Nine Hells…" he breathed as he saw your black thong, all lace, his absolute weakness. He deftly pushed the flimsy material to the side and ran a gentle finger through your folds, gathering some wetness before settling on your bundle of nerves, cicling it slowly.

"Oh Astarion…I'm gonna…" He immediately removed his fingers, one hand cupping your breast instead, gently teasing your hard nipple with firm, circling strokes of his thumb while the other one grabbed the base of your throat, applying gentle pressure, not enough to completly cut off your air supply but just enough to be noticeable.

"Oh no, my love, not yet." The hand teasing your breast moved downwards, grabbing his hard cock once more and slowly guiding himself closer to your aching pussy. He gently coated himself in your juices, letting the head run through your slit, teasing you and making you whine in anticipation before pushing just the tip inside of you. It took all of his strength not to take you hard and fast right now but he intended to drag this out, make you suffer.

"Astarion…fuck…." you whimpered, trying to move your hips closer to his, to slide him all the way inside but he kept you pressed against the wall.

"Tsk, tsk, good girls ask before they take what they want. You are my good girl, aren't you, precious?" he teased, gently cicling your clit with his thumb, biting his lower lip with his fangs on full diplay. You nodded vigorously. "Then tell me."

"Please…please, Astarion…"

"Please what, my love?"

"You've won! Please fuck me!"

"Well, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" He smirked arrogantly, placing gentle kisses on your neck again before finally sheathing his fangs into your throat and pushing his cock inside of you. Astarion moaned gently around your throat, sending shivers down your spine as he took generous gulps of your blood while pushing in and out of you at a tantalizing slow speed.

"That's a good girl." He felt your pussy flutter around him - gosh, the praise was really doing it for you and your blood began to taste even sweeter - your impending climax so close he could practically taste it.

"Fuck, you're being so good for me, my pet." Astarion took one more gulp before freeing his now blood-stained fangs from your neck, licking across the puncture marks to clean them. He now stared right into your eyes with his beautiful red ones, continuing his sweet, sweet praise while he slowly pushed in and out of you.

"You like that, don't you? The way my cock feels inside of you, like you were made for me." All you could do was moan and cling closer to him. "Fucking. Perfect." He slid out and pushed back in hard with every word, he was slowly losing control, getting closer and closer.

"Yes, my love, that's it." Astarion praised as he felt your pussy getting tighter. "Come for me." You saw stars as he started to tease your clit oh so gently once again and shattered around him. You felt yourself gushing, coating his cock with your release and blushed but Astarion seemed to quite enjoy it.

"Oh my pet, you've made such a mess for me, fuck…" His thrust were getting harder, sloppier, his breathing quickened. You placed your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer while resting your forehead on his, gently moaning.

"Please come inside me." You begged breathless, knowing this might send him over the edge. Saying that Astarion had a breeding kink might be far-feteched, he wasn't fond of children, he didn't even particularly like them, not to mention that a Vampire can't sire children, not even an ascended one but the thought of your pussy dripping with his release was enough. You pushed yur hips against his, helping him along and placed one of your hands on his defined chest, gently teasing his nipple.

"Oh fuck, little love, I'm gonna come…" Astarion's moan was the most beautiful thing on earth, you thought, you loved how vocal he was during sex, never above mentioning how good he felt or letting the occasional dirty talk slip in. Sex with Astarion was far from boring or vanilla. "Fuck." he nearly whimpered as he spilled inside you, his sloppy thrusts coming to a halt, his chest now pressed right on yours. You felt his hot breath on our neck as he buried is head into your shoulder, slowly coming down from his height.

You slipped your hands in his soft, white hair, slowly massaging his scalp and playing with his curls, feeling quite content and relaxed.

"Bath, my love?" he mumbled into your shoulder, already grabbing the back of your thighs, hoisting you up into his arms. You nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you down the corridor.

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bunnyreaper · 7 months

Text

𝓷𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸 𝒶 𝒿𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝓅𝓉 𝟣 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓅𝓉 3 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒

wc - 5.8k warnings - 18+/nsfw (eventually), mentions of cheating (not from reader or john), older male younger female, future daddy kink, mildly threatening behaviour notes - were going somewhere (hornytown) but not quiiiite yet. i still think there's lots to enjoy here though!! hope you do like reading!! also on ao3! ♥

"I've got you, everything's going to be okay." He whispers, over and over and over again, chanting it like a prayer.

You let yourself go a little limp in John's embrace, let the feeling of his comforting words and close touch wash over you—for a moment, everything feels right, the rest of the world falls away.

When John pulls away, a literal and metaphorical cold sweeps in, reality tipping over you like a bucket of ice. His hands still settle on your shoulders, but it's simply not enough to fight back against the shivers overtaking your body. The panic starts to kick in again, your chest tightening in response to the ice in your veins.

John stays stooped close to you, his face inches away from yours as concern radiates from him—you stare up at him glassy-eyed, looking at him for comfort, answers, something.

"Tell me what you need, love. Anything." His voice is so low, almost desperate to help and to fix things.

You struggle to think, struggle to summon anything—your mouth opens and closes, your lips trembling every time you try to speak.

What you want most right now is to fall back into John's arms, to feel that fleeting moment of peace you had just moments ago. What you need is to get away from this place that you've called home for so long, where you feel like the picture-covered walls are closing in—years of memories about to crush you.

Your eyes screw shut as you force yourself to breathe, to focus only on John's reassuring touch and what comes next. "I need to get out of here."

As soon as you finish speaking, he springs into action, a hand slips to your back as he guides you up the stairs, one step behind you. "Pack a bag, you can stay in my guest room until you get things figured out."

You pause mid-step, frozen on the stairs at the weight of John's offer. He'd do that? Have you in his home? "I can't ask you to do that..."

"You're not asking, I'm offering." He answers tersely, and you can feel him stiffen as he looms behind you, can feel the hand on your back grip ever so slightly. "He's my blood, my fuck-up. I should fix this."

There's a conviction to John's words, heavy and resolute, quietly angry through and through—it's more passion than you've seen in an age, and he has no real reason.

He taps you lightly, urging you on, and your body complies without question as you climb the rest of the stairs and lead the way to the bedroom.

When you pass over the threshold, you freeze—taking in the bed that you'll never sleep in again, the room that isn't really yours any longer.

It's freeing and paralysing in equal measure.

John isn't frozen by the same fear, able to fearlessly lead the way as he searches for a bag or suitcase to pile some of your belongings in. "C'mon, get what you need. I can always come back for more, yeah?"

"Or even if you just stay for the night until you can find a friend to stay with." His voice is soft as he tries to anticipate your needs and cater to your changing circumstances.

He finds a small suitcase under the bed, pulls it out, and sets it on the mattress as he waits for you to move.

"Thank you." You nod mindlessly, coming to life again. The two of you work in tandem—you recover items from various drawers and hangers and dump them on the bed, and John works on folding and organisation. Each item is carefully and strategically packed, as his experience demands, ensuring you can bring with you everything you desire.

Your priority is to grab everything important—ID, keepsakes, underwear. Perhaps you should feel some sort of shame or embarrassment when John starts packing away your panties without a word, but right now you can't find it within you to properly care.

The little frilly pieces look extra delicate in his hands, and despite his toughened hands, he handles them with complete care.

You practically empty your entire pyjama drawer onto the bed (or, onto John), anticipating a week on the couch doing sweet fuck all. After all, if you can't indulge and refuse to leave the house after a break-up, then when can you?

Though on second thought, perhaps John wouldn't be too pleased if you took up residence on his couch and refused to leave—his hospitality surely only extends so far, despite being the nicest man ever.

The two of you continue in dead silence, only broken by the occasional muttering to yourself as you think through everything you might need for the next few days.

It's John who speaks first, pausing midway through folding one of your oversized jumpers. "How did you find out?"

You meet his eye and see the emotion swirling within. It's clear he's hurting too, but wants to find out more as delicately as he can.

"Some account sent me pictures and videos, it's definitely him."

John's nostrils flare, his hands fisting in the fabric as anger washes over him. "He better hope I've had time to calm down before I see him again."

"It's not worth making a fuss over John. I'm not—" You pause before you say that you're not worth it, clearly James doesn't think you're worth much at all. The idea of causing issues for James and John's relationship makes you cringe—because, unlike James, you actually give a shit as to how your actions affect others.

"—I don't mean to come between you two." The words you settle on represent a solemn wish. Though, far more than that, a part of you hopes this doesn't come between you and John—that is something you hope for more intently.

After the last few years of knowing him, he's become someone you can truly depend upon.

"He's the one who did this, not you," John states in a way that's clear and leaves no room for argument. "I've got you. You can count on me."

His words soothe the deep sense of panic within you—after all, right now you're in desperate need of someone you can trust wholeheartedly.

With James, there was always this undercurrent of distrust. It was something you blamed on your anxiety and a belief he reinforced time and time again.

With John, you feel none of the discontent—perhaps because you aren't as invested, or perhaps because John has never given you any reason to doubt him.

Here he is, in your moment of need,

telling you the words he knows you need to hear most right now.

You come back to yourself, hastily zipping up the bag in front of you and trying your best to give John a warm smile.

"Let's get you home." John returns the smile with a firm nod, grabbing the bag immediately and throwing it over his shoulder. He waits for you to move first, holding his hand out in preparation for it to fall to the small of your back once more.

The room already looks emptier, and honestly a little ransacked—not your problem any more.

Taking a deep breath, you turn on your heel and fall into step beside John, relishing the warmth of him beside you.

"Oh." John pauses, bending down to pick up a cardigan from the floor, almost hidden beneath the duvet hanging over the edge of the bed. "Can't forget this, yeah?"

You take the cream knit from him, shrugging it on and wrapping it around yourself.

With everything packed for your emergency getaway, you head back down the stairs and grab your phone and keys. It's only when John closes the truck door after you've climbed inside that you finally feel like you can breathe.

Granted, your breaths are still a little shaky and uneven, but being out of the house makes you feel great relief.

John climbs into the driver's seat of his truck, immediately throwing the keys in the ignition. The radio comes to life along with the engine, Costello playing—loud enough to hear yet quiet enough to ignore.

"Thank you, John." You whisper, a little uncertain of how to express the depth of your gratitude. "I've always... you've always been so nice to me."

"Nothing less than you deserve," John states, his tone a little bitter as he begins to drive. "Shame my fucking son couldn't see that."

The older man's venom takes you by surprise. You're not shocked that John is ashamed of his son's actions, but the fact he is here, unapologetically caring for you while condemning his son? You suppose, when you think about it, a pattern is emerging.

In the past, when James has wronged you, John hadn't pried or pressured you to discuss it at length—he simply laid down the law and then spent time distracting you or making you feel whole again.

"You're really angry with him." You note besides, unused to seeing such unbridled emotion from the usually calm and in-control captain.

"I'd never condone cheating." His jaw clenches and the way he shifts gears is a little stiff. "But to do that to you? Unforgivable, darling. You've done nothing but run up the boy's arse since the day I met you."

"Yeah, well, I thought we loved each other." You shrug, feeling only slightly pathetic about it all. "I thought I was just insecure, reading into things too much, and he made me feel that way too..."

John glances at you, eyes full of shock and pity, before he turns his attention back to the road. "Fuckin' hell."

"Look, you can stay with me as long as you like, I mean it."

"I feel like a burden." You reply, not missing a beat.

John releases a sigh, preparing himself for battle. "If anything you're doing me a favour, can look after the place when I'm gone, yeah?"

"I suppose." You relent immediately, not having any fight left in you. "Will you be leaving soon?"

The thought makes you feel more unsettled than it should.

"Hopefully not for a little while." John flashes you a smile, his eyes kind and warm, "I'll make sure everything's sorted before I go anywhere, don't worry."

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologise for, love." He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he meets your gaze.

The two of you fall into silence for the rest of the drive, accompanied by the easy-listening tracks from John's CD as you make your way across the city.

When you pull up on John's driveway, he's out of the car and opening your door before you can say anything, shouldering your bag and unlocking the front door to the house.

Once inside, you toe off your shoes, setting them onto the shoe rack that keeps all of John's boots neatly organised.

The house smells the same as it always does—smokey and wooden. Just familiar enough to feel homey, just foreign enough to still draw in your senses.

"Shall I show you to your room?" John asks—a gracious host despite the numerous times you've visited and stayed over.

You nod, shoulders already sagging at the idea of falling into the expensive guest mattress. "Please, I kind of just want to collapse into bed right now."

John chuckles as he leads the way up the stairs. "You're more than welcome to."

The bed is already made as if waiting for your arrival, sans the towels John usually prepares when he knows you're coming over. He sets your bag down on the armchair sitting in the corner, before turning to leave you in peace. "Anything you need, I'll be downstairs."

You reach out to him, hand settling on his broad forearm as you hold him still for just a moment, meeting his eyes with a sincere look of gratitude. God knows how the night would've turned out without his accidental intervention, but here in his home, you feel as safe and relaxed as you can in this moment. "Thank you, John."

He leans into your touch, mouth settling on the top of your head as he presses a barely there kiss, and then mumbles his words into your scalp. "Don't mention it, darling."

A second later the door is quietly clicking shut behind him, leaving you alone in the guest bedroom with nothing but your thoughts. Thoughts you'd really rather be without right now, so you rush to change out of your clothes and into some pyjamas and throw yourself into bed.

Exhaustion overwhelms you the second your eyes flutter shut.

—-

When you wake, bleary-eyed and achy-chested, it's completely dark outside—the yellow moon obscured by a layer of mist.

You rub at your eyes and attempt to wet your mouth, which is bone dry from fitful sleep filled with nightmares. The entire night you were trapped in a hall of mirrors, each one cracked and smashed and showing monstrous reflections that looked nothing like yourself.

It was all just a nightmare, and it's over now—all of it.

Peeling back the covers, you climb out of bed and head downstairs to fetch a glass of water—nothing you haven't done numerous times before when you and James had spent the night here after he and John had one too many beers watching the football.

You know exactly which of John's creaky stairs to skip to avoid making too much of a noise, know the small night light at the bottom of the stairs will brighten as you approach.

When you make it downstairs, a floor lamp in the living room floods the space with an amber glow as warm reverberated music drifts to your ears. The soft light highlights John as he puffs away at a cigar, surrounding him in thick, billowing clouds. You're unsure of the time, but you are familiar enough with John to know his late-night-turned-early morning proclivity for music and nicotine.

You take a moment to just watch him looking so peaceful, a moment where his guard is almost entirely down, and he's just John. Not a father or a soldier, but just a man—it's a rare treat and a side you don't often get to see.

His eyes are glazed over, fixated on a spot on the wall as he's undoubtedly lost in his thoughts, weighed by his burdens and memories.

Your eyes linger on his beard, no longer sporting his signature style as the mission has kept him from the upkeep, and that is something you've never seen before. It's charming how handsome he looks, not that he ever wasn't, but his good looks are easier to notice when he looks like this—for a moment he's not James' dad at all. He's all man, and you'd be lying if you said you'd never noticed him before, noticed how attractive he is. Admittedly, you've got very good at hiding your inappropriate, likely misplaced crush on the man.

But now, as you gaze upon him with his lips wrapped around his cigar and his thick thighs lazily spread, you can dip into your unrestrained thoughts and—

"'s rude to stare, love." He says, his eyes shifting to meet yours. In the dark, his usual shining blue is missing, replaced by dark pools of simmering emotion. A moment later, a half-hearted smile catches up with him, as he seems to pull himself from his sombre mood upon seeing you.

"Didn't know you were awake." You shrug, stepping out into the living room and wrapping your arms around yourself protectively—feeling a little bare in your pyjama top and shorts. "I was gonna grab some water."

"I'll get that for you, sit down."

He's rising from his seat before you can protest, the cigar still hanging from his lips as he makes his way to the kitchen. You take a seat on the long couch, not quite relaxing into the worn leather.

John returns a few moments later, passing the glass to you with a tight smile.

"Thanks."

He takes his seat back in his armchair, puffing away at his cigar, his eyes now fixed on you. It's almost like he's looking through you, rather than at you, his mind swirling with a million different thoughts.

Finally, you soothe your dry mouth with quick sips of the water and find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from John.

Now you've noticed him, you feel like you can't stop. It must just be the heartache, the loneliness, and the impending upheaval of your life.

He meets your stare, looking right back at you for every second your eyes linger upon him. Until you force yourself to look at anything but him.

Whether he catches onto your shift in mood or is just genuinely interested, you don't know—but he asks after you anyway. "How are you feeling?"

You let out a defeated sigh, taking stock of your emotions. Right now you're filled with a swirl of confusion and clarity. Some things make more sense than ever, but there's a lot still to figure out.

"Honestly? Betrayed and hurting... but lighter, in a sense. As if I'm glad it's all over?" Your voice wavers a little with uncertainty, as by rights, you should probably feel worse than you do.

John nods understandingly before taking a harsh puff, his eyes hardening. "I should've spoken up sooner."

It feels like the world drops out from beneath you. Does that mean...?

"You knew?" You whisper shakily, not prepared to handle another betrayal.

"No, love. I couldn't do that to you—" He rushes to correct himself, his expression softening as he tries to soothe you. "—but I had my suspicions."

Relief floods you, knowing John didn't sit idly by and partake in the whole affair. If he had known and not said anything, that almost would've hurt just as much as the act itself. Instead, you feel validated, knowing you weren't the only one suspicious of James. After so long of being doubted, it's liberating to have your concerns reaffirmed.

"From the last time you visited?" You ask, wondering if he caught the telltale signs then too.

"Yes."

"Makes sense, he was with her that night. A lot of things make sense now, looking back." You take a long sip of your water, trying to not let the emotion inside overwhelm you. "I'm glad I don't have to live with the worry any more."

"I am too, sweetheart." In his eyes, you see an undeniable genuineness, an underlying fondness.

John takes a deep drag of smoke before blowing it around himself, when he speaks, his tone is more gravelled and gruff. "I've tried talking some sense into him before about the way he treated you, but—"

"He doesn't really listen to anyone else."

"Hmm."

The shared frustration hangs in the air as the smoke does, as well as a realisation for yourself that there is nothing now really tying you and John together—it makes your heart hurt more than it should.

"You should get some more rest." John says, interrupting the impending spiral of your thoughts.

He cares for you, genuinely. But you know he's not yours to keep.

You set your glass down on the table before rubbing at your eyes, uncaring of the way your mascara is likely smudging even further across your cheeks.

"You're right, but I know it's not gonna come easily." You sigh, before peering over your hands to narrow your eyes at the man sitting across from you. "Hey, you're awake too, you can't lecture me."

He barks a laugh, smoke sputtering around him as he withdraws his cigar, holding it between his finger and thumb as he stares you down—a severe look in his eyes and a smile playing at his lips. "Don't make me use my Captain voice on you."

You can't help but roll your eyes at that, and are almost tempted to urge him to try.

John's phone lights up from the coffee table, drawing your attention.

"Fuck, I bet I have so many missed calls and texts." You shiver just thinking about James' response when he finally drags his arse home and realises you're gone. Will he even care?

You certainly know he'll care when he finds out John has offered you a place to stay, when he sees his father treating you with the kindness he struggled to ever afford you himself. "I don't know if I should tell him where I am."

John shakes his head, humming in the negative before giving his gentle command. "Tomorrow, love, you'll need your strength to deal with all this."

"Always so wise." You smile lightly, appreciating his insight just as you always do.

The two of you meet eyes, as he exhales a lung of smoke that comes drifting in your direction. "With age comes wisdom..." He smirks, and you instantly rise to your feet.

"I'm leaving before I age ten years just from sitting next to you." Or, god forbid, letting any inappropriate thoughts seep in at the idea of his words. "Goodnight, John."

You give him your best smile before heading back to the stairs, not missing his sweet response.

"Goodnight, darling girl."

———

James (13 Missed Calls)

Where the fuck are you?

Why is your shit gone??

Pick up the fucking phone.

Thankfully you'd had the good sense to turn off your phone through the night, but the notifications and the harsh light of the screen burn your eyes come morning time.

You don't even bother flicking through the rest of the texts, as you resolve to address them later, after breakfast and more importantly, a discussion with John. There's a message or two from work colleagues that also go ignored for now—them checking in on you and making sure you're okay.

While you appreciate the gesture, you really don't want to address it right now—instead, you opt for scrolling away mindlessly, waiting for the motivation to get up and face the day to finally strike.

Instead, the day finds you, in the form of raucous shouting and doors slamming from downstairs—James roaring at John demanding answers, John trying to defuse the situation.

Fuck. He's here.

You tiptoe your way onto the landing, whole body on high alert as you listen in to the two men's argument.

"Let me past, John." James sounds beyond impatient as his way upstairs is clearly blocked.

"If you think you're going anywhere near that poor girl, you're sorely fucking mistaken." The threatening undertone to John's voice is downright unsettling, even to you.

"She's my girlfriend, and this is none of your fucking business."

"You're my son, and you're acting like a complete prick."

"Your son, come the fuck on." James scoffs. "Move out of the way."

"Wouldn't try that if I were you."

"Oh yeah?"

The sound of a scuffle forces you to move, running to the stairs and stopping halfway when you get closer to the men. James is trying to push past John, but is met by an impassable wall of muscle and protective determination.

The expression on James' face sickens you, one you've not seen before, and especially not directed at you or John.

"James."

His eyes snap to you, the lividity within unwavering. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

A voice in your head tells you to cower in fear, to appease him just as you have so many times before—but this time you know things have to be different. Your eyes flicker to John's, his look softening as he catches your gaze, despite using his body as a shield to hold James back.

John thinks you're worth it. John thinks you're worth jeopardising his relationship with his son over the way James has acted this time.

It's not that you want to forgive James anyway, not that you want to keep him around—it's just the ice in your veins, the survival instinct calling on you to back down.

But you can't, not this time.

"I know about Lucy." You force the words out before you can rethink them any further, standing firm.

James' expression shifts, as he launches into an attempt to placate you, pacify you. "Babe, I don't know what you've heard but—"

"Don't even try to explain it away, I don't wanna hear it." He won't let you doubt yourself again, and you make sure he hears it in the certainty in your voice. "I saw videos of the two of you."

He laughs and shakes his head dismissively, his tone downright mocking as he speaks. "We need to talk about this."

You fold your arms over your chest, confidence coursing through you. "I don't have anything to say, I'm not your girlfriend any more, and I'd appreciate it if you left."

"Not before you listen to me." He growls, but you don't relent.

You look at James, through him even, a part of you disconnecting completely from the man before you. He's no longer the man you love, he's a loose end mere moments from being tied up—a weight you're about to relinquish.

"I'll be back to continue packing my things, and we can talk about the rent and everything later." You even surprise yourself with the steadiness of your tone.

"Just let me explain—"

"No." You snarl, as James surges forward to try to grab you.

Once more, he's stopped in his tracks, being pushed back and away to keep you from harm's reach.

"Out, son, now." John's words are all growl, before changing to a more sinister stillness—the calmer threats from the man speak volumes more. "Or I'll make you leave."

James at least has the sense to move away, but while he has no physicality to push back with, he resorts to taunting. "Always got to be the knight in shining armour, showing up when you're not even needed. Pathetic, John. Go back to your own life and leave mine alone, yeah?" He spits.

There's a beat of silence, an air of disbelief surrounding all of you before John snaps.

"I said, out." John pushes back on James chest once more, sending the younger man stumbling backwards toward the open door.

At least now, he swallows his pride and leaves, but not before shooting you the most venomous look, one you know will haunt you.

John practically slams the door behind his son, working the locks into place to ensure there's no possibility of a repeat performance. "Sorry about that, I shouldn't have opened the door." John sighs, hanging his head in failure. "I never expected—"

"It's fine." You sigh, genuinely believing it. "First step to it all really being... over."

John says nothing, his chest heaving with each breath as he continues to look troubled and disappointed in himself.

You make your way down the last few steps, meeting him at the door to settle your hand on his bicep—hoping the gesture to be soothing and grounding. "Thanks for having my back, for keeping me safe.

"He's hurt you enough, and if he ever laid hands on you..." John's jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring as something bloody and violent passes over him.

"I think he'd know he'd end up in a body bag in a foreign country." You laugh, attempting to lighten the mood. "Good job that it won't come to that."

With one final deep breath, John straightens up, schooling himself into a stoic facade and pushing aside whatever rage is bubbling within him in a display of perfect discipline. "Sit down, love. I'll make us some tea."

He heads into the kitchen, and you follow just a few paces behind—falling onto one of the stools at the kitchen island as John gets the kettle on. You watch him work in silence, thoughts ticking over about the display you've just witnessed, the events that had just transpired.

You had looked at James and told him exactly how things were going to go, and for that, you were incredibly proud of yourself.

"I suppose I should head back later and start properly packing my shit up. The sooner I get everything out of there, the better." You comment, trying to envision the logistics of everything to come.

"I'll be there." John comments, pausing for a moment to meet your eye.

"I'm sure that will go down well." You smirk, mentally preparing yourself for another onslaught against you and John when you both show up at the house. His anger at you was expected, but the things he said to his father had seemingly come from nowhere. "I'm sorry about what he said to you."

"Don't be." John shrugs, before setting two mugs on the counter with just a little too much force. "It's always been there, under the surface. Blames his mum too, as I'm sure you know."

You watch his face, watch as he tries to keep his reactions in check—something he's very good at, and something you think you're getting better at seeing through.

"Yeah."

Is he reconsidering his decision to support you, now he knows the potential consequences that may come along with it? Is he truly hurting at what James said, or dismissing them as a by-product of the heightened emotions everyone was feeling? Right now you wish you could pick apart his thoughts, but everything right now feels so delicate, for both you and for him.

John sets a steaming mug before you, then takes a seat beside you at the island. "Let me know whenever you're ready to get packed up, can ask the lads over to help too if need be." He half-smiles, a lightness in the dark.

"I'm sure the two of us can handle it." You laugh lightly. "Not sure where I'll put all my stuff though."

"There's plenty of room here," John replies, before his voice softens. You stare at your tea as it warms your hands, but you can feel him looking right at you. "I meant everything I've said, and you can stay as long as you like. I also understand if it's too strange for you, I can help you figure something out."

"It's not strange, not really." You meet his too-blue eyes and almost have to turn away from the emotion within. "Even so, I don't have anywhere else to go right now, to be honest. I'm sorry."

"I'm happy to have you, truly." He reaches out, settling a hand on yours, his skin even warmer than the steaming mug. "Brightening up the place."

"Not sure I'm doing much of that right now."

"You are."

You shrug, but relent under his insistent tone. "Fair, if my bedhead and ratty pyjamas weren't a source of amusement I suppose I'd be disappointed."

"Attagirl." His hand squeezes, lingers for a moment before withdrawing.

You never realise how much you're missing until you feel John withdraw.

"Can we... not go today?" The confidence you felt earlier wanes as the adrenaline continues to die down. "I'd rather go another day if that's okay."

"I'm all yours, just give me the word."

The blush on your face is entirely coincidental, and you force yourself to move past the moment swiftly. "Until then... Jeopardy marathon?" You ask, as you have so many times before.

"Jeopardy marathon." John nods, grabbing the mugs as you rush to the living room. "Been a while since we've done this."

"Stop being so busy then." You grumble, flopping down on the couch with a pout. "Though I suppose the world isn't gonna save itself."

"You overestimate me, love." John grins as he takes a seat at the end of the couch and hands you the remote.

You load up Netflix and pull up the series, picking up where the two of you left off months ago, and as the show starts, you wiggle to get comfortable.

Almost absent-mindedly, John pulls your legs into his lap, freeing them from being curled up at his side and making you instantly more comfortable. He's always so considerate, and his hands settle respectfully on your shins as you both turn your attention to this episode's contestants.

It's peaceful in a way you haven't felt in so long—getting to enjoy one of your favourite things with someone you care for. James almost hated trivia shows with a passion, where John had talked with you at length about your shared love for Only Connect.

"Why couldn't I have met you first?" You ask, mostly thinking aloud.

John coughs, taken aback by your words that are laced with heavier meaning than you intended. "Pardon?"

"I just mean... so I didn't have to feel so guilty about wanting to be your friend." Didn't have to feel so guilty about straining his relationship with his son.

"We've known each other as long as I've known the boy." He squeezes at your shins, rubbing ever so slightly as he does. "We're friends, love."

You shrug, eyes flickering down to watch the way his hands trace over you, though not thinking too much of it. You're too trapped in your head, lamenting your lot in life that you had to suffer through James to find a friend in John, a friend you might still lose anyway. "He gets 'custody' of you though, really, since you're his father."

John straightens up, his hands stilling. "Think he's made how he feels about me quite clear."

"He'll regret saying that... I hope." You whisper, before turning your attention back to the TV. You don't know what to say to soothe John, and you strongly suspect it's not what he wants to speak about right now.

"Such is life, love. He'll regret stepping out on you." He returns.

"Good." You laugh freely, feeling a moment of unrestrained joy. "Can I be honest? I don't think I'll regret having him gone, sorry."

John squeezes again, drawing your attention back to him as he shoots you an annoyed look. "Going to have to do something about all that apologising you do."

"Sorry." You freeze, before giggling sweetly. "I mean... fuck. You'll just have to give me your most vicious captain look every time I do it."

You joke, but John obliges, trying to look stern but failing as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Okay, you're wearing a quarter zip, and you look like a dad, I can't take you seriously."

John chuckles, clutching at his heart as his look turns playful. "Threatening my pride, darling girl."

You can't help the way your eyes roll back in your head. "Something tells me you'll be fine." You mutter, before the infectiousness of John seeps through to you.

He looks upon you fondly, his warm gaze almost feeling like an embrace with its tenderness. "Nice to see a smile back on your face, bunny."

"If I have to stop apologising, you have to stop calling me that." You say, unable to fight the blush creeping onto your face.

"No deal, love." He smirks, not looking away for a single second. "We both know you enjoy it far too much."

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #call of duty x reader #nobody does it like you do #call of duty fanfiction #why are my chapters so long please send help??

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whatawonderfulexistence--blog · 7 days

Text

Fall For Me (Poly! Sleep Token x Fem! Reader) - Part VIII

Welcome back to part 8 of Fall For Me! A strange dream, reader goes to camp, and more sweet moments with the eepy Bois this chapter! Thank you so much for reading, if you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list please let me know!

WARNINGS: Brief mention on hunting practices NOT PROOFREAD

Part VII - Part IX (TBA)

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link! ~ Tip Jar!

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When you woke up your head felt like it was in a fog, the edges of your vision slightly blurry as you looked around the room. Your bare feet dropped to the floor, you shivered as you stood from your bed, it was a lot colder in here than you remember it being. You paused at your doorway, something wasn't right. Despite the fact you had crossed the entire expanse of your bedroom there wasn't a single creaking floorboard or footstep to be heard. You look back at your bed only to find your body still laying there. “What the hell?” You mutter softly to yourself. You walk over to your still sleeping form, your shoulders rising and falling with every even breath as you lie motionless beneath the covers.

“Don't worry, you'll be able to re enter your body when we're done here.” You jumped at the sudden voice that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Its tone is both a whisper and a deafening howl, the sound high pitched and somehow also impossibly low.

“God?” You ask with a confused expression.

The voice laughs, “I guess you could say that.” The silence that surrounded you was deafening as the voice faded out, it was so quiet you could hear your blood rushing in your ears, no ambient sound existed in whatever plane you had been snatched into. “Trust in Vessel, he’ll show you the way.”

You shot up in bed with a sharp gasp, your lungs burning like you had been holding your breath. Your alarm was blaring on your night stand, 8 in the morning, you had an hour until you opened. You got out of bed, listening carefully for the sound of your footsteps against the floor to make sure you really had returned from wherever the hell you had gone in your dreams. “I'm going crazy, I'm actually losing my mind.” You argue with your reflection in the mirror. “Some mysterious voice coming from my subconscious about trusting Vessel, of course I trust him. But what the hell is the way he's supposed to be showing me?” You decided to drop it for now with an annoyed groan, flying through your morning routine and jogging downstairs just as 9 o'clock rolled around. The day flew by, the steady stream of customers helping to distract you from the weird dream you had. You were just about to lock the door when the all too familiar pickup truck pulled into the lot. You smiled, pushing the door open and leaning against it as you waited to see just who had stopped by to visit tonight. You were a bit surprised to see II jump out of the cab unaccompanied, usually when he was sent to make supply runs he always had one of the others in tow. He strides over to you, reaching out to pull you into an embrace the moment you were close enough.

“I have a question for you.” He states softly once he pulls back, his hands still resting comfortably on your waist.

“And what might that be?” You smile, subconsciously leaning into him.

“Would you be comfortable coming back to camp with me?” You paused the moment the question fell from his lips. “Vessel already knows I'm inviting you, he's the one that brought it up in fact.” II chuckles, knowing exactly where your mind had wandered.

“I would love to.” He waits patiently for you to lock up, his hand slipping into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze as the two of you chat idly on your way back to the truck. You slid across the worn leather bench seat, II hopping behind the wheel not long after. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, leaning in to press a clothed kiss to your cheek.

“Are you warm enough?” You nod, letting your head fall to rest against his shoulder as he starts driving. His thumb languidly trailed back and forth across your shoulder, every so often he would glance down at you to see if you were still awake. You wound down endless back roads, slowly pushing your way down paths that had long since been forgotten until the group had ventured this far out into the woods. II attempted to dodge raised roots and potholes without much success, the makeshift road being filled with craters that rattled the pair of you around in the cab. You were thankful when the dirt path finally smoothed out, the trees opening up to reveal a large clearing with four cabins evenly spaced out around the circle. You recognized minimal details of it from the pictures you had seen in the paper. The cabin opposite the entrance was surrounded by flower beds of various sizes and states of growth, some containing a painter's palette of wildflowers, others filled with various crops that seemed to be growing very successfully. “That's IV’s cabin.” II must've noticed your impressed stare. “I will warn you though, if you compliment him on his gardening it will make him really flustered, so do with that information what you will.” He chuckles.

“Do you all have different jobs?” You ask curiously, II nods his confirmation.

“IV is the main one in charge of produce. III’s a fairly decent hunter, that's where we get the majority of the meat we eat. I’m in charge of the finances.” He lists off everyone's role around the camp. “And Vessel… well he's our spiritual advisor for a lack of a better term.” He chuckles. He pulls the truck up alongside a cabin that was more set back from the rest, it's dark wood almost blending in with the treeline. “He’s in the middle of something, I'll take you to IV.” He smiles at you. He motions for you to wait, jogging around the front of the truck to open your door for you. He bows his head slightly as he offers his hand, you can't help but laugh softly at his actions.

“What a gentleman.” You grin at him.

“For you, only the best.” He winks. Your hand slips into his, his skin cool against yours. His eyes stay locked on your form as you hop down from the truck, the moment your feet hit the ground he's tugging you into his side, wanting to keep you as close as possible. “I'd like to be able to spend some time alone with you later, if that's alright.” The corners of your mouth quirk up in a smile at the slight nervousness you picked up in his voice. You glance up at him, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth before pushing yourself up to place a kiss to his cheek.

“I'd love to.” You whisper in his ear with a coy smile. Your attention was stolen by IV calling your name from across the clearing. II places a hand against the small of your back, gently nudging you in his direction. You meet him in the middle, giggling as he flings his arms around you and spins you in a hug.

“I missed you.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles, you found your cheeks growing warmth at the genuine joy in his voice.

“You did?” You ask softly.

“Yeah.” Goosebumps rise on your skin as you feel him gently knead at the softness of your waist. His eyes nervously dart from yours, tracing over a pattern he had found in the grass as he sucks in a deep breath. “I, um, I didn't get to say everything I wanted to you the other day.” You waited patiently for him to continue, seeing how nervous he was about choosing exactly the right words was honestly endearing in your eyes. “Do you think we could sit down and talk?”

“Of course we can, wherever you like.” You smile softly at him. He hesitantly removed his hand from your waist, carefully taking your hand and studying your reaction to make sure he wasn't doing too much too quickly. He led you to his cabin, shutting the door behind him and watching you with delight as you looked around curiously at all the small knick knacks and trinkets he had littered around the small space. His heart races when his eyes meet yours, he would never get tired of seeing the way your whole face lit up when you smiled.

“I want you to know that I really like you.” He blurts out, unable to stop the confession from coming out. “I might not be as experienced as the others, and I might take things slowly, but that's just because I don't want to mess this up.” His bright blue eyes scan over your features as he waits for you to respond.

“IV, I'm not worried about moving too slow or too fast, or whether or not you're experienced. I think you're very sweet, handsome, fun,” every compliment was punctuated with you taking another step closer to him. “I like you too, I want to see where things go, and I'm very excited to see how we get there.” He breathes out a relieved chuckle.

“I just don't want you to think that I'm not as interested as the others.” His arms slide around your waist, your instinctually slipping over his shoulders as he pulls you into him. His fingers ghost over your cheek, you lean into his touch, allowing him to carefully cradle your face in his hand. “You're so beautiful, every moment I've gotten to spend with you has been nothing short of amazing.” Your cheeks grow warm as he continues his assault of compliments. He seemed relieved to have gotten that off his chest, the usual playful glimmer returning to his expression.

“Well, I look forward to spending more time with you.” His gaze dropped to your lips for a moment before he hesitantly pulled away. He clears his throat, his eyes trailing to the window.

“Did you get to see the garden at all?” He asks, a slight nervous tremor in his voice.

“A little, but I'd love to see it up close. You have a very impressive green thumb IV.” He taps the toe of his boot against the cabin floor.

“It's nothing special.” He rebuttals bashfully. “But, it's definitely a lot better than what we started out with.” He starts to head towards the door, your hand slipping effortlessly into his as you trailed after him. He brought you to the edge of the flowerbeds, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to keep you close to his side as he pointed to all the various different types of produce and flowers he was growing, slipping in small fun facts every so often.

“I don't know how you can say this isn't anything special IV, this is incredible. You've really done an amazing job.” He froze, swallowing thickly as he looked down at you.

“Thank you, love.” He says softly. A soft smile finds its way to your lips as you watch his eyes slowly trace over your features. “Can I take you on a date sometime?” You can't help but giggle at the question.

“I would love that.” You feel him squeeze your waist, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he returns your smile. You both jumped slightly as someone shouted from across the field. II had III in tow, the taller man dropping off his pack of hunting supplies before quickly making his way over to you. IV leans down, placing a kiss to the top of your head before stepping away. You smiled as III approached, your heart immediately pounding in your chest at the sight of the streaks of sweat that had broken down his black body paint. You were unable to stop your gaze from raking across his exposed torso. Your cheeks grew warm as your eyes snapped back up to meet his, immediately noticing the playful glimmer in his expression. You nearly stumbled backwards as III’s long strides quickly landed him right in front of you, a strong hand landing on your waist to steady you as he caught your chin between his fingers with the other. Your eyes dart to anywhere but his, trying your best to hide your flustered state.

“Don’t get all shy on me now.” He chuckles. “How are you beautiful?” You manage to squeak out a ‘good’ in response. III leans down, the fabric of his mask soft against your skin as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Have you shown her around at all?” He asked IV, his hand still lingering on your waist as he pulled away.

“Just a bit of the garden.” IV responds.

“Think we should give her the grand tour?” II suggests.

“I don’t see why not.” IV immediately perks up at the idea. You reach out, taking hold of IV’s hand, giving him a coy smile as you cuddle up to his side.

“Well, lead the way boys.” II and III share an amused look over IV’s surprised expression. It takes him a moment before he finally relaxes, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before he brings your knuckles to his lips.

It had been less than a year since they had arrived in town and the progress they had already made at their camp was nothing short of incredible. IV had grown a whole storehouse of crops, all of which were expertly preserved in order to maintain the four of them easily throughout the winter and early spring. You learned that he was hoping to learn how to make preserves out of the vast amounts of berries in the area. III showed you some of his easier to navigate hunting trails, explaining that he only hunts as needed and how important to him it is to use the entire animal whenever possible. The four of you wandered down trails, each of them pointing out spots where they would like to go to read or play music. “We should plan a day to hike out to the lake.” IV suggests.

“Maybe next summer, it’s a little too cold for that now.” II responds. “I definitely think we should at some point though, I really think you’d like it there.” You smile as III places a kiss to the top of your head, his presence at your side immediately being replaced by II who wrapped his arm around your shoulders as you continued walking. You had noticed how the three of them almost seemed to be taking turns being next to you, the thought alone was enough to make butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“I was wondering where you all went.” Your heart immediately began to race at the sound of Vessel’s voice. You turn to find him leaning in the doorway of his cabin, “love, would it be alright if I stole you for a second?” He nods for you to follow him inside his cabin.You swallow thickly, feeling nervous despite the fact you knew you had to reason to worry. You’re snapped from your thoughts by II pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll go start dinner while you’re in there.” He gives you a gentle nudge in Vessel’s direction, prompting you forward. He towered over you from his position leaning in the doorway, offering you his hand once you were in reach and guiding you inside. The inside of his cabin was simple; a small wooden desk with a chair sat in front of the window, a perfectly made bed with black sheets sat against the opposite wall, the large piece of furniture the focal point of the room. Across the room from where you stood you noticed a bookshelf tucked into the corner, the shelves filled with journals, textbooks, and various decks of cards. You could feel Vessel studying you, he watched your body language carefully, trying to gauge exactly how you were feeling in this very moment.

You jumped as he suddenly shut the door, a soft chuckle escaping him at the sight. “There’s no need to be so tense, love.” He steps up to your side, trailing a finger along the edge of your jaw as he leans down close to your ear. “I’m not that scary, am I?” He purrs, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’m just a little on edge today, I guess.” You laugh softly.

“And why’s that?” He keeps you close to him as he moves. Settling himself on the edge of his bed, his hands coming comfortably to rest on the curve of your waist as he holds you in front of him. You feel his fingers gently push into you, moving you closer to him without much effort. The front of your thighs presses against the edge of his plush mattress, Vessel’s long legs caging you in on either side. You still had to look up slightly to be face to face with him, knowing you had met his eyes behind the slits of his mask as your heart began to pound in your chest.

“I have a feeling you already know the answer to that.” Your voice trembled as you spoke.

“Smart girl,” he praises, “I see you’re putting the pieces together quickly.” He ponders over what to say for a moment, carefully selecting each word in his mind. “He spoke to you last night, didn’t he?”

“Vessel, what was that?” You answered his question with your own.

“That was Sleep.” He states simply. A bewildered expression formed on your face, Vessel continued speaking before you had a chance to ask any questions. “I for the life of me can’t figure out how to even begin telling you about Sleep.” He admits with a bashful chuckle. “I hate to keep you in the dark, but can I please ask you to wait just a little while longer?” The booming voice echoed in the back of your mind. ‘Trust in Vessel, he’ll show you the way.’

“I trust you.” Your voice comes out barely above a whisper.

“When the time is right I’ll tell you everything, you have my word.” He promises, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb trailing slowly across your skin. The cool material of his mask comes to rest against your forehead. He just held you for a moment, both of you relaxing into the comfortable silence that surrounded you. “I shouldn’t keep you too long, the others will throw a fit.” He says quietly, both of you dissolving into soft laughter.

“Vessel,” he hums in response to you saying his name.

“What is it, love?”

“I really enjoyed our time together the other night.” He froze, seeming almost dumbfounded by the words that had left your mouth.

“You did?” His response comes out timidly, as if he was dancing around those two simple words, worried it was the wrong thing to say. “Maybe… Maybe we could do something like that again sometime then.”

“I’d like that.” You smile softly at him.

Your fingers remained linked with his as he led you across the clearing, the other three members of the group working quickly to make sure everything was set up by the time you reached the table. You were handed a plate of something you didn’t recognize, but it tasted good. Your night became a blur of stolen kisses on your cheeks and laughter that easily bubbled up from your chest. “I believe II had something planned for the two of you tonight.” Vessel suddenly chimes in. “I think we should probably give them some privacy, boys.” He suggests with a patient smile. They each say their respective goodbye’s; IV pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, telling you he’ll see you soon before darting off to his cabin, III pulls you flush against him, lifting his mask just enough to capture your lips with his own. He mumbles a quiet ‘goodnight’ against your lips, his hand lingering on the curve of your waist as he pulls away. You turned to face Vessel, he held out his hand for you to take. “I’ll walk you.” It didn’t take you long to see that II had snuck off to set up a fire, a log pulled the perfect distance away from the flames to sit on. “It looks like you’re in for a nice evening.” You could feel his eyes studying you from behind his mask. “It’s a shame we have to part ways.”

“We still have a couple minutes.” Your eyes dart down to his lips momentarily.

“It almost sounds like you don’t want me to leave.” He responds with a lopsided grin.

“I don’t.” Vessel presses a knuckle below your chin, tilting your face up to allow him the chance to study your features closely.

“Trust me love, if I had it my way I already would have stolen you for myself.” He chuckles, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip. “We’ll have our time… I’ll make sure of it.” He whispers. He cradles your face gently in his hand, his eyes wandering over your features in silence for another moment before he speaks again. “II, make sure she gets home safely.” You hadn’t noticed until Vessel had startled him that II had wandered back in your direction. “Have a good night, beautiful.” A pair of warm lips press against your forehead, and just like before, as quickly as he was there he was gone. A sense of longing ached deep in your chest, one that was quickly pushed down as II’s hands came to rest on your waist. He gently turns you to face him, hand cupping your cheek as his lips ghost over yours. Your eyes flutter shut, your racing thoughts coming to a screeching halt as you let the kiss consume you.

“I’ve been waiting all day to do that.” II mumbles against your lips with a soft chuckle. Heavy, warm fabric is draped across your shoulders, your fingers instinctually reach up to rub along the edge of the thick denim jacket. “I wanted to make sure you were warm enough. It’s a nice night, but it still gets pretty cold out here.” You found yourself cuddled into his side, the campfire keeping you comfortable despite the chill in the air. II excitedly pointed out every constellation he recognized, filling your mind with tales of adventure, the bravest heroes, the most passionate of love stories. “Right there, that’s Andromeda. She’s famous for nearly being eaten by a sea monster because her mother tried to say she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs.” You can’t help but laugh slightly at the absurd story.

“Well, what do you think?” II gives you a curious glance. “Was she prettier than the sea nymphs?”

“She definitely wasn’t as pretty as you.” You stuttered out a shocked sound in response, your cheeks immediately growing warm. “You’re really bad at accepting compliments.” He points out bluntly, a hint of a smile in his tone.

“I’m just not really used to getting them I guess.” You admit with a bashful chuckle.

“You’re unfortunately going to have to get used to that then.” He glances down at you, his bright blue eyes meeting yours and freezing you in place. “You’re beautiful, I’m not about to let you forget that.”

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ikaroux · 2 years

Text

How are they with their pregnant companion? Ayato, Cyno.

Synopsis: Pregnant, your husband/partner is over the moon. But how would he take care of you during pregnancy?

Style: Cute, fluffy, female reader.

Bonus NSFW (18+) I remind minors to avoid reading this kind of content.

Warning: May contain story spoilers for some characters.

Characters: Ayato, Cyno.

TAGS : @atsukawolfcat

Note: I have a hard time writing for Itto and Heizou, knowing that I didn't have a "crush" on his characters. I see Itto more as a child who grew up too fast, as for Heizou, I have difficulty to assimilate the character. I would have much less trouble writing about Tighnari, who I find adorable <3

Yes, you'll notice that for Cyno, it's a bit longer, but he's my big favorite from Sumeru! I've been looking forward to this character since her appearance in the official Genshin Impact manga.

I'll probably look into the marriage proposals for those I haven't done yet as well as the "jealousy" theme.

I have a project in mind for a genshin impact fanfiction (in a dark style but with a Harem <3). A long term project, but I don't know yet if to do so, I have to go on AO3 to publish, since it will be a story with several chapters… I'm still thinking about it!

Have a nice reading!

Part 1 Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti, Albedo, Kazuha, Childe.

Part 2 Scaramouche, Dainsleif, Thomas.

Part 3 Dottore, Pantalone, Alhaitham

"Are you pregnant?"

Ayato dreamed of becoming a father, and has since the day he met you. From the moment his eyes fell on you, he knew that you would become his companion, his wife, the woman of his life, and, he hoped, the mother of his children. He loved you from the first moment he saw you, and from the day he married you, he treated you like the most precious thing in the world.

When he found out you were pregnant, Ayato thought his heart would stop beating. He didn't know what to think or what to say to you, but by the archons, he was so happy with this news.

Gently grabbing your face, he placed kiss after kiss on your lips, laughing softly each time he stealthily pulled away from you. How could you make his life such a delight? Words didn't come to him, a rare thing for a man of his size, so it was with his gestures that he expressed his joy. His arms gently encircled your waist to bring you closer to him. His hands caressed your lower back, and as he stopped kissing you and slowly laid his head in the crook of your shoulder, you could feel him shaking against you, a sign that tears were coming to his eyes. Although his whispers were barely audible, you knew he was thanking you with an emotional voice, over and over. Smiling, you placed a kiss on his temple, happy to give him what he had longed for…

You both wanted to let Ayaka and Thomas know. They were people you could trust, family members, able to take care of you when Ayato was away for a long time. Ayaka would let tears of joy flow upon hearing the news while Ayato would allow himself to hug the head of the family for the first time.

Ayato would be very protective during the whole pregnancy. He had been protective before, but now he seemed much more on guard. Of course, he wouldn't be glued to you all the time, it wasn't in his character, but you could, at times, feel the warmth of his gaze envelop you.

The first few months of the pregnancy had been very difficult. You spent most of your time throwing up what you had just eaten or complaining of an unbearable headache. Ayato could not put himself in your shoes, but he could help you relax. As soon as you felt able to lie down in your bed, Ayato would join you, wrapping you in the warmth of his arms, gently massaging your back until you fell asleep.

He's especially keen for you to rest on him. The memories of his mother being pregnant with his little sister Ayaka were still etched in his mind. His father was often absent because of his work and she had to manage her home alone in addition to the education of her young son, Ayato. Your companion refused to let you go through the same thing, his mother's pregnancy had been difficult because of the fatigue and stress caused by his father's absence, which had greatly weakened him. He would never forgive himself for doing the same to you.

In Inazuma, the tradition was that the father chose the name of his child, but Ayato, who was a more modern man, wanted to give you that privilege. You would still share together the names you would like to give the baby. It was obviously a moment of complicity and laughter between the two of you.

Ayato will always bring you a little treat that will make you happy (nothing strange, of course! He doesn't want to make you sick.) He knew that with pregnancy, you often crave something sweet and sugary! Most of the time, you'd end up with a little bag of konpeito, those little star-shaped candies that you thought were adorable, but would be emptied within minutes in your hands…

The baths would be a privileged moment between you two. Ayato would take advantage of this moment to cherish your round belly. His hands caressed your skin in a tender circle, sometimes feeling the movements of the baby inside. He loved having you in his arms, his lips frequently kissing your shoulders, your neck or your lips.

You often fell asleep before he came home from work. Ayato would usually find you lying on the bed, a book resting casually on your stomach. Expecting to see his beloved wife asleep, he would come and sit by your side, gently pulling the book away from you. Ayato would lovingly stroke your hair, tucking a few stray strands behind your ear. He would tenderly kiss your face, your eyelids, your lips, before moving to your belly to give it as much attention. Wishing his child a good night in a whisper, he would move away from you to change and finally join you in the sweet haven of sleep.

The more your belly rounded, the more tired and sore you were. Your back was hurting, your ankles and shins too and, by the archons, you were finding it harder and harder to get out of bed as your belly was starting to weigh heavily on your back… Ayato would take a few weeks off to make sure that the end of the pregnancy would go smoothly.

Ayato would be a really gentle and loving father, never raising his voice against his child. He would take care of his child's education like his father before him, but would be much less strict.

Bonus NSFW:

Ayato found you so desirable when he saw you with your rounded belly. Of course, he always felt a strong desire for you, but seeing you standing in front of him, pregnant with his child, awakened a fire in him that he never knew existed. For a long time, he tried to put his fantasies aside, thinking that it was better to avoid any sexual relations during your pregnancy, but that was without counting your own desires…

He would always take the time to take you to your bed or any comfortable surface. Ayato always took the time to prepare you before penetrating you. And God only knows how good he could be with his tongue. Moreover, after several weeks of abstinence due to fatigue, migraines and nausea, you had become extremely sensitive. Ayato always had this sadistic side to him, over-stimulating you simply with his tongue and fingers.

The very idea of you already being pregnant with his child was driving him crazy. As he penetrated you with torturous slowness, you could notice that his gaze remained constantly focused on your belly. He wouldn't lie on top of you for fear of crushing you. Then he would wrap your legs around his hips, torso high and straight, sitting on his knees, while his hips slowly hit your buttocks. He would listen carefully to every moan, every call of his name that you would make…

Ayato would endure the pain perfectly, denying himself his orgasm before he gave you as much as you could handle. He would end up inside of you though, watching between a few sweat-soaked blue locks of your exhausted body. You were his wife, the mother of his unborn child, he was so proud to have you in his life. Laying down beside you, Ayato would take you in his arms, whispering his love for you, while his hands massaged your lower back.

"Eh?"

Cyno let his spear slide slowly from his hand as he looked at you with big round eyes. He didn't dare move, for fear of breaking the moment. Perhaps he had misheard what you had just said? After all, you had always protected yourselves during sex, thinking that it was better to wait until you had finished your studies at the academy to build your home. He didn't know if he should be happy about this news or if he regretted putting you in an embarrassing situation… He wanted to start a family with you, but not at the expense of your future… "Y/n, I… I'm sorry, if I had been more careful you-" You placed your index finger gently on his lips, cutting off anything he was about to say. "I don't regret anything Cyno. I'm really happy to be carrying your child." The mahamatra general placed his hands on your waist, plunging his ruby eyes into yours. "What do you plan to do with the academy?" You smiled at him, confident. "Being pregnant won't stop me from continuing my studies!" His once tense expression gradually softened as he heard you speak. He had confidence in you, in your skills, and he would definitely be the first to support you…

Cyno was an extremely tender man with you. Every time he came home, the first thing he did was to take you in his arms and give you a hug. He would ask you every day how you did for the day and if your nausea was better. He wouldn't tell you directly that he was constantly thinking about you and worried about leaving you alone. But Cyno was like an open book to you, his body language and focused questions letting you know his concerns. Pregnancy made him a little too much of a mother hen…

Let's talk about the mood swings that caught you both off guard. Cyno is a man who is used to dealing with criminals or researchers who cross the line of the academy's laws. Not even Candace can make him tremble. He is the one who dominates and intimidates his opponents. But you are definitely the one who freezes him in place when something pisses you off. He won't say anything, but his round eyes speak volumes… He'll probably think that women can be scary sometimes.

Since you were pregnant, you were very eager for contact and attention. He used to welcome you into his arms when he sat on the living room couch and quietly read a report from the academy. Most of the time, you would silently cling to him, wrapping your arms around his back, gently rocking him against the mattress so you could lie on top of him. With your head resting on his chest, your heavy eyelids would begin to close, lulled by the sound of his breathing. This is how he occupied his late afternoons, keeping your form asleep against him, one hand gently caressing your back as he read his reports.

Cyno would proudly hold your hand as you walked out together, exposing to all of Sumeru your belly that was getting bigger by the day. His face would remain impassive to the curious murmurs of the locals. Cyno was a man both feared and respected in the whole region, nothing more natural for these inhabitants than to remain silent when the cold eyes of the general mahamatra fell on them. Cyno was proud to be the father of your child. He loved you, both of you, and protecting you had become his only priority.

He would never forgive anyone who hurt you. The first time you came home crying, you explained to him that your professors and students blamed you every day for ruining your life by getting pregnant with a child that will only be a burden to your studies. The anger that boiled up in your lover made you tremble, yet he controlled it, trapping you in his arms to reassure you, to calm your shaking and crying. He would make sure to silence anyone who hurt you, no matter what means he used to do so…

Cyno likes to see you stroking your round belly in front of the mirror, examining your reflection and the size of your belly. Seeing you like this reminded him that in a short time he will be able to hold his child in his arms. Joining you in your contemplation, Cyno would embrace you from behind, placing his hands on yours while his face, lazily resting on your shoulder, contemplated with a tenderized look each of your movements.

Cyno would talk a lot about his anxieties as a father-to-be to Tighnari and Collei. He didn't have a very good experience with children, who mostly found him scary. Even Collei, who had known him for several months, was still a little frightened by his cold and distant behavior… Tighnari advised him to confide in you, after all, you were the mother of his child and the one who knew him best.

During the pregnancy, you had caught yourself having moments of doubt. Sitting in front of your scrolls, your leg shaking from stress, you didn't know if your choice to continue your studies while pregnant was a good idea. When Cyno saw you, he didn't need you to explain to him to understand what was bothering you. Placing one of his hands on your shoulder, your exhausted eyes searched his, surprised to see him home at such an early hour of the day. He had promised himself to spare you any unnecessary stress, so, being the man he is, Cyno decided to tell you his best jokes to make you forget your fears and finally see your smile again. Pulling you against him, foreheads gently brushing against each other, he continued on and on, until he heard the melodious sound of your laughter. - "Shut up you idiot…" - You whispered against his lips. - "They're not even funny." - Cyno tenderly stroked your arms, smiling back against you. - "You'll think they're funny if I explain the background…" - Slowly rubbing your nose against his, you finally silenced him with a soft kiss.

As you slept, Cyno would come and sit beside you, tenderly caressing your belly with a small smile on his lips. He always waited for you to fall asleep to create this intimate bond with his child.

You often talked to your belly, telling your child stories about his father or about yourself. Cyno enjoyed listening to you, but didn't dare join you in your discussion. Noticing his insistent gaze on you, you laughed before stroking your belly, tilting your head down so your child could hear you clearly, "Daddy is shy baby, but don't worry, he's very sweet." Upon hearing the word "daddy," Cyno's cheeks took on an excessive shade of red. His heart was beating wildly as happiness overwhelmed him… In a few weeks, Cyno will be able to hold his child in his arms.

Cyno will be a patient and protective father. When we saw him with his baby in his arms, his eyes were always burning with love for him. His relationship with his child was, without a doubt, fusional.

NSFW Bonus:

Cyno was sitting cross-legged on the gold-colored carpet, his ruby eyes watching the fireplace where a blazing fire lit up the room from its center. You were going about your business until your gaze focused on the serene form of your lover. The light from the fireplace projected onto Cyno's beautiful face, whose gaze remained focused on the burning flames. He was so beautiful and you desired him so ardently… How could you resist the need to unite with him? To feel him deep inside you? You didn't want to resist anymore. Slowly, you walked towards him.

Cyno, who was always a man on the lookout, immediately looked away from the flames to watch you. He let you straddle him, admiring the curves of your body as you sat on him. His hands instinctively placed themselves on your hips whose thumbs came to caress in tender circle your skin. Your round belly pressed against him, warm and comforting. And, as your hands pulled his headdress off his head and then cupped his face, you tried to distract him with a simple question. "What are you thinking?". He took a while to answer you, his senses remaining focused on the lips attached to his neck. "Nothing amazing. I was just thinking of a way to improve my card game…" A low moan escaped him as you rubbed your hips against his member, which was hardening with the attention you were giving him. Your teeth nibbled at his neck, slowly working your way up to his earlobe and in a sensual voice you whispered, "Now what?" A shiver ran through his body as you began to languidly kiss his jaw. His hearing remained focused on the sounds of your kisses as his hands slowly moved up your tunic to the skin of your hips. He didn't respond, preferring to tilt his face to link his lips to yours in a deeper, sensual kiss. So needy…

Cyno hadn't dared touch you since you were pregnant, for fear of rushing you. However, your sexual appetite had increased tenfold in the last few months. In the end, frustration and abstinence had made you both tense and thirsty for each other. Cyno pulled you away from him, his hands working to remove your remaining clothes… Your belly was perfectly visible in front of him and he couldn't help but put his hands on it, curious about what his child could feel. You wanted to be patient, to let your companion enjoy this intimate moment, but you couldn't take it anymore. The pain between your legs was crying out for relief.

Cyno was keeping pace with you, helping you undress his proudly erect member. Already naked on top of him, you were ready to welcome him into you. The matra plunged his sweaty face into the hollow of your shoulder as you guided his sex between your lower lips. Slowly, your hips began to rock above him, accompanied by your gasps.

Both of you were insatiable, though exhaustion invaded the muscles of your body, you wanted to keep claiming him. Cyno would eventually lay you down gently under him, protected by the carpet that covered the floor. One of his hands would hold onto the back of your head to keep you from discomfort, and as soon as he was sure you were safe from injury, his hips would start rocking again at a rapid pace.

Your sex was intense and sensual. Despite the changes in your body, Cyno never stopped wanting, loving and pampering you. This man is completely addicted to you.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin flu #genshin smut #genshin impact cyno #genshin impact ayato #genshin impact smut #cyno #ayato #cyno flu #ayato flu #ayato smut #cyno smut #cyno x reader #ayato x reader #cyno x you

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unseededtoast · 8 months

Text

We'll Be Alright | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: In which you discover that the line between love and hate is quite fine. Your actions are done out of love, but they only make you hate yourself more and more. Inspired by "Fine Line" by Harry Styles

Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3 and here is my masterlist!

WC: 9.1k

Warnings: Angst, a lot of angst, pining, mention of Ed Gein, mention of blood, use of guns, that sorta thing

a/n: Back at it again with another Spencer Reid oneshot. I hope you all like it, I think this is one of my favorites so far.

"I could live with you hating me, but I couldn't live in a world without you."

With a smile on your face you listen to Spencer ramble on about how he put the pieces together to find the unsub while you two ride to the scene together. He speaks with such passion and you don't think you'll ever get tired of listening to him, his mind is a brilliant thing and you make sure to remind him every chance you get. You can tell that sometimes when he gets fired up about something he starts becoming insecure, fearing that the others will make some snide comment or dismiss his thoughts. But not you, you listen intently every time, hanging onto every word.

Spencer has played a very vital role in developing you into the analyst you are today. Where the others were satisfied with letting you learn on your own, and showing you pointers here and there, Spencer took the time to explain nuanced ideas to you. He showed genuine interest and care, and you gave him your undivided attention. This dynamic created a tight bond with the two of you, allowing you to work together seamlessly and at times, it's like you read each other's thoughts.

"I knew you could do it." You tell him as you pull onto the scene. He utters a thanks as the two of you get out of the car and join the rest of the team.

The unsub is nearby and the team is just waiting for him to show up; Garcia had been able to track his phone and his movement aligned with the area you and Spencer had narrowed down as the next area of interest. Hotch, Morgan, and Emily give you both a nod of acknowledgement and the five of you begin scouting out the area to look for any signs of the unsub, he should be here by now.

This particular unsub sent a chill down your spine, and not much gets to you anymore. His modus operandi was always to kill his victims, skin them, and use their flesh for various purposes. It's like he was trying to be Gein's prodigy, except he never dug up a grave, he preferred to kill them all himself. The team had found his workshop early in the investigation, but the unsub was nowhere to be found, until now. Seeing household objects made of flesh isn't going to soon leave your memory, you're sure of it.

"There he is!" Morgan yells and points to a man crossing the street with a paper bag in his hand. Everyone takes off in a sprint towards him and you pull your firearm from the holster strapped to your thigh. The unsub takes off, trying to evade you all.

Emily and Hotch split up from the rest of the team to try and cut him off up ahead, leaving you, Spencer, and Morgan trailing him. The little man is fast, you'll give him that much. Eventually, he ducks down an alleyway, unaware it's a dead end, and turns back to look at you all with wide, stunned eyes. You see the panic in his eyes and as Morgan shouts instructions at him, you see him reach inside of his jacket.

The unsub pulls a gun of his own and aims it right at Spencer. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears. Spencer puts his hands up in surrender while you and Morgan keep your sights trained on him.

"Put the guns down or I'll shoot him, I swear I'll do it, just like the others!" The unsub declares while switching the safety off of his gun. Your hands begin to shake with adrenaline, but you don't put your gun down. Faintly, you can hear Morgan informing Hotch and Emily of the situation via radio but it's like you have tunnel vision on the man in front of you.

"Do it now!" He screams erratically and you see his finger dance on the trigger, just about to pull it.

An internal battle wages itself inside your mind, trying to quickly assess the pros and cons of listening to the man. Just as you go to lower your gun, you see the man grin sickeningly at Spencer with an evil glint shining in his eye; you've seen that look before. Without thinking, you turn and knock Spencer out of the way just as you hear the shot go off. Spencer slams into the brick wall beside him, chest heaving with panicked breaths. Behind you, you can hear Morgan yelling something but his voice sounds miles away.

All you feel is a blinding, white-hot pain.

Blinking rapidly, you look down and see that your shirt is quickly becoming stained a deep scarlet red. Your heart is pumping at an alarming pace, you can feel your pulse in your neck. The red stain keeps growing but your mind can't comprehend what's going on. Large hands obscure the stain from your view, and you finally look up to see Spencer's hazel eyes, wide and afraid.

He gently brings your body to the ground, leaning you against the brick wall you had shoved him into. His hands apply pressure to the wound, sending a shockwave of pain through your entire body. It feels like you can't catch your breath, you fight for oxygen every few seconds and even that makes your body feel like you've just been set ablaze. The edges of your vision start going black, and you can't really see anything clearly anymore. Your mind is a jumble of incoherent thoughts that just sounds like static.

"Hey, hey look at me. Come on now. Stay with me. Please." You feel a tap on your cheek and your blurry vision can make out Spencer's form, his fingers coated in red. A wave of nausea and pain racks through your system, and you try to reach out for Spencer, but your arms are just too heavy, and words take too much effort. It's easier to just close your eyes.

-----

A constant beeping sound stirs you awake. You don't even remember falling asleep. Trying to open your eyes feels like an impossible task, like they've been bonded shut with super glue. Your throat feels like a desert, and you start to panic, not remembering where you are. Mental images of the unsub's flesh creations flash through your mind and you start panicking, thinking that somehow he got you.

The panic is enough to make your eyes open, and you're greeted with bright lights. Flinching, you squint your eyes and look around. This isn't the unsub's workshop, no, this looks like a hospital. Your eyes travel down your body, seeing lines embedded in your arms, a plastic piece clamped over your finger, and a large white bandage wrapped around your stomach. As if on cue, your stomach starts to burn like hot coals had just been placed there. An image of Spencer's hand covered in bright red flashes behind your eyelids.

A nurse walks through the doors and smiles when she catches your eye. She comes to your bedside and sets down an IV bag full of clear liquid.

"Glad to see you're finally awake. How do you feel?" She asks and you go to answer her, but your throat is too dry, so you just end up coughing. The nurse crosses your room and returns moments later with a plastic cup half full of water. Greedily, you take it from her and drink the water, a lone stream wandering down your chin. Once the cup is empty, you decide to finally answer her.

"Not great." You admit, trying to reposition but unable to do so because of the pain. The nurse nods as she hangs the new IV bag from the metal rack beside your bed.

"I imagine so. I'll give you something to dull the pain." She tells you, resting a gentle hand on your upper arm. Your eyes are glued to her hand and you nod, anticipating the relief of pain medication.

"What exactly happened?" You ask, only able to remember tiny bits and pieces. The image of Spencer's hand refuses to leave your mind but you just can't remember what happened before, or after, that moment. The nurse looks down to the bandage covering your torso.

"An ambulance brought you in last night. You got shot through the abdomen and had to be rushed into surgery. There was sustained damage to your liver and other intestines, but nothing life-threatening. You gave your coworkers quite the scare though, they didn't want to leave but we had to send them home." Her voice is soothing despite the words leaving her mouth, like she was used to delivering this sort of news. Which she probably is. You stare down at the bandage on your stomach, trying to remember anything else, but being unsuccessful.

"So when can I leave?" You ask, knowing that there's an incident report or two waiting for you on your desk. Truthfully, you'd rather do anything but those reports right now, seeing as how you can't even remember a major event, but you know the job doesn't allow for much downtime.

"Probably tomorrow or the next day depending on how well you're doing." She reassures you, and you can live with that. If the team wants the paperwork done that badly, they can bring it to you. Otherwise, you're perfectly content to stay here for a little while. The nurse exits the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

From what you can remember, Spencer was definitely there when you got shot. His hands were covered in your blood, that part you can vividly remember. Your heart sinks as you are able to recall the look in his eyes, how scared he was. You hope he doesn't blame himself for what happened, you know it isn't his fault even if you can't quite remember how it all went down. If the roles were reversed you can't even imagine the wreck you would be; the thought alone makes you sick.

-----

The next day your doctor clears you for discharge, and you call Hotch to come pick you up. You have no family to call to get you or take care of you, Hotch and the team are the closest thing you have. You had almost called Spencer, but decided against it because you're not sure if you're ready to see him just yet. Hotch's car pulls up to the curb and he hops out to help you in the car but you wave him off.

"I got shot I'm not immobile." You try to tease as you grimace, pulling yourself into the passenger seat. Hotch closes the door once you're in and quickly returns to the driver's seat. His hands grip the wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. He starts the route back to your home without a word, but you can tell something is bothering him.

"What's up?" You break the silence, the curiosity of what he's thinking becoming too much. Hotch glances at you from the corner of his eye before training his eyes back on the road.

"You're off of field duty for the next few months. Technically, you should be on a leave of absence for a while but I know you won't abide by it. But, you have to promise me you won't overwork yourself. You got shot, you need to take care of yourself." His words come out slow and even, which contradicts his body language. There's something else going on, but you know him well enough to know he's not going to tell you.

"No field work, got it." You agree, knowing it's the best deal you're going to get. When another agent was shot on the job about a year ago, they made her stay out of the office for four months. You'd go crazy under those restrictions.

The two of you ride in silence until he pulls up outside of your quaint home. The lights are all off and the mail has gone unchecked. Dark clouds in the sky start emitting light sprinkles, likely to turn into a storm. With a sigh, you look to Hotch, whose eyes are already on you and you smile weakly at him, trying to mask the pain shooting up your spine.

"Thank you, Hotch." You say and open the door despite your body's protests.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to call." He tells you with a father-like authority. You nod your head, knowing he means it.

"I will." You confirm and close the door. Hotch drives off and you check your overflowing mailbox before heading up the short stone walkway to your home. You're thankful for the stair railings as you have to pull yourself up each step to reach your front door. From what should be a simple, few-second task, it feels like you've run a marathon. The keys fumble around in your hands but you're able to unlock the door after a few attempts.

Your home is unusually dark and cold inside. The mail finds itself scattered across the dining room table and you go around turning on a lamp or two to bring some life back into the space. Clutching the back of your couch, you catch your breath and look down at your torso. With careful hands, you lift your shirt and look at the bandage. Thankfully it doesn't look like the stitches have broken, it's just a lot of pain. The doctor had given you two prescriptions to fill, but you probably won't go pick them up, you can't imagine how painful it would be to drive a car right now; moving your arms and legs, straining your abdomen. It's just not worth it in your mind. And you're surely not going to inconvenience anyone to pick it up for you, they probably couldn't anyways seeing as how one of them is a narcotic.

Instead of doing anything else, you go around and lay down on your couch, propping your head on a throw pillow and pulling the blanket draped over the back overtop of you. Thunder sounds off overhead, and you know the rain will put you to sleep if the pain doesn't do it first.

The plush material of the blanket soothes you somewhat, it definitely feels better than the hospital blankets. Thick raindrops start pelting the window situated on the wall perpendicular to the couch, giving you the perfect view through your sheer curtains. Your eyes droop as you watch the droplets race each other to the bottom but you don't want to sleep, it's pretty much all you've done the past two days.

While your eyes concentrate on the raindrops pelting the window your mind races with all the thoughts you've slept away in the hospital. Since first waking up, you've been able to recall most of what happened, the doctors told you it was a normal thing to experience, but it freaked you out as you just kept remembering what happened. You can hear Spencer's voice begging you to stay awake and you remember shoving him out of the way so he wouldn't be shot.

While the pain of being shot is like nothing you've experienced before, you know you'd do it all over again to save Spencer. And that terrifies you. It's for that reason you haven't contacted him yet, but you see the messages he's left on your phone, asking if you're okay and if he can do anything for you. If it had been him that got shot, and he didn't pull through, you know you'd crumble, you'd absolutely lose yourself. And that shakes you to your core. You knew you and Spencer were close, but you never realized just how deep your love for him runs.

Being shot made you understand that in this line of work it's not smart to form these personal ties, for reasons such as this. If the roles were reversed and he did die, you know you wouldn't be able to continue doing your job. It's been made abundantly obvious to you during your time on the BAU that these deep connections could pose a threat to your safety, and that's never been more clear to you than it is right now. It's precisely the reason you don't answer Spencer at all. You feel guilty, but you know it's better like this in the long run. You can't stomach the thought of him taking a bullet for you, so you have to distance yourself, for his safety.

-----

Five days later you decide to return to the office. You're feeling slightly better, the pain is still strikingly difficult to deal with, but you can't stand another day being cooped up in your house. Plus, you know there's at least one incident report waiting for you.

You leave early to give yourself enough time to get there, and you find out that you were right about driving, it definitely does not feel good. You reach the office later than you usually do, but you don't really care. The team isn't even expecting you for another two days, so there's no punctuality expectation. After you get out of your car and make your way across the parking lot you find that a pit of dread has taken residence in your stomach, right next to the aching pain; and you're nervous to walk through the doors that have become so familiar. But the elevator ride is too short for your comfort and you find yourself staring at those very doors before you're truly prepared.

With one hand lightly resting on your abdomen, you force yourself into the office, where everyone is busy with their daily duties. Maybe you can just slip in here without anyone noticing you. Your steps are drastically slower than normal, and you make it halfway to your desk before you hear someone calling out your name.

"What are you doing here? Thought you weren't supposed to be back until Monday." Morgan asks, tossing a file on top of his keyboard. You clear your throat and try your best to smile.

"Just couldn't stay away I guess." You say and finish the journey to your desk, feeling your legs start going weak. Within the days you've spent at home, you couldn't bring yourself to exert much energy getting food, you mainly just spent time wrapped up in a blanket on your couch. Your body is weaker than it ever has been, from both malnutrition and the gunshot, but nobody needs to know that, then they'd start to hover. You'd much rather just suffer in silence and take care of yourself. Morgan follows you over to your desk and you're hypervigilant to keep up a good appearance.

"We've been worried about you. Nobody's heard from you since Hotch picked you up." He says and you glance over to Hotch's office, seeing the door closed.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I've just been trying to rest and heal up." It's not a total lie, just not the entire truth either. You meet Morgan's eyes as if to seal the deal, and thankfully he doesn't push you further on the matter, he just puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Well it's good to have you back." He says before departing back to his own desk.

You open the cover of the file that's sitting on your desk, seeing blank pages waiting for you to fill them out. Grabbing your favorite pen, you start jotting down your notes of the incident report up until you get to the part where you were shot. The pen hovers over the page for minutes, and you can't seem to find the right words. The opening of Hotch's door distracts you and you see him and Spencer walk out. Spencer's eyes lock with yours immediately and he wastes no time abandoning his conversation with Hotch to come over to you. You knew this time would come, you were just hoping to avoid it for a while longer.

"How are you? Are you okay? You weren't supposed to be back until Monday." A flurry of questions gets thrown at you while Spencer looks you over as if he's expecting to see another bleeding wound on you.

"I'm fine, thanks." You keep your answer short, too short for his liking and you know it. Guilt sits heavily in your heart, but you remind yourself that this is for his benefit and wellbeing. You can deal with a broken heart, you can't deal with Spencer dying and that's why this is necessary. His eyebrows scrunch together, confused about why you're acting so strangely.

"I tried to text you." He says, lowering his voice, eyes tender and full of worry. If only you could reach out to him, to feel his soft skin under your fingertips and tell him about the hell you've been going through. Instead, you lick your lips and nod shortly,

"I saw. I just, I wanted some time alone." You lie straight to his face and watch as he buys it so easily. Disappointment paints itself all over his face, but he nods anyways and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Right. Sorry, well, um, you know where I'll be." He says in a hushed voice before turning and walking to his own desk. Your eyes clamp themselves shut and your fists clench, leaving crescent-shaped indents in your palms as you take a deep breath and fight away the tears that threaten to spill.

Once you've regained control of yourself, you pick your pen back up and focus on nothing else but getting this report done. You force yourself to write robotically, stating only the concise facts of what happened and not a detail more. You're sure the other agents' reports will make up for yours, you just need to get this done and filed so you can leave. The air in the office space is suffocating.

After what feels like a short eternity, you've finally completed the report and you shut the front cover of the file and push yourself out of your chair, gritting your teeth the entire time.

"Need help?" You hear Morgan's voice behind you, and you're quick to shake your head.

"No, I'm fine, thank you." You say as you stand as straight as you can, grabbing the file off your desk with one hand, the other rests over your wound, which feel unusually warm. Fearing the worst, you make your way to Hotch's office, biting your cheek the entire way there.

When you enter his office he looks at you with uncharacteristically soft eyes. He waits for you to make the first move and you put the folder on his desk, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. He opens the folder and reads over your work before tossing it on top of a pile of other folders.

"What's going on with you?" He asks and stands to shut his door. Hotch closes the blinds on the office windows as well, so that the other agents can't see into the room and you're thankful. Your bottom lip quivers as a sharp hot pain radiates from your wound and you feel your throat constrict. Grasping the back of a chair situated in front of his desk you lean your weight on it to try and alleviate the pain, but it isn't working.

"Let me see." Hotch stands from his desk and stands beside you. Once you feel you can stand on your own you lift the edge of your shirt up, exposing the bandage wrapped around you. From your vantage point you can see the warm red skin peeking out from the bandage.

"That's not good, that looks like it's becoming infected." Hotch's voice is thick with worry and he delicately peels back the bandage to examine the wound and you bite down on your hand to keep from crying out. The air coming into contact with it feels like he just pushed a fire poker right through the stitches.

"We're leaving right now, that's definitely infected." Hotch secures the bandage back and you shake your head.

"I'll be fine, it's just part of the healing process." You try to downplay the situation. In reality, you know that it's not good for your wound to be that red or warm, but if the two of you leave right now the others are going to know something's up. And that will inevitably lead to them hovering over you.

"No, it's not. You're going to come with me or I'll call the squad." Hotch threatens and you see no trace of a lie in his eyes or in his tone. Relenting, you agree to go with him. He leads you out of the office and you keep your head down, compelling yourself to not look at Spencer, who's undoubtedly tracking your every move.

Once you reach the parking lot Hotch begins questioning you. He helps you into his car and you let him, not having the energy to fight him.

"Have you not been taking the medicine prescribed to you? I know they gave you an antibiotic." He scolds, knowing the answer. If you had been taking them, you wouldn't be showing up to the office with an angry gunshot wound.

"Hurt too much to drive and get them." You keep your answer short and he huffs in annoyance, but starts driving somewhere to get you the medical attention you need. Deep down you're thankful Hotch cares this much, he's the closest thing to real family you have.

Last Thanksgiving the team found out that you have no family to spend the holidays with. You had never meant to tell them, but holiday plans came up in conversation and yours were painfully dull and lonely compared to theirs. But Hotch invited you to his family's Thanksgiving dinner. At first, you had declined, not wanting to intrude on his family time away from work, but he wasn't taking no for an answer. Now you're glad that he persisted and you went. His wife, Haley, took you under her wing and everything just fell into place; you're practically their surrogate daughter at this point.

After Hotch makes sure that you get looked at by a doctor, and that you actually have your intended prescriptions, he drops you off at your home and makes you promise that you'll send him a video of you taking your medicine on schedule. Knowing that if you don't, he will most definitely drive over here and count the pills, you agree. And as a punishment for not taking the medicine in the first place, he makes you agree to stay out of the office for another week.

-----

The week passes too quickly for your liking. Each day Spencer had texted you, asking if you're okay, that he's worried about you, and that he misses you. It broke your heart to not reply to him, every fiber of your being yearned to text him back, to let him know that you're okay. The temptation to abandon your decision of distancing yourself from him grew stronger each day. It became so tempting that you forced yourself to let your phone battery die and then you buried it underneath the clothes in your dresser so that it would stay out of sight.

But now, as you stare up at the office building from the parking lot, you know that you won't be able to avoid him today and you know that you're going to have to not give into temptation. Every time you want to slip, you're going to have to remind yourself that this is for his safety. You remember that you can deal with the heartbreak, the possibility of him hating you, but you'll never be able to go on if he dies. So you have to do everything in your power to make sure he will never have a reason to make a decision to take a bullet for you, like you did him.

Eventually, you walk into the office, admittedly in a lot less pain than last time. Who knew that taking your prescribed antibiotics would make your life easier? As soon as your foot crosses the threshold of the door, you feel like everyone's eyes are upon you. Instead of looking around to confirm your suspicions, you make a straight route right to your desk. But, of course that doesn't stop people from coming over.

"Back again. You look better this time." Morgan smiles and slides to sit on the edge of your desk. You smile back at him, feeling refreshed and healthier than last time.

"Feel better too. Any new cases?" You ask, hoping to establish some normalcy back into your routine. Typically, you and Spencer carpool to work together and his missing presence from your morning routine didn't go unmissed. Morgan licks his lips and nods,

"Yeah we just got back from one out in Colorado. I think there's another briefing at ten." He tells you, taking a sip of his coffee. You know you won't be let into the field yet, but you at least want to sit in on the briefing. More than likely you'll be paired with Garcia, and you're fine with that.

Morgan slides off your desk and as he moves you see Spencer staring straight at you. His eyes look bloodshot, there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he hasn't had a decent night of sleep for a month and his hair is a mess. His lips fall open as you two make eye contact, but you're quick to look away before you go over to comfort him. The inside of your cheeks burn from how hard you're biting them.

Once ten rolls around the team files into the conference room, and you're careful to stand in the back instead of taking your usual seat. Prentiss gives you an odd look but she doesn't say anything. It's glaringly obvious to everyone that something is off, but you assure them you should stand to help your blood circulation. As Hotch starts going over the next case you feel a familiar pair of eyes lingering on your face, but you stare right at Hotch.

Soon enough, the rest of the team is off to work a local case, and you stay in the office to help Garcia. She pulls up a chair for you to sit on, and the two of you get to work without saying a word. It's weird for there to be a silence so thick between the two of you, you two always work so well together and you love Penelope. As she waits for something to load, she taps a pen on her desk and takes a deep breath.

"What's wrong?" You ask, not being able to take it any longer. The tapping pen stills and she looks over to you with an uncertain look on her face.

"What's wrong with me? Nothing, I'm perfect as a peach." She tries to lie, but you can read her too well. Your eyebrows raise, and you push her further.

"Come on, Pen. I know you better than that. Tell me." You implore and she bites her lower lip, conflicted with herself as if she should say anything or not. But eventually your staring gets to her and she breaks.

"Fine. Fine, but you didn't hear this from me. Spencer thinks that you blame him for getting shot and that's why you've been dodging him." You've never heard such ridiculous words come out of Penelope's mouth, and you've heard her say a lot over the years. Taken aback, your mouth falls open and you blink, trying to come up with something to say.

"No. Of course it's not his fault. I pushed him out of the way, he didn't pull me into the bullet's path." You say, wanting to set the record straight. Your heart aches at the thought of Spencer beating himself up, thinking that you blame him for your own actions. You know you won't tell him this directly, but you're certain Garcia will relay the message. And that will have to be good enough.

"What's going on with you two then?" Her voice is uncharacteristically soft. You know you can't tell her what you're really doing because you know she'll fight you on it and try to dissuade you. So you choose to dodge the question altogether.

"There. The victim's information loaded." You point at her screen and she scowls at you, but turns in her chair and resumes her job anyways. While she does her research you busy yourself with putting pins on a map, trying to figure out where the unsub is going to strike next.

Later, the team returns to the office before going home for the day. You're at your desk, shutting down your computer and making sure your file drawer is locked, and when you grab the jacket off the back of your chair, you see Spencer talking to Morgan at his desk. He catches you out of the corner of his eye, and you brush past the two of them before either one of them can say something to you. Your heart shatters a little with each step, but you remind yourself why you're doing this. If you didn't, you're convinced you would have turned back and never let Spencer go.

-----

Three days later, the case is solved. The unsub basically handed the team a map right to himself and chose not to lawyer up when Hotch questioned him. It's almost like he wanted to be caught. You don't dwell on the thought too much, you're just glad another murderer is off the street. While everyone else cheers about the victory as they fill out their reports, you keep to yourself at your desk. Unlike the last report you filled out, you make sure this one is extensively detailed.

"What does everyone say? Celebration drinks tonight?" You hear Morgan's voice, eager and happy. The man loves to celebrate sometimes. The rest of the team agrees, and you finish your sentence, hoping they keep you out of it. If you stay quiet enough, you're sure they'll forget you're even here.

"Oh did someone say drinks?" Penelope walks into the bullpen to give Hotch something. Morgan fills her in on the details and of course she agrees.

"I'm assuming you're coming too, right?" You hear her voice but choose not to look up, hoping that she's talking to someone else. Unfortunately, she was not talking to someone else, and taps on your shoulder to make you look up. You see Spencer standing in the background with everyone else, but you keep your eyes trained on Penelope like he doesn't even exist.

"Oh, I don't know. I was thinking of calling it an early night." You admit, knowing full well that you had planned to sit on your couch all weekend binging some trashy reality show to distract yourself from your reality. Penelope frowns,

"Come on, you've never turned us down before. It'll be good for you." She says, and you can tell by the tone of her voice that she's not going to take no for an answer.

"Fine, I'll be there." You relent, with a tight smile on your face. She cheers and goes back to talking with Morgan, and you swivel around in your chair to finish the report. While you scribble words, you're already forming your escape plan for the night.

You'll stay for about an hour, after everyone has already had a few and then you'll excuse yourself. If you have to, you'll use your gunshot wound as an excuse; and yeah it's a cheap cop out, but if that's what it takes you'll do it. And then once you're out the doors you're free. It's a simple, yet effective, plan.

Hours later the team huddles around a table in a crowded bar. Usually you're all over celebratory drinks, you use it as an excuse to remind your coworkers of just how brilliant they are. But tonight, while the rest of them are chatting away happily, you sit on the edge, nursing your drink and looking out of the bar's front window. Spencer is seated across the table from you and you keep accidentally meeting his eyes, which makes the alcohol in your system warm your skin even more.

Spencer sure does make it hard for you to ignore him. After all, his puppy-dog eyes practically plead with you, silently begging for you to say something to him. You can see how hard he's being on himself, still probably convinced that you blame him for your wound. Even if Garcia told him otherwise, you know he will have a hard time buying it considering your actions completely contradict what you had said. While the others might not notice how miserable he is, you can tell. He hasn't gone on a random knowledge tangent since you've been back and he's been reusing the same coffee cup without washing it for the past few days.

You hate how hard Spencer makes it to actually dislike him, you hate how he's such a kindhearted person because it makes all of this ten times more difficult. If he had at least one dislikable trait then this would be easier, then you might have a chance of convincing yourself that you can't stand him, that you never liked him to begin with. Though you're not sure you could ever convince yourself of that, truly. As you take your last drink, you come to one reasonable conclusion: You hate that you love him.

Suddenly feeling like the room is closing in on you, you stand from your seat and make your way to the bartender to close your tab out for the night. Maybe you can just sneak out of here and nobody will notice. The bartender hands your card back to you, and you start heading towards the door. But of course a team of FBI agents noticed that you had left, and are now heading towards the door. Morgan is the first one to confront you.

"Going home already? It's not even nine yet!" He teases and you give him your best smile.

"Just starting to hurt a little." You ghost your fingers over your healing wound for extra measure, knowing they won't chastise you about that. It seems you've taken the low road after all.

"Want someone to take you home?" Penelope asks, and you're quick to decline, knowing exactly what kind of plan she has in store.

"No, thanks. That's alright, I don't live far. Have a good night everyone." You smile at Morgan, Penelope, and Prentiss before you leave. As you walk to your car you notice that everytime you turn away and leave Spencer, your heart fragments more and more. But you remember what's at stake, and you pick yourself up, the best you can, and keep moving forward. You know that the pain and turmoil you're feeling now will amount to nothing if something ever happens to Spencer.

-----

Months later your gunshot wound is practically completely healed. There's a scar that's going to be left behind, but you don't mind it. You're one week out from being cleared to go back into the field, and you're undergoing your evaluation now. You thought that you'd be happy and eager to get back out there, but instead you find yourself hesitant and nervous about it. Working with Garcia had made you feel safe and secure. So now, as you sit in Hotch's office, you try to find the words you're looking for. He's staring at you expectantly.

"I just. Hotch I don't know if I can go back out there." Your voice is shaky, and you're afraid this admission will get you dismissed from the team. He leans forward, elbows resting on his desk.

"You're saying you don't want to return to the field?" He tries to clarify. You take in a deep breath,

"I want to return to the field, I just don't know if I want to do it right now. I mean, I still get nightmares about being shot and it feels so real. What I'm trying to say is that I don't know how well I'd react in stressful situations right now." You tell him, hoping that this makes more sense. In a way, you're figuring out what exactly it is you want. His eyes narrow, trying to get a read on you. Hotch writes some words on the paper in front of him and sighs.

"I can give you another month. And I want you to start seeing a therapist." He says and you scoff immediately. Hotch holds his hand up to stop your protests before they even start.

"Listen. I don't know what's going on inside your mind since this all happened. But you haven't been yourself. And you haven't spoken to Spencer once. You two used to be the best of friends. It's none of my business to know, but you need to tell someone about it. Being shot like that is not something that someone gets over easily and without ramifications." He explains, and deep down you know he's right. You just don't want to confide to anyone about your issues.

"Sure." You agree, knowing that he's going to force you to see a therapist one way or another. If you tell him no now, you're sure someone will show up in the office next week to conduct some sort of "random psych evaluation". Hotch dismisses you from his office, and you make your way to the break room for some much needed caffeine.

The coffee in the pot is hot, like it's been freshly brewed. You pick a mug at random and fill it, then you sprinkle in a modest amount of sugar before tasting it. It's warm and comforting, like a hug from the inside. You close your eyes to help yourself destress from what happened in Hotch's office, but when you open them you see Spencer standing in the doorway. His hair is still wildly curly, there are still circles under his eyes from sleep deprivation. Even his clothes are wrinkled now, it looks like he doesn't take the time to iron them out anymore.

You two stare at each other with so much left unsaid, and you make a move to leave the room before you fold under the pressure. Your shoulder brushes his on the way out, and you hear him speak.

"Please. I'm sorry." You hear him plead with you and your steps falter, wanting so badly to just stop and turn around. To hold him close to you and apologize, to tell him you miss him so bad it makes your chest hurt and how life is dull without him. But instead, you take a scalding sip of coffee and keep moving forward like you never heard him. Each day that passes you find yourself hating how deeply you love him more and more, it's almost a constant burn in your veins.

You spend the rest of the day tucked away in Penelope's office, nose buried in a screen, doing the most menial research as if the fate of the world depends on it. Penelope doesn't say anything. She just sighs and helps you with the research.

-----

A few more weeks pass, and fall is now in full swing. There's a crisp chill to the air, the leaves are all turning colors and falling to the ground. And with fall comes your birthday. You have no real plans to celebrate, Hotch had given you your gift in the parking lot before work this morning, knowing that you don't like a lot attention being drawn to you, but it is nice to get a simple "happy birthday" from your friends.

The team packs up for the day, and your heart sinks with disappointment. It seems that nobody but Hotch had remembered your birthday. You convince yourself that this is a stupid reason to get sad, that they all have busy lives to keep up with. Plus, it's not like it's a milestone birthday anyways. Grabbing your jacket, you leave the office for the day with a heavy sadness taking residence in your chest.

When you arrive home, you turn some lamps on and toss your jacket over the back of the couch. You put Hotch's gift on the table, and go to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. You don't bother pouring it into a glass, straight from the bottle will suffice just fine. Taking the bottle with you, you go to your room and change out of your work clothes. As you rummage through the drawers, you find your phone still sitting in the bottom of one of them.

You had never found the courage to charge it back up, afraid to see what words had been left for you. But tonight, you figure it's about time you confront your own feelings. You plug the phone in and set it on your nightstand, taking another swig of the wine and waiting for it to charge.

After what feels like hours, the phone finally turns back on. And within minutes, the notifications start pouring in. Text after text after text rolls in and the missed calls start to pile up. With another drink, you take your phone in your hand and read over the messages. There are exactly fifty seven messages from Spencer and thirty missed calls.

Your eyes scan the texts he sent you, his words sinking into the fibers of your very being, and you're saddled with an intense sorrow. Tears fall from your cheeks onto the phone's screen and you stop reading, not being able to take it anymore. All of his texts were him apologizing to you, begging you to please talk to him. You listen to the voicemails he left, hearing his voice crack and listening to him sniffle as he pleads for you to please just say something, anything. You can almost visualize him in your mind, wiping his tears as he tells you how sorry he is and how he misses you more than anything. He's begging and apologizing as if he's the one who has done anything wrong here. You hate yourself more than anything for letting him suffer like this.

You leave your phone on your nightstand and grab the wine, returning to your kitchen table, where Hotch's gift sits perfectly wrapped. Taking it in your hands, you unwrap it and look inside the box, heart stilling as you see what's inside. With trembling fingers, you grab the frame and hold it in front of your face. Hotch had given you a framed photo of the team, a picture in which Spencer is holding you tightly against his side, and you're looking up at him with stars in your eyes. The frame slips through your fingers and clatters onto the table.

You support yourself on the back of a chair, and you finally let yourself feel everything you had suppressed over the last few months. Sobs shake your body and the tears fall onto the photo. Your hands clutch the back of the chair until your knuckles turn white, afraid that if you let go you'll collapse to the ground.

A knock at the door catches you off guard and you try to level out your breathing, using the back of your hand to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You aren't expecting anyone, and you almost consider just leaving it be, but your curiosity gets the best of you. Knowing that you probably look deranged and pathetic, you open the door anyways.

Spencer stands in the doorway, a small box in his hands along with a bouquet of your favorite fresh-cut flowers.

Your mouth falls open, and you think your heart might actually jump out of your chest. He looks you over, an obvious concern coming over his face. You should shut the door on him, tell him to go away, but your resolve has crumbled, like dust in the wind.

"Can I come in?" He whispers, and you nod, letting him inside your home, where he's been so many times but now it feels like the first time all over again. Your house is in a state of disarray, and if you hadn't just been sobbing over a photo of him, you might care more. You wipe more tears from your eyes and you clear your throat, not exactly sure what to say or do. But thankfully, he speaks up again.

"Happy birthday." His voice is soft, and he gives you a small smile, but the sadness is evident in his eyes.

"You didn't have to get me anything." You say, looking at the beautiful flowers and carefully wrapped box, topped with a ribbon of your favorite color. He takes a step towards you, and hands you the flowers first. As you take them, your fingers brush his and it feels like the air has been kicked out of your lungs.

"I know, but I wanted to." He says, meeting your eyes. You catch the scent of the flowers, appreciating their freshness and the life they bring to your otherwise sad home. Making your way into your kitchen, you find a vase to put the flowers in and then you set them on the table. Spencer's eye catches the photo, and you know he can see the wetness that still adorns the frame. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put the pieces together.

"Thank you, Spencer." You say after you position the flowers just right. Willingly, you catch his eye and you know you can never go back to ignoring him after this. He glances from you, to the photo, then back to you before he hands you the box. Lifting the top off, you see a beautiful gold chain inside that has a beautiful gemstone pendant hanging from it.

"I picked the stone because it reminded me of your eyes." He sheepishly admits, and you look up at him through your lashes with the purest and deepest love flowing through you. But through that love, the guilt eats you alive.

"Spencer, this is too much. I've been horrible to you lately, I don't deserve this. And I definitely don't deserve your kindness." You say, looking into his gorgeous, kind eyes. The tension is noticeable between you, and you wish it would melt away and that you two could go back to how things used to be.

"I've missed you so much." Is all he says, voice cracking and you see tears gather in his eyes. Unable to help yourself, you set the necklace on the table and close the gap between the two of you, resting your hand on his cheek. Your bottom lip trembles,

"I'm so sorry Spencer. I'm so sorry." You say, tears once again flowing down your face. He sniffles as a tear runs down his cheek onto your thumb.

"Why?" Is all he asks but you know exactly what he means. You decide to come clean to him, there's no use of lying now.

"When I got shot, I realized that if you had been the one who got hit, and you didn't make it, that I wouldn't be able to live. The thought of living in a world without you is too much. So I had to make sure that I didn't give you a reason to make the same choice I did. I could live with you hating me, but I couldn't live in a world without you. I wanted you to hate me so that you wouldn't risk your life for me." Your thumb gently brushes his cheekbone, trembling with your words. He closes his eyes as tears keep falling down his cheeks. One of his hands comes up and grabs yours that's on his face, and he grips it tight.

"When I realized you had taken the bullet for me, I knew that nothing would be the same between us. I thought I was going to lose you. Your blood was on my hands, and it's the only thing I have nightmares about anymore. And this made me realize that I can never stop loving you, no matter what happens." He admits, causing you to cry harder. The remorse you feel for putting him through so much torment feels like it's eating you from the inside. You should have been there for him.

"I'm so sorry." Is all you can say, it's all you can express to him right now. He needs to know that you didn't mean any of it. Spencer pulls you in for a hug and holds you tight against him. One of his hands cradles the back of your head, the other is secure around your waist. Your tears stain his sweater, and the two of you let out everything.

When you finally pull back from the hug you grab his face with gentle hands, making him look at you.

"Spencer, I love you so much. I need you to know that I did what I did because I love you too much to lose you." You admit to him and he smiles. A genuine smile that you haven't seen in months. Through the tears and emotions, you two smile widely at one another.

Spencer closes the gap between the two of you, and tilts your chin up. Your lips connect with his ever so softly, and you pull him closer to you, your hands trailing down his torso, collecting fistfuls of his sweater. One of his hands rests on your cheek, brushing your cheekbone and the other keeps you close to him.

Everything that has gone unsaid is spoken loud and clear as you kiss one another. When your lungs start burning, begging for air, you break away and lean your forehead on his chest. He brushes your hair with his fingers and you feel him press a tender kiss to the top of your head. You stay entangled with each other in a comfortable silence before you look up at him,

"We'll be alright." You tell him, knowing that the two of you will be able to mend each other in time. And things may never be like they were, and that's okay.

"We'll be alright." He confirms, kissing your forehead.

Eventually, you two move to the couch and you ask him to clasp the necklace around your neck. In the soft, warm glow of the lamps you look into his eyes and can see all of the love he holds for you. You take one of his hands in yours and he positions himself so that you can lay back against him. He's warm, and being held by him feels like home.

Laying in his arms, you decide you don't want to return to the field. After all, if you're not in the field he won't ever be faced with the decision to take a bullet for you or not. As long as he's in your life, and you're in his, things will be okay. Before you drift off to sleep, you lean up and press a kiss to his temple.

You have everything you need right here in your arms.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid comfort #hurt/comfort #hotch #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #derek morgan #penelope garcia #spencer reid fluff #harry styles #Spotify

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carmyboobear · 2 months

Text

Blood Orange (Ch 1: The Walk-In)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

Rating: E (7.3k words)

links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link, ch 2

Summary: Losing your job is the worst thing to ever happen to you. Getting hired by Carmen Berzatto is a close second. You tell yourself that The Beef is only temporary, that it's just a replacement until you find something better. It doesn't work. You've stopped listening. You've had a taste of Carmy, and now you don't think you're ever gonna be able to let go. No matter how bad it gets.

Content Tags: secret workplace relationship/sex, friends/coworkers with benefits, they/them afab reader, miscommunication, mental illness (carmy and reader), dom/sub dynamics, dom carmy (for now), enemies to friends to lovers (eventually), unhealthy coping mechanisms, dysfunctional relationship

A/N: It's finally here! New series! We even get sex in the first chapter! In my other fic, I'm taking care of Carmy. In this one, I'm making him worse. Of course, here's a disclaimer that I DON’T condone or intend to glorify any of this behavior. It's just compelling to write. Enjoy!

You return to The Beef for the first time in years when you're at your lowest.

The only upside to this abysmal situation is that the job was shitty. The job you just got laid off from, to be exact. Retail was never your passion, and there's a certain relief in knowing you don't have to go back to that windowless place. You didn't play an important role in the ecosystem, but it played a pretty crucial role in yours. It kept a roof over your head.

You're sure you could’ve sued them in some fashion for letting you go without any warning, any parachute, but you didn't have the luxury of time. You needed to figure out how you were going to pay rent, and fast.

After the rage boiled over (not to say that it's resolved, the residual anger's leveled into an even simmer), you pulled your hair back, found your cleanest, nicest outfit, and started your job search. With your updated resume in hand and scuffed sneakers on your feet, you've trekked all over Chicago looking for a new job. You weren't optimistic, nor were you hopeful.

You suppose the only word you could use to describe yourself was desperate, and it was a matter of finding someone that was just as desperate, if not more desperate than you. To put it politely, the odds of that were low. Very low.

You got laid off that very morning. The rest of your afternoon has been spent walking from door to door to every establishment you could spot. By some cruel twist of fate, none of them were hiring. The ones that were hiring looked unenthusiastic, even adverse to taking your resume.

“When would you be able to start?” Some of the workers asked.

“Tomorrow,” was your desperately honest answer.

“If all goes well, you'll hear from us in a week,” was their response. The unspoken was, of course, the fact that radio silence was more likely than an email or phone call. Places didn't even send rejection letters anymore.

“Thanks for your time,” you'd say, bringing out a bright smile from a complete lack of reserves, and as soon as you turned around, your face would drop.

Your hopes were low, nearly non-existent, but damn. Damn. It wasn't looking good for you.

That's why you enter The Beef. You vaguely remember visiting this place a couple years ago, back when you first moved to Chicago. The owner was…pretty nice, actually. You don't remember his name, but you remember having a pleasant conversation with him. Of course, there's nothing you can do if he doesn't have a job opening, but it wouldn't be bad to see a friendly face. Even if that face is from someone who's basically a stranger.

The doorbell rings when you enter. It catches the attention of the man standing behind the counter, and with how his head jolts up, you'd think the bell functioned as an alarm instead.

“Welcome,” he says. Your first impression, other than the fact that he seems very, very, tired, is that he's irritatingly attractive. If anything, the eyebags and the greased back waves only add to whatever the hell he's got going on.

“Hi. Um…” You're briefly caught off guard by his biceps, but you catch yourself. “I was actually wondering if you guys were hiring.”

“We are,” he replies, and it's the best thing you've heard all day. He lights up like the spark of a lighter, bright and instantaneous. It doesn't shake the pervasive exhaustion that radiates off him, though.

“Thank god,” you mutter, and you want to take it back (it's far too casual), but he cracks an amused smile that makes you want to dissolve like a pinch of salt in a sea of sauce. “Sorry. Do you mind if I talk to the owner? We met a while ago, and—”

“I'm the owner,” he interrupts, and any other words you had planned fall away.

“Sorry?” You repeat. “I swear it was this guy—he had short dark hair, I think—”

“Yeah, he left the place to me. Didn't want it anymore, so.” He shrugs. The light you just saw from him has fizzled away like the end of a sparkler, short-lived and ultimately disappointing.

“Oh. Got it. Uh…” To your credit, you don't fumble for too long. You have a lot of questions, but you've got more pressing issues. You pluck out a resume from a file folder. “Here's my resume, then.”

He takes it from you, flips it to face him. He's quiet as his eyes lower down the page, and you wonder if it's going to be a guillotine or a pot of gold at the end of this. The only sounds in the entrance are the passing cars outside, the rickety air conditioning, and muffled chatter from the back.

“You worked as a prep cook.” He says it like a fact, but you know it's a question.

“Yeah, nothing fancy. Just at some chain restaurants.”

“Right. I see you worked as a line cook at another location. Which one did you prefer?”

“Uh…” They both came with their separate pains. Your honest answer is that being a line cook was one of the most stressful experiences of your life, but if he has a position open as a line cook, you don't want to fuck it up. “They were both fine. I think I was a little better as a prep cook, but I didn't mind either.”

He hums, satisfied by your answer. At least it’s only half of a lie.

“How do you work under pressure?”

“Good,” you answer quickly. “Well enough.”

“Willing to learn?”

“Obviously. I mean…” You think you see a flash of a smile, but you're unsure. “Yeah.”

“When'd you be able to start?” You're surprised he's already asking this.

“Tomorrow,” you say, just like you’ve been, and his reaction is different from the others. He nods. He doesn't smile, not like he did earlier, but you can tell this is a good sign.

Before he can get a word out, there's a sharp, metallic explosion of noises that resounds from the direction of the kitchen.

“Uh,” he starts, eyebrows pinched in irritation, the voices come in.

“I told you, you have to say behind!” A woman's voice. She sounds young, but there's no real way to be sure of that.

“How the hell did you not hear me coming?” A Chicago accent, male. Older, maybe. “I was in the middle of having a conversation with Tina—”

“Great, I'm so happy for you, I don't give a shit, now this has all went to waste—”

“Well, who's fault is that?”

“Who's fault is that? You did not just—”

“Guys!” The man you've been talking to gives you an apologetic glance before walking to the back, pushing through the folding doors. You catch a glimpse of the two people arguing on the other side before it shuts. “I'm tryin’ to talk to a new hire here. We can't be like this right now. Not ever, but especially right now.”

Finally, the first sane person I've met all day, you think.

“Carmy, talk some sense into her,” the older guy shouts, and it gives you a name to the face. “All of this on the floor—”

“You didn't say behind,” the woman repeats, except with more fury in it this time.

“You didn't say behind,” he imitates back. “Carmy—”

“She’s right. Richie, step out,” Carmy says. “Syd, you clean this up.”

“But—” You hear her start to protest.

“You spilled it, you clean it,” he cuts through, decisive and firm.

“I know, but Richie—”

“Clean it,” he repeats, firmer, darker this time, and there's a beat of silence.

“...Yes, chef.”

“I told you to step out,” Carmy tells who you assume is Richie.

“You're just gonna let her—”

“Step the fuck outside right fucking now!” Carmy screams, his patience shooting away like a gunshot. You feel something shrivel inside you, and not in a good way. “Do the one fucking thing you're good at and get out of the fucking way!”

Yeah…definitely not in a good way.

From what you hear, it sounds like Richie has to get wrestled outside by someone, whom you're not sure. After another minute, Carmy returns to the front.

“I'm sorry about that. Fucking—” He drags a hand across his face. You swear his eyebags have grown heavier in the 5 minutes he was in the kitchen. “What was I saying?”

“Um, I was saying that I could start tomorrow,” you remind him, although the vigor you had just stated it with is a bit fizzled out.

“Right. Okay. Uh—” He pats his hands on his apron, searching for something. A pen and paper appear in his hands, and he scribbles something on it. This is when you notice his tattoos. A flower on the back of his hand. Surprising. “You're hired. Here's the paperwork you need to fill out, along with the number and email you'll be hearing from me at.”

“What?” You take the sheets, but the smooth paper doesn't feel real in your hands. His handwriting is hasty and dark, like he was running out of time on a test. “I mean, I'm just surprised.”

“Do you not want it?”

“I want it,” you promise, and you feel your cheeks flush. This is a bad time to yet again notice how attractive he is. His pretty eyes, his nose. The little moles under his left eye. “Y-Yeah, I want the job.”

“Good.” He motions towards the sticky note again. “Come in at 8 am tomorrow. You'll be starting as a prep cook, which you've done before.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll be there.” The reality is setting in now, and an odd cocktail of relief, apprehension, and excitement is settling in your stomach. “Thank you so much.” I just got laid off from my job this morning, so this means a lot, you want to say, but it's too soon. You don't want to say anything that'll make him change his mind about whatever he sees in you.

“Thank you,” he echoes back. “We need the help. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” you reply, and with that, the door rings behind you. A customer comes up to the counter, peering up at the menu. You figure this is your cue to leave. He's not looking at you anymore anyway.

So, I got a job now, you update your friends, texting them on your way home on the metro. As the relieved congratulations come flying in, another remark seems to resound amongst all of them.

I can't believe you got the job just like that. That place must be desperate, too, is roughly what they've all said. The thing is, they're not wrong.

You managed to find someone more desperate than you in the job economy. Just one, but that was enough. It makes you think, though. You think about Carmy's weary blue eyes, his brief smile, and his hand tattoos. You wonder if it's just the restaurant that gives him that bone-deep exhaustion, or if it's a smaller part of a bigger picture.

You think about it for the rest of your commute, you think about it as you smoke on the porch, you think about it as you lay in bed. You think about it as you fill out the paperwork, fingers tracing where Carmy's written his name, number, and email.

Carmen Berzatto

773-555-0901

So Carmy's a nickname, you think. Not about what type of boss he's going to be, not about what it's going to be like working under someone you are obviously attracted to.

Maybe you should be more worried about this.

If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you tell yourself, and you foolishly believe it.

. . . . .

Your first day on the job starts with introductions.

At least, that's about as much as you've figured out so far. When he sees you upon arrival, he pauses and stares at you like he's forgotten. Not a great start. Granted, he does snap out of it. That's when he tells you to follow him, which is where you currently find yourself. You're not sure where he's leading to, only that he's introducing you to others as you pass them by.

“They’re working with us starting today,” Carmy tells everyone. “They’re gonna be on prep.”

Right. So that's what you'll be doing. At least he told you that much yesterday.

The catalog of coworkers expands exponentially. You remember Sydney from yesterday, and to her credit, she apologizes about having you witness her fight with Richie, who conveniently isn't here yet. She seems the nicest out of all the bunch, so you decide to let it slide.

Marcus is pretty nice, too. So are Ebra, Sweeps, Manny, Angel—everyone seems to be pretty alright. It’s obvious they’re standoffish by you being in their space. You find it hard to hold it against them. You’re not really sure how your relationships with them are going to pan out. There are only three that you’re particularly unsure on.

The first and obvious one is Richie. He came in eventually and didn’t give you the best impression, immediately talking over everyone and oozing arrogance. The only salvageable thing is that he’s not even a chef. At least you won’t have to be in the kitchen with him much. You want to avoid the honor of talking to him as much as possible.

Tina is next. She clearly doesn’t enjoy having someone new in the ecosystem, and she’s spent more time ignoring you than talking with you. As you understand it, she’s close to the rest of the staff since they’ve all been together for a while. Minus you and Syd, as you learn she’s only been there for a week. You think Tina will warm up to you…eventually.

Carmy is the last one, and he’s…he’s…

He’s something else.

He has you doing prep for most of the day. After introducing you to everyone and giving you a brief tour, he brings you to your station, scratched up stainless steel.

“You’re going to be cutting onions and carrots today for the stock. The vegetables are in the walk-in I showed you earlier, and when it’s done, it goes on the first shelf.” Carmy’s to your right, set up at his own station. You swear you keep your eyes focused on the vegetables, not his biceps in that shirt, but… “You should already know this, but label everything. I don’t want to see anything without a date. Got it?”

“Yes, chef,” you confirm, snapping out of it. He’s been flinging new information at you like it’s a war and he’s gunning to survive. But so are you. “I’ll do my best.”

“I expect as such.” He slides over a peeler for the carrots and some plastic bins for trash. “It’s just a stock, so don’t worry about an even cut. Just salvage whatever you can, cut off anything that doesn’t look good.” You nod. “Been a year or so since you did this, right?”

“Yeah. I cook regularly, but I’ll need to get back into the groove of things. And I will,” you add hastily. “I’ll combine them into this one when I'm done, right?” You ask, nudging a large plastic container.

“Correct.” A brief smile flashes across his face. “You're already following quicker than I thought you would.” You’re not sure if he means it as an insult or a compliment, so you decide to take it as the latter.

“I haven't even chopped anything yet.”

“I know.” His expression is flat again. You resist a laugh. He plucks an onion from the bin, puts it in front of you. “Show me a rough dice.”

The knife is sharp. You notice this as you place careful cuts into the onion. It's not quite as sharp as his unnerving gaze, which layers pressure upon pressure. It builds up like a pastry puff, thin multitudes of layers expanding upward. You need to be good. You need to be perfect. You don't want to disappoint him, not this early, even though you've barely been here for an hour.

It's just a shitty old sandwich shop, you tell yourself, but your dicing is uneven and you briefly think about accidentally chopping your fingers off.

“Not my best work,” you admit, vaguely breathless. Carmy hasn't said anything yet.

“It'll do.” You're waiting for him to say something else, give you some tips, but he doesn't. Irritation prickles to the tips of your fingers. “I'll be back to check in on you later.”

You stand there, motionless and shocked in the aftermath. You're not sure what you expected from today, but being abandoned an hour in was not at the top of your bucket list.

Man, what the fuck, you think, the thought clear in the silence around you, and that's the last time you can hear yourself think for the rest of the shift.

There's a prepared stock from yesterday simmering on the stove behind you. It's flanked by boiling potatoes and reducing tomato sauce. The heat from it’s searing your back like a steak, slowly drawing lines of moisture all over the surface of your shirt. Your coworkers constantly invade your space to check on them. You suppose it's not their fault that the kitchen, but it's still irritating. They're also all shouting over each other like it's a competition.

“Who the fuck touched my stock—”

“No one touched your stupid shitty stock—”

“I am trying to find this cutting board, will someone please—”

You move on from the onions with only a thin layer of sweat collected at your hairline.

Your hands are shaky as they peel the carrots. You know you're not getting as efficient of a shave as you could be, but the caffeine crash from your morning coffee is getting to you. You don't remember the last time you drank water. A cigarette sounds nice.

“Clean your station, chef.” Carmy materializes next to you. You hear him before you see his hands scooping carrot shavings into a plastic container. It shocks you so much that you almost cut yourself.

“Sorry, chef,” you reply reflexively. You look down at your station, straightening your tools. You want to ask if you can take your break, but you don't want to look any weaker than you do already. “So, uh, do we get 30's here?”

When you don't get a response, your head snaps up, irritation on the tip of your tongue, but he's not even there.

Fucking hell, you think, annoyance simmering into something akin to anger, and you go back to finishing your prep.

You don't see him for another hour after that. It's not even him that tells you to take your 15, it's Syd, who noticed you were half-way through your shift and on the verge of…something.

“You finished the prep he gave you, right?” Syd had asked. You told her you finished and put it back in the walk-in. “Yeah, then go take your break. Did he not tell you we get 15's here?”

“He didn't,” you say, too annoyed to bother hiding the disdain in your face. Sydney just sighs, rolling her eyes, and you think you love her.

“Asshole.” She makes a shooing motion at you then. “Go, get a break from this madness. It'll get better, I promise.”

You're not sure if you believe her, but you do step outside to take your break.

As you stand outside in the back, you take note of tightness in your body that you weren't even aware of. The cigarette smoke calms you, loosens you. Or maybe you owe that to getting out of that hot kitchen.

This time, you see Carmy before you hear him. You turn to the door to see him stepping out, a pack of smokes in his hand.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply.

“Everythin’ goin’ okay so far?”

“Yeah. It's fine.” Other than everything.

“Really?” His surprise just pisses you off further. “Well, that's good.”

“...Yeah.” You decide if your mouth stays unoccupied, you'll start cussing him out, so you put your cigarette back in your mouth.

“You're bleeding.”

“What?”

“I said, you're bleeding. Your hand.”

You look down at your hand holding the cigarette, and sure enough, there's a thin, shallow cut oozing blood near one of your knuckles.

“Shit,” you mutter, quickly sucking the skin into your mouth. When you pull it back, the red refills. “I didn't even notice.”

“Let's get a bandaid on that.” He puts his unlit cigarette back into his pack. “I have some in my office.”

That's how you end up in the enclosed, dark space of his office, seated on the only chair as he leans back against his cluttered desk. The dingy first-aid kit is propped on top of a shaky stack of papers. Carmy takes out a bandaid from it and peels it open.

“Thought I gave you a sharp knife, it shouldn't have cut you like that,” Carmy comments.

“It was sharp,” you correct. “Guess I just fucked up.”

“It happens,” he says, which surprises you. He keeps surprising you. You just can't seem to figure him out. “Let me see the cut.”

You only realize that he's putting the bandaid on you when he cradles your hand in his. His hands are warm.

He has so many hand tattoos. You notice the letters on his fingers first, the SOU curled around your palm. You notice the other tattoo on the back of his hand next, since that's the one carefully placing the bandaid on you.

He wraps it around your finger just right. Not too tight, not too loose.

“Is that too tight?” He asks, almost in a whisper. He's so close, and he smells like kitchen oil, cigarette smoke, and a faded cologne you can't place.

“No, it's okay.” You don't mean to talk so quietly back, but you do. You can't stop staring at his fingers. They're long and marked up with silver scars and burns. If you look carefully, you can place the locations of his callouses.

“Good.” You don’t know why he does it, but he runs his thumb across the seams of where your bandaid overlaps. Surely it’s just to secure it further…surely.

“Thank you.” He’s still holding your hand. You’re unsure if you’re imagining the tension in the air or not. Everything feels more intimate behind closed doors, especially in low light. “I could’ve done it myself.”

“It’s easier if another person does it.” He lets go, finally, and you try not to mourn the loss. “Did you finish prepping for the stock?”

“What you gave me, yeah.”

“Alright. Let’s go take a look at it, then,” he says, like that isn’t the most anxiety inducing thing you’ve ever heard.

“R-Right now?”

“As opposed to?” He opens the door to his office, and the muffled noises in the kitchen become sharp and clear again, like emerging from underwater. “Come on.”

You don’t know how it happens, but Carmy gets into five separate arguments on the way to the walk-in. FIVE. To be fair, two of them are from Richie.

“I’ve been telling you guys to sharpen your knives, don’t fucking treat them like this,” Carmy shouts, trudging over to someone’s station. “You see this? This is exactly what we should not be doing! How many times have I said this today?! Don’t—“

“Stop going into my office when I’m not there,” Carmy hisses at Richie next. “You keep fucking up where the papers are put, and I can’t find anything! It’s enough of a mess as it is! No—I said—cousin, listen to me—“

“Everyone shut the hell up, clean your stations, and get the fuck back to work!” Is the last thing he shouts before slamming the door to the walk-in behind you. He slams it so hard the wire racks rattle. You decide not to comment.

The difference in sound is eerie. You’re always surprised by how sound proof these walk-in fridges are.

“Is this the prep you did today?” Carmy asks, touching one of the clear plastic bins. Sure enough, it’s the one you placed there a moment ago.

“Yeah, it is.” You chew the inside of your cheek. You were hoping he would be in an okay mood when he checked your work. It seemed like he was at first, but now?

“It's on the wrong shelf.”

“What?” You stare at it sitting on the first shelf, just like he told you to. “You told me to put it on the first shelf.”

“It goes on the second shelf.” He's pissed, and there's ice in your veins. He huffs as he takes the container and moves it one shelf up, slamming it down unnecessarily. “I told you—second shelf.”

“You literally said it went on the first shelf.” The ice has melted, and it's boiling.

“No, I didn't.” You wanna punch him. Badly. You know what you heard. “And you forgot to label it.”

“Shit.” That, you did forget. You’re not above owning up to your mistakes, unlike him. “I'm sorry, I was—”

“We always need stuff like this to be labeled,” he interrupts, rude and abrupt. You can hear the thinly veiled anger in his voice. “I told you.”

“I know, I just—“

“Don’t make excuses. Just do better.”

“It’s my first fucking day!” You snap, finally, and it’s like a firecracker in the dead of night. “I don’t expect to be coddled, but I’ve only been here for a couple hours, and you’re just—“

“I told you to put a label on it, to put it on the second shelf, and you didn’t do either of those things.” This is a different type of anger. It’s quiet, contained. Dangerous. And with your outburst, it’s trembling at the edges.

“You literally hired me yesterday!” You’re exasperated. “You looked at my resume for like two seconds before hiring me, and you’re mad that I’m messing up?”

“You had enough credentials on your resume. You told me you could work well under pressure and learn quickly. Is that true or not?”

“It is true! You just have to give me a chance first!”

“I just gave you a chance,” Carmy snaps back, “and you fucked it up.”

“Oh my god. I just—“ You take a step back. “I don’t have to take this shit.”

“Are you quitting already?”

“I wasn’t going to.” You move towards the door. “But maybe I should, before you fire me. Doesn't seem like you want me, anyway.”

You were planning on exiting the walk-in after that, to leave on cue, but the door doesn’t budge. You and Carmy notice it at the same time.

Suddenly, there is a new problem.

“Fuck,” Carmy curses under his breath. The two of you are pushing against the door, but it won’t budge. He slams his fist on it and calls out. “Guys, the walk-in door is stuck! Can any of you open it from out there?”

“Carmen?” Richie's voice is muffled from the other end. There's the sound of frustrated efforts on the other end. “It's not fuckin’ budging!”

“Fuck,” Carmy repeats, seething, and you agree. “Call Fak!”

“I already did! He’s gonna be here in 20!”

“20 minutes?!” Carmy shouts. You close your eyes and sigh, audibly. “Don't we have a screwdriver in here or something?! Just take the hinges off!”

“Why do you think I called Fak?! Shut the hell up and be patient!”

“Tell him to hurry the fuck up,” Carmy barks, and that's where their conversation ends.

“Just what I needed right now,” you mutter under your breath. Carmy's not looking at you, eyes boring into the door that's trapping the both of you in here with each other. “To be locked in a room with you.”

It's quiet for a minute before he speaks, cutting the silence open.

“...I do want you, y'know.”

“You—huh?” He said it so quietly you're not sure if it was a hallucination.

“We need you here.” He's still not looking at you. “This place—it's fucked. We don't have enough hands.”

“I can tell,” you say, and you mean for it to come out bitter, but it's soft. Naively so.

“I want you here. I do.” He doesn't need to say it like that. You don't want to believe it, neither his words or the way hearing it makes you feel. “I need you.”

“Can you at least look at me when you say it?”

You’re not sure why you say it. You instantly recognize it for how needy it sounds, but you don't get the luxury of embarrassment. Carmy's already turning to face you.

“I want you,” he repeats, voice low. You think about the paint you'd need to mix to match the color of his eyes. Blue, white, and the slightest bit of orange to desaturate it. You're not sure what type of orange, though. “I need you.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, despite yourself, and it's too late.

“Are you gonna do better?” You didn't even register him moving closer to you. When did your back end up against the shelves?

“I’m gonna do better,” you whisper, “if you stop being such an asshole.”

“It won't happen again,” he whispers back, and you recognize it for the lie that it is.

You don't really care, though.

His face is so close to yours that you can see the separate specks of colors in his iris. You watch his gaze fall from your eyes to your lips, and it lingers there before rising again. Any shreds of self respect or control you were clinging onto disintegrate. It doesn't matter if he really means what it says. All that matters is getting your mouth on his.

“Okay,” you say, a whisper of foolish acceptance, and you're kissing him.

Or is he kissing you? You don't know who leaned forward first. It's not important.

“I saw you staring at my hands today,” Carmy says against your lips. Spit makes your mouths slide easily against each other. “Yesterday, too.”

“What the—no you didn't,” you gasp, appalled, heat rising in your face, “how did you—?”

“You're right. I didn't,” he admits with a cheeky grin. You’re really gonna punch him now.

“God, you're just,” you mutter, “you're such an asshole.”

“I know.” At first, you think he's being smug, but there's a surprising sense of remorse under it. You don't have time to think about it, though, not when his hand is cradling your face. There's no way he doesn't feel how hot your face is.

“What're you��?” His thumb passes over your lower lip, and the words fall away.

“Tell me you want this.” Your eyes flicker to his hand, then to his face. His other hand is at the top of your jeans, fingers resting on the edge of your waistband. Excited arousal hits your gut, sizzling like browning butter, warm and toasted. His eyes are dark, caramel on the verge of burning. “If you don't, I'll pretend like this never happened. I'll never touch you again.”

I'll never touch you again, he says, like it's not the last thing you'll ever want.

“I want this,” you murmur. “Touch me. Please.”

“Good,” Carmy praises, one quiet word enough to sear your insides with heat, blue flame on the underside of a pan. “That's what I thought.”

His hands slip behind you to untie your apron. The strings fall to your sides, and you tug it hastily up and over your head. It falls to the floor next to you. Surely that's a gigantic health hazard, but Carmy's the one who throws it there, so you don't say anything. You lower your gaze to his fingers unbuttoning your pants. The sight of it makes you woozy. You take note of his other tattoos, noticing the letters on his fingers. You watch as the stabbed hand made of ink on his right disappears under the cloth of your underwear.

“Oh,” you breathe. You didn't expect his hand to be so warm, even though you had just felt his heated palm gentle on your cheek.

“You're wet.” The tip of his index finger dips into where your hot folds separate. It strokes at the fluid that's pooled at your entrance, coaxing it out. “When did this happen?”

“Fuck you is when,” you bite back, but it's all bark. “I don't know.”

“Sure,” he agrees, but not really. His condescending smile shouldn't be hot, it really shouldn't, but your pussy throbs against his hand, and he smiles knowingly. “All you need is me to talk and you get wet, is that it?”

“I—” His finger rises upward, splitting you open and flicking at your clit. You buck against his hand. “Don't ask me a question and then touch me like that,” you hiss, horribly turned on.

“Mm, sorry.” It's barely an apology. You throw your head back in frustration. “I didn't mean to.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” you pant. He's pushed your slick up your pussy to your clit, two slick fingers sliding back and forth on your stiff nub. The pads of his calloused fingers are rubbing you almost where you're too sensitive.

“Then don't. I don't care what you think of me.” You think he's about to get his fingers inside of you, and your breath hitches, but he pulls back. You regret the frustrated whine that is just audible enough in the back of your throat. He does it again, just barely pushing the tips of fingers in before pulling away.

“You—why—do you want me to beg or something?” Your clenched hands raise by your sides to grip the collar of his white shirt and yank him forward. The shock that flashes across his face gives you a sick sense of satisfaction.

“It wouldn't hurt,” he mumbles. Seeing him stagger like this, even if briefly, sends a rush through your head.

“Is that what it's gonna take for you to get those fucking fingers inside me?”

Like a coward, instead of answering, he leans an inch forward and kisses you. Or maybe that was his answer. That's when he sinks two fingers inside you, long and thick, pushing until your wet pussy's pressed tight against his palm.

You moan, a pathetic thing, and Carmy swallows the sound of it.

“You're already begging,” he says quietly. He pulls his fingers out. You whine in protest, desperate and angry pleas on the tip of your tongue, but then he's pushing inside again.

That's the last moment of reprieve you get. His fingers start thrusting into you faster, dragging out slick each time he pulls them out. Paranoia suddenly screams that you’re gonna wet the front of your pants at this rate. The aching pleasure is louder than your fear, though. You can’t help the way his fingers are making you moan.

“More,” you plead, “give me another, I can take it.” Your hips are thrusting forward to meet his hand when they push inside. Your clit slaps against the heel of his palm, and you chase the friction. He must notice, because when he obliges and stretches you out with a third finger, he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit.

“You have to be quiet,” he says lowly when you keep moaning. “They’re gonna hear you.”

“I—I’m trying,” you whine. You’re squeezing so tight down on him. You feel so full. “Your fingers—“

“You’re the one who asked for more.” He slaps his other hands firmly over your mouth. It silences your sound of surprise. “You said you could take it, so here’s what’s gonna happen.” His fingers are slamming into your now, and your hole spasms around them in pleasure. “You’re gonna come on my fingers, and you’re gonna be quiet. Understand?”

You know how soundproof the walk-in is. You had just witnessed it moments ago. But Carmy’s warnings do something fierce to you, bypassing logic straight into anxious, desperate arousal. He’s right, you think. You need to be quiet. You nod quickly in response, so he takes your consent and sprints with it.

To your credit, you try to be quiet. You said you would. But there’s only so much you can do when he’s fingering you so hard your legs are shaking. You’re whimpering into his hand, the sounds muffled. Your own moans, his heavy breathing, and the slick sound of your pussy getting railed by his fingers—that’s what you listen to as you come.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing down tight,” Carmy hisses, and for an irrational second you’re afraid you’re hurting him, but one look at his starved expression changes your mind. His three wide fingers are fucking you slowly through your wildly contracting orgasm. In one of his palms, you're oozing slick, and in his other palm, you're smearing with spit.

You should be thinking about how bad of an idea this all is, having sex with your boss. It’s too bad your orgasm is so potent you can’t think at all.

You lean your head back against the cold metal railings of the wire racks behind you. It’s uncomfortable, but a part of it feels good against the coiling heat that’s unraveling in your stomach. The air around you is cold, but you’re hot, far too hot. You don’t remember the last time you’ve finished this hard.

He finally pries his hand off your mouth once you've stopped clamping down on his fingers. His hand lingers at your face before wiping it on the side of his jeans. His expression has this unreadable, unnamed intensity to it, and you can't tell where that ends and where the hunger starts. Although he is looking very, very starved.

His hand that's tucked into your underwear tugs it upward as it leaves, pulling the fabric taut against your pussy. It sticks like paper mache with the glue of your orgasm, molded to your shape. You make an aroused noise that's a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

You're about to complain, something along the lines of “was that really necessary”, but then your eyes are zeroed in on the sheen of his fingers that were fucking you.

“Don't,” you start, suddenly worried he's going to wipe them on his jeans again, but you don't get to finish. He's pushing his index finger into your mouth, and you taste yourself on his skin.

“Good,” Carmy whispers when he feels your tongue wrapping around him. Fuck, hearing him say it like that does awful things to you.

You don't know why you accept it without a fight, but if you're being honest with yourself, this is exactly what you wanted. You start to suck, but he doesn't linger. When he pulls his finger out, your parted lips expect the other two, but he sucks them into his mouth instead.

God. What do you even say to that? He even has the nerve to look you in the eyes as he pops his cleaned fingers out of his mouth.

“Let me touch you,” you decide to say instead, because if you think about him and his fingers in—anyway.

“It's fine. I don't need it.” He's oddly cagey all of a sudden.

“Let me return the favor, please,” you insist, even adding in some good manners. It seems to still him for a moment, giving you enough time to lift his apron.

Fuck, you think to yourself, the word resounding like an alarm inside your head. His jeans are tented so tightly it looks painful. All this from touching me, you realize. You can see the shape of his bulge under the denim. The silhouette is vague, but...

It's big.

“Carmy? You still in there?”

A voice you don't recognize calls out beyond the door. As soon as you both hear it, Carmy jerks away. You mourn the loss only for a moment before you remember yourself. You're scrambling to get your pants buttoned and your apron over your head.

“Yeah, I'm still in here,” Carmy shouts back, instantaneously irritable. His back is turned to you, and you want to feel those muscles tensing under your palm. “About fuckin’ time!”

“You're welcome, by the way! I could've left you in here to freeze and die a tragic death!”

“It's not just me in here, Fak.” A beat of silence. “Are you opening it?”

“Am I fucking—Jesus Christ, Carmen, just give me a second! I'm working my magic!”

That shuts Carmy up. Almost. He sighs before turning to look at you.

“Sorry for getting us stuck in here.” The apology is equally as surprising as the softness of which he speaks. “Shitty first day, huh?”

“It's cool. It's not your fault.” Other than all the shit that was completely your fault, you think, remembering the way you were shouting at each other just a moment ago. “Kinda shitty though, yeah.”

“Yeah.” He sighs again. “If you wanna leave, I don't blame you.”

“I thought I wasn't getting fired.”

“You're not,” he says quickly. “But I'm—this place is a shitshow.” You're not sure which he really means to say, but you hear both. The restaurant, and him especially, are both complete messes. That much was obvious from the beginning. “So if you wanna take off, just…” He shrugs. “Just go.”

Maybe that'd be for the best, if you left. As far as first days go, you've already broken every rule in the book. You messed up your first task, got into an argument with your boss, and then had sex with him. Nothing about this place is particularly inviting, either. This restaurant wears its dysfunction on its sleeve, unabashed in all the ways it lacks. You had left the kitchen with ringing ears from all the noise and a cut on your hand you didn't even notice.

But here you are. You're not running. Maybe it's because of the fact that you need to pay rent. Maybe it's knowing that just one more pair of hands here could really make a difference. Maybe you're just desperate to keep food on the table. Maybe it's Carmen Berzatto, beautiful, haunted, and angry. Maybe it's all of that, a combined whole that's become greater than the sum of its parts.

Or maybe it's just that now that you've kissed him, had a taste of him, you refuse to let go. Maybe the reason is as shallow as that.

Carmy's been waiting for you to speak, tired eyes searching your own. You're still not sure what exact colors you need to perfectly recreate the blue you're staring at.

“Almost done!” Fak shouts. “Just one more hinge!”

“Heard,” Carmy shouts back. He hasn't taken his eyes off you. “So? What's it gonna be? Are you staying or not?”

Blood orange, you think all of a sudden. That's the orange you would need to make the perfect blue to match his eyes. Just a little bit—that's all you would need.

“I'm staying,” you tell him. “I need to pay rent, after all.”

Yeah. That's the reasoning you're settling on. Rent.

“Right. Of course.” There's a glimpse of that gentle smile you've seen flashes of today. It fades away as quickly as it came. “After this, I'm gonna have you learn how to check produce next.”

“Okay, sounds good,” you say as naturally as you can, given the tonal whiplash.

“There should be some that's about to get washed. I'll show you where that is.” The door's shifting. “But before that…” He lowers his voice, leans in close. Is he about to kiss you?

“W-What?”

“Get a new apron from my office. That one's dirty.” Beams of light stream through the entrance of the walk-in, forced wide open. “You need to keep your apron clean, chef.”

YOU WERE THE ONE WHO THREW IT ON THE GROUND, you want to scream. Just when you thought he started being nice, he does something that makes you want to grab him by the collar and shake him.

But you can't. The walk-in's open again, and you see your coworkers crowded by the door.

“Yes, chef,” you reply, and the words taste bitter on your tongue.

@zorrasucia

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amimuu · 2 months

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Vows to Ash (COTL AU) - Masterpost

(Cover will change every now and then)

"I just ask one thing of you, if you may."

"And that is?"

"After all of this is over,

You'll put me to rest."

Vows to ash: In which the lamb willingly sacrifices themselves so Narinder can be free, expecting to finally be able to rest from their duties and find peace in the afterlife alongside the rest of the lambs, yet they find themselves brought back to life by the god of death himself, who seeks their help once again.

With the new task of freeing the bishops of the old faith from Purgatory, as well as finding their lost crowns, the Lamb and Narinder must work together—alongside a nice cast of side characters—, hopefully learn how to trust each other, and maybe, just maybe, communicate for once.

—————

Status: ONGOING!

Please be mindful of the tags of each post before checking!

Main storyline-related stuff:

Pt 1: "Vows" (Comic)

Pt 2: "Hope" (Comic & writing)

Pt 2 (On ao3)

Pt 3: ???

Character stuff:

Narinder and Lamb designs (plus doodles)!

Nari and Lamb design attempt two (plus doodles)

Leshy and Miyu designs (plus doodles)!

The Lamb's disciples designs!

Tabby and Fern designs!

Extras:

“Cold” (Comic, pre-canon)

“Dream logic” (Comic, pre-canon)

"Bing bong the story starts" (doodles regarding plot :p)

—————

Thank you for reading the masterpost :D! hopefully you'll enjoy the au

#cult of the lamb #vows to ash au

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unfortunately-obsessed · 6 months

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Bruce Wayne | Quality Time

Love languages headcanons

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x reader

Word count: 0.6k | AO3 link 🩵

This man runs a whole conglomerate, dozen different charity foundations, has to play into whatever current political ploy is to earn information, (might have, like, 20 children), is a founding member of the JL, on top of being The Batman and trying to prevent Gotham from imploding – trying to make this unfixable city heal.

He nearly doesn't have enough time for himself – heavens know how many times Alfred shoot him with a horse tranquilizer – and time to you??

All his responsibilities are half the reason why quality time is his love language.

The other half is that he didn't have enough time with his parents. They were snatched from him, a child, and this time (his childhood) is something he'll never be able to have back

Not gonna lie, he's harsh. He won't prioritize you. Not on purpose, not because he doesn't love you, simply because there's people out there that need to be saved. And, after so much time without a proper relationship, maybe Bruce also doesn't know how to cater for you – and because he's way too awkward, too dense to a detective, even if he can play cool at times.

But the tiny things are like love letters:

Strikes to me as the guy that'll be in utterly destroyed, broken ribs and concussion, and still try and get up and have breakfast with you, just to be with you

His personal quiet time is important to him. It helps him organize his thoughts. Yet he'll try to be, at least, in the same room as you.

Bruce will sit on the same room as you, in complete silence, and stay. Maybe you're working and he is there on the couch of your office, sitting with a concussion and sixty percent painkiller, statue-quiet.

I love you, so I'll take the burden of not doing this super important other thing – like resting – to sit with you in silence.

Will stare at you, motionless.

Eventually, you'll learn that this face he's making is lovestruck-ness. Don't comment on it.

And if his love language is all about undivided attention, it means he'll learn how to organize his time to have together time without all the distractions. A walk around the Manor Garden, a quiet dinner in front of the tv, cuddling; might do the trick.

Stays awake to talk with you, even if it's after a case frenzy where he didn't sleep for a week. Crash with him in the couch after a long day.

If I could stay with you here forever, I would. He can't get this words out, a lump on his throat, so he just stay as long as he can

Can't tell me he won't marathon Grey Ghost with you. At the end of every episode will dump on you all the details about the production. It's important that you listen even if you don't find it all interesting. Connection bids, y'know?

Ask him about forensics if you want to know more about the whole Batman deal. Or explain the new additions to the batmobile.

Getting to explain something he loves to someone he loves counts as top-quality time in Bruce's books.

Sometimes will find you just to start explaining a current case he can't crack. Either to see if you have any intelligent idea, but mostly because saying it aloud helps thinking.

And he doesn't know how to have the steady heartfelt conversations, so he'll listen to you talk. About your day, your plans, how much you worry about him, about what you ate today.

A great listener. Will hit you with follow up questions so you can keep talking about what you love. Never talks about him but at this point you know the drill – you have to ask for him to talk.

Regular week preplanned dates. Will do all in his powers to not postpone it. Will be completely heartbroken when this inevitably happens. Will look like a kicked puppy.

He's not distracted with you, all his mental attention on you and you only.

That's it 👍

A/N: If you like what I do, please consider supporting me and buying a coffee!

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne headcanons #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne imagine #batman scenarios #batman imagine #Batman x reader #bruce wayne #batman #arwrites #lost consciousness and woke up with this #me!batman

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gallavichthings · 2 months

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Gallavich Fanart Masquerade 2024

It's here! Our first ever fanart-only event (thanks @michellemisfit for the idea!).

The rules are pretty similar to the fanfiction masquerade. In a Masquerade, artists will create fanarts anonymously, attempting to create something in a style different from their usual in order to fool the "admirers". These fanarts will all be revealed at the same time on May 12th - our Fanart Masquerade Ball! - and admirers (who may also be other fanartists) will have two weeks to attempt to guess who's behind each mask, that is, who did which fanart.

Details after the read more.

Requirements

None. Any art style will do, as long as it's drawn, I suppose. Traditional or digital, colored or b&W or lineart... Just no edits. And absolutely no AI, of course.

I need fanart ideas!

Maybe this will help.

Sign-ups

Signing-up is required and can be done here. For this event, sign-ups can be done up to the time of posting. Unlike other events, this is one where you will need to sign-up only at the end, after the art is done. You'll be required to add your AO3 username and the title of your fanart (yes, you'll have to give it a title, sorry - it can be pretty simple though).

Is NSFW accepted?

Yes, as long as it is correctly tagged. Please keep in mind that in this case, it's possible some people might not be comfortable in viewing it.

What if I don't have an AO3 account?

Then I'm very sorry, but in this case, you won't be able to participate (as an artist). For his event, having an AO3 account is mandatory so that you can post in the collection. That being said, a lot of people have AO3 invites, so ask right now and someone may be able to send you one. (Or, worst case scenario, we can find writer buddies to post for you.)

Posting

Posting needs to be done on AO3 because the Fanart Masquerade Collection will be unrevealed and anonymous. All posting must be done until the eve of the Masquerade, so May 11th. On May 12th, all the fanarts will be revealed and available for the admirers. The fanarts will remain anonymous until May 26th, when the game ends. The winners will be revealed shortly after, along with the prizes (more on that below). After the artists identities are revealed, they are free to post their fanart wherever they please.

Because unfortunately AO3 doesn't host images, your fanarts will have to be hosted elsewhere and linked to AO3. They should stay as hidden as possible. One possibility is posting privately on Tumblr and then using the image link to post on AO3. If you don't know how to do that or don't have a place to host the fanart, please contact us and we'll help you out.

When posting on AO3, choose to do it under the Gallavich Fanart Masquerade 2024 Collection (as in the picture below). I'll take care of the rest. It's important to do so when posting and not after, or it won't work.

Voting

Voting will be done via a new form, which will be disclosed only after the fanarts are posted. All fanart titles will be displayed and the admirers will chose from a menu who they think the artist is.

Points

There are two ways of winning this game, as an artist and as an admirer.

Artists are awarded 1 point for each person who correctly guesses their fanart and 3 points for each person who wrongly guesses it. That's right, you get more points if you're actually able to deceive everyone!

Admirers are awarded 5 points for each fanart they guess correctly, but they lose 1 point for each wrong guess.

Artists can also be admirers, so they have twice the chance of winning.

Prizes

The winning fanarts will get short fics based on them! And the one by the winning artist will be the prompt for one week in the @galladrabbles.

#Gallavich #Ian x Mickey #Shameless US #Gallavich fanart #GFaM2024 #events #mod post

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konigbabe · 1 year

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NSFW alphabet with (Capt.) John Price

Pairing: John Price x fem!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Tags/Warnings: smut; nsfw; filthy language; p-in-v sex; dirty talk; dom!price; top!price; praise kink; pregnancy kink; breeding kink

A/N: This is essentially my own interpretation of what Capt. Price's NSFW alphabet would look like. | source |

masterlist • faq • taglist • AO3 • ko-fi

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

John is a big fan of aftercare. He would always make sure there is a glass of water in your hand after he's done fucking the soul from your body, give you a cuddle and start the bath for you.

He'd sit you against his chest, head resting on his shoulder as his fingertips trace your soft flesh tenderly while he washes away the smell of arousal and sweat off of your exhausted and used body, allowing you to relax and enjoy the well-earned comfort of his embrace.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your hips; that man is obsessed. He loves leaving his marks on them, hands squeezing so tightly that he can see his own handprints afterwards while you're bouncing on his cock. They're a perfect size and shape for him to clutch - just right in his hands as he ruts into you like a man starved, the intense pleasure he gives you enveloping your body in a cloud of ecstasy.

His arms and hands are your turn-on. The veins prominent as he holds you down, kissing and worshipping your body. Years of physical strain have left scars on them, the same ones you'd always lovingly kiss when he's cradling your head in his calloused hands while you kneel before him, watching as he takes a painfully slow inhale of his beloved cigar, puffing out a cloud of smoke, while you yearn to please him in any way that you can.

“Just like that, doll. You’re so good to me.”

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum)

In the early stages of your relationship, he'd always make sure to pull out just in time for your eager mouth to envelop the head of his cock, tongue swiping on the underside of him as his eyes never leave yours and just as he feels his high nearing, he'd pull out and finish on your face. He likes to admire his work; and once he's done with that, he'll use his fingers to collect his own cum and let you suck it off his fingers.

Nowadays he goes absolutely wild at the idea of fucking some babies into you. He'd make sure you take everything he has to give you, pumping you full of his cum all while whispering sweet yet filthy words in your ear.

"I'm gonna pump you so full you'll be leaking for the rest of the week, love."

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He acts like he doesn't really care and it's not a big deal but he secretly loves the fact that you're younger than him. He isn't really into the whole daddy thing; yet your age gap makes him feel alive again...something he hasn't felt in a long time. Knowing that he's there to take care of you, to show you what no boy your age could've ever shown you, fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

No doubt this man has experience. Not really with one-night stands, he's more old-school; more into getting to know his partner's body, what makes you moan the loudest, what makes you squirm and scream with pleasure. His passion lies in the pursuit of discovering what makes you tick, exploring your body, and finding new ways to make you see the stars, his name slipping off your tongue sweet like honey. Music to his ears.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying.)

Anything where he's able to see your face; let it be missionary with your legs over his shoulders as he pounds into you relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping skin filling up the room as his face hovers over yours, watching the way your eyes are squeezing shut tightly - similarly to how tightly you're squeezing his cock - mouth opened in a silent scream...

...or cowgirl; his back pressed against the couch cushions as you bounce on his cock, his eyes lingering at the place you two are connected, how your juices are leaking around his cock and straight on his thighs, the mix of both of you staining his hairs while your nails create a moon crescent-shaped imprints on his war-scarred shoulders.

"Bloody hell, you're such a good girl, doll, takin' me like that."

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Not really goofy, definitely on the more serious side when it comes to sex. That doesn't mean John isn't a teaser, taking his sweet time tantalizing you, dragging out his touches, caressing you everywhere but where you desired his touch the most.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

I can see Price taking care of himself once in a while. He already has to keep his beard groomed and soft for you, don't want to give you a beard burn again since the last time you weren't able to walk for days because of the discomfort. So he keeps himself trimmed; not too long nor too short, just the right length for you to be comfortable as you're taking him whole, feeling the head of his cock pushing to enter your throat and fill your mouth.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Depending on the mood, he's a switch; still predominantly dominant but allowing you to take control from time to time, even though he is aware that he has ultimate power over you.

He doesn't mind taking it slow, showing you a more affectionate side of him, savoring his sweet time with you and bringing you to the brink of pleasure with nothing more than the delicate skill of his tongue.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He used to masturbate quite frequently after missions, using it as an outlet to release the pent-up adrenaline from being on the battlefield. However, nowadays he prefers to take out his frustration on you, as he knows you will always be there to gladly take whatever he has to give you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

I've already written about those before; this man is a sucker for breeding you...but he's way filthier than just that.

At times, he would just sit you down on his cock while being busy with paperwork, still on a base and knowing damn well anyone (especially his very own team) could walk into his office anytime and see you there, warming their captain's cock, head buried in his chest to muffle your pleasure-filled chokes, your body quivering at the sensation of him inside your tight walls, all while John casually goes on about his day, one hand resting underneath your shirt, on the lower of your back, drawing circles on your flushed skin while he reads the files on his desk.

“Look at you, getting all worked up by nothing. What’s wrong, doll? Am I making you nervous?”

“Aw, so needy already. You want me to move, innit? Are you not pleased with me right now?”

L = Location (Favourite places to do the deed)

Price always thought of himself as a gentleman, only taking his partner in the privacy of his bedroom, where you two could spend hours tangled together in the dance of your bodies between the sheets.

However, ever since the first time he made you warm his cock in his base, he found out just how much he likes you bend over his table, one leg beside you, asscheeks spread for him as he nudges his cockhead over your walls, sending shivers of pleasure through your body and watching as your arousal drips on the floor...all while the door remains unlocked.

“Gotta keep quiet, doll, don’t wanna Ghost or Soap seeing you all cock drunk with your captain’s cock, ain’t that right? Or is it something you want? Want me to call ‘em in? See you getting fucked all nice and heavy, doll?”

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

The thought of you. Just knowing how eagerly you respond to him, the way your body quivers when he touches you, the way your heart races when you hear his voice. He can't get enough of you, always craving that feeling of intoxication he gets from your presence but Lord helps you when you dress up just for his eyes, the barely-there lingerie hugging your body in the right places...you know you won't be leaving the bedroom for the rest of the night; not be able to walk tomorrow.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Anything involving violence, blood and degradation. He doesn't mind a little breath play; knowing that the right squeeze of your throat will only add to the overwhelming pleasure your body is filled with, or some spaning, leaving his handprint on your flesh and watching you with an amused grin as you try to sit down the next day, squirming uncomfortably, trying to find just the right position for you sit in so his handprint wouldn't hurt. But that's it, he will never dare to bring a knife or any other sharp object into the bedroom or anything like that.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He's undoubtedly a pussy-pleaser. His tongue skilled, fingers always knowing what to do to make you scream. Price absolutely loves watching you with his head between your legs, hands holding your legs over his shoulders while his gaze lingers on your face, on your erect nipples and the way your breasts spread as you arch your back, hand pushing his face into your dripping pussy.

On the other side, he would never say no to you giving him a head. As much as he adores seeing you being so docile underneath his touch, he loves seeing you taking him just as much, watching that one string of saliva connecting your kiss-bruised lips with the head of his painfully swollen cock.

“That’s it, doll, takin’ me so well.”

“That tongue of yours is driving me bloody crazy…just like that.”

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It really depends on the amount of time you have available and how you are feeling emotionally. If you are in the comfort of your own home, he enjoys a slow and leisurely approach, savoring every moment of pleasure he brings you before he even takes his cock out. When the time is short and/or any of you are in the mood, John does like to be rough, pounding into you vigorously, bathing in the bliss of your pleasure. Overall, he still prefers it slow and sensual.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Not a fan. They don't really give him the time he wants to savor you. If nothing else, he's always up for some good old-fashioned fucking, and if he knows that's all you can do, he's more than happy to take you somewhere quiet and fuck you good and proper.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He's pretty much open to whatever idea you might want to try. He's not particularly enthusiastic about taking action independently, but if it will make you happy, he is ready to do whatever you ask him to do.

“So that’s what you want, huh, doll? Really want me to call ‘em and watch? Or do you want ‘em to join too? Can do both.”

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Years of experience on the battlefield had allowed this man to build up his stamina magnificently, even though his best years may have already passed. He may not be the same 20-year-old he once was, and one round may be all he can manage, but that doesn't mean he isn't determined to go the distance or willing to continue with just his sheer will to make it up for you.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

No. He's a practical and old-fashion man + plus he doesn't really believe in the need for toys in the bedroom and you never asked him to bring any either as this man is fully capable of taking care of you with his own skill set.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

No doubt, he is an incorrigible tease. He takes pleasure in it and seems to be addicted to it. Whenever he is around you, he makes sure to touch you, to make his presence known to your body.

His eyes tend to linger on you. The feeling of his gaze making you shiver as you remember the promise he’s made to you last night; all while seated deep within your walls, the head of his cock nudging your cervix as his hands squeeze your hips, skin reddening underneath his touch.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Price is not very vocal in expressing himself. He would rather bury his head in your shoulder and let out a few soft growls and groans but he is certainly a talker; it's mostly just little praises followed by pure filth as he lets the pleasure of the moment envelop him.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He absolutely loves having sex when you're pregnant; it's one of his favourite things about you being pregnant apart from the impending child. Obviously your growing stomach rules out various positions including missionary, which he’s initially disappointed by, but soon realizes how incredibly satisfying it can be when you're both lying on your sides, him thrusting into you from behind with his hand stretched over your bump. It's truly a unique experience, something that you wouldn't be able to enjoy if you weren't pregnant, and it quickly becomes one of your favourite things too.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

I don’t believe John is extremely ripped but not does he have a dad bod. Definitely muscular, especially his arms. I’d say he has soft abs, the kind that becomes prominent when he flexed them. As of his cock; solid 7 inches, curved to the right a little bit; circumcised.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It isn’t what it used to be; but that doesn’t mean he’s not capable of keeping up with you.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He takes his sweet time falling asleep; much more prefers to watch you sleep in his arms, on his chest. He adores watching your flushed cheeks return to their normal color, the orgasm bliss leaving your body as you drift into sleep; sometimes he likes to run his fingers through your hair, thinks about the time when he used to dream of a girl like you. Nowadays he’s afraid to fall asleep, afraid that you are just a fewer dream and once he opens his eyes the next morning, you’ll be gone.

#captain price #john price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #captain price smut #john price smut #captain john price #captain john price x reader #cod #callofduty #codmwii #callofdutymodernwarfare2 #codmw #callofdutymodernwarfare #moni writes #smut

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honeyhotteoks · 1 year

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this night together - chapter four (j.yh + s.mg)

chapter four: a funny little feeling

chapter summary: your heat finally breaks, leaving you to relive every moment and every touch with a clear head. but you're sure you'll be able to just stay friends.

warnings: smut, all the a/b/o/omegaverse warnings, extreme horniness, masturbation, fingering, nipple play, rough sex, knotting, serious aftercare, emotional rollercoaster of hormones

pairings: alpha!yunho x alpha!mingi x omega!reader

genre: smut, abo/omegaverse, angst, fluff, romance, polyamory

word count: 7.9K

previous chapter | next chapter | AO3

They’re dead asleep when the pain passes over you again, and after all the hours they had put in helping you come again and again, fucking and filling you over and over, you can’t bring yourself to wake them. Neither of them are in a rut, and this has to be getting tiring for them, even though they can share you, with a heat this hard you’re demanding constant attention and stimulation. There’s no way you won’t be feeling this for at least a week when it finally breaks.

Yunho is laid out flat on his back, head turned away from you and his lips parted softly as he exhales little puffs of air. His upper arm is pressed along yours, but otherwise he isn’t touching you at all. Mingi on the other hand is curled over you, situated higher up on the bed than you, one broad hand resting between your breasts and a knee hitched up over your hips.

No longer in the hazy space of peak heat, you’re able to breathe and take in the feeling of them so close. You can hear your own heartbeat, feel the thready hiss of your breath, but still they sleep on.

Your nipples harden into painful peaks, a light sheen of sweat across your body once again, and your cunt pulsates with need. What you should do is wake them, beg them to knot you again until you can sleep a little longer in plump satisfaction, but you bite down and hold your tongue.

It takes a moment to maneuver Mingi’s leg off you, his weight extra heavy while he’s deep in sleep, but you manage to push him off. That leaves you naked in the center of the bed, lying between both of them.

You slip your fingers down your body and between your folds, finding your core wetter than you’ve ever been, so slick you can barely catch any friction where you need it. A soft whine bubbles from your lips, but it’s still almost a whisper and they don’t make a move.

Steeling yourself, you arch your hips to give your hand better access, and wipe away as much excess slick onto your inner thigh as possible, returning your fingers to your swollen, throbbing clit and finding now, finally, you can feel something. At this stage of your heat it’s always harder to orgasm from manual stimulation alone, your body knowing intrinsically that what it needs is a knot, but you have to try.

You circle your fingers, pressing firmly down over your clit and chasing as much feeling as possible, cupping your breast and tweaking your sensitive nipples to drive some additional sensation through your body. They sleep on beside you, and you bite down on your lip as you rock your hips up to meet your fingers a little better, trying all the while to keep quiet. Your legs widen on their own as you try to get what you need, but your thighs connect with each of them since they're crowded so close to you in the bed and you stutter to a stop to see if you’ve woken them.

Yunho makes a heavy sigh but doesn't move and that’s all the permission you need to sink two fingers inside yourself and pick up the pace of your hips. A shuddering breath pushes out of you when you start hitting the tender point of your pleasure just inside your tight channel and your legs widen further. You’re losing yourself now, no longer cognizant of anything but your own need.

Mingi’s hand shifts and cups your breast, but when you jerk your head to the side to look at him, he’s still fast asleep.

Just a little more. All you need is just a little more.

You’re caught looking at Mingi’s plush, parted lips. His forehead smooth and mind unbothered in sleep, and you admire his features. Masculine and sharp, with a softness to his eyes even when they’re closed. Heat pulses through you, and Yunho’s hand shifts.

He sleeps on, his hand coming to rest on the juncture of your thigh and hip, and you whine softly as you continue thrusting your fingers into yourself, canting your hips up to meet every downward jut.

Their hands on you feel electric, their scent filling you and making the atmosphere of the room heady. You’re so close, it’s right there for you. You widen your legs more, your thighs pressing further against them, but you don’t even care. Yunho shifts slightly, the sheet over his bottom half stretching taut and your mind buzzes - the hard line of his cock is suddenly clear and you stammer out a moan.

Yunho inhales sharply, his fingers tightening on your thigh, and Mingi makes a small, sleepy noise next to you. When Mingi draws his hand back and inadvertently drags his palm over your nipple the sensation is just enough to finally push you over the edge. You moan as it crashes into you, your body locking up in pleasure and twisting in the sheets, and your breath is coming in short sharp pants as you ride out your sudden release.

Your body shifts suddenly, and your eyes flutter open. In the dim light of the room you register quickly that Mingi has pushed you onto your side to face Yunho, who’s awake and looking at you with a blown out, flushed expression.

“Ah, Mingi,” You stammer as he hikes up your leg to open you up to him.

He doesn’t respond with words, but he crowds you with his body and aligns himself with your wet core, thrusting up inside you with one smooth stroke. You curse, gripping down on the sheets at the sudden sensation, but he pulls you closer still like he needs to touch every inch of your skin. His teeth close over your shoulder, far enough from your gland to be safe but still making you start in his arms and try to twist to find his eyes. Hot hunger strikes back up through your body at the sensation, but you know you don’t want him quite like this.

“Mingi, baby,” You reach for him, threading a hand into his hair, “l-let go,”

His teeth sink into you a little more, not enough to break the skin but certainly enough to hurt and his hands tighten.

Your eyes flick to Yunho’s and you watch his face clear suddenly from the primal haze he woke up in, and he meets your eyes. He wets his lips and eases down in the bed a little more, “Mingi, stop,”

Mingi breathes out heavily, a hot stream of air across your damp skin.

“Mingi,” You murmur softly, knowing that he needs a little help snapping out of the haze, “alpha, please let me go,”

His jaw relaxes and he pulls his mouth away from your shoulder. He’s still holding you tightly, but you feel him coming back to the surface, realizing that this isn't a dream.

Yunho cups your cheek softly, “You okay?”

You nod, shifting to kiss his palm gently before reaching back behind you for Mingi, “I’m good, I promise,”

“Jesus, did I hurt you?” Mingi’s grip softens as he finally realizes what’s going on around him.

“No,” You answer clearly, no space for ambiguity with something like this, “I just knew you were still kind of out of it,”

“I bit you,” He registers

“And I liked it,” You squeeze his hip where you reach around, “just not while you were that out of it,”

“What happened?” He manages.

You blush scarlet, “I woke you up by accident,”

Yunho smiles, a little amused at your choice of words. He had rocketed into consciousness and watched you finish the minute you moaned, fighting the urge to sink his own fingers inside you as you came apart in ecstatic pleasure right before his eyes.

Mingi pushes up onto his elbow to see you better, his expression confused.

“You were both asleep,” You explain softly, adverting your eyes from his, “and I didn’t want to wake you, but I needed to take the edge off,”

He smirks when he realizes your euphemism, “Oh,”

“It didn’t work out like I planned,” You duck your face into the mattress and sigh.

“You missed out,” Yunho smiles at you, dragging the back of his knuckle down your chest and back up again, “she looked gorgeous,”

If you could blush more, you do.

“Mm,” Mingi nuzzles you, “why wouldn’t you just wake us? That’s what we’re here for,”

“You’ve got to be exhausted by now,” You explain softly, “I thought I’d give you a break,”

Mingi hums quietly, dropping his lips to your shoulder to kiss you tenderly, and then his hands tighten again and he snaps his hips, dragging his cock out of you and plunging it back in, “Do I feel exhausted to you?”

You moan tightly, reaching out and gripping onto Yunho’s arm as you recover from the sudden sensation, “God, fuck,”

“God, fuck?” He teases you, “Yeah?”

“Oh, shut up,” You sigh, grinding your hips back a little to feel him deeper.

He groans and gathers you close in his arms, “You’re so cute,”

You want to make fun, but something inside you sings at his praise and you smile softly, “Yeah?”

“Aw,” Yunho smiles, “you’re blushing,”

“Mm,” Mingi kisses your head, “do you not hear that enough? Should I tell you more?”

“Mingi,” You make an attempt at protesting but your body flutters around him and you’re acutely aware of the sweat trickling down your brow and the feeling of his heart pounding against your back.

“Cutie,” Mingi nips at your ear, tugging softly on the lobe, “did you take the edge off or do you need me?”

Orgasm aside, your body is starting to fall back into the needy, desperate tendencies of heat and all you can manage is a gentle whimper.

“Oh, pretty girl,” Mingi sighs, dropping his hand over your belly and nuzzling your head, “you need my knot, precious?”

“P-please,” You choke, and even though a few minutes ago you might have been sated enough for sleep, the idea of it is enough to rocket you right back into desperate wanting.

“Can I help?” Yunho murmurs softly.

“Anything,” You nod, a little breathless and frantic.

Mingi groans as you press your hips back into his and reach for Yunho, connecting your lips to his in a hungry kiss. Mingi snaps his hips again and you gasp against Yunho’s mouth.

“Harder,” You reach back for his hip, nails scraping along his soft skin to try and get him to respond the way you need.

He says nothing, but his hands shift to hold you steady, one on your hip and the other on your shoulder and then he starts to thrust. He listened perfectly - not faster, but harder, deeper. Every sharp click of his hips up snaps your hips against each other and drives his aching cock so deep you can’t think straight.

You want to come so badly, you want to spasm around him so hard you make him come inside and you want to take every bit of it. Your brain is still a little blurry and you let your eyes close as you focus on the sensations. Mingi stretching you wide, his tight grip, Yunho’s hands caressing you gently in a dizzying contrast to the way you’re being fucked open.

You whine at a particularly hard thrust, the head of his cock connecting with your cervix and lighting a bubble of pain up inside you, but it’s no worse than your intense hot cramping.

“God,” Mingi pants, his hips canting up a little faster, “you’re so fucking hot,”

Yunho smiles, and then presses forward to catch your mouth again. His fingers trace down from your chest to your belly and back up, one hand cupping your breast and a thumb flicking across your nipple.

You moan hard, breaking away from his mouth and dropping your face into the pillows, “Again,”

He flicks again, and you bury your face deeper into the pillows as you moan.

“No, no,” Mingi’s hand on your shoulder shifts up into your hair, pulling your head back slowly, “don’t hide,”

Your muscles lock up around his cock and he hisses.

“You like that?” He pulls your hair a little harder, yanking you against his shoulder so he can hold you still.

You whine out an affirmative response, one hand reaching for something and finding Yunho’s chest.

“I want to hear you come, beautiful,” Mingi’s breath is hot on your ear, and he adjusts his body slightly so he can drive his cock into you again and again at a punishing pace.

“More,” You manage.

“Y-Yunho,” Mingi groans, “play with her some more,”

Yunho makes a hungry noise and then you feel his mouth close over your nipple.

“Oh, god,” your body arches hard into them.

You’re sandwiched tight between them, and then Yunho sucks hard and the sensations flowing through you double.

“Do that again,” Mingi pants.

Yunho obliges, sucking hard again and then flicking his tongue firmly over your pebbled nipple, his fingers coming up to tease the other.

“I’m gonna fucking come,” You stammer, “I’m- I’m,”

“Taking your alpha’s cock so well,” Yunho bites at your breast, “our good, good, girl,”

“The fucking best,” Mingi chokes.

Good, the best. Theirs. Your brain bubbles over with the praise and you cup Yunho’s head in your palm, pressing him closer to your body and forcing more of his mouth over you. Your legs start to shake, and Mingi’s hand on your hip slips down and his fingers start to circle your clit. Frantic and fast.

“F-fuck,” You hold onto them for dear life, “I’m coming, I’m, ah, fuck,”

“Shit,” Mingi thrusts up hard and you feel his swollen knot, “oh shit,”

“Inside,” You beg, “alpha, please,”

He all but growls, and it burns, but he pushes in. Your fluttering channel expands just enough to accept him inside and then you feel him swell properly to lock in place, spilling seed so deeply that for a hazy moment inside your orgasm you daydream that not even your implant could prevent that from taking root.

You can barely feel your body, all of you shuddering and panting after the intensity, but slowly you feel Yunho kiss along your breasts and up your chest, and Mingi’s hands soften to smooth over your skin in a comforting pattern.

“She asleep?” Yunho mumbles as he kisses more of your chest.

“Maybe,” Mingi responds and then he squeezes your hip, “baby, you with us?”

“Mm,” You manage.

Mingi chuckles, “Does my knot feel good, tiny?”

You sigh pleasantly.

“I think that’s a yes,” You feel Yunho’s smile on your skin, “she’s practically glowing,”

“Beautiful,” Mingi murmurs.

Yunho’s gone suddenly though, and your eyes flutter open, “W-where?”

“Getting you water,” He soothes, still on the bed just a little bit further from you than he was, “I need you to drink some of this and then we can cuddle all you want,”

You take the glass, eagerly drinking as much of the water as you can at this odd, twisted angle and Mingi chuckles again behind you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“That’s good,” Yunho smiles when you pass the glass back.

“Come back,” You reach out again, needing to feel him.

He drops the glass on the side table and eases himself back over until you’re pressed front to back between them both. Every inch of your skin that can touch one of them does, and you finally feel at peace. Yunho wraps an arm around you both and kisses your hair, “Better?”

“Don’t leave,” You mumble, sleep clinging to you once again.

“We’ve got nowhere to be, jagiya,” Yunho soothes, kissing your lips softly.

“Hmm,” You sigh, your tense muscles releasing one by one, the warm feeling of Mingi’s hard cock inside you washing over you like a salve.

“Perfect,” Mingi murmurs, and then sleep takes you under.

It continues like this for what feels like hours. You wake in needy desperation and one of them is suddenly inside you. You lose count, if you ever had count to begin with. They knot you over and over again, make you come over and over again. On their fingers, their tongues, dragging your slick aching cunt across their thighs if that’s what you need. You lose track of time, and if they’re being honest so do they.

Nothing exists now but this bed and their bodies.

Nothing until it all breaks.

Coming out of heat is always stark and sudden. Where pre-heat lasts hours, sometimes days and you can feel your body changing and adjusting to accommodate the surge of hormones, when it ends it just ends. It feels final and stark, like you’ve been doused with a bucket of cold water, and all the aches and pains in your body that the endorphin surges drowned out come back tenfold.

You know it the minute you open your eyes, no hazy feeling in your limbs or pulsing between your thighs. This time it’s all over, and with strange clarity you realize just how fucked you are.

“Fuck,” You breathe softly, remembering every detail from the past few days and how stripped down and bare you were in front of two men that not only are you not involved with, you work with.

A small groan to your side brings you out of your thoughts as Yunho wakes and registers your soft curse, “Shh, shh,” he hums, “I’m right here,”

“Oh,” You open your mouth to tell him it’s over, but his hand is already pushing between your thighs.

He pushes himself up onto his side, his hair messy and eyes bleary, “There we go,” he murmurs, hoarse and low as his fingers find your clit.

The overstimulation is immediate and you hiss, pulling back with your hips, “Ah, ah, no,”

His fingers raise, “Does that hurt?”

“Yeah,” You manage, “Yunho, I’m,”

“That’s okay,” He swiftly cuts off your words, still sunken into his soothing alpha tone, “I won’t hurt you, jagi,”

“I know,” You manage, looking for the right words to tell him he doesn’t need to do anything more, but he smoothly finds your entrance with his fingers, still wet with leftover slick and cum, and pushes two inside you. He’s slow and deliberate, watching your face for any discomfort, and even though it burns a little it’s also a dizzying pressure that leaves you moaning softly in his arms.

He drops his lips to your shoulder as he rhythmically pumps his hand and he sighs hot against your skin, “There’s my girl,”

His girl. Your heat addled brain had been desperate and aching for it, ready to make them both your alphas for life in the thick of your delirium, but this… this would just be sex. It feels suddenly dishonest, uncomfortable and wrong. They had offered to help with your heat, but that part of whatever your relationship with them is, is now over.

“Yunho,” You stutter out, and he hums, mistaking your sounds for pleasured whimpers. You blink hard and steel yourself, “Yunho, stop, please,”

His fingers push forwards and then stop immediately and he adjusts quickly, pulling them out and turning to look up at you in the bed, “What’s wrong?”

“Can I have that sheet?” You nod towards your legs where the sheet tangles up around your legs and he fishes it up immediately. Once it’s tucked around you, you feel a little better about meeting his eyes, “I’m sorry,”

“Why?” He shuffles closer, wrapping an arm around you and you hear Mingi starting to stir to your other side, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” You assure him, “but it’s done,”

“Done?” His eyebrows knit together and you remember he’s never done this before.

“My heat broke over night,” You explain softly, “you don’t need to do anything else,”

“Oh,” He blinks, “just like that?”

“Mhm,” The intimacy of his arms around you feels so, so right, but you also know it’s part of this manufactured moment. You wouldn’t be here in bed with them both if it weren’t for a biological imperative that you can’t control by yourself, and a rational voice in the back of your brain is telling you to cut and run before this gets messier.

“Are you okay?” He whispers.

“I’m fine,” You nod, “a little sore.”

“Can I get you anything?” He brushes your hair back from your cheek like a lover.

“I think I just need,” Your voice cuts off as Mingi rolls towards you both, snuggling up to your opposite side and exhaling heavily against your hair.

“What’s going on?” Mingi mumbles, sleep still clinging to him.

“My heat’s over,” You rip the words off like a bandaid.

“Shit,” He blinks, pushing himself up onto one arm, “I should have known, you smell different,”

“Do I?” You glance between them.

Yunho takes a deep breath, his eyes slipping closed and then he nods, “Milder,” he agrees, “chamomile and willow now, the honey is less pronounced,”

“Give me a minute,” Mingi shakes his head, as if he’s willing sleep to stop clinging onto him, “I’ll get up and get you what you need,”

“I’m fine,” You reiterate, and that’s mostly true, except for the thumping anxiety in your chest and the fact you’re desperate to not be naked in bed anymore.

Mingi rolls his eyes, “You’re stubborn, I know you’re probably aching like hell,”

“I really just need a shower,” You shake your head, “and then I can get out of your way,”

“That’s not a great idea,” Mingi shakes his head, “you shouldn’t try and rush the comedown,”

“Take it easy,” Yunho agrees, “there’s no work today anyways. Just relax, and I can drive you home this afternoon if that’s what you want,”

What you want is to run. Your chest feels tight, and you’re so aware of their hands on you. Your brain gets stuck like a record skipping again and again, Yunho saying clearly that he can take you home.

“If you need a couple more days,” Mingi jumps in and offers, “you should take them, I know this was a hard one,”

“Really,” You need to move, so you start to sit up, “I’m okay,”

You shimmy forwards and wrap the sheet around yourself as you slide out of Mingi’s bed. It’s not graceful and you’ve probably just flashed more skin than you want to, despite all the parts of you they’ve seen and touched the past few days, but you make it up to your feet. Pretty much immediately you feel like you might faint.

“Whoa,” Mingi rolls out of bed fast, hands out and ready, “you okay?”

“I’m good,” You brush him off, taking a step backwards, “just a little headrush.”

Yunho looks nervous, watching you intently as he locates a pair of his sweats and pulls them on, “I think you should slow down, you’ve been here for days, what’s a few more hours?”

You ignore him, “Do you mind if I use the shower?”

Mingi’s lips press together hard in a line and you can tell he’s confused and not exactly happy with you, but he nods anyway.

“Great,” You gather the end of the sheet so you can walk and then push yourself into the bathroom. Blissfully, they don’t follow you.

Moving quickly you get the hot water going and lay out some towels, and while you wait for the temperature to adjust you collapse against the counter and take a deep inhale. Their apartment feels suddenly claustrophobic. You had really liked them, a tiny piece of you even day dreamed about dating Yunho when you first started. You shake those thoughts away and pull yourself into the warm spray, leaning hard against the tile wall. A flickering memory, Yunho holding you against his chest, Mingi cupping your cheek as they carried you out of the shower and back into bed. They took such good care of you, you can hardly believe they’re real.

You shower until the water starts to run tepid, until you’re out of time again and need to go look them in the eyes. While you washed your skin again and again you thought about it all. Your stomach flips with nervousness, the idea of seeing them with your head clear alone making your palms clammy.

The bedroom is empty when you get back, sheets stripped off the bed and piled high in the corner, the widow behind it pushed up and open. Your stomach twists painfully at the sight. They’re already airing out the nest and it makes you feel suddenly empty. You need to get home, wrap yourself in a tight cocoon of blankets and try not to think about what work tomorrow is going to look like.

You dress quickly, pulling on your last pair of clean underwear and leggings, avoiding the sudden urge to wear Mingi’s hoodie again, and instead slip back into your sweater. You braid your wet hair back, pack up your things, and quietly order yourself an Uber. In ten minutes, you’ll be gone.

You’ll have to see them one more time before you go, your stomach fluttering with sudden anxiety, but you brace yourself and head down the hall.

“Um,” You clear your throat softly as you step into the living room, “hey,”

“Hey,” Yunho smiles wide, “feeling okay?”

“I’m good,” You assure him, watching as they both get to their feet, “but I really should get going,” you say it, but your stomach twists at the idea.

“Already?” Mingi says.

“I can’t steal more of your time,” You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, “I really can’t thank you both enough for helping me out of the office the other night… and, you know, everything else,” your cheeks heat with blush.

“You don’t have to thank us,” Mingi steps towards you, as if to reach for you, but he stops himself.

“Right,” You glance down at your phone, your car now six minutes away.

“Let me drive you home,” Yunho reaches for his keys on the island.

“No, no,” You wave him off, “I already have a ride,”

“Oh,” He lets his hand fall away from his keys.

A beat of silence stretches between you all and you swallow, “I’m sorry, this is awkward isn’t it?”

“It shouldn’t be,” Mingi says with ease, “we just spent four days naked and locked in a room together,”

His blunt honesty makes you laugh and you clap a hand over your mouth, “Oh god, we did, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Mingi smiles, “I don’t think we need to be shy now,”

Your shoulders relax, the air clearing, “Everything just felt like a lot, but you’re right,”

Mingi shakes his head, reaching for you without asking and pulling you into his chest, “Just because you’re not in heat anymore doesn’t mean we’re strangers now,”

“I know,” You let his familiar warmth relax your body further.

“So, let me ask again,” His hand smooths up and down your back, “how are you feeling?”

The word ‘fine’ sits on your tongue but you bite it back and choose honesty instead, “Overwhelmed,”

“I thought so,” He hums, “cancel your car,”

“What?” You pull back slightly in his arms.

“You can’t just run away the second we’re not having sex,” He calls you out so easily it flusters you and you duck your head into his chest, “we need to talk, and you need to sit down and rest. And I know you’re hurting, so just take a breath,”

You nod into him and then lift up your phone, “Okay,”

You feel it lift out of your hands and you don’t hesitate, you wrap your arms around his back and grip him tight, soaking up his warmth and the steadiness of his breath.

“Yunho,” Mingi murmurs, his voice low and soft, “can you make some tea?”

“Got it,” Yunho says softly.

You don’t know why you suddenly feel like crying, but you do. The body remembers trauma, but it remembers tenderness too. His arms feel right, even without the needy cloying of your primal brain, his body so warm and so steady that it cracks your emotions wide open.

At your first, sharp intake of breath, sounding wet and locked up with tears, Mingi moves. He scoops you up with ease, settling you both back down on the couch and tucking you into his broad chest, “Shh, shh,” he soothes, “I’m right here,”

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” You hide your face in his shirt with a sob.

“That’s okay,” He nods.

“This is so embarrassing,” Your voice is strained and thick with tears.

“Why?” He tuts, “You cry if you need to cry,”

“Hey,” Yunho sounds worried immediately as he comes back into the room, “what’s going on, what’s wrong?”

You sniffle and shake your head into Mingi’s shoulder, your head feeling floaty as you try to focus on getting your blurry emotions under control.

“This is normal,” Mingi says to Yunho, his voice even and low, “just like how flattened out you feel after a rut. It’s a lot of hormones, a lot of emotions, that’s why I wanted her to stay. She shouldn’t be alone just yet, and it’s an alphas job to help ground their omega,”

“I didn’t realize,” Yunho murmurs, and you feel the weight of the couch shift as he sits down with you both.

“Nobody explains,” Mingi shakes his head as he strokes your back, “all they teach you in Secondary Gender Presentations is knotting and pups, but there’s a lot more than that,”

Hot emotion courses through you, and you sob again, “Mingi,”

“Come here,” He pushes your arms a little, prompting you to wrap them around his neck and burrow closer, “You can feel me, right? I’m holding you, I’m right here,”

“Mhm,” You exhale, shaky and broken.

“I’m not going anywhere,” He soothes you, “okay, omega? I’m not leaving, Yunho and I are not leaving you.”

You didn’t even know that’s what you needed, but his words soothe you instantly, the hammering panic of your heart settling slower and slower in your chest.

Mingi clears his throat softly and readdresses Yunho, “She needs to know she’s not alone, especially after a heat that intense. It hits some people really hard, my ex used to be inconsolable after,”

“Jesus,” Yunho murmurs, “I’m really fucking glad you’ve done this before,”

Mingi’s chest jerks as he huffs out a laugh, “There’s a lot more to it, isn’t there?”

Yunho makes a small noise of acknowledgement and slowly you start to feel your emotions level out.

“M-Mingi?” You murmur wetly into his neck.

“Yeah?” He squeezes you.

“Thank you,” You sigh.

“Mhm,” he soothes, “are you still feeling overwhelmed?”

While your tears have subsided, bubbling anxiety still crawls under your skin and you nod against him.

“Are you afraid?” He murmurs, picking up on your trembling hands.

“I don’t know why,” You wish you could articulate it, reach deep down inside yourself and pull free this thread of niggling panic to get to the root of it, but you simply can’t.

“That’s okay,” He assures you, “how about you let me take care of things, hmm?”

“What things?”

“Today,” He explains, “I know you’re stressed and I know you want to go home, but right now I think we should all stick together a little longer. Would that be okay with you?”

“Yeah,” You breathe.

“Good,” Mingi murmurs, “y/n, can Yunho hold you for a little while? I need a few minutes,”

You unwind yourself from him and nod, sitting back so you can see his face. He smiles softly, wiping away your tears with his warm, broad hand. A little piece of you wants to kiss him, settle your fluttering heart once and for all, but it’s probably just the lingering pull from your heat so you push it aside.

Yunho shifts on the couch and positions himself next to Mingi properly, “Hey,”

“Hey,” You smile, sliding off Mingi’s lap and into his, “are you doing okay?”

“Me?” Yunho’s brow raises, “I’m fine,”

“I’ll be right back,” Mingi murmurs, brushing a hand along your hair, and you watch as he disappears into the kitchen.

“Don’t be worried about me,” Yunho says, bringing your eyes back to him.

“You’ve been quiet,” You tell him, “I just… I’m really trying not to fuck everything up just because I couldn’t afford my stupid suppressants,”

His face screws up in confusion, “Fuck what up?”

“Our… friendship,” You manage, “and the studio, and everything,”

Nervous panic strikes through you again and you take a deep breath, closing your hands into tight fists and focusing on the pin pricks of pain in your palm as your nails dig in.

“y/n,” Yunho shakes his head, “not a chance.”

“You say that, but I know how these things go,”

“Why?” He brushes you off with an easy smile, “You think just because I saw you naked I’m going to fall in love with you or something? It doesn’t really work like that,”

Blush flushes your cheeks, “Please, don’t,”

“Fall in love with you?” He clarifies, still smiling.

“Yunho,”

“Why can’t you fall in love with me in this scenario?” He nudges you, trying to make you laugh and break the tense knot that’s been here since you woke up, “I selflessly took off work to have copious amounts of hot, hot sex with you. I made you food, cuddled you all night, basically gave you a sponge bath,”

Your hands relax. “You did not give me a sponge bath, Yunho,” You roll your eyes, “god, you’re annoying,”

“Annoyingly lovable,” He clarifies.

“Fine,” You nod, “annoyingly lovable, but I’m not going to fall in love with you.”

“Then I guess we’re good then,” He assures you.

“And work won’t be weird?” You check.

“Work won’t be weird,” He shakes his head, “is that what you’re worried about?”

“I guess,” You press a hand over your chest, the nervous flutter of your heart still there, “I just… I love this job. I’m finally getting what I want, and I’m making friends, and I have a mentor,”

“Am I your mentor?” He interrupts, eyes widening a little.

“Shut up,” You dismiss him, “you know how much help you’ve been to me,”

“Mentor,” He smiles, looking a little elated.

“Yunho,” You sigh and he clicks back in to your words, “what I’m trying to say is that… sex complicates a workplace, especially heat sex. I don’t want this to…. Fuck, I don’t know what I’m trying to say,”

Yunho catches your fluttering hand in one of his and cups your cheek with his other, “Sex can just be sex.”

“Can it?” You chew the inside of your lip, “For us, can it?”

“If that’s what,” He starts to say.

“Okay,” Mingi returns with an armful of goodies and a warm smile, “I’ve decided it’s a Netflix and nap day,”

“Wait, hang on,” Yunho shakes his head, getting you to face him again, “listen to me. You’re afraid that spending your heat with us is going to change things, affect our relationship and make work different.” You nod a little and he smiles, “I can’t tell you everything will be exactly the same because honestly, we just are closer now. It was intimate, and I don’t know about you but I feel closer to you, but that doesn’t mean it changes our friendship or fucks up our ability to work together. It means whatever we want it to mean,”

Mingi drops the blankets and pillows in his arms and steps closer, “Yunho’s right, y/n,” he murmurs, “we’re adults, this isn’t going to ruin anything if we don’t let it.”

“Friends, then?” You glance between them, “Sex can just be sex, like you said?”

Yunho swallows hard and then nods.

“Friends,” Mingi says.

The panic in your chest starts to recede. “So, we’re okay?” You ask finally.

“We’re okay,” Yunho nods, “we’re perfectly okay.”

“We’re okay,” Mingi agrees.

You nod, exhaling a long breath, “So,” You nod towards the steaming cup on the coffee table, “is that tea for me?”

“Yeah,” Yunho gives you a soft squeeze, “here,” he shifts you off his lap and passes you the warm mug.

“You really don’t mind if I stay a little longer?” You check.

Yunho shakes his head immediately, “I would like it if you did,”

“Okay,” You sigh, the knot inside you finally gone.

“Great,” Mingi goes back to his project, “just hang on one sec,”

You watch as he reaches inside the front lip of the side of the couch you’re not sitting on for a handle and then he pulls, the couch opening up and producing two more large sections of cushion that turns that half into almost a bed.

“You do a lot of napping?” You tease him.

“Ha, ha,” He shakes his head as he tosses out some blankets and pillows, “we have guests sometimes,”

“Ah,” You nod.

He disappears for another moment and when he returns he’s well equipped once again. He waves you over, “Okay,” he says, “tuck in, get cozy. I’ve got some pain killers for you, water, and snacks. I figured we could just hang out, watch something dumb on TV and then if you feel better later or like you want to head home, we’ll take you then.”

You want to kiss him again, and when Yunho smooths a hand down your back and smiles brightly at you, you want to kiss him too. Whatever that means is too complicated to think about for the moment, so you don’t.

When it’s all said and done, you’re sandwiched between them on the pull out, tucked under Yunho’s arm and falling into absolute hysterical laughter at the reality show Mingi threw on. He called it a guilty pleasure with a shrug despite your teasing, and fifteen minutes into the first episode you and Yunho both are ashamed to say you’re hooked.

You can feel sloshing waves of emotion inside you as you let yourself relax, but their proximity keeps you calm and collected. It’s sometime after lunch when you finally take the opportunity to ask Yunho again, Mingi thankfully asleep to your left side.

You prod his leg gently under the covers, “Hey,”

“Hmm?” He glances down at you.

“How are you doing?” You ask softly, prodding him again.

“I’m fine,” His brows knit together in confusion, “why wouldn’t I be fine?”

Using his chest for leverage you shift off him, turning towards him eye to eye now so you can actually have a conversation with him. “You still seem kind of quiet,” You explain, “and you’ve both been so fixated on me and what I need, but I’m just checking in. It was your first time going through someone’s heat, so, I don’t know what that’s like for you,”

Your mind flicks back to the moment you begged him to claim you, desperate and clinging to him, the way his eyes blew wide with wanting and he almost, almost succumbed. His whisper on your throat as he held himself to his promise - Not like this, sweetheart, never like this.

He hesitates, and quietly under the blankets you move your hand into his.

“Yunho,” You prompt him, “it’s okay to tell me,”

“I mean,” He studies your face and then sighs, “I am fine, really, I am, but do feel different.”

“Different how?” You murmur.

“Clingy, still?” He offers, but you can tell he doesn’t really know what to make of his own emotions, “When you said you were leaving I felt sick,”

“Me too,” You nod, “but it makes sense,”

“Does it?”

You shift closer, your legs leaning on his now, “Mingi’s right, we spent four days locked in a room together. All we did was be intimate and share emotions…”

“Then why did you want to leave so quickly?” He asks, no judgment in his voice at all.

“Yunho,” You smile, “I don’t know if you’ve picked up on it or not, but I’m not the best at sharing. Or admitting I need help.”

“So you were running,”

“I guess,” You nod, “I was just embarrassed and then before I knew it I had one foot out the door,”

“I don’t want you to feel embarrassed about this,” He shakes his head, sliding his hand up your arm, “I don’t like that.”

You sigh, “I know, but the idea of being back in the studio after this? I mean I’ve worked with you for what, two months? We really barely know each other, I’m the new girl. How am I not supposed to worry about us being too familiar after this?”

“So we’ll be familiar,” He presses, “I promise, it really is okay. Mingi and I are not going to treat you any differently where the work is concerned, but we can be friends.”

“Friends,” You repeat the sentiment with a nod, “you’re right, and these feelings will fade,”

“Feelings?” He says softly.

“Like Mingi said,” You tell him, “it keeps coming in waves, but the consistent thing is that I don’t want to be apart yet, even not touching feels wrong.”

“Exactly,” He nods enthusiastically, “every time you get up to pee I feel like I should follow you and guard the door it’s kind of ridiculous,”

Laughter bubbles out of you and you cover your mouth, glancing over at a still sleeping Mingi, “The protective alpha instincts are really no joke, I guess,”

“Mm,” He smiles, “Mingi has a handle on it, it was just so much more than I expected it to be,”

“How long were he and his ex together?” You ask.

“Two-ish years?” He says, “So yeah, he has a good handle on himself.”

“Do you think he feels the same way as you do?” Your eyes dart back over to Mingi’s fully peaceful face as he sleeps.

“Probably,” Yunho shrugs, “but he’s very good at only letting people see what he wants them to see,”

“I’m getting that,” You murmur.

There’s a long beat between you and finally you twist back to look at him, “I know it’s just the hormones,” you tell him, “but can we cuddle?”

“Sure,” He scoots down on the couch, gathering you close, your head now resting on the crook of his arm, “This okay?”

“Perfect,”

Now that you’re not looking at him, the next thing you say feels so much easier, “I have to thank you for what you did,” you smile, “or didn’t do, I guess,”

He’s quiet for a moment and then, “I almost did though,”

“I know,” You remember the sensation of his teeth dragging along your throat, “but you stopped,”

“I didn’t realize how right it would feel in the moment,” He says softly, “and I just wanted to make you stop hurting,”

You pat across his chest until you find his hand and you lace your fingers together, “You did,” you fight the urge to kiss him, “and for what it’s worth, Mingi was right. I don’t think I could have gotten through this at home by myself, I’ve never had a heat this hard,”

“Now I’m really glad we brought you home,”

“Mm,” You nod, “I don’t know what I would have done,”

He hugs you a little more tightly, “I keep meaning to ask you something,”

“Anything,” You shift to look up at him.

“Suppressants,” He says, “when will insurance cover the ones you need?”

“Nineteen days,” You recite, “nearly there.”

“You’ll be alright until then?” He asks.

��Should be,” You nod, “I’ll have time to onboard before my next heat so everything should be much more manageable,”

“Good,” He brushes a hand along your hair and then settles it high on your back.

You expect him to offer, to indicate a next time, but he doesn’t. Something distant in your gut twists and the thought that maybe this really is a one-time thing. You know it should be, you work too closely together to muddle it all up with all these emotions, especially when you can barely tell now if it’s your biological need for an alpha or if you really do just like them. But the thought of leaving and never being held by them like this again hurts a little, more than you thought that it would.

When Mingi wakes a little later you all stay cuddled up a little longer. You eat dinner together and by the end of the meal, you’re all sitting a few feet apart. You still want to be here with them, but the desperate pull to touch them has faded almost completely by the time you’re done with your spicy noodles.

The drive back to your apartment is quiet, and you’ve been away from work and insulated with them for so many days that you feel distantly like it’s the last day of summer and the night before school. You want to stretch out the seconds, avoid getting out of this car and going to bed at all costs, you know once you do life will be back to normal. Four days with them made you yearn a little for something more than normal.

“Well,” You clear your throat softly and pull your bag up from the passenger side floor, “I guess that’s it,”

“Take tomorrow,” Yunho says, twisting to the side from the driver’s seat to face you, “we’ll go back to work and you take one more day.”

“Okay,” You nod, knowing that it’s the smartest way to not seem obvious about sharing your heat with them.

“We had the flu,” Mingi offers, “and it’s just weird timing.”

“Weird timing,” You nod, “okay,”

“What will you tell your roommates?” Yunho asks.

“I’ll think of something,”

Your legs feel like lead as you swing open the door and start to climb out of their car.

“You sure you’re alright?” Yunho leans over to catch your eyes.

“Mhm,” You nod, but suddenly you don’t really trust your voice.

“If you need anything,” Mingi says, practically hanging over the passenger seat from the back to see you too, “tonight, tomorrow, whatever,”

“I know,” You manage, “I’m okay,”

Mingi opens his mouth and closes it again. His hand tightens on the seat. You drag yourself back a few steps and nod, “Drive safe,” It feels like the stupidest, most empty thing to say after everything.

Yunho smiles softly, “Always do,”

“Good night,”

“Night,” Mingi says softly.

“Night,” Yunho leans back in the driver’s seat again, returning his hands to the wheel.

It’s time. You hate it.

You push the door shut, offering a wave, and you force your legs to move as you turn around and trudge up to the apartment building ahead. A nervous bubble blooms in your throat. You want to turn around, but you don’t. The steady sound of the car still idling behind you doesn’t change. When you make it inside, your apartment is blissfully quiet and you tuck yourself away in your room fast before anyone can come and check up on you.

You want to go back, but you focus hard and try to shake it off.

With a deep breath, you allow yourself one tiny moment of weakness and you pull your bedroom curtain aside. Their car is gone, not even the blue glow of their headlights left on the street ahead. They’re gone, and you’re alone again. You don’t even bother to take off the clothes you were wearing, you collapse into your bed and bite back the sudden rush of tears.

All you can smell is stale lavender, and suddenly you wish more than anything for a thunderstorm.

#this night together fic #ateez #ateez fic #ateez ff #ateez series #ateez smut #yunho x reader #mingi x reader #yunho #jeong yunho #yunho fic #yunho smut #mingi #song mingi #mingi fic #mingi smut #yungi x reader #yungi #yungi smut

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phantom-dc · 1 year

Text

A deal with the Ghost King

First previous AO3

It's been 2 months since the Justice League summoned the Ghost King.

The League was having another meeting about it. Other then Batman none had noticed any sign of its precense. Constantine hadn't found any trace of the King outside of Gotham, leading to the conclusion that whatever had happened occured in Batmans territory. He and his Robins had searched all over Gotham to see if anything strange was going on. Even Red Hood checked his area, though he had seemed preoccupied. Still, nothing had stood out to them. That was when Shazam mentioned reality itself might have changed.

That had sparked a whole new debate. According to Constantine it was certainly possible. The Ghost King has many powerfull subjects, and near-godlike allies as wel. If the ghost of Kronos had aided him time itself could have been altered. If something like that did happen, only someone outside of their reality would be able to tell the difference. That had sparked an idea in Batman. The camera's inside the meeting hall had become useless, but the ones outside it could still work! He quickly made his way to the security station to acces the cameta feeds of that day. A few closest to the meeting hall had still been static, but he found what he was looking for: Jason, leaving the waiting room and heading for the meeting hall, only to return a few minutes later. When Batman comes back to the rest of the League he immediatly aprooaches the Flash. 'Why didn't you interrogate Red Hood?' Flash admits he finds Red Hood kinda scary. 'He's a Bat with guns, B! I figured since everyone else hadn't seen anything he hadn't either, so I went to ask the others.' Batman puts Flash monitor duty as punishment and turns to Constantine. 'Gather everything you need to detect a change in reality you can and anything that might help us track the Ghost King and meet me in Gotham. I'm going to talk to Hood. Meeting's adjourned.'

Getting out of the Zeta-tube and stepping into the Bat-Cave, Bruce rubs his eyes in annoyance. All this time, Jason was the one with awnsers. As he walks to the Batmobile, Alfred asks him where he is headed. When Bruce tells him needs to talk to Jason, Alfred reminds him that they are having dinner today. He assumes Bruce forgot? Bruce sighs. That's right, Jason was here for dinner, for- Alfred cuts him off. 'Master Jason is introducing us to his boyfriend today. You are already quite late, but not to worry. I have already told him you had a meeting that ran late. Everyone has been making up for your abcense in the meantime. Dinner is about to be served, so whatever you need to discuss with Master Jason will have to wait until Mr. Fenton leaves. Bruce relents. Perhaps he will find a moment alone to grill Jason for awnsers. In the meantime he will put on his best Brucie Wayne face and meet their guest.

By the time Bruce had managed to get out of the Batsuit and get to the dinner hall, Alfred was already serving the plates. Bruce apologizes for running late and spots their guest. A young man with black hair and blue eyes, with a lean build and shorter than expected. He introduced himself as Danny Fenton, and was polite yet friendly. As expected of someone meeting their lovers parents, though something seemed off. He had expected someone more... dangerous. He brushed it off. Perhaps he was projecting his own tastes on Jason, if Talia and Selina were any indicators. While everyone was sitting down, Bruce asked Dick to distract Danny after dinner, he needs to talk to Jason about a case. Dick says he'll do what he can, but Danny proved pretty clingy. They haven't left eachothers side since they got here.

The converstation the group was having before Bruce arrived picked back up. 'Damian, you're going to love Ellie. She is such a troublemaker, I have no doubt you'll get along great!' Jason was gushing about Danny's little sister. Bruce was suprised that Jason had already met Danny's family. 'Well, we have been dating for 2 months, but we just clicked so well! And Danny had already been singing her praises, I just had to meet her!' 2 months? Bruce had been so preoccupied with his case that he had missed this for that long? Duke asks how Danny and Jason met. Danny doesn't look like the type to hang around Crime Alley? Jason says they met at work. Danny tells them he'd been called to get rid of a big rock that was becoming a hazard. 'Oh, so you work in excavation? Did it have anything to do with that new soupkitchen you were talking about, Jason?' Jason starts saying no, when he gets interrupted:

'B, THE GHOST KING IS IN GOTHAM RIGHT NOW! IF WE HURRY WE MIGHT-.' Contantine had burst into the room, when he stopped dead in his tracks, dropping half the stuff he was carrying. 'You, uh... already found him?' Bruce is confused, when suddenly Danny waves at Constantine. 'Hiya Connie! How've you been? Need me to get rid of another rock for you?' Realization hits Bruce hard: this 'Danny' is the Ghost King!?! He immediatly stands up, battle ready. He needs to protect his family from this threat! Dick is confused, what is going on? Before Bruce can explain, Jason cuts in: 'I was about to tell you. When I said 'work', I meant Hero work. We met during that asteroid-incident in the Watchtower. The League needed Danny to get rid of it, but things got complicated and they left him to figure out what to do next. That's when we met, and-' Duke interrupts him: 'Wait, you're that Ghost King Bruce been worrying about? He's been pulling his hair out for months straight! You just disapeared on them!' Danny huffs. 'Well, if they hadn't been so rude as to ditch me I might've stuck around to chat. Besides, they took forever! If Jason hadn't come along and made a deal with me I might not have made it in time!' That snaps Bruce back in reality. He immediatly turns to Jason: 'What did you give him?' Jason is suprised at the sudden question. 'What do you mean?' Constantine is about to lose it. 'You made a deal with the Ghost King! What did you offer him? Servitude? Your first-born? YOUR SOUL?' Danny gets a mischevous grin. 'Oh, he offered me something much more valuable.' Constantine is freaking out: ' WHAT COULD BE WORTH MORE THAN THE 8 BILLION SOULS YOU WERE GOING YO GET!?!'

'A date~!'

After that all hell broke loose. Bruce slumped down on his chair as 2 months worth of stress was released. Tim and Duke were freaking out that apearantly the League hadn't told anyone the world had been in danger. Cass held back Damian as he was trying to attack the 'Pit demon' that had seduced his brother. Dick held his head in his hands, realizing that Jason now had ammo to be absolutly insufferable. Jason was indeed thinking of all the ways he could milk this, and Alfred was trying to get Contantine concious again after he had fainted. During all this, Danny knew:

'Best. Deal. Ever.'

THE END

#danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny fenton #batman #jason todd #red hood #dp x dc prompt #ghost king danny #dead on main

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graves4girls · 1 year

Text

★ scary love | könig

✩ summary: you get a little too overzealous during a sparring match. ✮ word count: 1.8k ⚠︎ warning(s): fem!reader in luv with soft könig ✧ be sure to check out my work on ao3 ⇢ gravesforgirls !!

Your body hits the padding below you with an echoing thud, eyes screwing shut at the impact. You choke on air as you try to breathe in, chest heaving as your hand flails to tap against his bicep. His grip loosens, sitting back on his heels as he stares down at you.

"Remind me…to never ask you to use your full strength…ever again." You fight for even breaths, hands falling out to starfish on the mat as he stands up.

"Noted."

He holds out a hand to you, and you take it without hesitation. He yanks you to your feet with ease, and you almost lunge into his chest as you jump up.

"You've got a lot of practice ahead of you. You're not nearly quick enough."

You nod with a huff, hands resting on your hips as you pant. He hasn't even broken a sweat, and you hate him for it. It's like child's play to him, while you're already sore all over.

He steps back, hands on his knees as he crouches a bit. "You ready?"

You crack your neck, shaking out your arms before crouching yourself, nodding. "As I'll ever be."

You're pinned beneath him, one of his big arms nestled under your chin, the other bending your arm back in a way that should not be possible, when a quiet knock sounds out behind you. Honestly, you almost don't hear it over the sound of your jagged breaths. You attempt to lift yourself off the mat, but his strong grip keeps you still.

"Let go." You grab at the juncture between his forearm and bicep, squeezing a bit when he doesn't let up.

"You haven't tapped."

You roll your eyes, tapping his elbow. He drops your head, sitting on your lower back instead. You turn your head to find the giant of a man standing in the threshold, giving him a small smile.

"We're almost done, if you need the space."

"No, I just wanted to talk with her, but I don't want to interrupt your training any more than I already have. Please, continue." He steps back, disappearing behind the doorway.

"Wait, König! Get off me, you're so heavy." You push at his side, not nudging him even an inch.

He gives a quiet chuckle as he stands, pulling you up by your biceps. You brush off his big hands, pushing through the heavy door. You're met with nothing, no König anywhere in sight. How he gets so far in such little time still baffles you. You groan as you walk back into the room, wandering to the pile of your belongings.

"Done for the day?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna need a chiropractor, now."

You jump a bit when you pull your door open to be met with an all too familiar hood, laughing off the shock when you realize who it is.

"Don't be stalking my door like that. You're lucky I didn't hurt you."

He snickers a bit, shoulders jumping. "I don't think you would do much damage, no offense."

You give him a look of mock hurt, swatting at his chest. "I take full offense to that. You don't think I could take you down?"

You try to size him up, puffing your chest a bit and drawing your eyebrows together.

"I don't mean to bring your hopes down, maus, but if you weren't able to take Ghost down, I don't know how you'll fend against me. I do admire your confidence, though. Truly."

Your shoulders drop, forehead falling to land softly against his chest in defeat.

"If you'd like, I can practice with you. Give you some tips."

You perk up at the suggestion, beaming up at him.

You grunt as you land on your stomach, letting your head drop to the mat with a sigh. He's looming over you, elbows digging into your back. He lets go before you can give the signal, kneeling onto the pad beside you.

"Are you okay? That wasn't too hard?"

You give him a weak smile, throwing up a quick thumbs up.

"Ghost is way harder on me than you are. You actually care about my bones staying intact."

He helps you to your feet, big hands holding your shoulders for a moment before he draws back.

"One more time. Do it full strength. I can take it."

His posture falters, tilting his head a bit. "Are you sure, maus? The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

You nod quickly, stretching your arms over your head. "I'm positive."

When he barrels towards you, you're telling yourself you're ready. You can take him. He's only like a foot taller than you. And nearly a hundred pounds heavier… What you're not ready for is the way your head slams back into the mat, knocking the air out of your lungs as his full body weight collides with your significantly smaller frame. Your head spins and you feel light-headed. The lights are suddenly far too bright, and your hands come up to cover your eyes, wheezing out shallow breaths as you lay there, unmoving. He shoots up, big hands grabbing at your cheeks to hold your face in his hands.

"O Scheiße! Are you okay? I knew I shouldn't have listened to you. I'm so sorry, maus." He apologizes profusely, eyes wide as he stares down at you.

You squint up at him, letting a hand settle over his own. "Don't apologize. I'm fine…" You shake your head a bit, wincing at the migraine that is quickly washing over you. "Just…give me a second."

He reluctantly lets you go, standing up and rushing to grab your water bottle, cursing when he finds it empty. He paces around the room, muttering to himself as you slowly lift yourself up onto your elbows. You cringe at the sound of the hinges when the door creaks open.

"What happened in here?"

His gruff voice sounds out over König's rambling, and you sigh.

"I told him to hit me with his full strength. You know how the rest goes."

"I thought you learned your lesson when I tackled you to the floor last week. Did you forget or…?"

You roll your eyes, sitting up and whining when your head throbs. "If you're just gonna scold me, go away. I don't need another headache."

He scoffs quietly, ambling over to you and pulling you up slowly. You lean into his shoulder, wobbling a bit as you find your balance.

"I'm gonna bring you to the infirmary. C'mon."

You groan, but let him pull you along, looking back briefly to catch a glimpse of König crouching with his head in his hands. You sigh, patting the arm that's wrapped around you.

"Please let him know it's not his fault. I know how upset he can get."

He only nods, leading you down the hall.

When you stir awake you're wrapped up in your sheets, a glass of water left on your bedside table and an icepack on your forehead. You toss the now lukewarm packet onto the table, pushing the covers off of you to stand from the mattress. You slip on some shoes and pad out the room, wandering down the hall. You turn the corner to find Ghost with his back to you, and you tap his shoulder.

"Where's König?"

"What are you doing? Go lay down. You have a concussion. You need to rest."

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "I need to talk to him. Where is he?"

He shrugs, mimicking your posture. "Don't know. Did you try..I don't know, maybe his room?"

You shove his shoulder as you walk past him, earning a quiet laugh.

You knock at the door, sighing when you don't get a response. You knock once more, firmer this time. When only silence follows, you bang your fist against the wood.

"König, open the door, please."

You wait another moment before the handle jiggles, dropping your fist as the door swings open.

"Why are you here, maus? You shouldn't be up and moving around."

You smile at him, pushing into the room and footing the door closed behind you. "I know, I know. Ghost said the same thing. I just wanted to see you. Make sure you're okay."

He gives you an incredulous look, cupping your face in his big hands.

"You're the one who was hurt. Why are you consoling me?"

Your hands wrap around his wrists, squeezing gently. "I know you feel bad. You know it's not your fault, right? I know you get lost in your own head."

His eyes drop to your hands, fingers twitching against your warm skin at your words.

"It is not your fault. I'm okay. I'm a big girl. I can take a few blows."

You try to reassure him, stepping closer. He gives a half-hearted nod, letting his hands move to the back of your head. Your own hands slide down his forearms, settling against the strong muscle.

"I just don't want you to be scared of me. I can't stand the idea of hurting you bad enough to the point you don't want to be near me anymore."

Your hands reach to wrap around his broad shoulders. "I will never be scared of you. And you're never gonna hurt me so bad I wouldn't want to be around you. Mainly because next time we spar, I'm gonna beat your ass."

You grin up at him, leaning into his chest as he lets out a small chuckle.

"Is it okay if I lay down here instead of my room? It's lonely over there."

He nods, hands dropping to let you crawl into his bed, patting the sheets beside you. He slowly slides in next to you, awkwardly sitting against the headboard as you nestle into the sheets. You drape an arm over his waist, resting your cheek against his side as you let out a small sigh.

"Get comfortable. You're making me anxious. C'mere."

You scoot back to let him lay down completely, hugging his arm against you as you look up at him. One hand reaches out to toy with the fabric of his hood, pinching the material between your fingertips.

"Can I take this off?"

You smile when he gives you a small hum of approval, tugging it over his head to reveal that pretty, scarred up face.

"There you are. I missed seeing you."

Your hand cups his chin, pressing a small kiss to his lips. He melts into your touch, big hands finding your hips. When he ushers you to straddle his hips you draw back, grinning.

"Slow down, big guy. I still have a concussion."

He's quick to spit out apologies, shaking his head.

"It's okay. I'll make it up to you when my brain heals. For now, let's just relax. I think we both need to just lay here and calm down a little."

You let your cheek fall to his chest, draping your arm over his ribs as you let your eyes close.

"You know I love you, right? Cause I do. A lot."

You feel his strong arms wrap around you, keeping you close.

"I know, maus. Ich liebe dich mehr denn je."

#k.cod #könig #könig x reader #modern warfare 2 #mw2 2022 #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2

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macbethsymphony · 12 days

Text

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 4

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 3k

Chapter rating: SFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1] [2] [3]

Slowly crossposting from AO3 Feel like binging the rest of it? it's all there!

Chapter 4: The promise

Your departure from the tranquil shores of your island had been hurried, leaving little time for prolonged goodbyes. Mary had embraced you tightly before you stepped onto the deck of the Thousand Sunny. Despite her attempts to mask her emotions with a smile, tears glistened in her eyes, betraying the sorrow she felt.

"You have to behave," Mary had admonished gently as Nami's announcement echoed through the air, signaling the ship was about to leave. "Try to be nice for once in your life."

“I will.” You had said understanding the weight of her words and the importance of fitting in with the other members of the crew.

"And try to reconcile with the swordsman too," she had added, her tone soft yet firm. The mention of Zoro had elicited a scowl from you, a testament to the unresolved tension between you and the rude swordsman.

"Promise me you'll try, (Y/n)," she had implored, her voice tinged with emotion.

“I promise.” You had reluctantly given your word, knowing that your promise held a significant meaning to Mary.

"Good," she had sighed, a hint of relief evident in her voice. "I'm going to miss you. You better write to me once in a while, alright?" With those parting words, she had enveloped you in a final embrace, clinging to you as if unwilling to let you go, before reluctantly releasing you to embark on your new journey.

The rhythmic clang of your hammer against the workbench you were building echoed in the air as a heavy sigh escaped your lips. The weight of your promise to Mary lingered heavily on your shoulders, a burden on your conscience that seemed to grow each passing day. Doubts crept into your mind about your ability to fulfill the pledge you had made. Day after day, the patience you had towards the swordsman grew closer to snapping.

But it really wasn’t all bad if you were honest. You had now been aboard the Thousand Sunny for over a week. The whirlwind of events still left your head spinning at times. But despite the abrupt and drastic changes that had overturned your life, you were slowly but steadily growing fond of the dynamic aboard the ship.

Your short temper had quickly become a well-known trait among the crew, but they had also discovered that it was mostly bark and little bite. They had grown accustomed to your scowls and variating moods, even finding amusement in them. Their laughter in the face of your irritation had become a familiar sound, a lighthearted teasing that somehow made you feel like you belonged.

One day, as you shared drinks, you couldn’t help but ask the girls what they all found so funny in the face of your outrage. The laughter had amplified, you hadn’t been able to help the tipsy smile hitting your lips at the infectious joy in front of you.

“It’s just…” Robin had started, laughter redoubling as she tried to explain.

“You look like an angry kitten when you scowl like that.” Nami had finished for her between two outbursts of laughter.

You’d blushed furiously, an indignant ‘No I don’t,’ muttered under your breath.

You smiled at the memory as you hammered a final nail in the workbench, marking it as completed. Franky had approached you the moment you’d stepped on the Sunny, different blueprints in hand for a forge, an excited smile on his lips at the multitude of ideas crossing his mind. He’d been so excited to build you the perfect workplace. The two of you had developed an easy friendship in the process, you were beyond grateful to the shipwright for the opportunity to continue your work.

“What’s got you smiling like that, (Y/n),” the man in question asked you, pulling you back to reality.

You turned to him, grin still touching your lips. “Just something Robin and Nami said the other day,” you replied, your voice laced with amusement.

Franky’s eyebrows rose, clearly curious. “Oh yeah? What was that?” he asked, setting down his tools and leaning in closer.

You chuckled shaking your head. “Apparently, I look like an angry kitten when I get all worked up.” You said rolling your eyes playfully.

Franky burst into laughter, the sound echoing on the walls of the small forge you were building together. “An angry kitten, huh? I can totally see it,” he exclaimed after a while.

You feigned an indignant expression. “I don’t look like a kitten, Franky”

He looked you over. “You’re not exactly threatening looking, (Y/n). A kitten is a pretty good descriptor if I can say so myself.” His big hand settled softly on your head ruffling your hair gently. “But hey, it’s all part of your charm (Y/n)!”

You let out a scoff, the outrage clearly fake as happiness marked your features.

“You know I’m grateful to you right, Franky?” you spoke after a few seconds of silence.

“That so?” He said, moving to examine your work.

“Never in a million years would I have imagined you’d make this space for me on your ship.” You admitted.

Franky smiled, he knew you were not just speaking about the forge, but he also knew feelings were not your strong suit. “You can’t be serious,” he exclaimed. “There’s no way we’re letting your talent rot away on this ship.”

You smiled, hearing the unsaid in his words. You’re family now.

“Besides,” he continued after giving your work an approving nod. “Usopp and I are going to be pestering you with so many requests as soon as this is done.”

Sanji’s voice cut through the air, announcing that lunch was ready, interrupting the heartfelt moment.

The enticing aroma of Sanji’s cooking wafted through the air as you opened the door to the kitchen. Everyone was already there, the atmosphere buzzing with cheerfulness. Luffy, Usopp and Chopper eagerly occupied their seats, anticipation clear as they watched Sanji meticulously prepare their plates. Nearby Nami and Robin were engaged in an animated conversation, laughter contributing to the lively ambiance.

Taking your customary seat, you found yourself facing the brooding swordsman. His scowl at your presence darkened your mood, squashing the smile on your lips instantly. Your eyes dropped to the swords at his belt. It irked you beyond measure that such stunning swords belonged to such a brute. Ever since you’d noticed them, you’d been itching to see them, to hold them. To see for yourself the mastery of the craftsmanship behind these legendary blades. Hell, you’d tried to get him to show them to you every day now.

You gritted your teeth at the memory of your first attempt at broaching the subject. You’d been walking down the mountain path to their ship when you’d first asked him about them.

“Those are Wado Ichimonji and Shusui.” You had confidently stated.

He’d grunted in confirmation.

“And this one’s a cursed blade, right?” you had asked trying to make conversation.

“It is,” he had affirmed your suspicions.

“Please show them to me.” You’d earnestly requested.

“No,” had been his uncompromising reply.

And so had gone every other attempts you’d made as you clung to the hope that one day he might reconsider.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask him the question for the second time of the day.

“No” he cut you off before you could say anything.

“Fine,” you said bitterly. His stubbornness was as predictable as the rising sun.

The crew erupted into laughter at the refusal, a running gag that had become a source of amusement among them. Usopp, seizing the opportunity, rose from his seat, erasing the tally on the whiteboard before proudly inscribing the new score. "21-0," he announced with gusto. A small smile involuntarily returned to your lips, the crew's antics transforming irritation into amusement.

Yes, 21-0. That was the tally of how many times Zoro had steadfastly declined your request.

"Don’t mind the idiot, (Y/n)," Sanji chimed in, placing a plate before you. The delectable contents of the dish momentarily diverted your attention from the tension between you and the swordsman.

"That’s right!" Nami added, delight dancing in her eyes.

"I’m sure you’ll get to see them one day," Chopper offered encouragingly.

"Thanks, doc," you replied.

Luffy, ever the curious one, couldn't resist asking between mouthfuls, "Why do you wanna see Zoro’s swords so bad?"

As Luffy’s question hung in the air, you paused contemplating your response. The crew’s attention moved to you, waiting expectantly for your answer. In the corner of your eye, you saw Zoro shift almost imperceptibly in his seat.

“Well,” You began, choosing your words carefully. “I want to study them.” You couldn’t help the glint in your eyes, nor the excitement lacing your voice as you continued. “Wado Ichimonji and Shusui are legendary blades! I’ve read about those swords and the techniques used to create them so many times now but nothing would beat holding them in my hands to learn how they were made. And that third blade!” You point at Sandai Kitetsu animatedly “It’s a cursed blade! They’re so rare! You see, cursed blades choose their owners, only the strongests of swordsmen can wield them without consequences. I don’t know if the blade would let me hold it but if it did! Oh, the things I could learn!” you marveled.

Everyone looked at you with a dumbfounded look, your passion stunning them into silence. Zoro’s expression was unreadable as he looked you over. You felt a slight blush warming your cheeks at the crew’s reaction.

“Oi, you shitty swordsman,” Sanji said, breaking the silence. “Don’t be selfish and let (Y/n) look at your swords. You shouldn’t refuse a lady’s passion.” He kicked Zoro’s chair in annoyance.

“I already said no.” Zoro said, standing up abruptly. He looked down at you as though he was about to say something, but he decided against it.

The crew exchanged glances, a collective sigh escaping their lips as Zoro stomped out of the room. Nami shook her head, muttering something about the swordsman being an idiot.

Usopp cleared his throat. “Well, that went as expected. I didn’t know you were so passionate about swords (Y/n)!” He said trying to lighten the mood.

“You know, (Y/n), if you really want to study Zoro’s swords, maybe you should try a gentler approach.” Robin suggested.

“What do you mean by that, Robin?” Chopper asked.

“Well, your first encounter was… rocky to say the least.” She answered giving you a knowing smile. You couldn’t help but shrink in your seat as you remembered your outrage that day. “Maybe trying to mend this instead of demanding something out of him would work better.” She explained.

She was right, you knew that. “I’ll… give it a try.” You said, hesitantly.

“That’s the spirit!” Franky said brightly. “Come on, (Y/n), we’ve got a forge to finish!”

You’d been working alongside Franky all afternoon, mulling over different scenarios on how to approach Zoro. The forge was almost done, tomorrow you’d most likely be able to give it a test run. You couldn’t help the excitement you felt at the thought of shaping hot steel into something new.

“Hey! (Y/n)! Where do you want to hang those?” Franky asked, pointing at the three swords you’d brought with you when you’d left your home.

You paused, considering the question. The swords held sentimental value to you, each one representing a different aspect of your journey and personal growth. Finding the perfect place to display them was important.

"I'm not sure yet," you replied, casting a thoughtful glance at the swords leaning against the doorway. "How about we leave the finishing touches for tomorrow? Once the forge is up and running, I'll have a better idea of where they should go."

Franky nodded in agreement, a grin spreading across his face. "Sounds like a plan.” He looked out at the horizon. The sun was slowly lowering in the sky. “How about we leave it here? Take it easy for the night.”

“Sure! Sounds good to me!” You answered, giving a satisfied look at the work you’d achieved today.

Franky had left before you, stating something about cola. You stayed behind for a few moments longer, trying to imagine how you’d make this space yours.

Zoro had been sitting on the deck sharpening his swords when you left the walls of your small forge. You’d been preparing a speech in your head for the past few hours, multiple scenarios thoroughly developed in your mind on how to approach him again. You’d settled on something you thought was… alright. As you eyed him, you pondered whether you should try that speech now or on another day. No time like the present, you thought walking up to him.

You cleared your throat, catching his attention.

He ignored you. You sighed.

“Look…I know we haven’t started this.” You started, gesturing at the two of you. “On the right foot.” You continued as you shifted your weight from foot to foot awkwardly. This was the closest to an apology you’d go.

He grunted noncommittally, still not looking at you. Irritation threatened to cloud your mind at the bastard’s stubbornness, but you persevered.

“But, one day, when you trust me.” You said. “I’d greatly appreciate it if you would let me have a look at Wado Ichimonji and Shusui. They’re amazing swords and I’d love to learn from their craftsmanship.” You blurted the rest of your speech as fast as possible, looking at him expectantly.

“No,” he said looking up at you with a glare.

The sliver of patience you’d had towards the swordsman shattered in you as you withstood his stare. You inwardly apologized to Mary as anger filled your eyes. Fuck the swordsman, fuck the promise.

“What?” You screeched indignantly, voice going up an octave. “Why not? I’m being fucking nice here.”

He scowled at that, looking past you. You followed his gaze. He was looking at one of your swords leaning against the door of your forge.

“You can’t be serious. You’re still hung up on that?” You snapped, sneering down at him.

He ignored you, quick movements of the whetstone resuming.

“Why are you so goddamned hell bent on holding Yokubari?” You asked.

“Why do you care, witch?” He retorted, his tone dripping with mockery. You seethed at the nickname coming out of his lips. You didn’t mind others using it but the way he’d always say it with such disdain just pissed you off so much.

You scoffed, crossing your arms defiantly. “Witch? Really, swordsman? How original.” You replied venom in your voice.

“It’s a sword, not a sacred relic. Let me hold it and I might reconsider.” He stated haughtily.

“It’s just a sword to you, huh? Are you stupid or something? I told you already, you’re too fucking weak to hold it.” You stated, index poking his forehead angrily as to make your point.

“The fuck you say?” Zoro’s temper flared. He suddenly stood up, whetstone clattering on the floor with his swords at the swift movement. He caught your collar in his fist. “Watch your mouth, witch.”

“Oh please! Spare me! I’m quaking in my boots.” You retorted throwing your hands in the air overstating the sarcasm dripping in the tone of your voice.

“You really think you’re something, huh?” Zoro growled, grip tightening in fabric.

You snorted in disdain, your own hand grabbing his open shirt in defiance. “I think I’m more than you can handle swordsman.” You shot back looking up at him, refusing to back down. Rage crackled behind your eyes, dark spirals starting to form around the both of you as haki started to seep out of your hands.

The tension hung in the air, both of you locked in a battle of egos, unwilling to back down from each other. The crew scattered across the deck couldn’t help but glance in amusement at the brewing storm between the two of you.

Franky chuckled as he took a sip of cola. “She’s a firecracker this one.” He said to Robin who was sitting next to him reading a book.

“Isn’t she adorable?” She answered with a smile, eyes not looking up from the page she was on.

Chopper, with wide eyes, whispered with concern to Usopp, “Do you think they’re going to fight?”

Usopp shook his head, “Nah, I think it’s just their way of communicating.”

“Really?” Chopper asked incredulously.

“Aren’t they so funny?” Luffy said laughing at the impressive display of wills before him.

Sanji leaned against the railing, cigarette dangling from his lips. He smirked as he watched the confrontation before him. “(Y/n)-chwan is so beautiful when she gets angry.” He mused.

Brook standing nearby strummed a few notes on his guitar. “Ah, young love. Such a rare thing to see,” he said. “Not that I have eyes to see out of, yohohoho.”

Sanji raised a skeptical eyebrow at Brook. “I wouldn’t call it love, Brook. More like a clash of titans.” He replied, taking a drag out of his cigarette.

Brook shrugged, his bony shoulders rising nonchalantly. “Perhaps you’re right, Sanji. But there’s no denying the sparks flying,” he said, hollow eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Alright! That’s enough you two!” Nami said abruptly, standing up from the table she’d been sitting at, when the argument got too heated. You both ignored her. She sighed, clearly annoyed as she stomped over separating the both of you with a hit to the head.

Your hand shot up to your skull, leaving his shirt alone. He did the same. When your gazes crossed again, you couldn’t help the anger filling you.

No, not anger.

Hate.

It was a strong word, an even stronger emotion, even for you. Yet, as Roronoa Zoro sneered down at you, hate was the only way to describe the feeling coursing through your veins.

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#the swordsman and the blacksmith #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece x reader #zoro x reader #charlou writes

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madwomansapologist · 1 year

Text

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 1 - A way to break the ice

Navigation | Series Masterlist | AO3

series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

first chapter synopsis: Thranduil traveled to a village that reported spider attacks with his army to protect those who need it, and accepted when a respected family offered their inn so his army could rest. He didn't expect to find a mage there. Or for the dam to break. [3K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug.

glossary: Lossëistar: Ice Mage┆Mithrandir: Grey Pilgrim┆

Gandalf it's a recuring face in the inn. In some months he appears twice, mostly at the end of the year when he don't have anything else to do, but he never goes more than a month without coming back. Even if he can stay only for a day or two, he always comes back.

Gandalf has been to so many places. Met so many people. Lives so many adventures. So why does he keep coming back? It's just a normal village filled with normal people living normal lives. It's a good place to live, but not the kind of place people want to visit.

"I will see you next month?" Helping him saddle the sorrel, you asked the obvious. Goodbyes were never your forte. Hearing more, even if it's something you've heard before, is better than being silent for the whole time. You already miss him.

You led the horse out of the inn's stable, petting it. The cool breeze made your hair fly. Autumn has begun to announce itself. The sorrel tried to run away, but you held him in place.

"There is someone I need to visit, a master who needs advice", you know that tone of voice. Gandalf uses it whenever you do something stupid. Something as recurrent as his presence at the inn. Someone is about to hear a stern lectur, and you're so relieved it's not you.

"Good luck to the poor person you will pay a visit." You say as he mounts the sorrel. Part of you is still surprised that someone so old would be able to ride a horse so easily, but looks can be deceiving. Gandalf is older than he looks, as well as more skilled.

Gandalf appreciated the river that cut through the property, focusing on the sound of water lapping against rocks. It was one of the reasons for the inn to be so popular. Away from the village center, higher on the mountain, there the water was so calm. So crystalline. But in the background Gandalf could see the high wooden dam. It held back the stormy river, ensuring that it wouldn't run to the waterfall miles ahead and crash against the village.

Suddenly a familiar fear gripped your body. He always comes back, but you're always afraid that one day he'll realize this is just a waste of his time. And if one day he decides not to come back, you'll be alone. "You will not forget about me, will you?"

Awakened by your voice, Gandalf faced you. His voice went softer. "Continuing to ask will not change the answer."

"But why do you keep coming back?" The sorrel stirred. You had to take a step back, and you could felt that Gandalf would use that to move away without really answering you. "You really do not know what happened to me before my awakening? Why did you help me?"

"Continuing to ask will not change the answer." Gandalf led the horse away. And so he goes, without really answering you. As always. "Farewell, persistent girl, and do not cause troubles."

"I can't promise anything." Gandalf sighed. He knows you're being honest in the same way you know he isn't. "Good ridance, Gandalf!"

You stood still, watching him go down the mountain. When he disappeared into the ash trees, taking some of your fear with him, you took a deep breath and remembered that you had a lot to do. Aerin is a kind landlady, but she made it clear that your stay would not be paid with grateful smiles and friendly words.

Gandalf is always travelling, you never have an address to send letters. He usually sends you a letter a week, but you never have a way to respond. But inside the stable, surrounded by horses that needed your attention, work managed to override your concern. Everything would be fine. Everything always turns out fine.

So why does you feel like something bad will happen?

"Breakfast!" You served each horse a mixture of fresh grass, hay and silage, thereby distracting them to prepare a new bedding for them. "Good morning, beauties."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Elrond called the Counsil.

Four hundred years of peace. The enemy was dead. Sauron was dead. It's being a long time, but something had awakened in Rivendell. Something dark and hungry. Something that none could ignore. Evil things did not come into that valley, but maybe something was born there.

"That is not enough to think something is happening", Saruman explained. Sitting in his armchair, Saruman's pearly tunica appeared to be floating as he move his hand. "Orcs and spiders? Not enough."

Galadriel countered the room. Her white gown gleamed at every step, almost hurting the eyes of those who dare to look direct at it. Just almost, the temptation to look at her was bigger than the discomfort.

"It would not." Galadriel whispered. "But we are not talking about ocasional attacks. It's strategical. They are hunting something. Something south of Rivendell."

Gandalf glared at Saruman. He grabbed his staff, holding it closer to him. That subject wasn't on a good path. Not a good path for them.

The Istari came in five. Not that anyone but Elrond, Cirdan and Galadriel knew what they really are. The rest of the world see them as inopportune pilgrims, but they're so much more than that.

Saruman the White, a Maia of Aulë, leader of the White Counsil. The enemy of Sauron. The one who advice great lords, who is responsible for the biggest events, present whenever a important choice needs to be made. When the War of the Ring start, he will be the one fighting Sauron.

Gandalf the Grey, a Maia of Manwë and Varda. The one to defeat evil by the lives of commons. The wiser. When the War of Ring start, Gandalf will be with the soldiers and squires.

Radagast the Brow, a Maia of Yavanna. The protector of Nature and it's life. The avenger of animals and plants. When the War of Ring start, he won't interfere. Saruman don't speak to him since he made his decision.

And there are the two blueses. The ones whos only purpose is to defend humans. Different than Gandalf, they don't organize humans. Different than Saruman, they don't empower them. They're here to purely defend humans from Sauron. Saruman pretend they don't exist. It's been years since Gandalf spoke their names. Elrond and Galadriel often ask about them, but they resufe to answer.

Saruman looked into his tired eyes, and Gandalf understood what he was saying: "Do not".

Elrond was bewitched by the landscape in front of him. He could see the river, the montains, the infinity of the sky. And he felt it. A shadow that grows in the dark. Elrond still not sure if it's something evil, but it's powerful. "Sauron have..."

"Do not even start with this!" Saruman nodded. "Sauron is dead. He is done."

At one point while Saruman and master Elrond discussed, Saruman's only argument being the death of Sauron and Elrond trying to use some logic to explain his fear, Gandalf heard a voice on his head. "What are you hiding from us, Mithrandir?"

Gandalf smiled at Galadriel. His white long beard almost covered it, but she saw it. "Nothing."

"We are not summoned to argue about the Enemy's existence." Thraunduil rose from his chair, but it would take a fool to not perceive how, even simple and identical to those of the other counsil members, it looked like a throne. Thranduil was a king, his presence lived up to his reputation. "We are here to put an end to these vermin."

"Finally someone with a agile mind", Saruman intonate. He was relieved someone changed the topic.

Master Elrond sit down. "This horde keep reproducing. Until we find the nest, the spiders will keep coming back."

"Then we know what to do." Thranduil put and end to the endless discussion. "Mine guar..."

The door was flung open, shaking the council room. A sweaty, breathless messenger leaned against it, legs shaking with exhaustion. His eyes met Elrond's, who immediately rose and approached. "We found another litter."

"Where?" Galadriel asked.

"Above the tributaries of the Bruinen River, in the gorge of the last dam." The messenger straightened up. "They're at least twelve."

"Wake up the intendant," Elrond ordered. "Tell him to prepare my armor."

Saruman swallowed hard. It would be too close. If Elrond... He glared at Gandalf, hoping he could think of an excuse. Elrond would need just a look to recognized her. He can't be near the dam.

"In a token of gratitude for your hospitality," Thranduil made his way near to Elrond. He touched his shoulder, squeezing it gently. Kind words, but attention would show that pride lurked among them. "Let me defeat these insects for you."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

They rode in twenty. Led by the Elvenking, the little guard entered the mangrove with their golden armour lit by the midday sun. Protected from the rear by the Elvenking, the little guard came out of the mangrove with their bloody armour lit by the sunset.

They were still twenty.

"Our mounts need to rest before our return", Gildor saddle his sorrel. One of Elrond's captains, he was the one that managed to map the nest and guided Thranduil and his guard to annihilate the spiders. "Just like your elk, your grace."

Thranduil carressed his brave elk. A longtime companion, that faced bigger threats than a nest of spiders. He wasn't tired, Thranduil could ride back to his realm if he wanted to, but his men needed to rest. "We went through a village, didn't we?"

"Yes, your grace", Gildor pointed to a trampled tail. "An inn favored by master Elrond would gladly welcome us, with comfort and food for us and our mounts. I took the liberty of sending a letter to inform our stay when we were getting organized in Rivendell."

It was a long road. The trail ran along the mountain, climbing towards the setting sun. The sound of running water showed that they were arriving, but what really made them understand that the path had ended was the sound of chitchat. Coming out from the trees, the Elvenking and his men were greeted by dozens of people.

The grooms approached first, taking the horses from the guards with many smiles and promises of good care. As the king descended from his elk, everyone bowed and thanked him for defeating the spiders. Leading the small crowd, a short, plump lady approached.

"Lady Aerin, the owner of the inn", Gildor whispered to Thranduil.

"I imagine it must have been a long and painful journey, your grace." Aerin used sweet words, but it was clear that she practiced them a few times. "All my employees shall respond to your orders, no matter what they are. I know my little inn is nothing compared to your castle, but I hope it brings you comfort."

It was obviously true, but it was modest to say that this was a small inn. It was an immense structure, perhaps six floors high, and the long stables were visible even from the entrance. Nothing compared to a castle, but it certainly wasn't small.

Aerin was kind, personally guiding the king to his chambers. While everyone bathed, supper was cooked and the horses tended. The sun had already set when they gathered for supper, and the food was delicious.

"It's a very lovely inn", Thranduil tried to calm Aerin. Her nervousness was clear.

"Oh, your grace, that's very kind of you." The old lady smiled, then went back to her food. The lull was marvelous, but it didn't last long. But this time, Aerin was trying to whisper to her son. Trying, not succeeding. "Why is she taking so long? I'm starting to worry."

Gildor took a sip from his wine. "You talk about the Lossëistar?"

Aerin was surprised he could hear her. After all, she was so subtle. "She was supossed to be back by now. It's a long way to the fair, but not that long."

"Lossëistar?" Thranduil was interested. "An elve mage life here?"

Aerin and Gildor glared at one another. Gildor was the one that responded Thranduil. "Not exactly an elve, not exactly a mage."

His interest got bigger. "Explain yourself."

Aerin sighed. "She... Look, I don't mean to gossip, I really don't." She looked around the room, and began to whisper. "We don't really know what she is. She definitely isn't human. But an elve... I don't think she's tall enough to be one."

Thranduil laughed at Aerin's honesty. "What's the cause of such confusion?"

The younger boy, Aerin's son, responded before his mom could. "She's weird. Gandalf worries about her."

"Beren!" Aerin scolded him. "Keep yourself silent!"

Thranduil's interest turned into something else. Gandalf isn't exactly a friend, as he often delivers bad news and forget who's the ruler, but Thranduil is wiser to not underestimate him. Elrond and Galadriel care for him, and Thranduil respect their wit. If Gandalf has someone under his wing, then he has his reasons. Thranduil can't help but to wonder why.

Before he could ask more, the creak of the entrance door was heard. "Lady Aerin," a female voice echoed to the hall. It was melodic, Thranduil could sense the happiness. "You won't believe what I found!"

You entered the hall holding a basket full of fabrics, herbs and pots. "Close your eyes, it's a surprise." You were looking for something inside the basket as you walked towards the hall, not even noticing that it wasn't empty.

Thranduil swallowed hard.

Your dress was wrinkled and muddy, the marks of a long, busy day of walking. Your loose hair, falling around your shoulders, framed your face with a sense of freedom. The smile on your lips, so simple and true, carried such lightness. Your crooked steps, of those who need to balance their weight with the heavy basket in order not to fall, were lit by candles. There were violets in your eyes. They glowed. You glowed, even without intention.

"Lossëistar", Aerin called. "We're not alone."

Your smiled died before you rose your face. Lossëistar. It's been more than a year, but she never called you by your name. Don't matter what you say, they never hear you. What's the reason to keep trying? But then you rose your face, and you disappointment turned into shame.

"Your grace", you bowed. "Pardon for the interruption."

Thranduil took a deep breath. He could smell the salty scent, a mixture of earth and herbs, emanating from you. A shiver rose the Elvenking's spine. "Apparently you're late."

"You're supossed to be here two hours ago", said Aerin. "Are you fine, kid?"

"The horse you borrowed me wasn't obedient." You looked up. Your eyes alternated between Thranduils's and Aerin's. With a sign of his head, you slowly stand up. You may be a fool on a few subjects, but you always know when your presence isn't expected. With another bow, you walked towards the entrance. "Have a good night."

"Supper with us." Thranduil didn't control his own tongue. There was something about you that intrigued him. He repeated to himself that he was only trying to find out what interested Gandalf, but he was too clever to be so easily deceived.

"Your grace is so kind, but she don't need to", Aerin thought it was the right thing to say. "I'll bring you a plate when we're done. Thank him, Lossëistar, for his generosity."

Thranduil's voice was heard again. But this time it was different. It was less graceful, less friendly. It was the voice of a leader, and a tired one. "What makes you think that an invitation to dinner and a cold dish are equivalent?"

Aerin blinked. "I'm sorry, your grace. I thought..."

"Join us, lady", the Elvenking looked into your eyes.

Unsure of how to proceed, you followed in silence to the empty armchair at the end of the table. Next to Aerin's son, who was staring at you in a way you couldn't identify, one of the employees served a plate. Conversation returned, Gildor launched into a subject that made the tension in the air dissipate, but you could feel the weight of the Elvenking gaze.

"The last time we saw each other", Gilgor smiled at you. "You still didn't knew how to ride."

You smiled at him, but discomfort gripped your body. You were too dirty, too tired, to sit across from a king. You must have reeked of mud and riding horses. How was your face? And your hair? He's very kind, kinder than the stories about the Mirkwood elves, but it was humiliating.

"I'm still learning." You tried to sound comfortable on your own skin. "I'm not the best, but also not the worst."

"Certainly a stimulant way of thinking, Lossëistar."

"I'm sure you have a name, my lady." Thranduil didn't bother smiling. It was weird the way people didn't addressed you by your name.

"I... I do." You bit your tongue. "People just don't use it."

"So it's about time we change this."

A warmth took over your cheeks. You told him your name, and only then you noticed how long it been since you last heard it. It felt nice to have the Elvenking saying it, almost testing how it sounded on his tongue.

But everything was forgotten after the explosion. The guards got up, not sure what was going on, but you knew that sound. It was the sound of work. The sound of letters and more letters of complaint being ignored. The sound of the dozens of times the village had to rebuild everything because they didn't fix the problem while there was still time. It was the sound of water. And it was near.

You drank the rest of your wine before getting up. "A moment, please."

You ran out of the inn. As imagined, the dam had broken. The second time this month. "That's what happens when you keep solving it," you said to yourself. "They know you're going to fix everything so they don't even bother doing something."

Mist dominated the river bank. You took a deep breath and ran closer to the forest, as far away as possible. You took a bow out of your pocket and tied your hair in a tight knot. The last thing you needed was something clinging to your face. You heard the screams of some of the guards, but didn't let that distract you.

It raced down the gorge, skipping the bank and destroying everything in its path. You could hear the trees bending, you could feel the cold, hard wind burning your face. When the trees behind you shuddered, you knew you could start. So you ran towards the river.

You ran and ran and ran. You stopped walking on leaves to step on land, then you stopped stepping on land to run over the river. And you didn't dive. You just ran, a thin layer of ice forming with each step, and you ran towards the pouring water. And when it was so close she could crush you, knock the air out of your lungs and claim it as it's own, you stuck out your finger and touch the wave.

And as quickly as it started, it ended. It ended with you standing in the middle of the river, with tons of frozen water in front of you, and a speechless Elvenking.

[Second Chapter]

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